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Khalid Mamadzai Khan

The name sounds familiar, and you struggle to remember where you've heard it when you recall a list of Hataf's leaders.

0 · 349 views · located in Terra

a character in “The Multiverse”, as played by Ylanne

Groups

Registered citizen of the Terran National Government

Description

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History

Mir Khalid Mamadzai Khan, as he is known on the signature appended to all of Hataf's messages and ultimatums, was born in Kabul, Afghanistan, and was raised in the United Kingdom. He attended Harvard University and went on to study at Al-Azhar University in Qahirah (Cairo), Masr (Egypt), earning his doctorate in Islamic Studies. Mir and Khan are both honorary titles; Mir as a title of address and Khan as an honorary suffix. He can also be referred to or addressed as Dr. Mamadzai Khan. He is a tall, broad-shouldered Pashtun with fair skin and a long, flowing white beard. Khalid typically dresses in traditional Afghan dress (shalwar kameez, baggy pants and a knee-length tunic) and either a wrapped turban or a white kufi prayer cap. Sometimes he wears a set of dhikr (remembrance, prayer) beads. His piercing blue eyes are usually accompanied by a soft smile as he offers you tea.

No one actually knows where Khalid is currently located, due to the development of the TNG as its own body, but it is said that it is possible to reach him if you have the right contacts and means. He is one of Hataf's Senior Councillors, sitting on the upper body of the bicameral Great Council that is the terrorist organization's governing body. Khalid's father was also a Hataf member and one of the original followers of Hataf's founder, Anoushiravan Kutchemeshgi. Khalid is married to Amal Zarafshar and they have three adult children: Ameena, Kerima, and Nabeel.

So begins...

Khalid Mamadzai Khan's Story

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#, as written by Ylanne
As Jarrin walked into the Grover Building, he was greeted with a standard wine-red carpet and clusters of men and women in business dress hurrying to and from meetings, muffled conversations punctuated with sudden, loud bursts of laughter. A rotund, short woman wearing a blue Islamic headscarf and her daughter, who looked no older than eight or nine, wearing a Dora t-shirt appeared in the golden elevator doors, heading toward the front doors. Nondescript, easily forgotten music played softly on the speakers. A sign by the elevator doors listed the names of firms and offices housed in Grover.

The mother leaned down to whisper something to her daughter, and when they passed by Jarrin, the girl tapping Jarrin on the leg and looked up at him. "I drew a pretty picture for you." She handed him a folded piece of construction paper with colored ribbons glued in uneven lines around the outside. "Come on, Amina," the mother said, giving Jarrin an apologetic look as she hurried her daughter through the glass doors outside.

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#, as written by Ylanne
No one seemed to watch Jarrin too closely, although there were two men seated against the far wall who seemed to be eyeing everyone who entered through the front doors of the building with looks of great concentration and analysis, whispering inaudible to one another occasionally. The Islamic Center of Wing City was less than two blocks away from the Grover Building, with its two minarets rivaling the height of some of the office buildings adjacent to the mosque. It was 7:23pm, and the voice of the muezzin over the mosque loudspeakers could be dimly heard calling "Allahu akbar!" It was the beginning of the azhan, the call to prayer, for the evening prayer maghrib.

For this prayer, an enormous number of people would be flooding into the Islamic Center of Wing City for Friday evening, those who had missed the midday ju'muah service and wanting to make up for the good deeds. The cars filling the mosque parking lot and the chattering families and men on the sidewalk all walking toward the mosque provided the perfect crowd.

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#, as written by Ylanne
Repeated greetings of "Assalamu alaykum," and the response filled the air among the worshipers come to the Islamic Center. Every worshiper removed his or her shoes and placed them in the wooden shelves specifically built for that purpose upon stepping into the main courtyard, which was inlaid with blue and teal tiles. The double doors were propped open with large bricks, revealing a small lobby opening directly into the main prayer hall. The hall stretched both to the left and right, offering a few closed doors. There was only one door to the left and it was closed. The placard on the wall by the door gave the name of the mosque's imam.

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#, as written by Ylanne
The door cracked, not widely enough to reveal a face, and a raspy voice asked, "Are you Arijana's friend?" giving the Director's Slavonic name as opposed to the Anglicized version. No one seemed to notice Jarrin in the general crowd of worshipers entering the main prayer room. After all, it was perfectly normal to look for the imam.

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#, as written by Ylanne
Khalid opened the door just widely enough to admit Jarrin into the office. Once Jarrin was inside, he shut and bolted the door. The heavy drapes had been pulled over the windows and the blinds firmly shut to prevent unwanted eyes from looking inside. The imam's office contained ornate wooden furniture and framed verses of the Qur'an in calligraphy. Bookcases lined the walls, filled with volumes on fiqh and shari'a, biographies of figures in Islamic history, and gold-leaf paged copies of hadith collections. The floor was covered by a thick, plush carpet with intricate designs.

"Arijana said you would be coming today," said Khalid in impeccable English, squinting over at Jarrin. He was an older man, tall and broad-shouldered, with a long, flowing white beard, and dressed in traditional Afghan garb and a white kufi prayer cap. His eyes stared impassively at the man. "I apologize for the last minute change of venue, but I was afraid certain people might be watching."

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The venue, in fact, had been the mosque for weeks now, but that information had been known only to Khalid, and then to the eight year old Amina a few hours ago. Kept a closely guarded secret prevented it from falling into the wrong hands. But Khalid had to be polite. "Can I offer you tea, Ustaaz Jarrin?" he asked, using a title of respect. "Please have a seat." He indicated the carpet, where some cushions had been lain for people to sit or recline upon. There was only one traditional chair and it was behind the imam's desk.

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#, as written by Ylanne
Khalid turned to the corner of the imam's office and poured from a delicately painted ceramic pot into fragile-looking teacups, walking the tea over to Jarrin and seating himself on a cushion beside the soldier. "For you, Ustaaz Jarrin," he said, handing the man one of the cups of tea with a surprisingly gentle gesture. "I trust your journey here was safe and not met with too many complications?" He took a sip of his own tea.

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Extensive inquiries about one's state of health and one's family were customary where Khalid came from, but he saw the need to eschew his usual custom for the situation at hand. "It was difficult, as I am constantly in contact with the other members of the Council, and it is hard to leave by oneself without attracting unwanted and potentially dangerous attention. The masjid is not a place where they will look for someone uninvited, and particularly not in the middle of maghrib. We have about twenty minutes while the congregation makes salat and then spills into the reception for socializing. That will be another thirty minutes at least, and then half of them will leave."

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#, as written by Ylanne
"Yes, she provided me with some basic information," said Khalid, withdrawing a few sheets of folded paper covered with meticulously written Cyrillic script, "all in code, naturally. Arijana has always enjoyed elaborate codes." He gave a soft smile, as if remembering some event in the past. "The Democratic Coalition's most secretive operations group, hm? Don't worry, Ustaaz Jarrin. I already scanned the room for bugs."

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"What questions do you have so that I can best answer them?" asked Khalid, sipping at his tea as he spoke. While he sipped his tea, he held his beard away from the rim of the cup to avoid spilling the hot liquid onto his beard or clothing. "Our structures are so complex that it is difficult to detail them without directed questions."

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#, as written by Ylanne
Khalid nodded, setting his cup of tea gently on the carpet. "The council consists of two parts. The upper house, the Senior Council, governs all of our affairs, while the lower house is the representative body. The leader for a regional area, usually a nation or a region within a nation, sits in the General Council. Together, the council is the Great Council. The members of the General Council operate autonomously from one another. They may receive support from one of the central divisions, whose leaders sit on the Senior Council, such as the Directorate of Science and Technology, or the Directorate of Special Operations."

He stroked his beard for a moment, blinking slowly at Jarrin. "Information is relayed by courier, either in written or oral form. Written is more trustworthy, but oral is more secure. Types of family members refer to types of operatives. Sisters and brothers are the field operatives who carry out attacks. Mothers and fathers are the handlers. Uncles and aunts are those who work for the directorates to provide support for operations. A grandfather is a council member. Only a select few operatives within Science and Technology use the internet for communication, although the public relations office maintains a website. That website, however, is entirely separated and severed from any operational information."

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#, as written by Ylanne
"The Great Council, both councils, meets once yearly, always in a different location. Sometimes at a retreat house, sometimes at an academic conference, sometimes at a world fair," responded Khalid. "This year's meeting is to occur in December at a Medieval fair and conference in Washington D.C. Security?" Khalid sipped at his tea and set the cup down again. "Each councillor has at least three identities with legends behind each one, and lives in a particular city or region where it would be hard to locate an individual person. No councillor knows the aliases or cities of more than one other councillor for security reasons. Each councillor has a dedicated group of four operatives assigned to detect and neutralize any potential threat to that councillor."

Khalid shifted his weight, running his fingers through his beard for a moment. "Hataf is funded through a combination of corporate sponsors, some of which donate freely, some of which were founded by us specifically to provide revenue, and some of which are extorted. In the last case, those corporations do not know the identity or affiliation of the extorters. In the second case, those corporations are severed from Hataf's central command and only interact with specific intermediaries assigned as liaisons. And of course, we take collections at meetings." He offered a rare smile.

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"It's from the first to the fourth, a Thursday to Sunday. Guests arrive all day on Thursday, with check-in ending at eight in the evening," explained Khalid with a look of intense concentration. "The councillors are arriving separately from different parts of Terra and under different aliases. Only a few are coming in booked blocs, but the vast majority are not. One of our councillors, Faroukh Ashraf, is a Medieval specialist and teaches at an American university. That's his given name, Ustaaz Jarrin. The name on his documents and degrees is Khalil Shaikh. Faroukh is giving the keynote address on Friday morning on the Scottish Wars for Independence."

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"The Council will be meeting during one of Faroukh's breakout sessions. We ensured that no one else will be attending this session, and it will look like any other session at the conference. That will be on Saturday from eight in the morning until twelve midday." Khalid took another sip of his tea, watching Jarrin closely. "The nuclear weapons, hm? Those were obtained from Mollem McGregor, a Sire in the Aschen Confederation. We have since obtained many more from the Tauron Ha'la'tha."

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#, as written by Ylanne
"I cannot provide fake documents for you, as only councillors are attending this meeting, and we all know each other," replied Khalid, folding his hands delicately over his lap as he eyed Jarrin. "The room is Salon F inside the convention center. There are pamphlets with conference details available at the University of Wing City's library on the first floor beside the reference desk. You can see the address of the conference there. On the agenda for our meeting is the most important topic -- how to strike a devastating blow against the Terran government, much like the one against the GodFlower, for which I am truly sorry." He inclined his head.

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#, as written by Ylanne
"Yes," responded Khalid with a nod. "My father was one of Kutchemeshgi's first followers, and I saw firsthand how devastating its ideologies can be. I was going to go to divinity school, enter the clergy, and see nor hear head nor tail of them, but I met Arijana while providing humanitarian aid to the Bosnians in Sarajevo, and she convinced me otherwise. She convinced me that I could become a weapon against them."

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"I believe that Allah has revealed himself to all peoples at one point or another in history," said Khalid, nodding with a thoughtful look coming over his aged features. "Allah continually draws man towards him; he would rather one embrace the light than a thousand refuse. That is something that Hataf's leaders do not understand. They believe that what Anoushiravan said is the only truth, and that Allah will only accept Anoushiravan's followers as his own."

The setting changes from Wing City to Terra

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#, as written by Ylanne
It was midnight in San Francisco. No one noticed as an older man, tall, broad-shouldered, and dressed in some kind of robes, stepped into a synagogue on East Street. He moved with difficulty, his steps slow and halting. White hair spilled from beneath a prayer cap, and his lined face was framed by a long white beard. The doors opened and then closed behind him. Inside, Khalid Mamadzai Khan sank into one of the pews far from the altar with the Torah scrolls bearing their breastplate and crown, folding over the outer layer of his robes with one hand. It was almost entirely silent here. The lights had been dimmed, and the sanctuary, which might normally hold around two hundred worshippers, was all but empty save for Khalid. The rabbi had given him the key and the code to the alarm in the back of the synagogue.

He reached for his cell phone from a pocket, searching slowly for a number in the short contacts list, and pressed send. It rang several times before going to voicemail. Khalid spoke softly. “Hajira, it’s your Baba. It’s been a long week. I’m all right. I won’t be home for a while. I love you, Hajira.” He disconnected, and returned the phone to his pocket. Khalid sat somberly in the cavernous temple, as if he were in a prayerful state.

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For several moments, Khalid did not move, did not appear to notice the sudden presence of the strange, hooded figure. His brows furrowed together, and his gaze slid lazily toward the intruder, revealing little other than a sense of deep exhaustion. “I’m afraid I don’t speak any Anquietas,” he said in the same soft tone of voice, revealing his knowledge of the Aschen -- or Kobollian -- language. Khalid rubbed his temples idly, watching the hooded figure.

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#, as written by Ylanne
Khalid gave a heavy nod. “Kobollian Inquisition, I think,” he responded. There was no discernible accent of any type in his voice, only that overbearing sense of exhaustion. “There’s been talk of your attacks among the council for some years now. A friend of mine told me a bit more. I don’t think I know your name, but it’s possible I know your purpose.” His eyes betrayed no emotion.

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#, as written by Ylanne
“There is no human way that you could know that,” replied Khalid, staring intently at the man’s face. “My loyalties are not public information, and I keep them that way for a multiplicity of reasons.” He paused, drawing his outer cloak closer over himself as if it were cold inside the sanctuary. “Why is it you think you know what I believe? Have you information that I cannot see?”

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“This is possible,” Khalid acknowledged with a small nod, “but there are any number of reasons you might have wanted to keep me alive.” He looked up at the Inquisitor, frowning. “Tell me, hadrat ustad, you must have a reason for continuing your conversation with a tired old man. Rabiya and I have never been close friends. But even that is no secret.”

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#, as written by Ylanne
“Perhaps. What is the message you have?” Khalid watched the Inquisitor carefully, having no need to write a note to remember the message.

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Khalid nodded once. “I will tell the members of the council who will hear. Is that all you wish of me?”

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“There will be no more meetings of the council, by decree,” said Khalid, looking away from Tawfiq’s head. “Not after the most recent attack.”