Onboard the Oha, a cargo ship traveling from Los Angeles to Mansoura, Yemen, David Blanchett was bound to a metal chair in a dark corner of the vessel. His hood was finally removed, and for the first time since being abducted, he saw light again.
"Who… who are you people? Why are you doing this to me?" David stammered, his voice trembling as he looked at the group of men before him. He knew he had been kidnapped, but he had no idea why.
Wham!
His only answer was a brutal punch. The group of Middle Eastern men in front of him didn't hold back—they beat him as if they wanted to kill him. It wasn't until one of them barked something in Hebrew that the others finally stopped.
David's face was a bloodied mess. He swore he had never been beaten like this in his life. Scenes from torture-themed films began flashing through his mind—waterboarding, fingernail extractions, electric shocks, forced drug injections. His imagination ran wild, and the fear inside him grew.
"Please… let me go. I can pay ransom, whatever you want. All my money—it's yours," he pleaded, looking desperately from face to face.
His only response was a round of mocking laughter. That's when he noticed something even more terrifying—none of them were wearing masks.
"Oh God, I'm dead," David realized with dread. "They never planned to let me live. That's why they're showing me their faces…"
The fear hit like a punch to the gut. He began to pray, hoping desperately for divine intervention. But he still couldn't understand why he had been targeted.
The apparent leader stepped forward, flicking a photograph in front of him. In it, David was wearing combat gear, holding a weapon in a dramatic pose.
"We know who you are. Tell us everything—everything you know," the man demanded coldly.
David stared at them, utterly bewildered. He had no idea what they meant. But afraid to question them, he simply started talking.
"My name is David Blanchett. I'm nineteen years old. I just graduated from Victoria Harbor High. I work at Mrs. V's Diner washing dishes. I don't have much money, but you can take it—all of it…"
He was nearly sobbing by the time he finished. But the men grew visibly impatient.
"He's playing games with us," one of them growled, looking at the leader with frustration.
The beatings resumed, even more brutal this time. David's gut convulsed in pain, and his nose bled freely. His left eye was swelling shut.
"Ready to tell the truth now?" the leader asked, pausing the assault.
"Please… stop hitting me. Just tell me what you want to know—I'll say anything," David sobbed.
He could tell now—these weren't regular criminals. If he didn't cooperate, they really would kill him. Judging from the swaying under his feet, he realized he must be on a ship. Which meant he was probably far from any hope of rescue.
Slap!
Another photo hit the floor. The leader grabbed David by the collar, dragging him forward.
"We know you're SEAL Team Six. Give us your unit ID, base location, the missions you've taken part in, names and addresses of other SEALs—everything."
David froze in horror.
They think I'm an actual SEAL?!
Then it hit him—if they were brazen enough to kidnap a Navy SEAL, they had to be something far worse than simple gangsters.
David's fear reached its peak. Why had he been so stupid? Why had he Photoshopped those pictures? Why couldn't he just be a regular military nerd?
"You've got it wrong. I'm not a SEAL. Those pictures were just—"
Thud!
A punch to the gut cut him off mid-sentence. He doubled over and collapsed to the floor.
"He's still holding out on us," the leader said. "SEALs go through brutal training—I know you've been taught to resist interrogation. But trust me, I'll break you. Nasir, he's all yours. Show this special operator how we do things."
"With pleasure, Farah."
"No, listen to me—I swear, I'm just—ugh…"
David tried to plead, but Farah turned and left as Nasir approached with a wicked grin.
The metal door creaked shut.
David knew that was it. His last shred of hope vanished behind that door.
Nasir stepped closer, and David's screams soon echoed through the chamber.
Half an hour later, Farah returned.
David was in terrible shape—Nasir had gone all out, believing he was dealing with a real SEAL. David could barely move. His stomach heaved, and he vomited bile across the floor.
"Please… please… let me go…" he moaned weakly, staring at the boots before him.
He honestly thought he was going to die. Never in his life had he been in so much pain. The regret burned through him—why had he pretended to be a SEAL? Sure, the girls had been worth it for a while—but this?
Farah grimaced in disgust and stepped back, waving off the stench. Nasir looked embarrassed.
"I'm sorry, Farah. I failed you. I used everything I could, but this SEAL is a tough one. He won't crack. All he keeps saying is that he's just a military fan and that the photos were all fakes."
Farah clapped him on the shoulder.
"Don't be discouraged, Nasir. You're one of Allah's most loyal warriors. Even we must admit that the evil Americans train their soldiers well. This one's clearly undergone advanced resistance training. Don't be fooled—he's just pretending to be stupid. Take your time. I know the ship's conditions are limiting your methods, but once we reach Yemen, bring him to our facility. The experts from Al-Qaeda will handle the rest."
Nasir nodded solemnly.
They were part of an Al-Qaeda-affiliated cell operating within the U.S.—an outer-circle group. Their resources were limited, their skills amateur compared to the main organization.
Farah had randomly discovered David's Facebook page. He saw what he believed to be a genuine SEAL Team Six operative and thought he had struck gold. This was his chance to prove his worth to Al-Qaeda. That was how this whole operation began—David had been classified as a "high-value asset" and was being transported to Yemen accordingly.
David heard their conversation, and what little hope he had left disintegrated. He wanted to scream the truth, to tell them he was just a military nerd with a Photoshop addiction. But he was too injured to speak clearly.
And he knew this was only the beginning of the nightmare. Once they got to Yemen… things would be far worse.
Thinking back to what he'd just endured, he actually found himself wishing he were dead.
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