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When the Lion Wakes

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Re: When the Lion Wakes (IC/open)

Tips: 0.00 INK Postby TFairy on Thu Sep 23, 2010 3:23 pm

On July the fifth, 2005, CSI Morgan Halloran made five phone calls.

The first emotion, after the shock, was pure and utter disbelief. The full impact of what the news reader had just said hadn't sunk in fully, even as Morgan Halloran numbly dialed her sister's mobile number, her sister's flat. Her shaking fingers struggled to dial out the number of the school where Amy worked. She hadn't shown up for work.
An hour had passed since she had heard the news bulletin, and already the fear of losing her last living relative had completely taken over. Her heart was racing, she was breaking out in a cold sweat, and the world was spinning even as she sunk into her sofa.
She explained her situation to her boss at the Crime Lab, and the last, final call was to get her on the next flight to England. The plane took too long to board, too long to leave LA, and took too long to arrive in British Airspace.

Morgan received the call as she took a taxi from the airport. A woman, matching her sister's description, had been taken into hospital with severe injuries. Forced to take many detours, which again, took far too long. When the taxi finally pulled up outside the hospital, she flung the fare at the cabby, and bolted into the hospital, asking every doctor and nurse where she could find Amy Halloran.
Amy was barely recognizable. She was burnt almost beyond recognition, and the few parts of her that had escaped the burns were black with soot. Her hair, once long and a beautiful shade of auburn, was shriveled up and dead. The woman that lay struggling to survive in that hospital bed, was not Morgan's big sister.
Her parents were the reason that Morgan became a Criminalist, and it would be her sister that would eventually influence her to join MI5.

The flight from London was uneventful, and MI5 agent Morgan Halloran had actually slept for most of the flight. She didn't want to make her grand return to the US with jet lag, and the FBI certainly wouldn't appreciate it if she dozed off in the middle of a briefing of some sort.
Morgan sighed softly in the taxi, brushing down her trousers, adjusting her blouse and jacket, and fixing her make-up in a small compact mirror. If she was going to help ensure that Ali was brought to justice, she might as well look her best while doing it. She was quite looking forward to meeting this 'Natalie Schultz'.

I'm screaming I love you so

But my thoughts you can't decode.

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Re: When the Lion Wakes (IC/open)

Tips: 0.00 INK Postby LightingStrikes on Mon Sep 27, 2010 8:58 pm

Kaori continued to work on her projects until she noticed her boss was done with the other agents. She nodded her head and wheeled herself to her boss's office, careful not make any irritating noises other than the scooter she was in and its squeaky wheel that the insurance company refused to fix saying it was the transportation company's fault - who also refused to fix it.

Kaori sighed as she placed the new addresses and names on Natalie’s desk.

Mr. Michael Mrisicove
1995 Mosfilmovskaya Street
Moscow, Russia
<internet address is on all the time>

Mr. Richard Bontalincilio
8456 Via Sant'Andrea
Milan, Italy

“I hope these help you catch the bad guys… Natalie?” Kaori asked as she did a three sixty, knowing that it would annoy Natalie, but she wanted to say something. “I want you to know if you ever need anything out side of work, you can call me, even if it involves work. I may not be an agent, uh - but I was reading the internet chat and they are after you and your cousin. I don’t know when they will strike or where, but I thought you'd like to know… I’m sorry about yesterday; I shouldn’t have called you unless it was an emergency. “ Kaori’s eyes had dark circles under them, indicating that she had been up late working.
When The Lion Wakes

Carnival Missing II

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Re: When the Lion Wakes (IC/open)

Tips: 0.00 INK Postby Tempest on Mon Sep 27, 2010 9:34 pm

Jessica Clark, Director of the Central Intelligence Agency
Langley, Virginia


"He did what?" Even those in the room who knew her well tried to look smaller in their seats as she spoke, her vice so cold and filled with rage that none would meet her eye. "What the fuck was he thinking." It wasn't a question, just a statement and a few people looked visibly worried.

"He wasn't, madam director." Said a man near the back of the room. A few heads turned to size up the man who stuck out amongst them like a sore thumb. At 6'4 and 230 pounds and clad in blue jeans and a black t-shirt with "Bronc Bustin" across the front he hardly fit in with the well dressed six and women who shared the room with him. It would be difficult to tell but William Rapp was one of the most sinister men in the entire CIA. Neither politician nor soldier yet wholly CIA he was one of the men who fought the dirtiest war in the United States history. The Justice Department would love to get their hands on him, the FBI had been looking for him for over a year, and yet here he stood totally unafraid and addressing the Director of the most powerful agency in the world as if she were a friend.

"I am glad someone found their tongue." Snapped the redheaded woman. Her temper matched her hair and no one wanted to lock horns with her over anything, even the President gave her a generous berth. "I have here," She brandished a piece of paper at them like a weapon. "A report from one of our agents that a reporter was allowed in to interview the terrorist Ali by our very own Assistant Director of Intelligence!" Her eyes burned now. "James."

"Jessica." Replied the Head of Counter Intelligence, a man who looked like he belonged in a Marine corps uniform rather then a suit.

"Have the bastard arrested. And confiscate the video feed from the FBI. I don't care what you have to threaten them with. The President is going to explode when he finds out about this. Do it. Now." She technically had no right to order the man around as he was her equal but he nodded, his face grim. The entire group had been as enraged as she had to hear of the taped interview. Without waiting for the door to close behind him she turned to William Rapp.

"Mr. Rapp. Find Mr. Kam and get Ali out of that FBI nest and into our facility in Colorado. I don't care whose arm you have to break or what laws you have to break. To many people know about her and her location."

The heavyset man sketched a salute and vanished out the door. Outside in the hallway he pulled a coded cellphone from his pocket and dialled a number. It rang four times then a gruff voice answered.

"Yea?"

"How soon can you be in Washington?"

"Two hours."

"I will meet you at the company hanger in 3."

"Ten four rubber ducky."

Despite the situation Rapp couldn't help but grin at the response. The two men had fought side by side in Afghanistan, Iraq, Palestine and numerous other conflicts over the past 18 years. They were arguably the two best counter-terrorisrt operatives in the world and now they were being used to ask those skills against the FBI, Rapp laughed out loud. He hated the FBI and its pussy footing around the issues of terrorism. They were fantastic on home turf but when it came to dealing with it abroad, or issues of political correctness, they couldn't find an elephant in a pig pen.

Rapp climbed behind the wheel of a battered looking jeep and roared out of the Langley garage, turning right and racing towards the airport. He dodged traffic with ease, watching once as a police car pulled in behind him. He saw the cops partner punching his license plate into the computer, a sudden look of surprise followed by a quick conversation and the lights went off and the car drew away.

A quick stop at the gate, flashing his ID to the guard who radioed ahead so the standby jet would be ready by the time he took the two minutes to cross the tarmac. he didn't even bother to park the jeep in a stall, he just slammed to a halt next to the plane ramp, threw his keys to a waiting agent and practically flew up the steps.

"Washington Jeeves, step on it!" He shouted to an amused pilot. Settling back in his seat he folded his arms across his chest and fell asleep. It would be a long day.
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Re: When the Lion Wakes (IC/open)

Tips: 0.00 INK Postby Script on Wed Sep 29, 2010 12:45 pm

Dawn's arrival back in Washington was a flurry of phone-calls and hectic travel from building to building.




"You did what? Oh, hell Dawn, you are fucking insane!"

"I know, but I-"

"But what?! You're gonna end up in jail! Then where the hell will your fucking story be?"

"Jordan, I- I have to publish this. This story will make me."

"You know what you are Dawn? You're a fucking kid with no idea what the hell she's doing. This story is going to do nothing but ruin your fucking life. How 'made' will you feel rotting in a jail cell?"




"Seven hundred thousand. If you can give me this story, exclusively. And you have the tapes?"

"Yes."

"Good. Get it to me within the week. You'll want to lay low for a while though. I don't need to know where you go, but you certainly don't want to be anywhere where the FBI can get hold of you. I recommend leaving the country. Think of that as friendly advice. Talk to someone about disappearing."




"Calling in another favour, Dawnie? You'll owe me for this one."

"Shut up. I know fully well. But you knew what you were offering me, and you know why I need to disappear once I have this money and this story."

"I'll arrange it. I'll call you back."




"Jordan! We can make this work! Seven hundred grand - think of what we could do with that money! We can make a fresh start somewhere else. I can get Logan to help you too, I-"

"No, Dawn. I'm sorry. I have family here, I have an education to worry about, friends. I can't just up and disappear. I'm sorry. I love you. When the FBI ask me, I don't know where you went. Goodbye."

"Jordan! Wai-"




Now, Dawn was sat at her laptop, putting the finishing touches to her article. She sat in the back room of a friend's apartment with a suitcase full of her belongings. She already knew that going back to her own house would be stupid. The young woman was starting to think she really ought to learn to think before she jumped... But then, this was big money. Apart from Jordan, Dawn didn't really have any close friends or family outside of the journalism world. There were a few girls who she met with a lot, went out with, spent her free time, but they'd get by without her. Her father was dead, and her mother seldom contacted her.

For the last time, Dawn hit 'save', and closed the computer lid. This time tomorrow, she'd be on a plane to England, with a new passport, a new haircut and colour, and a new identity. She had money enough to set her up very comfortably there, and she (or more aptly, Taylor Hunt - that was her new name) already had a permanent job offer on a London paper. She really owed Logan big time. Bastard seemed to know everyone worth knowing in the world ...

Strangely, though, Dawn felt oddly dissatisfied. In just two days, her life was suddenly being erased from the books. Everything that made her Dawn Keating would have to go. All trace of her was going to be thrown into a paper shredder. That was a significantly daunting prospect.

But it was better than the alternative.

Dawn tucked her laptop into its bag and set off to the headquarters of the Washington Post.
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(03:04:15) Lialore says: I wanted to be the poo.

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Re: When the Lion Wakes (IC/open)

Tips: 0.00 INK Postby Lego's Apex Predator on Fri Oct 01, 2010 8:03 pm

Joslyn nodded to her self before she moved back to her cubicle. She needed to get to work and get caught up on whatever she had missed. She still wasn't feeling well but she wasn't going to let that get in the way. The moment she let that happen she should hand in her badge. After booting her computer up and logging in she started to work on locating everything that had probably piled up while she had been gone. She checked her e-mail to see if anything new had come up and since it hadn't she closed that down and starting watching her usual channels to see if anything had happened.

Much to her dismay everything looked much the same. Most of the time she'd expect to see a hit or two but it seemed as if everything was frozen. Must be that everyone was in shock it seemed. That wasn't going to bode especially if she was going to get anything done at work today. She sneezed into a tissue and threw it into the wastebasket under her desk and used a little hand sanitizer. She had a sudden feeling that it was going to be a slow day.
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Re: When the Lion Wakes (IC/open)

Tips: 0.00 INK Postby Ylanne on Sat Oct 02, 2010 4:44 pm

Supervisory Special Agent Natalie E. Schultz
FBI Headquarters
J. Edgar Hoover Building
935 Pennsylvania Avenue, NW
Washington, DC


There was a long pause before Natalie answered. “Don’t worry about it,” she said, not turning to face Kaori as she spoke. “Call whenever the need necessitates itself. I may be unable to answer the phone, but that does not relegate your thoughts to a lower status.” She turned a moment. “I need to meet a British woman, a Morgan Halloran. I will be back later.”

Natalie flashed Kaori a smile, leaving a message on the bulletin board by her office door informing the team she would be back upstairs at some point later that day, with her cell number circled. She headed for the elevator, pressing the down button three times at one second intervals, and when the doors opened, stepped inside, heading downstairs to wait for Morgan’s arrival.

In the main lobby of the FBI building, Natalie perched herself on the corner of the receptionist’s desk, much to the woman’s chagrin – receiving only a half-disguised glare for her efforts – legs swinging over the desk, blackberry in front of her. So many messages to respond to, when she would rather be home alone, sprawled on the floor, without the hullabaloo and herself at its epicenter.

Afghanistan had even been less stressful than this situation. Called in to work with the CIA’s counterterrorism operations, Natalie had been stationed in Kabul for two years, her daughter living with Casie for the duration. She remembered the feeling of liberation from the bureaucratic red tape that seemed to suffocate her work in DC, remembered long excursions into the mountains along Pakistan’s border in the hunt for insurgents related to Al Qaeda and Hataf, capturing terrorist operatives and killing those who preferred to pull out a Kalashnikov rather than surrender.

It wasn’t the sort of work that would normally be sanctioned in the States, but there was a war. And that proved justification enough for plenty, Natalie had discovered long ago. She had been needed and she had been serving her country’s needs nearly her entire life. Joining the FBI was not merely a matter of convenience or the persuasion of a recruiter.

“Agent Schultz!” a voice called, from across the lobby. She turned her head in the direction of the voice, tapping her pen against the desk. A short, stocky man strode across the floor, waving others aside. “I expect a briefing later today, conference room upstairs.”

“On what?” Natalie asked, tilting her head back even as her eyes rolled down to stare at the FBI’s Director, more distracted by his choice of cologne – she had nicknamed it Eau de Homme – than by his words. Edwards’s hair was tousled, the part uneven, she noticed, one finger sporting a papercut.

“The current situation with Ali,” he responded, nodding at her once. “Today, Agent Schultz.” He waited a moment before continuing on his way to the elevator, punching the button for the top floor.

Natalie returned her gaze to a potted plant by the wall, noting that though it was fake, the choice of fabric and dye gave it a realistic appearance. Morgan Halloran would be here soon. After a moment, she returned her attention to her Blackberry, finger rubbing against the pad as she tried to focus, drowning out the voices of the others in the lobby.
​“Another world is not only possible, she is on her way. On a quiet day, I can hear her breathing.”
― Arundhati Roy

“The only way to survive is to take care of each other.”
― Grace Lee Boggs

“every day is another chance to practice living out the values that matter most to us. to be our best selves. to be the legacy we want to leave.”
― Mia Mingus

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Re: When the Lion Wakes (Closed)

Tips: 0.00 INK Postby LightingStrikes on Mon Oct 18, 2010 2:41 pm

Gou Furukawa had done the dishes for his sister. He took in a deep breath and then let it out again. He decided he would go to Kaori’s office and have lunch with her again, this time with out the harassment of asking her about her supervisors. Gou figured he had gone overboard, recklessly disregarding Kaori's feelings in his quest for knowledge.

When he arrived downtown, Gou parked two blocks away from the FBI building and walked inside, clearing security. He approached the receptionist’s table, having forgotten Kaori's floor. Gou smiled, or tried to, when he saw Natalie Shultz, recognizing her from the profile he had. The receptionist, however, must have been new; when the woman asked who he was and why he was there, Gou only chuckled and shook his head.

“You FBI are all the same. I am here to see my sister and take her out to lunch; is that a crime?” he asked simply.

“Name.” she said with a toughness in her voice that said she was in no mood for any bullshit.

Gou hated coming here and glared over at Natalie for a moment. She was too close to him for comfort. She was within his reach. He could take her on; she would never know it was coming. Gou looked around and saw that the guards were limited in number really, only six, and then there was that asinine receptionist. His parents had decided to go on vacation, and Kaori wouldn’t be home till late. He could hide Natalie in the basement; Kaori would never find her. Gou began to think of the ways he could get Natalie today. He imagined the downfall of the FBI agent would go something like this:

Gou gave Natalie an icy cold glare. He decided to make his move. Gou ran behind the desk and grabbed Natalie’s gun, turning it on her. At the same moment, while she was still surprised, he also grabbed her wrist, twisting it behind her.

“Make a move and I’ll blow your fucking head off,” Gou hissed. He shoved Natalie down to face the desk and slid his hand over her for her handcuffs, hoping she had a pair. Once he found them, he handcuffed Natalie's hands behind her back. Turning to see the receptionist coming up after him, he shot her. She fell, dead on impact. Gou pointed the gun back at Natalie’s head. “Tell them to back the fuck off or you're going to die next, Ms. Shultz.”


“Your name, sir? Is everything all right?” Gou heard the faint voice of the receptionist drawing him back to reality as he frowned at Natalie, blinking as realized that the receptionist had asked him a question.

“Gou Furukawa.” Gou said. “Kaori Furukawa is my sister; I’m here to have lunch with her. It’s her birthday today,” Gou added with a smile.

“Do you have an appointment with Kaori?” The receptionist frowned. She never asked this many questions but Kaori was everyone’s favorite person.

“I’m her brother. Do I need an appointment?” The receptionist shook her head no. “I didn’t think so, it’s not like Agent Shultz would even notice she’s missing for an hour. Now give me my visitor's badge and quit stalling me.” Gou was impatient enough and he had all but forgotten that Natalie was even there; his focus was on the irritating woman in front of him. The guards heard his raised voice and looked at the receptionist for the signal to advance and arrest him. When none came they went all went about their daily business.

“Damn FBI anyway. Why the hell did my sister get the damn job here… she could have made millions working for computer developers in my field,” Gou snapped, “but noooo… she has to be loyal to her boss… damn woman probably wouldn’t even notice if Kaori got sick and couldn’t come into work,” Gou mumbled. Of course when Gou made up his mind up about something it rarely ever changed. He didn't have a particularly high opinion of Natalie at the moment.

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Re: When the Lion Wakes (Closed)

Tips: 0.00 INK Postby Aliath on Tue Oct 19, 2010 7:30 pm

Captain Joseph B. Lauzon
National Defence Headquarters
101 Colonel By Drive
Ottawa, Canada
Eight months ago


"You have an outstanding service record, Joseph," said Gordon Churchill, Minister of National Defence. The man was a retired general; that meant a lot. Retired or not, it put Joseph off to be called by his first name like that. It's not like he knew the guy personally, not to mention he was still his boss. They were in his office. Joseph had just driven three hours from Laval, where he had been called two days prior.

"You have two recorded and confirmed sniper kills at over 2,000 yards each. Pretty impressive. I could go on... Needless to say, you know how to handle yourself. Not to mention we need a team leader." Gordon leaned back in his chair, and he took a more serious air. Even more serious, that is. Gordon was a very intimidating man, with his military-short gray hair and hard-set features. There was a moment of silence.

"Have you ever heard of Task Force Arrowhead?" he finally said.

"No, sir." Joseph replied, noting how cheesy the name sounded.

"Good. It's a quick-reaction force that was to be set up in 2011. But of course, there has been a change of plans. That was to be expected. The unit will be comprised primarily of JTF2 and CSOR assaulters pulled out of their main companies. We're making some exceptions, as in your case. But unlike JTF2 or CSOR... Well, Arrowhead commandos will have more operational freedom.

"To put this into perspective; You won't be hunting Serbian snipers, or Taliban leadership in Afghanistan." he chuckled. "And you will most certainly not be on security detail during the Olympics." he paused, and scratching his chin he said, "As far as the Canadian public is concerned, you won't even exist."

That last sentence sent chills down Joseph's spine. He did not like what he was hearing.

"You're free to decline, and you can forget we ever had this conversation and go back to Montreal." Gordon continued. "Or you can do what you do best, lead a team. What do you say, Joseph?"

"Count me in, sir." Joseph forced a smile.
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Re: When the Lion Wakes (Closed)

Tips: 0.00 INK Postby Ivanol on Fri Oct 22, 2010 11:45 pm

Alderson waited idly downtown, outside the Rozzano pizza restaurant. The day had become hazy with fog and congested with cars, and there were far too many people wearing black for Alderson’s liking. Congestion on the streets; perhaps this was why Joan was eight minutes late. Alderson checked the message on his phone again, suddenly apprehensive and suspicious of the woman he was supposed to be having lunch with. His black overcoat seemed to hang limp upon his shoulders.

At 3:15, a woman stood near him on the curb, having just stepped out of a weathered taxi. “Excuse me, are you Joan?” Alderson asked, just as the woman was turning to walk away. Her heels clicked along the sidewalk to fill the absence of her response. “No, but I am”, said a voice behind him. Alderson whipped around to see a short, female figure with wavy brunette hair and what many would consider too much makeup. “Aren’t FBI agents supposed to be good at finding people or something?” Alderson didn’t immediately respond, picking apart her details before responding.

“Good afternoon! I’m Alderson”, he said with false confidence, “so, who exactly are you?” Joan gave him a hard look. “Joan”, she replied sarcastically.

Alderson scowled. He was usually patient, but he found his temper unusually high.

“I’m on an important case, and I left early to come down here. You’re thirty minutes late. Did you know being thirty minutes late to an important audience in the Dark Ages could get you beheaded? Your Emily’s friend? Why won’t she talk to me? Come inside, we can have something to eat while you explain everything to me.”

The gentle swoosh of car’s along the streets signified that the traffic was breaking. The noise also filled the silence as Joan, chewing a piece of gum like a horse, processed Alderson’s response. She didn’t seem to notice that Alderson was visually checking her for a gun, or that he had one of his own hidden in his overcoat.

“Is that like, a threat?”

“What?”

“Never mind. This won’t take long anyway. I’m Emily’s BFF which is the only reason why I’m doing this for her.”
Alderson examined her face. It was twisted in the sort of way a bratty teenager’s was, but she happened to be a thirty year old woman. “You’re her best friend? What do you mean by that last part? His eyes darted across the downtown scene, a brief check for danger or suspicious elements that could possibly lead to his assassination.

She popped a Tylenol into her mouth. Alderson examined the bottle.

“I mean she doesn’t want to see or talk to you, Alderson, so like, I’m saying it for her. Stop clogging her voicemail with messages. What are you looking at anyway?” She turned to examine the scene behind her, but saw only the road, as the traffic was now moving along at a temperate pace. Spitting out her gum on the sidewalk, she slipped another piece into her mouth, also chewing this one like a horse.

“Why?” Said Alderson immediately, his hopes and dreams for the meeting having just been violently crushed. His usual mask of composure was completely off, and he turned a full circle to check the area, which Joan found rather strange.

“Didn’t say, seemed reluctant. Probably because your like, a freak, spinning and looking places.”

“Didn’t she tell you anything? Can you tell me at least one thing about her?”

“I’m leaving now”, she said, as though expecting to be serenaded down the street. Alderson begged her to stop, but she continued walking. He was crushed by the image of this makup-masked woman, walking imperiously down the sidewalk. Away from him. Suddenly he felt as though his stomach was imploding into flames.

“You stupid bitch!” He yelled after her, “I’ve been looking for her for years and you can’t tell me a single thing?” She kept walking, though faster. “Yeah? That Tylenol bottle of your is from 2008, there was a mass recall that year for a large batch of infected products! That number on the bottom of your bottle is a match!”

People across the sidewalk turned to look at him.

In the distance Alderson saw Joan whip out the bottle to check the date. At the same moment, Alderson added her number to permanent contacts. Since the traffic had congested again as quickly as it had lifted, he cut through the street.

Broken and depressed, he headed home to sit in the corner with the blinds down and lights out.

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Re: When the Lion Wakes (Closed)

Tips: 0.00 INK Postby Script on Mon Oct 25, 2010 9:49 am

"See that this hits the press for tomorrow's paper."

"You needn't worry about that, Dawn. This is the story of the decade, and we aren't risking a leak."

"You can send the payment to this account." Dawn handed the man a slip of paper with an account number and transfer details. "You won't hear from me again. This is me dropping off of the face of the media with a bang."

The man grinned, patting Dawn on the back. "The media will miss you. I somehow doubt we've seen the last of you, girl, but maybe the last of Dawn Keating. Good luck wherever the hell you're going."




The drive from the Washington Post building had been nerve racking. Had anyone seen her? Was she being traced now? How long did she have? Hopefully long enough. Bloody hell. This was turning out to be more trouble than it was worth. The sacrifices she made for news...

She was early for her appointment at the hair salon, but they weren't busy (what with it being a week day during work hours), and slotted her in when she arrived. The treatment took over an hour, but when Dawn emerged, she was a different person.

Her hair was now black, and cut into a short, slightly curled at the bottom bob, complete with a fringe. Dawn examined herself in a shop window as she walked, and shook her head. It was a startling change. Her own mother wouldn't recognise her now -- though that wasn't that much of a feat. Jordan would, though.

If she was ever going to see him again. Which she wasn't.

Christ, that was depressing.




At the airport, some time later, a young woman by the name of Taylor Hunt passed through customs with little fuss. Her passport and papers checked out, and there was little reason for her to be noted any more than the other passengers on the flight to Gatwick.

Dawn Keating was still at her apartment. Papers, IDs and the passport in her name were stuffed away in various places around the flat, suggesting that the journalist had no way to leave the country. Her cards and similar traceable commodities found their home in a public bin in the town centre, cut up.

Taylor Hunt boarded the plane in the late afternoon, and settled herself in for the long haul.

Both literally and metaphorically.

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Re: When the Lion Wakes (Closed)

Tips: 0.00 INK Postby Tempest on Mon Oct 25, 2010 7:02 pm

Dulles International Airport - CIA Hanger #4
Washington DC


The screech of tires hitting tarmac awoke Rapp as the Falcon 50 touched down at Dulles International Airport. It taxied into the private section of the airfield and into a hanger that looked like every other one around it. As the heavy doors slowly closed behind the plane Rapp dropped the stairs and more or less leapt down them as he headed towards a massive blue Dodge mega-cab truck. He pulled open the passenger door and slid into the seat. His eyes met those of the huge Israeli and the two men grinned.

"Good to see you." Said Rapp as he shook the other man's hand.

"Likewise. Whats the mess we are sorting out this time?"

"Deputy Assistant Director of Counter-Intelligence. Let some reporter in to see the terrorist Ali without permission."

"Your fucking joking?" Retorted Azzan as he turned the key and the huge diesel engine roared to life. "This country has more fucking morons then anywhere else in the world." He slid the big engine into drive and the truck rolled out of the vehicle entry and onto the road that passed behind the hanger. Unable to resist he slammed the pedal down so the massive engine roared and the truck jumped like a startled hare, tearing down the narrow road. "Got a plan?"

Rapp raised an eyebrow at him, marvelling how his long time friend and co-worker could hold a conversation while driving 1.5 tonnes of steel through busy traffic at 80 mph without even seeming to blink. "Of course I have one. We find the bastard and snatch him."

"Nice, simple, easy to remember. I like it." Replied Azzan as he deftly dodged a BMW that blared its horn angrily at the big truck, receiving a big middle finger in reply. "Fucking civi's. Someone ought to teach them how to drive."

The truck turned onto the main boulevard and began to weave through traffic like smoke. Azzan was pushing it, probably 15 above the limit. It might get him noticed but they had to get their hands on Reeves and fast before he managed to hide himself somewhere it would be hard to get at him. Rapps phone suddenly rang and he slid it from its holster, checked the name and grinned. "Its the boss." He hit the accept button. "Go for god."

"Shut up." Came the snapped reply. "I hear your in Washington. I told you get Ali."

"I understand Jessica. But we need to grab Reeves as well before he can hide behind the Bureau. Ali we can get afterwards."

There was a long pause. "Very well. Our agents in the city say he is enjoying a luncheon with his family down at the centre street Montana's. Apparently kids eat free today. Can you take him without his family witnessing it."

Rapp didn't even bother to reply. "I'll call you when we have him." The phone went dead. He relayed the directions to Azzan and the truck rumbled into a swinging left turn and aimed downtown. As it drove Rapp checked his sidearm and then his watch. They could have Reeves in custody and be on a jet back to Virginia within the next three hours if all went well. He picked up his phone, they would need to make some arrangements while they drove. He punched in a number and listened to it start ringing.
* * * * *


Deputy Assistant Director for Counterintelligence, Kyle Reeves, was enjoying his luncheon with the family. He had managed to get Dawn in and out of the prison without any difficulties and considered his job well done. He smiled and wiped some barbecue sauce from the corner of his youngest sons mouth. "Be right back." He said as he began to stand. "I have to use the little boys room."

His wife smiled at him and nodded as he made his way towards the washroom. Once out of sight he stepped swiftly through the patio door and onto the open air deck where he drew out his phone. He punched in a number and called his secretary, idly watching as a huge blue dodge pickup truck rolled into the parking lot.

"Yea, Lisa. Have you heard anything?" He listened for a moment and the blood drained from his face. "They what? How do they know? Where are they? Coming here??" All his worst fears had suddenly come to a realization. The CIA somehow knew he had let a reporter in! He was fucked! He needed to disappear and fast. He thanked Lisa and closed his phone, turning to go back inside and finding his way blocked by what he at first took to be a biker. The man was a monster with a blonde red beard and shoulder length hair. The man muttered what he took to be an apology and stepped back.

Reeves squeezed past him into the hallway and found himself faced with another biker. This man smiled at him. "Sir. We are they."

It took Reeves a moment to understand what the man meant and as the realization dawned he turned to flee but the second "biker" had followed him into the narrow hallway. There would be no escape. He opened his mouth to call out but something crashed into the base of his skull and he blacked out.

An hour later Rapp and Azzan were back in the blue Dodge barrelling towards the airport even as Kyle Reeves woke with a splitting headache to find himself in a small jail cell clad in an orange jumpsuit. His shouts for a guard went unanswered and as the lights in the cold hallway outside began to shut off one by one he broke down and cried.

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Re: When the Lion Wakes (Closed)

Tips: 0.00 INK Postby TFairy on Sun Nov 07, 2010 7:15 am

Security, as always, was a nightmare. They almost always expected a British agent to be a suave James Bond-esque man, or at the very least, an attractive woman in a low cut dress, a gun in her purse, with a strong British accent. Halloran's 'respectable' suit, holstered weapon and Californian accent shook the security personnell's stereotype to its core, especially when her fingerprints, eye scan and ID checked through.
"God bless America." She muttered, clipping on her ID and making her way through before anyone could find another security check they hadn't run on her.

Halloran scanned the lobby as she entered. Nothing was too unusual; various people were scurrying around, some talking in hushed tones to their superiors, others on blackberries and various smart phones, a few stressed individuals in a rush to a briefing of some sort, a man getting nowhere at the reception desk. She spotted a woman on the edge of the desk, absorbed in her blackberry. The woman fitted Natalie Schultz's description, and certainly looked like one of the Federal Agency's finest.

Halloran approached the woman, extending her hand in greeting. "Special Agent Schultz? I'm Agent Morgan Halloran, from British Military Intelligence. I understand we're going to be working together."

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Re: When the Lion Wakes (Closed)

Tips: 0.00 INK Postby Ylanne on Mon Nov 08, 2010 7:46 pm

Supervisory Special Agent Natalie E. Schultz
FBI Headquarters
J. Edgar Hoover Building
935 Pennsylvania Avenue, NW
Washington, DC


The email flashed across the screen. One moment, she had been reminding Sofia about the physics test later that day, and the next, a message from one of her informants, a man she hadn't heard from in months and had presumed unwilling to talk.

J. Stokes ordered Ali's death. GC knows.

Terse. She checked the originating IP address, cross referencing with a list she had committed to memory long ago. Sent from the New York area, the Bronx. Natalie pinged the server. No response.

Natalie pondered the contents of the message. J. Stokes would be Jennifer Stokes, the Director of the American Division of Hataf, a woman her task force had been hunting for almost three years now; Stokes' predecessor was dead. Ali was, of course, Tahira Ali. GC, on the other hand, was more ambiguous. It could refer to either the General Council, which was the lower tier of Hataf's bicameral governing body, or it could refer to the Great Council, which encompassed both the upper and lower tiers. She furrowed her brow in confusion. It was almost impossibly to determine from the curt message to which body the informant was referring. Or the reason for its brevity.

As if from a distance, she heard a man's angry voice within a radius of ten feet. Through her peripheral vision, Natalie spied a Japanese man with many similar facial features to Kaori Furukawa standing next to her, engaged in a heated discussion with the receptionist who evidently disliked both of them. She heard her name spoken, tuned in after that, to listen to the stranger speak in a seemingly derogatory manner about her.

She opened her mouth, started to retort, when she heard her name spoken again, this time from the young woman rapidly approaching, hand outstretched. Natalie blinked, recalling from her subconscious everything the woman - Morgan Halloran, she retrieved - had just said to her. Natalie slid her Blackberry into her pocket, slipping from the counter to take Morgan's hand in a bone-crushing shake before hurriedly releasing the other woman's fingers.

"A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Morgan," Natalie said, her gaze sliding over to the woman's cheek without meeting her eyes. Unlike the security personnel who had been too busy comparing Morgan's identification with her appearance and comportment, Natalie seemed occupied with studying the state of her skin. "I've been anticipating your arrival and entrance for the past forty-seven minutes and fifty-three seconds. I trust your journey was uneventful and you come with a briefing for me. Let's speak upstairs, where the probability of being overheard by unwanted eavesdroppers is reduced at least four hundred percent."

She led the other woman over to the elevator, where she pressed the up button thrice, one second between each tap. "We can speak in the briefing room; my office is not conducive to pleasant conversation or lengthy briefings," Natalie continued in her trademark monotone, her voice conveying no detectable emotion or judgment. "At the moment, I am occupied with numerous concerns related to the situation at hand, but I have allotted anywhere from one to two hours to debrief you alone."

The elevator doors opened.

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Re: When the Lion Wakes (Closed)

Tips: 0.00 INK Postby LightingStrikes on Mon Nov 08, 2010 11:21 pm

Gou came up to Kaori’s desk. Kaori blinked and looked up at him, and then glared. She was still angry about what had happened the previous day. She sighed and looked back at her computer work, printing up some more addresses for Natalie. This time some of the higher ranking Hataf members who she had been able to electronically trace.

“What are you doing here, Gou?” Kaori said rather coldly as she moved her electric chair from behind her desk to the machine printing the last hour's work. She glared at the printer as it began to eat her paperwork, its screen flashing the words "paper jam". Kaori sighed. “Damn.” Kaori swore and shook her head.

“I came to take you to lunch.” Gou said simply.

Kaori blinked and then looked at the printer and hit it with the palms of her hand. “Not today, Gou,” Kaori said simply. “I’m far too busy. Natalie’s given me work that can’t wait.”

Unfortunately for Kaori, her brother wasn’t taking no for an answer. Gou walked behind her wheelchair and shut off the motor. He started to push her towards the elevator. Kaori blinked and glared up at her brother. She crossed her arms. Then she started to mumble something in Japanese that only Gou could understand. He began to chuckle. Gou did not even give Kaori a chance to shut down her computer or grab her purse; after all, he was treating and Kaori did not drink unless she was at home.

Kaori told Gou to stop; when he didn’t she looked up at him. “Damn it Gou! I said I didn’t want you coming to my job anymore… Stop pushing me around…” She grumbled loud enough to catch the ear of her boss whom they were passing by in the hallway. “Gou stop pushing me!”

“Fine, you're crippled and weak! After everything I do for you, you can’t even be grateful. You wouldn’t last a day on your own.” Gou said as he stopped. Gou did not care that all the eyes were now on him and some even were glaring at him, he folded his arms. This would be an interesting scene except most people around would feel sympathetic towards Kaori. Kaori saw someone, another co-worker run and make a call. She assumed to security.

“I am not crippled! Nor am I weak!” Kaori hissed now, she never thought of herself as that; in truth she had gotten stronger since working here.

“Yea? You can’t even walk, or stand.” Gou challenged. Kaori glared she took a hold of her arms of her chair.

“Don’t push it Gou.” Kaori hissed dangerously, she was normally go-lucky-happy person, Kaori glared at her brother and grabbed the arms of the wheel chair she bent down and pushed up her feet holder placing her feet on the ground. “I am not weak!” she snapped and shakily, ever so shakily began to move and stand up. She couldn’t walk quiet yet, but Gou needed to be put in his place. “I am still in charge of my life Gou. I think you will leave now.” Kaori moved her hand from the arms of the chair, and shakily took a step forward to Gou. “And move out of my house…”

Gou blinked and stared at his sister. He was taken by surprise he watched his sister take a step and the saw her fall to the ground, he started to laugh at this and shook his head “You are still weak …” Gou “Your heart belongs in the wrong place.” Gou said now he turned to see Natalie Schultz the FBI agent, he gave her a look of deep satisfaction. Gou tried to pick Kaori up for further humiliation, but Kaori struggled with him too much and he eventually dropped her back to the floor.

“Let me be Gou!” Kaori cried out angrily. Gou glared at his sister and then kicked her over so her back was on the ground

“Fine…” he leaned down and whispered dangerously “I’ll leave, but Kaori, you haven’t heard the end of me.” Gou said. “By the way, Happy Birthday.” Gou tossed a thick envelope and it landed on Kaori’s stomach. Gou turned around to face Natalie Schultz and flew the visitor's badge at Natalie Schultz and glared at both his sister and the women she called boss, his cold icy glare went right to Natalie Schultz. “I bet anything you're as stupid as your employee.” he snarled at Natalie then he turned and began to walk out. Just as he went in one elevator the guard came out of another and came up to Kaori, he tried to help her up. Kaori became aware of a guard trying to help her back.

“No…” She shoved him off her and slid over to the wheel chair, she grabbed the arms and pulled herself up to standing position, she grabbed a guard’s hand and nodded as he helped her turn around and then she sat down in her wheel chair. Andy a guard picked up the envelope and gently handed it to her.

Kaori took the envelope her brother had given her and blinked. Her birthday was today? No… it wasn’t; he was a month early, what had gotten into him? Kaori blinked again as she looked at the envelope. Then she looked down in embarrassment by what happened just now and in front of her boss, the woman that was her inspiration.

Andy gently leaned down and whispered to Kaori, “Ms. Furukawa, are you hurt?” Kaori shook her head no. “Do you want me to push you to your desk or the break room?” Kaori shook her head no again. She hadn’t attended for anyone to see that she could stand or even that she was trying to learn to walk. She looked up and whispered something in the guard's ears. He nodded stood up and smiled. “I can do that for you.” he went to the back of her chair and turned on the electric switch in the back and smiled “How about that birthday lunch?” he said gently. Kaori looked up and shook her head no. “It’s still your birthday, brother or no brother.”

“My birthday isn’t until next month.” Kaori said now with a weak voice, she was tired of fighting with her brother then she looked up at Andy and then to her Boss. “Don’t ever let him in here again to see me.” Kaori said now and then mumbled something in Japanese about her brother being a jack ass, people around her could clearly understand the American names but not what Kaori was saying. Kaori also in the process mentioned Natalie’s name, as she continued to mutter in Japanese. Kaori was very shaken up and she only slipped into her native tongue when she was upset. Then she looked up and said clearly in English and to no one in particular “I have to go back to work.” Kaori said she began to turn her wheel chair around and started to head for her desk.

Kaori began to wonder just how valued her work was here. Natalie had after all allowed Fred to take her to do dumb down work. Kaori at the moment couldn’t bear to look Natalie in the eyes; she was embarrassed that Natalie had seen her in a weak moment; she was embarrassed that people saw what she had been putting up with for the last five years.

Maybe Gou was right. Maybe she was underpaid and under appreciated. And then Kaori had the most awful feeling of being devalued. Natalie had always made her feel important with the work she had her do. Kaori frowned at her own thoughts as she was now at her desk. Her hand shaking as she tried to push the buttons on the keyboard of her computer. but couldn’t quite manage for her brother had upset her that much. Kaori right then and there placed her hands to her face and started to cry. She didn’t care much that everyone could see her, but she had lost her family, and now her brother. Being humiliated in front of her own boss didn’t help any, falling down, everything came toppling over Kaori. To make the whole thing worse, the week was only beginning and it was a terrible week. The worst thing was she would be all alone tonight when she got home. That big house, for the first time since her family's deaths, Kaori would be all alone in it.

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Re: When the Lion Wakes (Closed)

Tips: 0.00 INK Postby Skallagrim on Thu Nov 25, 2010 10:38 pm

Mali-Western Africa, southwest of Algeria.
A small village 70 miles north of Taoudenni.


Build-up:

The news had reported it, the world had reacted in horror and the official American response was one of condemnation and harsh words. It had been nearly three months since the kidnapping of the 23 aid workers. It was reported that they had all been killed by members of the al-Para. The truth of the matter is that the men were all tortured and beheaded, while the seven women were repeatedly raped for nearly two weeks before they too were beheaded and left in a field near the Red Cross facilities.

Now the unofficial American response was about to be executed upon the terrorist who had foolishly let slip where they were hiding. They had believed that they were untouchable by the most powerful military in the world. Today they would regret that arrogant belief.

The twelve man team had been inserted three days before, at a dusty map reference just south of the Algerian border. They had traveled fast and light, moving along dry washes and along dusty animal trails. Moving during the day and night until they finally reached their objective. A mud and waddle village surrounded by corrugated steel walls that were slapped together haphazardly.

The village of 300 was a dirt poor place, everyone pulled together to provide enough food so that everyone could survive. However the villagers were very much in fear of the 28 members of the a-Para who had taken refuge within. All hardened extremists who enjoyed their power at the end of a gun barrel. Their leader, Babafemi Umi, was a particularly nasty individual. He used his power to take what ever girl he wanted in the small village. Once he was done he would cast her to his men to use until they had their fill. While the men of the village raged, wanting to fight back, they were powerless, having only machetes and knives against Kalashnikov rifles.

Outside, nearly two-hundred yards away in the low lying scrub, the men waited and watched. Their dusty, and sweat stained BDU's hiding them from casual observation. As the setting desert sun dipped low on the western horizon the men stirred. They watched more intently now, they referred to the photos taken by the UAV's over this area and studied them. There was a solitary two story building that had a heavy machine gun mounted atop it along with several technicals parked out front.

In the gloom Mario frowned as he eyed the photos, he chewed the protein bar slowly as he made mental notes. Passing the pictures around he nodded, it had been agreed they would split the teams and approach from three different directions. He was given the front door so to speak. Glancing at the ramshackle hut that was used as a guard post, he narrowed his eyes a moment before a soft exhale escaped.

Current local time: 04:23 am.

The three teams split up and advanced in twos toward their entry points. Mario moved in crouching run along the scattered scrubs that lay a few feet off the dirt road that led to the village. Behind him the other three members of his team followed in the same manner, their feet making soft crunching sounds on the sand and dirt mixture. As they moved closer Mario dropped to a knee, raising his fist the others stopped and dropped as well, their weapons trained in different directions. They had covered nearly half the distance when the guard appeared from the hut.

A tall, thin man wearing a dirty shirt and worn woodland camouflage pants, a web belt slung around his hips. The man had an AK-47, carrying it nonchalantly. He stood under the pale yellow light that hung from a tall wooden pole. The hazy light gave the man an almost cartoonish appearance. After a moment he lit a cigarette. The acrid odor carried in the pre-dawn air.

Raising his silenced HK416, Mario sighted on the man's chest. A moment later the infra-red laser dot appeared. Taking a deep breath then slowly releasing it Mario depressed the trigger once. A blossom of red erupted on the dirty shirt. As the man fell, a second round slammed into his forehead, exploding through it like it were a melon, splattering the hut with blood, bone and soft tissue.

The four men continued their approach, cautiously. Once at the gate they paused a moment then moved through. They had to skirt past several huts and a buffalo pen to get in position. The large two story house was in the middle of town. Probably a French colonial house that had become the seat of the local chieftain until the al-Para arrived. They moved silently, eyes constantly moving, their weapons following their eyes until they reached their objective, a small round hut a hundred feet from the large home.

4:33 am.

It happened in a flurry of activity. The three teams moved in unison on the building. The guards at the front door dropped as two bullets slammed into their chests. Mario moved with great care as he kicked open the front door, right away he spotted movement, training his weapon on the shadow he realized it was a boy, not more than eleven or twelve. The boy, startled by the sight of the men in dirty black clothes, their faces hidden, simply froze. His eyes wide. The sounds of thuds and crashes filled the air as the surprised al-Para members were shot down. Movement at the top of the stair case drew Mario's gaze, it was Umi and he was as startled to see the American as the boy was. As he ducked back into the room he came from the boy screamed, reaching for a much too large AK-47.

It happened fast, instinct took over as the boy heft the rifle and aimed it the men, Mario snapped off a three-round burst into the boys body. Another of the SAD team fired another round that entered the boys head between his eyes. As the body fell to the marble floor, the loud retort of a Kalashnikov reverberated in the silent house. Babafemi Umi had managed to get his own weapon and was firing through the wall and floor at the Americans. The element of surprise was now gone and screams and cries in the village could be heard.

Unlatching a flash-bang Mario tossed it towards the room he had seen the terrorist leader enter. A second later the brilliant blue hued light erupted with a thunderous roar. Taking the steps two at a time he ran into the man they had come kill as he staggered from the room. Dazed Umi managed to flash a grin at Mario and said in English, “You can't kill me, you have to try me for my crimes.”

Narrowing his eyes Mario barked back at him in French, “Sorry asshole, we don't exist.” And fired a burst into the man's chest at point blank range, dropping him instantly. Turning he was about to leave when a squeal from the room caught his attention. Glancing in he spotted a young girl, maybe 12 years old, naked and bloodied, bound to the bed. Gritting his teeth, he pulled his knife and cut her bindings and lifted the screaming girl up, carrying her out.

The rest of the team had established a perimeter around the house and the sounds of the helicopters approaching made him snarl. Darting out into the street he handed the girl to the nearest indig and dropped back with the rest of them. As he did so a voice rang out in broken English, “Thank you Americans.” Then again in French, “Merci Américains” It was an old man, white hair and sharp eyes. His toothy grin and the tattered Yankees baseball cap he waved told the story.

6:12 am.

When they landed at their camp along the Algerian border, Mario was met by a man in an ill-fitting suit and a bad toupee.

“Hey! Hey...I have some news for you bud! You're outta here” the suit screamed over the turbine whine of the helicopter.
'What the fuck? I'm headed to the Stan?” The anger evident in Mario's voice. He had done two tours there and was really not relishing going back.
“Nope, bro you're heading to the Homeland. I got orders to get you on a FAGTRANS and I mean yesterday.”
Mario pulled up, he stared at the suit a long moment. It wasn't like Sam to pull gags like this and if it was a joke he'd kick the shit out of him. “So help me...”
Raising his hands Sam shook his head, in one of them was a crumpled piece of paper. Snatching the paper and reading it, Mario gaped, it was indeed his transfer orders. He was headed to the “Farm” Camp Peary, Virginia.
The writer who cares more about words than about characters, action, setting, atmosphere is unlikely to create a vivid and continuous dream; he gets in his own way too much; in his poetic drunkenness, he can't tell the cart- and its cargo- from the horse.
John Gardner



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Re: When the Lion Wakes (Closed)

Tips: 0.00 INK Postby Ivanol on Fri Nov 26, 2010 12:18 am

Supervisory Special Agent Natalie E. Schultz
Special Agent Alderson Morris
J. Edgar Hoover Building
Washington DC


The look in Kaori's eyes would not leave her. Natalie stared for a moment before blinking, her palm moist, her fingers stiff around her pen. Her mouth had gone slack. Almost unaware of the woman beside her, she did not move, standing still before the elevator doors now closed behind her and Morgan. She swallowed. What the hell was she supposed to do now? Maybe she should help Kaori back to her wheelchair, she thought, but just as she thought it, one of the security people had done so.

She opened her mouth to say something to the brother, but before any words came to mind, he stormed out. Natalie fumbled over a thousand unspoken words. Did Kaori hate her? Did she hate her brother? Was she to blame? Was Kaori still upset or only mildly annoyed? This wasn't an interrogation, dammit! She had no frame of reference, no emotional detachment. This was her coworker, a woman she ought to have known better. She hadn't even realized Kaori was capable of walking.

Then the doors opened, and Alderson stepped in. "ALDERSON PLEASE GO AND INTERVIEW ALI," Natalie said stiffly, in an unnecessarily loud voice, the tone strained. "The military may hinder you but go anyway. Now. NOW, PLEASE."

Alderson hadn't even finished scanning his workplace surroundings when Natalie's command struck him. It did not diminish the momentum of his movements, nor did it visibly affect him in any ways. Rather, the words simply seeped into him as though he were a sponge, sloshing through his head like slurry. He felt heavy today, as though his blood had turned to lead. "Yeah", he responded automatically even though he knew Natalie wasn't listening.

Alderson grabbed a few things from his orderly desk, giving a warm but superficial greeting to those who crossed his path. He then strode right back to his car, finding the seat was still warm, and the slight chinking of the engine cooling had not yet gone silent. He did not know what he was supposed to do with Ali, only that she was imprisoned in USP Lee, a federal prison he had studied awhile back. And, of course, that he was to drive all the way there in hopes that his phone would ring, preceding some sort of direction or further instruction. He had called Joan thirty times this morning from a pay phone. From now on, his cell phone was only an instrument of counterterrorism.




Special Agent Alderson Morris
Tahira Ali
United States Penitentiary Lee
Jonesville, Virginia


Sometime later, Alderson waited in the administration building of the prison for someone to take him to Ali. He leaned against the wall by a corner, appearing composed and casual. On the inside, he could hardly stand to think about anything other than his job. Not after his would-be meeting with his sisters so-called friend. It was a very bright room; to bright for him, as though someone had torn off chunks of the sun, molded them into spheres then fixed them onto the paneled ceiling. The rug was dark and blue in contrast, like a textured sheet of ice. He swung his briefcase idly, drumming his fingers against the holster of his gun.

The receptionist looked up, clearing her throat. "Excuse me, sir. Is there something I can do for you?" Clearly, Alderson was not expected.

"I need to see Tahira Ali", Alderson responded halfway through her sentence.

"You have ID?" she replied in a bored tone, her eyes trawling up to his face. He flashed his certification.

"I'll have someone take you to her, just a moment." The receptionist motioned for Alderson to step back as she picked up the phone, saying something to someone in a hushed tone. She slid a clipboard with a sign-in sheet towards him over the counter, still speaking on the phone. Alderson's signature was nearly illegible, as though someone had taken the letter A and M and filled in all the other space for a name with scribbles. "Thanks." The receptionist hung up and took the clipboard back with a smile. "Have a seat, someone will be here shortly."

Alderson sat complacently on a plastic chair. A few minutes later, a corrections officer appeared, motioning for Alderson. "Agent Morris?"

Alderson stood and nodded. "I am", he replied, extending a hand.

The officer shook his hand. "Moses Kent," he said, gesturing for Alderson to follow him. "Ali is in room two. Someone else came by to see her earlier today. I'm guessing there hasn't been a lot of communication."

"Not with me at least", he responded with a strange affable tone, starting towards room two.

"She's inside. Someone will be in the observation room, and everything is recorded. I'm sure you know the drill. Knock if you need anything, okay? I'll be around." Moses opened the door. Inside, Tahira Ali was seated at the same table, handcuffed and shackled, alone, almost dwarfed despite the room's rather small size. Moses closed the door behind Alderson, leaving him with the prisoner. She looked up, and then averted her eyes, the slightest of frowns etched upon her face.

Alderson sat, pushing his chair back as far as he could manage without appearing ridiculous. To say he was irritated with Natalie would be an understatement. Not only had she sent him up against a living, breathing icon of his greatest fears, but she had also failed to give him any directions at all. He sent her an angry text asking for further direction. Then, he cracked his briefcase, preparing to do the only thing he could think of for the situation.

For a long moment, Alderson simply looked at the small woman across from him. Her life was notorious. Her actions were detrimental, cruel and unjust. As the familiar shell of fear and anxiety began to harden his insides, he wondered how so many horrible things could fit inside one small woman. He hated her, and was hopelessly frightened by her, but these emotions were the perfect fuel for determination. "I'm not going to mince words. December 1968, Germany. The deaths of both the T-Tanzanian President-elect and the American Ambassador." He paused to gauge her reaction.

Ali blinked, glancing at Alderson for a moment before her gaze dropped to the table, interlacing her fingers on her lap. "Yes," she said softly in the accented English familiar to anyone who had listened to the tapes of her ultimatums in the past. "That was mine."

Alderson was quiet for a moment. "Are you confessing to killing them?"

"It is the truth," Ali replied.

"That's uh... quite a quick confession. But I suppose there isn't much room left for you to dig yourself deeper, is there?"

"What is done is already done," Ali said, her eyes still on the table. "I cannot go back and change it. The least I can do is tell the truth. Perhaps it is the only thing I can do."

Alderson nodded, scooting back a bit further. He disguised the motion as a forceful yawn accompanied by a stretch. After checking his phone and finding no messages, he decided to harvest some details. "What was the model you used to unjustly kill these two people?"

"It were a new M16 rifle I used to kill President-elect Ntamuhanga," Ali said, her voice growing softer. "The Ambassador, though, him I killed with C4 explosives, and not bullets."

Alderson's reply was instant. "What type of rounds?"

"I do not remember," Ali answered, after a slight pause. "I used what I had been given."

Alderson responded again, sharply. "Why did you murder these two people?"

"They were," Ali began, and then faltered. She swallowed. "They were chosen because of their positions."

"Have you anything... uh... else to say?" Alderson's voice continued with the same hard edge that he used to bash through the fear, paranoia and anger that had recently been threatening to strangle him to death.

"If you have anything else to ask, sayyid," Ali replied, seeming to shrink in her seat. She flushed slightly, her eyes not moving from the table's surface.

Suddenly Alderson's complexion softened, another enigmatic emotion flickering across his face for only a moment. "How do you feel when you kill?" he asked softly, a question entirely bent on feeding his ravenous curiosity. "How can you help destroy so many lives? How can you live with the fact that, because of what you and Hataf do, so many innocent people are forced to live in fear?" The question was highly unprofessional, and he would probably be spoken to by administrators for asking it, but for a moment Alderson didn't really care.

There was silence for a long moment. "I cannot," Ali finally answered, her voice almost a whisper. "I cannot live with that knowledge. That is why I came. I want no more of any of it. But every choice comes with a price."

Alderson didn't expect this response, and was therefore lacking an answer. He studied her for a moment, then finally said "You'll always live with it. Always..." Alderson figured he might as well branch off with another question from here. "Why did you do these things?"

"I had much hatred, burning inside, like a Norouz fire," Ali said, fingering the chain linking her handcuffs. "I wanted to cause the worst kind of pain. To kill innocents, ana siddiqa, it was the worst. What I wanted, I received. That is why."

"Some people see therapists to deal with their anger problems instead of killing people by the masses." For a moment, Alderson's fear was gone, enveloped in a cloak of spite, anger and frustration with the woman before him. And then, it all came rushing back.

"Therapist?" Ali repeated slowly, frowning as she butchered the pronunciation. "Forgive me, I do not know this word."

"Forget it", Alderson responded meekly. He checked his phone again. Nothing from Natalie. He was starting to think Natalie just wanted him gone. Alderson jammed the papers back in his briefcase, and pulled out something else -- a manila folder. He opened it, sifting through the papers like a panhandler searching for gold. All the while the ever-present feeling of dread clung to the back of his skull like parasite.

"Saint L-lawrence Hospital," he said after finally finding the correct paper. "I'm sure you are familiar with the name." He knew every detail of the incident anyway. Once again, he awaited her reaction.

Ali blinked, shifted her weight, the chains clinking, glancing up at the papers in Alderson's hands before dropping her gaze again. "Yes, I have heard of it," she said, nodding once.

"Can you claim any involvement?"

"No," Ali answered. "I had no hand in that event."

"The FBI realizes action was taken mostly by Lisa Karim, but there were many others involved, and there are plenty of reasons to hold you in suspicion." Alderson's usually reserved voice was still fractured with contempt.

"I know," Ali said softly. "You also have no reason to believe me. But it does not change the truth."

"Someone like you knows very little about TRUTH."

Ali paused then, looking up for the first time. She met Alderson's eyes, could hear the hatred in his voice. She did not know this man. She did not know his name. But she knew too many like him. She knew exactly the kind of person he was. "I know the truth of the things I have done," she replied, her voice conveying worlds of unspeakable things. "I know the truth of the things I have seen. I know the truth when it becomes a dagger to the heart, and I know it when it creeps uninvited. What do I know of truth? I know it convicts me, sayyid Agent. That I know." There was a biting sense of bitterness to her words, and once she had spoken, Ali seemed to notice she had made eye contact, and, as if embarrassed, looked away, staring at the floor.

"Why did you turn yourself in? You know you'll be executed, right?" Alderson wasn't sure why he said this. He suddenly realized he was simply venting after years of people like her forcing him to the final fraying threads of his mind. "Tell me the truth here, if you are so honest, did you know you would be killed as a result of turning yourself in?"

"Yes," Ali answered, nodding. "Yes, I knew it would be so. But if I did not do it, thousands more would die. If I can do any good in this life, then let it be this: let me keep them from killing again."

Alderson had been drumming his fingers against the table. When his subject mentioned thousands of more deaths, the drumming stopped for a moment, and then resumed faster as his mind began to race. "Are you saying you know of a large attack the FBI doesn't?" His voice was suddenly strung higher than ever.

"That is why I came," Ali said, her frown deepening, her blank gaze growing distant.

"Well what is it?" he snapped suddenly, on the verge of a panic attack. "why have you not yet disclosed this information?" His melodic drumming fingers ceased once more, stifled by their transformation into a tight fist.

"But I did," Ali answered, blinking in confusion. "I told the soldier, Nathaniel, whose rank and family name were not told me, and to Allison Moore, from the FBI. Did they not tell you also, sayyid Agent?"

Alderson's fist loosened, and his expression softened into something that could have been sheer confusion, hurt, or both. Information about a massive attack had been disclosed, and he hadn't been told about it? "What..." he began, "what are you talking about? What has been planned?"

"They call it Rahah Almarfud," Ali replied, enunciating the Arabic slowly. She continued to stare at the floor, almost unmoving. "It is to be far worse, more devastating, than anything that has yet been done. It is to overshadow September 11." She fumbled a bit with the English, but the point was clear.

Alderson's mouth went dry, and he felt a pang of anger for not being notified earlier. His mind raced through the possible implications of what she was saying, and only one thought completely enveloped his mind. He felt dizzy, and for a moment feared he would be sick. "You don't mean... nuclear weapons?" His voice was nearly a whisper.

"Yes, that is what they are called," Ali said, nodding. Glancing up, she caught sight of Alderson's unsettled composure. Tilting her head to the side, her brow furrowed in concern, she leaned forward. "Sayyid Agent, are you all right?"

Alderson didn't reply, if only because he felt like his throat was closing up. "Targets?" he managed to choke out.

"There are twelve," Ali said and listed the cities.

Alderson had a panic attack and fled the room, accidentally tipping his chair. It clattered to the floor with a dreadful noise. Ali flinched, looking up as Alderson disappeared. So she was alone again. At that moment Alderson hated Natalie for not telling him anything. He hated her for sending him here with no direction too. He stood for a moment in the hall to catch his breath, then dialed her number.

A moment later, Natalie's familiar voice answered. "Natalie Schultz," she said.

"RAHAH ALMARFUD", Alderson yelled into the phone.

"Why are you speaking Arabic to me, Alderson; you're not even making any sense, and please calm down; you are shouting."

"Twelve cities", he replied, voice still near yelling. "And NOBODY tells me a damn thing!" He paced back and forth rapidly. "Its the--" He cut himself off, having forgotten what he was about to say.

"You are still shouting Alderson! I haven't the faintest idea of what you are speaking; has the entire world gone mad? What the hell did you ask Tahira?"

"I had to hear from a terrorist about a nuclear attack, a TERRORIST, how long have you known?"

"I've known nothing until the past thirty seconds when you continued shouting after I asked politely for you to cease said shouting." Natalie's tone seemed almost calm, though the ratcheted-up speed of her words told a different story.

Alderson stopped pacing, running his fingers through his hair. "Wh- huh?" this was the result of several novels' worth of responses diffusing each other.

"Alderson, I demand to know precisely what is going on this instant! And sans shouting, please."

Alderson recited everything Ali had told him, word for word, in the same order.

There was silence for several moments. "That's... disconcerting," Natalie finally said. "Does anyone else know?"

Alderson repeated the names Ali had told him. "I thought you knew", he explained somewhat sheepishly.

"I was informed within the past five minutes," Natalie answered. "You should extract as many details as possible, Alderson. This is going to be a public relations nightmare."

"I think some details have already been extracted. I suggest we talk to those morons who've been silent." He paused for a moment, took a deep breath and said, "Sorry. For that and for yelling. I've had a lot on my mind."

"Extract everything you can; I will attempt to find both of the others you mentioned. That's your current assignment. I need to go."

Alderson nodded, even though Natalie couldn't see him. "Okay", he said mellowly, taking comfort in the fact that he'd be seeing his therapist tomorrow. His phone clapped shut, and he made his way back towards Ali.
Last edited by Ylanne on Fri Nov 26, 2010 12:24 am, edited 1 time in total.
Reason: Added headers to clarify confusion.

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Re: When the Lion Wakes (Closed)

Tips: 0.00 INK Postby Script on Fri Nov 26, 2010 1:38 pm

Dawn Keating Taylor Hunt, Journalist
Heathrow Airport
London


It was going to take a while to get used to being Taylor Hunt. How had she ended up having three names over the past two days? Dawn Keating -- the name she'd had all her life, then all of a sudden she was Allison Moore, FBI agent. Had she really, honestly known what posing as an FBI agent would do for her? Probably not. It was a heat of the moment decision. She made far too many of those.

And now she was Taylor Hunt. American born, having recently moved to England to pursue a new job. A job she had acquired through an old friend (who she still had to meet), rather than by, say... any sort of impressive news story that may or may not be going out within the next few hours. It'd be on the news channels before the end of the day -- there were always leaks. And when a story this big leaked, it flooded.

So Taylor Hunt passed through customs in Heathrow Airport, and hailed a taxi to take her to her new home.

The drive through London's streets was long but without delay -- even the capital was quiet at this time of night. It was almost morning. After paying the driver, she stepped out of the cab and looked up at her home with a sigh.

It was a nice building, in a prime location. She didn't even want to think of how she'd been fixed up with it, but she wasn't going to complain. The gentle lap of the river Thames was just audible a short distance away - riverside apartments like this could top a million in price. She was just glad she wasn't paying for it. A single street lamp illuminated the section of street, the night sky obscured by a cloud-cover. Taylor walked from the pavement up to the porch of the building, and slotted her key into the door.

Inside, the hallway was welcoming. There was a set of hooks where Taylor hung her coat, and a light switch beside the door that lit up the laminated wooden floor, and the slick mirror upon the wall. Taylor carried her suitcase through a door off of the hallway into a living area. It was quite basic -- not all of the furniture she had ordered (because after all, the company had paid for the house, they weren't exactly going to fill it) had arrived, and what had was scattered around quite randomly. Taylor would have to rearrange things in the morning.

A quick trip upstairs made it obvious that the bed wasn't one of the pieces of furniture that had arrived, and so she returned to the living room and sprawled out on the couch. It was time for sleep. It had been a hell of a long day...




Director Jacob Pierce
Agent Claire Dunham
MI5 Headquarters, Albert Hall
London


"What do you think, sir?"

Agent Claire Dunham stood with her arms folded, looking down at the letter lying on the Director of the MI5's desk.

Steepling his fingers, Jacob leant forwards on his arms. "I think that I need to talk to the CIA. If the information in this letter is true, then we have a serious emergency on our hands. I need to make sure that the CIA isn't keeping things from us. You're dismissed, Claire, I'll take things from here."

Nodding her head, the tall blonde woman left the office. Pierce sighed, picking up his phone and hitting a key on it. "Get me the Home Secretary." he said, "Tell him that I have reason to speak with the CIA, and it's urgent."

As he waited for the call to be connected, Jacob looked down at the letter. So far they'd had no luck tracing it.

But this was big. 'Rahah Almarfud' -- a name that they'd been seeing pop up all over the place. Some thought it was a person, but if this information was true ... it was much worse. Nuclear weapons. A list of target cities that would send billions of innocents to their deaths.

"Sir!"

Pierce looked up with a scowl "What is it Dunham?"

"We've just received a call from the DPSD. They've got the same letter."

Jacob felt his stomach sink. This anonymous informant was thorough. That didn't bode well -- if they were sending this across the world, it meant they were confident in their intel. He needed to talk to the CIA. Badly.

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Re: When the Lion Wakes (Closed)

Tips: 0.00 INK Postby Ylanne on Wed Dec 08, 2010 11:57 pm

(OOC: A portion of this toward the end has been revised on 4 Feb. 2011 to reflect changes in Ylanne's most recent post [will be up later tonight])

Special Agent Alderson Morris
Tahira Ali
United States Penitentiary Lee
Jonesville, Virginia


Alderson knew he had to go face Ali again, but felt as though he would have another panic attack if he didn't first give himself time to cool off. He took a few deep breaths, took a drink and prepared to enter the place that suddenly felt like a Nazi gas chamber. He found Ali still in the room, and his chair still laying defeated upon the cold tiles. He bent slowly to pick it up, then sat stiffly as though his joints were solidifying. Somehow, he managed to fight through the net of hatred and fear spinning madly about his head.

Ali glanced up at Alderson's return, strangely holding eye contact. "Sayyid Agent, are you all right?" she asked softly, the intimacy of her gaze unmistakable.

Alderson looked for his briefcase, only to find it wasn't there. He stood abruptly, nearly knocking his chair over as his head whipped about at nearly impossible angles as he searched for his lost belonging. What if someone had taken it? What if they were going to use its against him or the innocent? Just before he had a conniption, he spotted the thing beneath his chair, shining like a rectangular black beetle. He didn't need it anyway.

"When were the nukes obtained?" He asked with fake calmness.

"Within the past two year," Ali answered, dropping her gaze to the floor once more. She shifted her weight, staring down, several locks of gray hair falling over her face, though she did not move to tuck them obediently away. "I am not sure the date, but summertime, I think."

Alderson fumbled about in his pocket for a pen and notepad, scribbling down the woman's response as though he were trying to gore the paper. "Who died to obtain these?" He asked next, certain that when Hataf was involved death was too.

"I do not know. Perchance the one who sold them, or the one whose secrets were stolen; I do not know which." Ali hardly moved her lips when she spoke, her voice growing quieter as she continued. "Allah s'aahid, someone was murdered. But neither a date nor name do I know."

"Names. Give me names; any involved in this affair."

"The Senior Council, its members planned the operation," Ali answered.

Alderson rang off all the names of the senior councilmen, all from memory. "Can you verify that these names are accurate?" It would be foolish to assume that the profiled names weren't simply aliases. His fingers drummed rapidly, a habit he didn't notice and likely never would.

"I do not know all those," Ali said, frowning. "Some who served on the Senior Council, they are dead now. But it was always, ah, what is it called. Siyasah? It was what was done, to use their own names." She had always used her own name, but again, Ali had been Hataf's public face for almost two decades. "To my knowledge, those names are their own." But as she spoke, she glanced down and to her left, a sure sign of lying.

"What are you looking at?" asked Alderson suddenly.

Ali blinked in surprise, glancing up at Alderson for a moment before looking down at the floor again. "I - nothing," she answered, her voice hardly audible as she seemed to visibly shrink in her chair.

Alderson glared at her. "That's strange, because usually when I see that type of behavior, I'm led to believe that my subject is being dishonest about something."

"I do not know what you mean," Ali mumbled, still staring at the tiled floor of the interrogation room. The pattern reminded her, of all things, of the classrooms in St. Mary's, where she had studied for the requisite educational years.

Alderson let out a breath that he hadn't realized he was holding. "Well I should assume that, seeing as you've basically signed your own death warrant by coming here, that you have no intention of lying to me or the FBI. Unless of course you came here to mislead us. Perhaps I'm being paranoid but your answer still does not sit well with me. Are you certain the names you have told me are the only ones you know to be accurate?"

"Accurate, yes," Ali answered, wincing as she spoke. "But one does not use the name given at birth. These men and women, the councillors, they do not live in their homes using the names I know. What names they use in commerce I do not know. Which are true names, for that I cannot be sure."

"Who?" asked the agent quickly, as though the response was a wild animal that needed to be tamed before it escaped.

"She calls herself Rabiya Dölet."

Alderson scribbled down the name, clever enough to know the proper spelling and to know the need for two dots above the "o". "What does she do?" He asked, clicking his pen.

"She leads the Senior Council," Ali answered. She did not add that Hataf had signed her own name as its overall leader for decades, right until her capture was announced publicly.

Alderson flipped to a clean page on his notepad, leaving behind a sheet of what looked like frantic scribbles. "And, uh, why is it that she is the only one using a fake name?"

"She does not want her father's name," Ali said.

"Why not?"

"Her father was Anoushiravan Kutchemesgi, the man I once called Father," Ali answered, naming Hataf's original founder.

"Fine. What's her real name then?" Alderson's eyes darted around the room as though he was looking for something.

"Robabeh Kutchemesgi, that is her name, though I have never heard her say it. Not since she was a child."

"You knew her when she was a child?"

"Yes," Ali said, nodding. "She is but fifteen years my junior, and I joined Hataf when I had fifteen years."

Alderson gave her a brief, quizzical look. "Yeah? When did she join?"

"She never joined," Ali replied. "Her father, whom I called Father, raised her into the family." Her gaze slid to the door. "Poor excuse for a family," she muttered, almost inaudibly.

Alderson nodded slowly, not surprised by Ali's answer in the slightest. "Back to these bombs, do you know where they were manufactured?"

"I do not know."

"Do you think Robabeh Kutchemesgi knows?" Alderson retorted with perfect pronunciation. "Can you name any member of the senior council who knows for certain?"

"Any of them, perhaps." Ali shrugged. "They were bought or stolen; their maker I would not know."

"Do you know where they are kept, then?" Alderson was becoming frustrated, and increasingly paranoid that this terrorist was hiding something from him.

"I do not know. Someplace hidden, somewhere no one would think to look. But I do not know where."

"Is Hataf in the position to steal or purchase any more of these weapons?" Alderson was beginning to assume they had been purchased. After all, nukes didn't often vanish without someone big noticing, unless there was truly a country foolish enough to hide the fact that they had been robbed of nuclear weapons.

"If they wished to," Ali said slowly, drawing out the words, "I am certain they would. I do not think they will; I think what they have is enough for their purposes."

Alderson felt himself shrink at this news, but remained physically calm and composed. "Do you have any idea where these members of the senior council are hiding? Likely not in one place, correct?"

"Yes, they live among the nations, though I am not sure in the same homes I once knew. But Jennifer Stokes," Ali said, naming the American division leader, "she lives in the State of Wyoming, and Rabiya -- Robabeh -- lives in the city where I was born. The others I do not know."

"Give me an exact location, down to the nearest foot of soil." Alderson's voice was once more filled with vigor, fingers tapping faster and faster as things began to come together. Ali gave Alderson Stokes's Cheyenne address and Dölet's Washington DC address, not knowing Kaori Furukawa had uncovered Dölet's previous DC address.

"Do they think about it?" Alderson asked suddenly. "Those terrorists on the senior council, are people just objects to them? Do they realize the individual lives of those they seek to kill, or are we simply categorized as 'useful to kill' and "no real reason to kill?'

"This is what they believe," Ali said, her gaze sliding up from the floor towards Alderson's face, though she did not meet his eyes. "Anyone who is not with them is against them, and anyone who is against them is also against God. They see their victims as their enemies in a divine war, sanctioned by God on High." She did not add that she knew she too would be considered an enemy.

Alderson sighed, nearly shuddering. There didn't seem to be any way to diffuse the situation without many more deaths. "And I'm guessing they're just itching to put a fifty caliber round in your head too, at this point."

"I would not doubt that there are already plans to do so," Ali replied, sighing as she spoke, as if she had already resigned herself to this fact. "I do not have anything to lose. Not anymore."

Alderson frowned. "When your time comes it will be on our terms."

"That is the only justice for me," Ali said, settling further into her chair to the clinking of chains, her gaze sweeping the table's surface. "I think even that, somehow, would not be enough. Do you understand, sayyid Agent, why I have come here?" She looked up then, not quite managing eye conctact. "Well, and I know I will be judged; I know well what that judgment will be. But while there is time, any time, I cannot refuse what is given me. I pray you might take this information and in doing so, that you might save lives. I cannot hope for redemption, but that, that I can hope for. Do you understand that?" There was something in her voice pleading for him to understand, pleading for this stranger to feel something of this deep-seated yearning.

"Remind me why I should even trust any word from your mouth", was Alderson's sudden reply. "Remind me why I should believe that, after bringing hell to earth, you've decided to think about the general welfare of others? Why is it that, when all the others live in their worlds of false righteousness and merciless purpose, you claim to have seen a different light?"

Ali was silent for a long time. She did not break off the almost eye contact, not once. When she finally spoke, her voice was heavy-laden with years of unspoken thoughts. "Trust is an act of faith," she said softly.

Alderson cringed at his own bitter feelings. "As far as I'm concerned, everyone in America should be a hell of a long way from having any faith in you." He then leaned closer across the table, remembering the constant fear he had been living in because of people like the one across from him. "And as far as I'm concerned", he whispered, "you'll always be a liar and a killer." Alderson realized he had been neglecting his duty to take notes, and quickly scribbled something down onto his pad.

"I know what I am," Ali replied with infinite sorrow. "I do not claim anything else."

"Good", Alderson snapped bitterly. "Is there anything else you wanted to tell the FBI?"

"If there was anything you had to ask, I will answer." Ali looked away, staring at Alderson's reflection in the one way mirror. She did not know why he seemed so unsettled, almost unnaturally so. Neither of the other two who had come gave off quite the same impression. She wondered whether it was simply a sign of some deeper angst. "I wanted only to warn of Rahah Almarfud. I am sure when I learned of it, Rabiya thought me wholly hers. I am sure that only the council members know what is planned. But I thought if your government knew, perhaps..." She broke off, her voice cracking. "Perhaps you could stop it. I could not."

"Well I certainly hope so", Alderson replied with another sigh, leaning back into his plastic chair. "Did you mean to say, you actually tried to stop this yourself?"

Ali nodded pitifully. "When I learned what they had planned, I tried to sabotage their plans," she said, painfully pronouncing the word "sabotage." "She almost killed me then, when she learned what I had done."

Alderson was clearly surprised. Still, he hardly trusted that this new information was true. "Exactly when was this?", he pressed.

"Four months past, when I learned of Rahah Almarfud."

"Instantly after?"

"Yes."

"And what happened then? Tell me exactly, Ali, to the best of your ability." By now, the agent had gone through several sheets of notes.

Ali interlaced her fingers, looking up at the ceiling, her figure seeming to shrink in stature. On the other side of the table, her position accentuated her aloneness, against the wall behind her. "I was at her house, Jennifer Stokes's home, where Rabiya and the senior council were in meeting," Ali said, speaking quietly, though her words increased in speed. "I went -- I went to tell them what I had never before said -- and I was greeted with something much like affection before I had the opportunity to speak even one word. I was taken to the drawing room and there Rabiya spoke to me. She proclaimed first the many crimes Hataf had planned in my absence, and then regaled me with the plans for Rahah Almarfud. She charged me with treason, levied bold accusations against me." Ali closed her eyes, leaning back, her expression pained. "She left me after a time, and I wandered about the house. I found in a drawer some of the plans for Rahah Almarfud. Mathematical calculations, locations and names of target cities, these were. I erased much of it, replaced the numbers with incorrect ones, changing the targets to empty parts of the ocean. The papers with names and phone numbers of those who would plant the bombs, I shredded." Ali opened her eyes, her gaze hardening. "Rabiya found me there."

Alderson nodded, feeling strangely hollow. "How did you succeed in escaping the situation?"

Ali attempted a smile, but didn't quite manage the expression. "I stole Rabiya's car, but not before she shot me."

"I don't see how you ended up in Kabul", said Alderson, tapping his pen against his chin.

"I went to the international airport, found an Afghan I knew, and went with her to Kabul. I was not stopped at the airport, and that was surprising to me." Ali looked at the door again. "Before we flew, she treated my wounds, and once in Kabul, I stayed with her family. They were not pleased. Still, it was kind of her."

Alderson continued to question Ali for hours, eventually reverting to the more traditional questions that were considered a staple of every interrogation. Ali answered patiently, though it was evident she was already beginning to tire of the constant questions. Alderson's mind was numb from the mental excitement of the day, and he wished nothing more than to return home, until he realized he was now an even greater target for assassins than ever before. The thought of home only reminded him of the issues with his sister, and suddenly he felt sick.

"That's it for today", he said stoutly, slamming his briefcase upon the table with a jarring sound, and promptly leaving. Ali looked up as Alderson left, speechless, the agent having abruptly abandoned the terrorist. The dash to his car could have convinced anyone that he was a WWII veteran, and the carefulness of his driving could have convinced that same person that he was a professional racer. To Alderson, being outside had never been so dangerous, and so he was relieved to finally return to his office where he sat with such a great exhale that for a moment he feared he might deflate. His relief was short lived as his computer blue-screened the moment he logged in. With a defeated sigh, he went to find technical help.

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Re: When the Lion Wakes (Closed)

Tips: 0.00 INK Postby LightingStrikes on Sun Dec 12, 2010 10:33 am

After a couple of hours Kaori had finished fixing the Copier machine and printer. Kaori sighed, no one had actually told her she needed to do this job, but it relaxed her enough that she could concentrate on work for the FBI now. Kaori walked over to her computer now and started at her computer as it had gone kapooy and she was faced with a blue screen. “Well what the….” Kaori looked at the screen in puzzlement and tried a few things then her screen popped on and she chuckled. “You thought you’d play games on me today didn’t you? Well you stupid machine, I’m in control over you, and you will not spoil my day by not doing your job. You are to do what humans tell you to do got it?” Kaori loved talking to her machines as if they could talk back but they couldn’t really do that. That would be way to creepy. As if on cue the computer made some grinding noises and some beeping noises and shut off on Kaori, Kaori blinked and then chuckled “Oh so you’re a smart ass?” she said in Japanese, “Well, we’ll just see about this..”

Kaori was very busy and in her own world of computers to notice anyone coming near her desk, she stood up and smiled again pleased that she had fixed the darn thing she shut it off and then turned on the computer and the computer was happily working. She giggled at this and patted the computer. “That’s a good girl… work for Kaori.” Kaori looked back at the computer screen and smiled big everything had been recovered and it was as if she had lost nothing. She pressed the send button and sent the addresses from this morning to Natalie’s desk. Kaori knew it must have shocked most of the agents and co-workers when she stood up, since no one had approached her since then. Maybe Gou was right, maybe she wasn't as appreciated as she thought she was, maybe she should re think her career now that she can walk again, maybe her old position at the Nassa's Earthquake department was still opened.

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Re: When the Lion Wakes (Closed)

Tips: 0.00 INK Postby Lego's Apex Predator on Sun Dec 12, 2010 4:11 pm

Joslyn stood up and figured she'd see if she could help anyone. The first person that popped into her head was Kaori. Joslyn quickly grabbed a tissue as she sneezed once again. That was the one thing she hated about being sick. She threw it away and used the hand sanitizer before she headed off to go find Kori. Maybe the two of them could pool their resources and that way something could be solved a little bit faster. It was always better with two heads then one she supposed. As she walked down the hall she nodded to a couple of people.

Joslyn approached Kaori's desk and cleared her throat to announce her presence. She wasn't sure if Kaori would need her help but it never hurt to ask. She was slightly confused at Kaori standing up but she shrugged it off and couldn't help the smile that was on her face regardless. She heard her phone vibrate from the carrying case on her pocket but she'd answer it later. It was probably her babysitter but she wasn't entirely sure and it could be dealt with later no matter what.

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