The two watchers crouch in the big forest fronting Christy’s residence and scan the whole compound with their binoculars. It is around 7 a.m. The watchers take note of the deserted nature of the place, many of the residents being professors at the nearby university who have gone out of Taipei for the weekend. The weekly exodus begins every Friday evening as many residents of Taipei head out to the suburb for the weekend to return in the evening on Sunday. It is Sunday morning yet and the compound is deserted, almost. As the watchers scan the buildings, they take note that apart from Christy, there are only two other occupants who came in around 3 AM, obviously from a drinking party as both staggered upstairs into their flats. As the watchers scan the respective apartments of the night crawlers with their powerful glasses, they observe no sign of life at all. This means that the two revellers are still sleeping off their hangover. The two watchers consider this a bonus and smile. This will make their job easier than they thought. Today is D-Day, and nothing must go wrong with their plans. The weather has been a little chilly all through the night, but the sun is shining brightly now, warming the air and the watchers who slept in the forest all night, keeping watch over Christy’s movement. They were not as bothered with the weather as they were with the big snakes that had been sighted in these forests. As a matter of fact, there are signboards at different intervals in Chinese and English warning passers-by that big snakes have been sighted around here. For this and other reasons, the watchers rubbed snake repellent oils all over their bodies, and also carry two powerful .45 pistols with silencers attached to their muzzles. They dare not attract the attention of the police through loud gunshots. They also carry a canister of teargas and a canister of chloroform each in case they need to stun or sedate the target or an intruder. But more than the snakes and the police, the two watchers are afraid to fail. The White Wolf made it abundantly clear that death is the price for failure. And nobody argues with the White Wolf, not even a mad man. The last person that did so many years ago went for a bath shortly after and somehow got drowned in his bath tub!

Around a quarter after seven, Christy emerges from her apartment in the boy’s quarters and set out at a brisk pace for the back gate of the university. The two watchers follow her progress with their binoculars until she turns into the gate and disappears. Then one of them brings out his phone, dials and speaks quietly. Shortly after, a brown Honda Pilot comes uphill from the opposite side of the road and enters the compound. The driver parks in front of Christy’s apartment, gets down as noiselessly as he could and goes to Christy’s door. He opens it with a master key and quickly slips in. Once in, he conducts a whirlwind but thorough search of the room, ripping apart books, clothes, mattress, ceiling, floor, utensils, etc. He obviously does not find what he is looking for. He brings out a cell phone, dials and passes a message to the receiver. Then he goes out of the room, carefully locking the door behind him. He also goes out of the compound, but on foot, leaving the Honda Pilot with the key in its ignition. As he walks past the forest in front of the compound, he begins to whistle a tuneless song. The two watchers heave a sigh of relief and head out of the forest through another route. Their assignment is over.

Meanwhile, Christy is practically walking on air as she passes through the back gate of National ChengChi University, NCCU, Taiwan. Immediately confronting her is the university-wide walkway that climbs uphill for about half-a-kilometre to the College of Humanities, before going downhill bisecting the main campus to intersect the main road in front of the university’s main gate. Normally, Christy would groan quietly at the prospect of climbing up the hill for about ten minutes before taking a rest at one of the spots provided for tired climbers not too far from the horse-riding statue of the founder of the university, late Chiang Kai-Shek, founder of modern Taiwan. But today, she breezes uphill like a wind-assisted marathoner and in less than five minutes she is coasting downhill towards the main gate. As she passes by the football field, a pleasurable sensation courses through her body and she smiles. About three weeks ago, she met Peter at this very spot while doing her Friday night workout. It was love at first sight for the two of them. Since then, the feelings that she thought had died forever after the horror…the horror, have resurfaced with a vengeance and the two lovebirds have met every night since at different spots, where they could enjoy themselves and savour their time together.

As she passes in front of the university bookshop, she looks at her image in the glass and straightens up an imaginary crease in her flawless skirt suit. Today is Sunday and she is going to church, Grace Baptist Church at Gonguan. She is happy going to church, but she is happier still because she will be meeting Peter in church and both plan to spend the rest of the day after service at the Freedom Park and then on to the Taipei Zoo. A giant panda just gave birth to two cubs and people have been trooping to the zoo to see the furry cuddly baby pandas. Peter and Christy love pandas; but they love each other more. Satisfied with her appearance, Christy crosses to the other side of the road and waits for 236, the bus that will take her to Gonguan. She is so lost in the clouds that she does not take note of her immediate environment.

Unknown to her, three pairs of eyes are watching her intensely from inside a Sienna van parked about ten metres from the bus stop. They belong to three muscular men with tattoos down their arms and necks. These men have been trailing her for the past three days using different cars. Their car is parked strategically, not too far from the main gate of the university, with a good view of all intersecting routes. The streets are virtually empty. The usual hustle and bustle of students along the street is gone. It is Sunday morning and most people are indoors resting or sleeping off the Saturday night hangover. More importantly, there are no police cars in view. The driver nods to his two companions in the back seat of the Sienna and both get down and walk casually towards Christy. They both hold copies of Taipei Times in one hand, while the other is tuck in their jackets, holding small Beretta pistols. They position themselves one on each side of Christy who is still lost in the clouds. Suddenly, one of the hoods nudges her and says,

“Maryam!”

The name sends panic waves into Christy’s brain. No one here knows her as Maryam, and no one has called her by that name in the last two years.

“Maryam, don’t move!”

“Who … who are you?”

“Sambisa!”

At the mention of “Sambisa” Christy’s world collapses. Terror hit her like a huge tidal wave, and her legs begin to shake. Impulsively, she opens her mouth to raise alarm.

“Don’t or we shoot!” says the other hood. At the same time, both show her their guns covered from other people’s sight by the newspaper in their hands. The scream freezes in Christy’s throat.

“Follow us!”

Like an automaton, Christy allows herself to be shepherded into the Sienna. The driver takes off immediately, driving fast over the Daonan Bridge. In his eagerness to get away from the kidnap scene, however, the driver forgets about the traffic lights at the junction of Muzha Market, less than fifty metres on the other side of the bridge. He is descending at fifty kilometres an hour when the lights at the intersection turns red. He jams his foot on the brake pedal so suddenly that the vehicle skids to the left and to the right before screeching to a halt with its front wheels way beyond the white line. The traffic officer on duty at the intersection immediately marches over to the driver. He looks very stern with his right hand bringing out his ticketing machine.

“Dibuchi! Dibuchi!” begs the driver winding down his side glass rapidly and bowing several times to show how very sorry he is for transgressing.

The traffic officer looks him in the eye for a minute, then looks at the other occupants of the vehicle, noting the single black lady sitting rather stiffly in-between the two muscular men in the backseat. Even though the two men are also bowing penitently, he could not but notice the tattoos on their arms and necks that give them cold sinister appearances. Wondering what a pretty black lady is doing among these three toughies, he steps back from the vehicle with a shrug which loudly says it is not his business what any girl does or doesn’t. At that moment, the lights turn green and he waves the Sienna on.

“Xie xie!” says the driver, thanking the officer as he moves forward and turns to the left.

“Xioxin! Xioxin!” cautions one of the hoods at the back, warning the driver to be careful and not drive so fast as to attract undue attention.

Five hundred metres and two traffic lights down the road, the driver turns to a side road that leads uphill into a forested area at the back of the university. It passes the back gate of NCCU and continues downhill for about half-a-kilometre, then turns off the road into a compound housing two blocks of flats each one of them five stories high. Each also has a small boy’s quarters at the back comprising two apartments made up of a room, a bathroom and a kitchenette. Christy occupies one of the apartments behind the block of flats on the right of the gates while Kelvin, another international student from America occupies the other apartment. But Kelvin is rarely around on weekends. Every Friday, he goes to his friends and fellow Americans studying at the National Taiwan University and does not return until Sunday evening, sometimes, Monday morning.

The Sienna parks beside a brown Honda Pilot. The two hoods at the back got down with Christy still sandwiched in-between them, while the driver backs out of the compound. Christy looks at the Pilot strangely, having never seen that car in the compound before. The compound is deserted, everyone being indoors on a Sunday morning. Her two escorts hustle her towards her apartment, giving her no time to ponder on the strange car in the compound.

“Open the door!”

Christy fumbles in her bag for her key and with shaking hands she opens the door. The two hoods follow her in and lock the door behind them.

Christy is shocked at the state of the room. A fastidious person by nature, she keeps herself scrupulously neat, and extends the same finicky nature to her room which is always spick and span. Every item of furniture, every kitchen utensil is placed just so. Her bed is usually well laid throughout the day and the room itself scrupulously swept and scrubbed every morning, Sundays inclusive. But the room she sees now is the exact opposite of her being. Everything is upside down. Her beautiful rug has been ripped to pieces and flung to a corner of the room. Her mattress has been ripped to pieces by a maniac, its fluffy content strewn all over the place. Her beautiful chest of drawers has been broken up, the drawers pulled out and the contents flung here and there. The special dresser she bought at a flea market on a visit to Huxing District is smashed to smithereens, and her kitchen has not been spared. Worst of all is her cupboard. All her beautiful and well-arranged clothes have been ripped apart and shredded, Even the floors and ceiling show dents and cracks made by a heavy object. Christy opens her mouth in shock at the tsunami that devastated her paradise, a room she left less than an hour ago.

“Where is the list?” shouts the leader of the hoods in his Chinese accented English.

“What list” murmured Christy fearfully.

“No lies, prostitute,” shouts the other gangster, at the same time landing a heavy blow at the back of Christy’s head. She sprawls on the floor and instinctively opens her mouth to scream. But before any sound could escape from her mouth, the gang leader clamps his calloused fingers on her throat, choking off both sound and air. Christy begins to cough and gasp for air.

“No scream, you hear. No scream or we kill you. Understand?”

Christy nods her head fearfully and the hood relaxes his grip slowly, allowing air to flow into her lungs.

“Where is the list? Where are the papers?”

“I don’t have any list or papers, sir.”

“Liar! You steal list from Shekau in Sambisa forest two years ago. Where is the list?”

“No o! No o!” whispers Christy hoarsely, her heart palpitating irrationally at the mention of that hated name, “Shekau”. The name brings back visions of horror spanning a year in Boko Haram captivity inside Sambisa forest in the northeast of Nigeria. Like a film in slow motion, the events of April 14, 2014 slowly roll across the canvass of her mind.

It was a night of horror, the beginning of many such horrors to come. They were all students of Chibok Girls Secondary School, Chibok, Borno State of Nigeria then writing their Senior School Certificate examinations. They were supposed to write another paper the following day. She and her mates were engrossed in their studies. Mary, like many other girls from impecunious homes was a day student and studying at home. Then the strange order came from the principal that all final year students should come into the hostel for “security reasons”. It was a most inconvenient arrangement but everybody had to obey. There were not enough beds to go round, but because most of the girls read late into the night, they stayed in the classrooms and not in the dormitories. Thinking back now, Mary should have smelled a rat when she noticed that Halimat, the principal’s daughter was curiously absent from the school that night although she was a final year student too. Also absent were some of the teachers who should have been on duty that night.

In the middle of the night, the Boko Haram terrorists struck. Gunshots rent the air and the guards manning the school gates as well as the military men at the checkpoints leading to the school all scampered away. Many staff members also ran for safety. At this point, some of the girls could have escaped by jumping over the low fence surrounding the school. They did not; they obeyed the wrong instruction earlier given to them by their teachers not to try to escape so as not to irk the terrorists. Unchallenged, the terrorists over-ran the school. First, they emptied the food store in the school, carrying away bags of rice, beans, millets and other grains meant for the consumption of the girls. Then they ordered the girls to line up on the sports field, over two hundred girls, and took them into the Sambisa forest in trucks. Not too deep into the bush, some of the girls jumped down from the moving trucks and escaped into the bush. The remaining girls, Mary inclusive, were marched into the Sambisa headquarters of the terrorists where they were given out as brides to fighters, after being forced to renounce Christianity or be slaughtered. The terrorists made scape goats of a few Christian girls who refuse to embrace Islam, slitting their throats in front of their mates. The remaining girls renounced out of fear, embraced Islam by force and were given Muslim names. That was how Mary became Maryam. Ironically, the Muslim girls were given no special treatment. All the captured girls were first treated as slaves, then given out as brides to the rijales, the great fighters for Islam.

Many of the girls were virgins at the time. Mary being a particularly beautiful girl, was one of the seven virgins that Shekau, the Boko Haram leader corralled for his own pleasure. For more than eleven months, Mary was forced to sleep with Shekau every fortnight according to a roster drawn up by the terrorist leader for the women in his harem. The other six girls were Vicky (Fatima), Jane (Islamiyat), Elizabeth (Zainab), Emmanuella (Munirat), Antonia (Sikirat) and Deborah (Rohemat). The seven of them gathered together as often as they could to bemoan their fate and to pray. By that time, all of them had given birth to children but, curiously, not one of those children lived long enough to be named. One day, they were hiding behind a big Baobab tree at the edge of the camp weeping and praying when a shining man suddenly appeared in their midst. Fear gripped their souls and their hearts completely melted in their chests.

“Fear not, daughters of God!” said the shining man. Immediately he spoke these words, a great peace settled on the girls and their heartbeats became normal again.

“Follow me!”

Like persons in the grip of a trance, the girls followed the shining man robotically. They trekked for God knows how long into the forest, looking back constantly in fear that the guards would raise an alarm. But no shout came and no gunshot rang out. Suddenly, they found themselves at the gates of the International Red Cross in N’Djamena. Till date, it is a mystery to the girls how they walked over the landmines protecting Shekau’s headquarters from any surprise attack, and crossed the border between Nigeria and the Republic of Chad without seeing any border post or the immense body of water that constitutes Lake Chad.

“Where is the list, prostitute?” shouts the head hood, giving Maryam a nasty kick in her legs which jars her out of her reveries.

“I have no list. I have no papers, sir!”

“Liar! Strip her!”

The other hood puts his pistol in its holder and pounced on Maryam. In a minute, he has torn the clothes off body, skirt suit, camisole, bras and pants. Maryam opens her mouth to scream, but the head hood pokes his gun in her mouth and that stopped her. In shameful resignation, she allows herself to he stripped nude. The other hood then brings out a pair of surgical scissors and meticulously opens up every stitch line, every seam or crevasse where a small piece of paper could be hidden. He does this for all items of clothing, including the bras and pants, but finds nothing. In annoyance, he shreds everything.

“Check her body!” commands the leader.

His subordinate forced open Maryam’s legs and drives one of his fingers into her anus. Maryam groans in pain but cannot scream because of the gun in her mouth.

“Nothing!”

“Check the other hole!”

Without hesitation, the subordinate drives the same finger into Maryam’s vagina, but his finger runs into a roadblock barely a quarter in.

“You be virgin!” he utters in amazement.

“Shut up, idiot. How can prostitute be virgin?”

“Check youself.”

“Get up!”

The head hood also inserts his finger and runs into the same obstruction. He cannot believe his eyes. Maryam is even more shocked than the two criminals.

“Is it….is it possible?” she wonders aloud, joyful in spite of her present humiliation.

“Shut up. So you be virgin prostitute, eh? I devirgin you now!”

The head hood unbuckles his belt and begins to lower his trousers. At that moment, a big tremor seizes the building and shakes it violently. Taiwan is prone to almost all the major natural disasters in the world: typhoons, tsunamis and earthquakes. The commonest and most relentless is the earthquake whose frequency and tenor are virtually unpredictable. Still, few buildings collapse during earthquakes in Taiwan because their builders stick strictly to the highest building code in the world. Nevertheless, the trauma of a big quake usually leaves the people in shock for a long while. The big quake that hits Maryam’s boys’ quarters is so violent it knocks the door off its hinges and flings the two hoods straight out of the door. Maryam is left alone in the room, stupefied on the floor.

When it is over, the two hoods scramble into the brown Pilot and bolt out of the compound. As the driver turns to the left, retracing their earlier route, a siren begins to wail in the distance, coming closer and closer. In panic, the head hood hangs a desperate U-turn and heads in the opposite direction. The police car immediately gives chase. Another police car follows but stops briefly in front of the compound for Peter and some policemen to alight and run to Christy’s room.

* * *

Peter Ho lives on Wang Estate, uphill to the left of NCCU. He belongs to the Han Chinese ethnic group that constitutes a majority of Taiwan’s population of 23.78 million. The most striking features of the average Chinese man or woman are their average height, slanting eyes and golden-tan complexion. Peter, however, does not fit this general model. Thanks to his American mother, Peter his six feet two inches tall, his eyes are not slanted and his skin is whiter than usual among Asians. All these features make Peter to stand out in a crowd. They also make him practically attractive to his beautiful female compatriots. His father is a retired police officer but his mother, a professor of English, died when he was about fifteen years of age. Peter graduated from NCCU where he studied Business Administration. He now works with the National Bank of Taiwan, Muzha Branch as treasury officer. Three weeks ago, he met Christy at the university sports centre doing her Friday night work out. It was love at first sight for him and for her. In spite of his busy schedule as a banker, they have met every single night since then, and plan to go out after service this Sunday. As he steps out of the estate, he decides to trek briskly down to the bus station and catch 236, the bus that will take him to Gonguan. He has to pass in front of the main gates of the university and as he does, he sees his beloved Christy sandwiched between two gangster-looking men and shepherded into a Sienna van driven by a heavily tattooed man. Alarm bells immediately begin to ring in Peter’s mind.

First, he has never seen Christy with these men in all the three weeks they have been going out together every night. Second, the men all look like members of the notorious White Wolf gang whose base of operations is the waterfront. Third, having been with Christy for a while now, he has observed that she limps slightly on her left leg when she is agitated and has to or is forced to walk unduly fast. Lastly, the look on Christy’s face as she enters the Sienna could only be described in one word: “Terror”.

“Christy!” he shouts as he quickens his pace, but the door of the van closes and the driver guns the vehicle across the Daonan Bridge.

“It’s a kidnap!” shouts Peter to no one in particular.

He runs into the gate house of the university and reports his suspicion to the guards on duty. They tell him they have not observed anything unusual in the street, but to get rid of him, they agree to review the images captured by the CCTV camera covering that stretch of the road. What they see confirms Peter’s suspicion that Christy, an international student of the university has just been kidnapped. Immediately, Peter calls his father and explains what just happened. In less than seven minutes, a police car screeches to a halt in front of the university gates and two officers jump down. Peter explains what he saw and the policemen also watch a review of the whole kidnap event. Then the policemen radio all traffic officers in Wenshan District, asking about the Sienna. At once, the traffic officer at the Muzha Market intersection informs them that the Sienna with three men and a black lady passed by him some ten minutes ago. After calling for backup, the two officers and Peter jump into the patrol car and race to the Muzha Market intersection. The traffic officer gives them the details of the Sienna and its occupants as he remembers them and points to the direction the hoods went. With sirens howling, the patrol car races after the hoods. However, they sight no such vehicle, and no CCTV camera captured it. Under the bridge by Carrefour, a popular multi-story shopping mall, they park to review their situation. Soon after, two other patrol cars stop beside them; the police officers step down and all hold a conference under the bridge, reviewing their progress, more like lack of it. Just them the Sienna cruises past them. Peter who is left out of the conference sees it and shouts:

“There it is! There it is!”

All the policemen rush into their cars and pursue the Sienna. With sirens blaring and lights flashing, other vehicles clear out of their way and the patrol cars soon overtake the Sienna. They flag the driver to stop and crowd him to the kerb until he obeys. About five policemen converge on the Sienna at once, their side arms drawn. The driver is totally shocked but obeys and steps out of the vehicle with arms raised high above his head. He is quickly frisked by a policeman but no gun is found on him, none in his vehicle. When questioned about the kidnap, he denies he ever carried any passengers, certainly not a black lady. The he is shown the CCTV footage recorded at NCCU and knows that the game is up. At that point, he clams up.

“I talk to my lawyer,” is the only thing they get out of him from that moment onwards. By that time, two other patrol cars have joined the team. The arrested hood is taken away in one car, a policeman follows suit driving the Sienna.

The remaining officers hold a conference again. They know that they have to get to Christy fast before she is harmed. Just then, an alert from the CCTV Central Control informs them that the CCTV camera at the back gate of NCCU captured the Sienna passing the gate and returning not too long ago.

“I know where they are!” shouts Peter.

“Where?”

“Christy’s place. Let’s go!”

They all pile into their respective cars and race back the way they came. As they pass by the back gate of the university, they see a brown Pilot making a desperate U-turn and speeding off. The patrol officers instinctively give chase. The second car, however, stops long enough for Peter and a policeman to alight in front of Christy’s compound then continues the chase. The third patrol car drives right into the compound and stops. Peter runs into Christy’s room while the policeman with him enters more cautiously, his gun drawn. The policemen from the third patrol car spill out and surround the small building, guns also drawn and expecting trouble.

“Christy!”

“Peter!”

“Where are you?”

“In the bathroom.”

“Are you okay?”

“I’m okay”

“Come out. You’re safe now. The police are here.”

“I can’t. I’ve no clothes on. Look for any clothes or cloth and pass it to me.”

It is then that Peter looks closely at the room and sees what the policeman noticed as soon as he entered the apartment, the utter devastation of a once-orderly room. Peter begins to search for an item of clothing to pass on to his lover to cover her nakedness.

Meanwhile, the criminals in the Pilot are still hurtling downhill in their bid to escape arrest. The two police cars pursue them relentlessly. As they pile downhill, they come to a T-junction where the road turns right and left. The head hood turns right at the junction.

“Mei! You!” shouts the other hood. His boss hangs a tight U-turn and heads in the opposite direction. They have travelled some two kilometres uphill before they realise their error. That particular road ends in front of a Buddhist temple. Realising their error, the driver tries to turn back but the two patrol cars completely block the road. So the driver flattens the throttle pedal and the Pilot surges uphill like a rocket. As soon as they come to a rocking stop in front of the temple, the criminals jump out and run into the temple. Some worshipers are meditating inside when the hoodlums burst in, brandishing their pistols menacingly. A big panic erupts with priests and worshipers scampering for safety. To ensure maximum chaos, the criminals fire two shots at the huge stature of Buddha that dominates the altar and in the maddened chaos run into the forest behind the temple. Unfortunately, one of the bullets ricochets and hits a policeman in the chest. He slumps. While two policemen stop to attend to their fallen mate, the others continue the chase. One of the two policemen who stopped by their fallen colleague radios Police Central, apprising them of developments. Within minutes, five police helicopters are air-borne and converging on the forest behind the Buddhist temple. They carry sharp shooters who manage to pin down the criminals behind a massive rock with their unrelenting fusillade from the sky. At the same time, the policemen on the ground continuously fire at the cowering criminals. Seeing there is no way of escape, the two hoods put the muzzles of their guns on the forehead of the other and after a shout, pull the triggers. Both fall down dead. The policemen on the ground and in the air gape open-mouthed at the scene in sheer horror.