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Tahira Ali
An international fugitive associated with the terrorist group Hataf, she is on the FBI 10 Most Wanted. The reward for her capture is $25 million. Her case has been highly publicized, and "Tahira Ali" is a household name.
0 · 1,191 views · located in 
Interrogation Room
a character in “When the Lion Wakes”, as played by Ylanne
So begins...
Tahira Ali's Story
- Seen 79 Times • Page 3 of 4 • 1, 2, 3, 4
"Nothing," Ali said, shaking her head. "It is nothing. I speak too much already." Her fingers tightened their grip against one another, as her gaze shifted from the table to the wall behind Dawn. She hadn't meant to say that, hadn't meant to say anything at all. Forgive me, Carlos, she begged silently. But somehow she knew there was no way in all of heaven or hell he would ever do such a thing.
"My mother was a beautiful woman," Ali said, relaxing visibly as she spoke, vacant gaze still resting on the far wall. "She had the kindest of hearts, and the cruellest of lives. Umma was a, what is the word. She was a miss-shun-near-ry," Ali said slowly, butchering the word, all too aware of her inadequate English. "For the Christians. They killed her. After... After I left." Ali lapsed into silence, tilting her head back somewhat, to look up toward the light.
For the first time in the entire interview, Ali turned, and looked directly at Dawn, her eyes meeting the reporter's. "Hataf's leaders believe they carry divine revelation and blessing. Nothing excepting death will change this," she said flatly. Pausing, Ali looked away again, as if embarrassed that she had made eye contact, gaze dropping to Dawn's shoulder. "Tell me, Agent Moore," Ali began again, her voice taking on an almost eerily plaintive tone. "Tell me what will become of me."
Ali tried to smile, though she didn't quite manage the gesture. A slight upturning of her lips, it was more sorrowful than anything. "Then Hataf's leaders will finally have their wish," she said, inclining her head. "What justice is meted out to me, I will accept. My hands are not clean, and it is foolery to pretend it is so. My crimes warrant proper punishment, of this I am sure, if of nothing else."
"Fine," Ali responded, nodding. "I have been treated fine." Though there was something in the way she said it that suggested otherwise, whether in the way her gaze slid over to the door, or her posture stiffening, her jaw setting. She gave the answer she had always given. It came automatically, less with intention than with habit.
"I am fine," Ali insisted, her accent growing more pronounced. "Allah s'aahid, I am fine." In some ways, perhaps it was true, too, but Ali thought back to the people from the Agency, to the long trip to America from Kabul, in the cargo hold of the plane, hours of misery only to be met with more of the same from the Agency.
Ali rose slowly, both hands flat on the table as she stood with Dawn. "Go in safety," she said softly, her eyes on the door behind the reporter, though she remained where she was, unsure whether to remain and wait for the guards, or to follow Dawn out.
Inside, the warden of the prison, a tall, thin man, bald but with a long, carefully combed mustache, strode forward to greet them. Normally Andrew Husted was home, sleeping at three in the morning, but he had been distracted with a mountain of paperwork, and, determined to finish it at once, had been at the prison long after he would have otherwise left under normal circumstances. Ali's presence had not eased his mind.
A former military man himself, Warden Husted recognized the rank insignia on the leading man's uniform. "Evening, Colonel," he said gruffly, eyes alighting on the colonel's face as he extended a hand. "I understand you have some orders to carry out?"
A former military man himself, Warden Husted recognized the rank insignia on the leading man's uniform. "Evening, Colonel," he said gruffly, eyes alighting on the colonel's face as he extended a hand. "I understand you have some orders to carry out?"
"I'd like to see a copy of your orders," Husted said, his eyes narrowing slightly. "I'm not asking for any classified information, but I must account for transfers, you understand."
Husted took the orders, scanning through them rapidly, his eyes moving back and forth across the page. "Is there a reason for the transfer, Colonel?" he asked, handing the orders back to Rapp.
"I'm going to catch a lot of shit for this," Husted remarked, shaking his head. He motioned with two fingers. "Come on then. She's in an empty cell block, over in the West Wing."
Husted strode purposefully through the corridors of the prison, stopping at each sally port to slide his identification through the slot, and manually keep the gates open for the military men following him. None of the prisoners stirred from their sleep as they passed, and Husted only gave them parting glances, his hands clasped behind his back.
In the West Wing, Moses Kent had been watching Ali, leaning against one of the walls with tired eyes, fighting the urge to climb into the nearest bed and sleep. He'd drawn the short straw, and been stuck with the extra shift. Ali herself was asleep, lying on the thin mattress in the prison cell, dead to the world. In sleep, she looked at peace.
The last sally port admitted them, and Husted came to a stop. Facing Rapp, he cleared his throat. "She's all yours, gentlemen. I trust your CO will be to blame when the shit hits the fan?" Husted was only half-joking.
In the West Wing, Moses Kent had been watching Ali, leaning against one of the walls with tired eyes, fighting the urge to climb into the nearest bed and sleep. He'd drawn the short straw, and been stuck with the extra shift. Ali herself was asleep, lying on the thin mattress in the prison cell, dead to the world. In sleep, she looked at peace.
The last sally port admitted them, and Husted came to a stop. Facing Rapp, he cleared his throat. "She's all yours, gentlemen. I trust your CO will be to blame when the shit hits the fan?" Husted was only half-joking.
At the sudden noise, Ali's eyes slid open. "Salaam alaykum," she murmured automatically, and then looked over to Rapp, blinking in the darkness, as she took stock of the intruder, her eyes narrowing as she rose to a sitting position, gaze falling over Rapp's face, unsure who this stranger was. He was dressed in an American military uniform. Slowly, she stood, her gaze resting on the man's chin.
"Of course," Husted said, nodding once. "This way." The warden motioned toward the way they had come from, striding through the winding halls of the prison in the darkness, his steps falling softly. Ali did not speak, following the men without uttering a single word, until they approached the lobby.
"Sir - where are you taking me?" she asked softly, her English spoken haltingly, looking toward Rapp.
"It's been an interesting experience, Colonel," Husted said, nodding once to Rapp, just noticing Azzan, though he said nothing. "Just remember, your CO is taking all the shit that gets thrown at me come morning." The warden watched as they took Ali. The prisoner said nothing further, complying meekly with the men taking her from the prison.
Once aboard, Ali looked about the interior of the plane through tired eyes, not sure where she was going, or why. These things she did not ask, sure that if something needed to be said, it would be. During the flight, she remained silent, staring at the floor most of the time, the expression on her face unreadable. It would not be a particularly long flight - and Ali had not been on a plane in a very long time, not counting the flight from Kabul to the States.
All went dark. Ali could feel her breath hot against her face, became acutely aware of the sound of her heart beating in her ears, the heart rate increasing, as a natural physiological response to the sudden change. She was sure it was now past fajr, that if she were still among the members of Hataf, there would be exhortations to pray. Subconsciously, her shoulders stiffened, her eyes trawling about, but to no avail. She could see nothing. Ali lowered her head. She did not know where they were taking her – all she knew was the look of repulsion on the soldier’s face. What damned her was that she believed it was well-deserved.
She could not see where she was going, and momentary panic gripped her as she walked, taking each step gingerly, stumbling as she moved, unsure where to put her feet. Ali sensed the change in air, the openness of the mountains. She could hear the pine trees rustling in the gentle breeze. This was where she belonged, in the abandoned country. Then the milieu changed again, Ali finding herself standing on very different terrain. "Where - where am I?" she asked, her soft voice muffled, hardly penetrating the cloth.
Ali stumbled inside, flinching at the sound of the door shutting. Voices faded away. She was alone again. A moment later, she felt circulation returning to her wrists with a stinging pain. Ali reached up and slowly pulled the hood from her head, blinking, only to realize the cell she was in was as dark as it had been under the hood. She reached out with her hands, blindly stumbling about in the dark, when she crashed into the stone shelf that served as a bed, yelping in surprise. After a moment, she could see the faintest outlines.
Ali sank to the floor, leaning against one of the walls, her knees drawn up to her chin, her hands resting on her knees. She could hear herself breathing, inhaling, exhaling. She did not speak. In the feast of silence, she could hear the the sound of distant, feral screams and explosions, great, wracking sobs, could smell burned husks of wood and metal, rotting flesh and propane. In the darkness, she trembled, moisture forming at the corners of her eyes.
Ali sank to the floor, leaning against one of the walls, her knees drawn up to her chin, her hands resting on her knees. She could hear herself breathing, inhaling, exhaling. She did not speak. In the feast of silence, she could hear the the sound of distant, feral screams and explosions, great, wracking sobs, could smell burned husks of wood and metal, rotting flesh and propane. In the darkness, she trembled, moisture forming at the corners of her eyes.
- Seen 79 Times • Page 3 of 4 • 1, 2, 3, 4