Robbed by Flesh

However, even after paying the ransom, her abductors didn’t keep their part of the bargain. That was until today in the morning when she came with tears in her eyes and confessed.

“It was Rob,” she cried. “My boyfriend. We cooked everything up. Dad, I’m so sorry I stole from you.” Like she was contrite.

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TODAY’S YOUTH—OUR BELOVED SONS AND daughters—are worthless, good-for-nothing schmucks.

My beautiful wife, Lizzie, died seven years ago. The grief almost killed me, but I have at last accepted. Her only legacy to me is her undying love and the most precious gift on earth—our daughter, Joan. I treasure her so much, and I would do anything for her. Well, that’s what I have done. She has everything in this whole wide, wild world.

Nonetheless, Jo is just like any other delinquent. Even after giving her the best education, and the most luxurious life, making her an epitome of envy by her peers, all she could do was rob me. I wish I could understand, but how could she?

When she was kidnapped three weeks ago, and her abductors demanded 10 million shillings’ ransom, I did not hesitate. I could even give the whole world to secure her release.

However, even after paying the ransom, her abductors didn’t keep their part of the bargain. That was until today in the morning when she came with tears in her eyes and confessed.

“It was Rob,” she cried. “My boyfriend. We cooked everything up. Dad, I’m so sorry I stole from you.” Like she was contrite.

How could she? She’s the sole beneficiary of all my wealth.

I’m still wondering—why the hell did she come back?

Photo by Clarke Sanders on Unsplash

Kidnapped

She didn’t feel concerned at first, not until she glanced over her right shoulder and saw the men running, catching up on her, closing in. Within no time, they were onto her. One of the men slammed her to a wall, and before she could scream, an adhesive tape was stuck to her lips, sealing them as though to keep a secret. Plastic cables lashed her wrists and legs together.

Imara Angani

The crew room at Laikipia Air Base was a flurry of activity and a cacophony of telephones ringing off the hook. Fighter pilot Major Ahmednasir Ramah sweated copiously inside his flight suit as he waited anxiously beside the telephone, glancing every few seconds at the crew-room clock.

Deep in his bones, he felt that either this mission would pass as a blip in his military career or it would be his last. Ramah held the telephone handset tight, raised it to his ear, and listened.

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