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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.
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Interrogation Room
a character in “When the Lion Wakes”, as played by Ylanne
So begins...
Tahira Ali's Story
- Seen 79 Times • Page 4 of 4 • 1, 2, 3, 4
In the wake of the fiasco over the news story of the century - and the fact that the Director of the FBI was livid beyond belief - Natalie Schultz had driven out to the prison first thing in the morning, in order to discover who exactly had let a reporter in to see Ali. The name was easily located - Deputy Assistant Director of Counterintelligence Kyle Reeves - as Natalie glanced at the visitors' log, immediately placing the time and date. Accompanying the familiar name was "Special Agent Allison Moore".
A byproduct of eidectic memory and boredom, Natalie recalled that the only Allison Moore in the Bureau had been on maternal leave for two weeks now. She turned to Warden Husted, the older man standing beside her with his arms folded, and demanded, "Take me to see Tahira. Now, Andrew. It is a necessity for me to ensure the security of ev - "
"Ali is no longer here," Husted interrupted with a wave of the hand, as Natalie stared at the man's long mustache, the pen whirling in her hand. "She was transferred, orders from the top."
"I need to see th - " Natalie began, and Husted interrupted again.
"Here they are," he said, offering the copy of the orders Rapp had left behind. Natalie glanced at them, flipped through the pages, committing them to memory with a single look.
"Well, then," she said, twisting to look at the wall. "Thank you for your time." Natalie nodded briefly to the Warden before returning to her car. Sitting in the driver's seat, she pondered the documents. They did not specify a receiving location. The military, while decidedly anal about need to know, would not be so ambiguous in its orders, she decided. Thus, the likely culprit was the Bureau's longtime rival, the Directorate of Central Intelligence.
Phoning a well-used number, Natalie put in a call over her secure wireless, hoping to contact someone in the Agency's counterterrorism division. Over the years, she'd participated in several Agency operations, even spending two years in Afghanistan a few years back, where her linguistic skills proved invaluable. And unlike some at the Bureau, Natalie harbored little animosity for her Agency counterparts. That trend, however, seemed to be coming to an end.
"It's Natalie Schultz," Natalie said, her monotone syllables spoken rapidly, "and I need to speak to someone in counterterrorism immediately, meaning at this moment, please."
There was an uncomfortable pause before Natalie responded, the pressure on the pen in her hand increasing. "I need to know where Tahira Ali is," she said, finally, the tension still evident in her voice.
"According to Andrew," Natalie said, referring to the Warden, "she was ordered transferred shortly after midnight by the military, with the orders bearing Kyle's signature," referring to the man the CIA had ordered arrested for treason, "which is simply nonsensical as Kyle is the same man who let the reporter into the prison! Someone at the Agency must know where she is!"
"Tahira Ali's location," Natalie answered, the pen spinning wildly in her hand as she peered out at the parking lot. Mostly empty. As usual, she took the question completely literally, deliberately ignoring the social niceties.
"Yes," Natalie answered, in her typical monotone, "that is my name, although more accurately my surname." A moment later she placed the voice, the pen whirling faster. "I have been attempting to ascertain Tahira Ali's location. Have your people resorted to such drastic measures that none of them deign inform me?"
There was another uncomfortable pause before Natalie answered. "Yes, I understand," she said, the pressure increasing on the pen as she leaned forward, peering out into the parking lot wasteland with squinted eyes.
There were hundreds of thousands of protestations waiting to be shouted at the Director, but none of them materialized. Natalie slumped in her seat, the pressure on the barrel of the pen steadily increasing as she waited for the inevitable SUV to arrive, cursing the CIA in all the languages of Afghanistan. It wasn't her fault the bastard had taken a reporter to see Ali! Natalie Schultz was not to blame for this.
She ejected a CD from her car's audio player, even though it hadn't actually been playing, and closed it in its case, which she deftly returned to the glove compartment. After a moment, Natalie removed her Glock from its holster, rotating it over and over on its side, as if she could burn it into her memory.
She ejected a CD from her car's audio player, even though it hadn't actually been playing, and closed it in its case, which she deftly returned to the glove compartment. After a moment, Natalie removed her Glock from its holster, rotating it over and over on its side, as if she could burn it into her memory.
Dressed in khaki pants and a turquoise-colored Pakistani kameez shirt, Natalie Schultz looked more like an errant teacher or the mom down the street than an FBI agent, though she was known for this affect among her colleagues. When the man spoke, she looked up, almost confused for a moment, before she hurriedly slid her Glock back into his holster, the pen still in her other hand, climbing out of her own car and locking it.
Natalie did not seem to be intimidated by the sudden appearance; instead, she seemed almost relieved. She opened her mouth to ask a question, and then she remembered her instructions. She closed her mouth, climbing into the back seat of the SUV next to the smaller man, sitting as far away as possible, almost to the point of leaning against the side of the vehicle.
Natalie did not seem to be intimidated by the sudden appearance; instead, she seemed almost relieved. She opened her mouth to ask a question, and then she remembered her instructions. She closed her mouth, climbing into the back seat of the SUV next to the smaller man, sitting as far away as possible, almost to the point of leaning against the side of the vehicle.
Natalie stared blankly at the bag for a moment. Finally, she took it, sliding it over her head with great precision, almost as if she were agonizing over the exact manner in which to do it. The entire time, the pen remained in her hand, the pressure against it increasing so much her knuckles turned nearly white gripping it.
A thousand questions waited to be asked, but Natalie squelched all of them, working hard to drown out the incessant rumbling of the engines. She was on an aircraft of some sort, and were she in the right frame of mind, Natalie might have been able to place the exact model based on the sound of its engines. For now, her mental processes were hampered by the sensation of the bag against her face. She clamped her fingers around the pen in her hand with an iron fist, the fingers of her other hand rubbing the hem of her kameez shirt at a constant pace. This was the only way she knew how to quiet the anxiety bubbling up in the back of her mind without asking any of the thousand questions.
Natalie reached up, and with the same methodical precision, slid the hood from her head, blinking to adjust to the lighting. She looked over at Rapp, the pen beginning to spin in her hand again, her posture oddly rigid, her gaze resting beside the man's face rather than meeting his eyes. The look on her face would have been more appropriate for a patient being operated on without anesthesia, but it took several moments before she actually spoke.
When she did, her voice came out almost hollow sounding, lacking inflection, as the fingers of her left hand slid into her pocket. "I'm not sure what I'm supposed to say to that," Natalie said, taking a moment to look around, memorizing the place with each glance, as part of her mind computed the exact geometric specifications of the hangar.
When she did, her voice came out almost hollow sounding, lacking inflection, as the fingers of her left hand slid into her pocket. "I'm not sure what I'm supposed to say to that," Natalie said, taking a moment to look around, memorizing the place with each glance, as part of her mind computed the exact geometric specifications of the hangar.
After a moment, Natalie's head swiveled in the man's direction, her eyes narrowing as she followed him. "Am I allowed to ask questions now?" she asked, only the slightest change of inflection indicating that her statement was, in fact, a question. Most people who met Natalie Schultz often did not believe that this same woman was probably the FBI's single most accomplished counterterrorism agent, and with good reason. She stepped into the elevator, craning her neck upward, staring up, the pen still in her hand.
She rested one hand against the doorframe as she stepped inside, blinking at the suite where she would be saying. At the very least, the lighting would be conducive to her sensory needs, Natalie assessed, stepping inside. With little visible change in her facial expression, Natalie looked about, memorizing the space as she took in the furnishings, the pressure on the pen slowly increasing and decreasing at steady intervals.
Several moments after Rapp spoke, Natalie nodded, sitting down on one of the couches, the pen still in her hand. The couch's fabric, she found, was soft, the texture of interest. She rubbed her free hand against it.
"May I contact my team and my superiors, to inform them I will be unavaible for an unspecified length of time?" she finally asked, struggling to make the question rise and fall in the typical manner. "And may I have my weapon returned? My duties necessitate it. Also, exactly how long do you expect I will remain? Where exactly is Ali? And why am I here?" The questions came rapidfire, with hardly any pause between them, the change in inflection almost negligible.
Several moments after Rapp spoke, Natalie nodded, sitting down on one of the couches, the pen still in her hand. The couch's fabric, she found, was soft, the texture of interest. She rubbed her free hand against it.
"May I contact my team and my superiors, to inform them I will be unavaible for an unspecified length of time?" she finally asked, struggling to make the question rise and fall in the typical manner. "And may I have my weapon returned? My duties necessitate it. Also, exactly how long do you expect I will remain? Where exactly is Ali? And why am I here?" The questions came rapidfire, with hardly any pause between them, the change in inflection almost negligible.
Natalie caught the key, turning it over in her hand, watching the way the light glinted on the metal with a sort of fascination. Several moments of silence passed, an uncomfortable break in the conversation, before she responded. "You do realize that Tahira Ali turned herself in at the Kabul embassy, and that she has been extremely - albeit unprecedentedly - cooperative in the past few days."
Tilting her head to the side, Natalie stared at Rapp's face, miming eye contact to the best of her ability without actually making it. It was a trick she'd learned years back, to look at someone's nose in lieu of meeting their eyes. Her own vivid green eyes were alight with the unabated energy that seemed to leak from her rigid posture and articulate speech.
"Are you informing me that after six days, I will only be home for one day, and then will return to this facility here?" Natalie asked, leaning slightly forward as she spoke, forgetting to add the proper inflection on the question this time.
Tilting her head to the side, Natalie stared at Rapp's face, miming eye contact to the best of her ability without actually making it. It was a trick she'd learned years back, to look at someone's nose in lieu of meeting their eyes. Her own vivid green eyes were alight with the unabated energy that seemed to leak from her rigid posture and articulate speech.
"Are you informing me that after six days, I will only be home for one day, and then will return to this facility here?" Natalie asked, leaning slightly forward as she spoke, forgetting to add the proper inflection on the question this time.
"Of course, every avenue of possibility must be explored," Natalie agreed, nodding. "Trust is exceedingly difficult. Rapport is never to be equated with trust, as the former denotes merely a candidness, whereas the latter implies an act of faith, which is impossible to objectively measure and detect." She tapped her pen twice against her leg, leaning back into the couch. "What I don't comprehend, however, is why such pains were taken to remove both the subject and myself from our previous locations, without so much as a hint regarding this... change." This last word was spoken with the faintest hint of disdain.
"I was only made aware earlier this morning," Natalie answered, "however, I would have dealt with the situation myself had my authority not been superceded by virtually everyone evidently superior to myself." The FBI agent paused, her gaze sliding to the side, mentally measuring the big screen TV in the living room. "What is your name, or an alias by which I may address you?" she asked, appending almost immediately afterward, "When shall I begin, and how much control over the interrogation shall I have?"
Slowly, Natalie returned Rapp's smile, although hers suggested more of a mechanical response than either a pretentious or genuine one. "I will need about half an hour to compose myself before I commence anything," she said, standing. "Everything I need is in here." She pointed to her head. "And there." With the key, she gestured to the case, where she had not yet retrieved her Glock. "Being alone is preferred, as it allows me to best prepare myself."
- Seen 79 Times • Page 4 of 4 • 1, 2, 3, 4