Title: Al-Intiqaam (Arabic for "Revenge" or "Vendetta")
Rating: T or M, for violence and language
Disclaimer: As much as I wish I did, I don't own "24" or its characters!
Summary: An old enemy has returned to seek revenge against Jack… but Jack isn't the only target in his sights. He's only one piece of a bigger plan.
Lately, I've been musing over some fiction story plots that could be fanfic material. With the impending return of 24 (May 5, 2014! Eeekk!), and my muse giving me plot ideas again, this seemed like as good of a time as any to write fanfic again! :-)
I wrote the first chapter of this story as a one-shot, shortly after President Omar Hassan's death (episode 16 of season 8), but never posted it. I came across it today, and decided to tweak it and tie it in with the plot of this longer fic. I'm using episode 8x16 as a springboard for an AU story. That means that all of the season 8 events after this episode (including Renee's death, obviously) never took place!
Al-Intiqaam
Chapter 1
Jack leaned his head against the cool glass of the airplane window, studying the terrain below them.
A gentle tap on his shoulder startled him. He turned to see a woman dressed in a neat black skirt and jacket and with a simple scarf draped over her dark hair, standing in the aisle beside his seat. The woman ducked her head apologetically. "I'm sorry; I did not mean to scare you. I just wanted to let you know that we will be landing in ten minutes."
Across the aisle, a few seats ahead of Renee, sat Dalia and Kayla Hassan. Dalia sat mutely in her seat, her eyes swollen and red, twisting a limp and torn Kleenex tissue through her fingers. She nodded silently as the attendant touched her shoulder gently and quietly repeated the message. "May I get anything for you?" she added.
Dalia shook her head. "No, thank you, Karima," she said hoarsely.
Karima moved through the small airplane cabin, pausing to address Renee, President Allison Taylor, and the small group of trusted aides from both administrations who had traveled with them. Jack noticed that the president had tucked a silver pen, the gift from Omar Hassan that Dalia had given her after his death, into the breast pocket of her suit jacket.
Renee sat up straighter in her seat as the plane's wheels touched down on the airport tarmac. "Welcome to Badar, the capital city of the Islamic Republic of Kamistan," the pilot's voice announced, in English for the benefit of their guests. "Welcome home," he added respectfully to the Hassans.
Dalia got to her feet, a polite and gracious hostess, even in her grief. "Welcome to our country," she said, smiling ever so slightly.
Allison Taylor smiled sadly. "I wish it were under much better circumstances."
It was early in the morning in Kamistan, and the sun had just begun to rise over the country. The fiery orange ball of light in the sky was just barely visible over the top of the airplane. Its rays glinted off of the plane's sleek, glossy body as the group of passengers disembarked and gathered on the tarmac, flanked by members of both presidents' security details.
They turned their backs to the members of the media who were hovering nearby.
From somewhere nearby, a muezzin's voice rang out with the first melodic notes of the Adhan, calling the Muslim faithful to prayer. Multiple chanting voices rose from mosques throughout the city, blending together in an overlapping chorus.
It was against this backdrop that Omar Hassan's body was carried out of the airplane's cargo hold.
Silent tears fell down Dalia's cheeks, and her chin quivered as she suppressed a sob. Kayla leaned her head against her mother's shoulder, staring mutely at the white-shrouded box containing her father's body, as it was carefully slid into the back of the van waiting nearby.
As the van slowly drove out of sight, an imposing man stepped up alongside Dalia. He carried a pistol secured in a shoulder holster. He glanced in the direction where the van had departed, and addressed Dalia and the American guests. "President Hassan will be prepared for burial" – Dalia made a choked sound — "and the funeral ceremony will take place this evening."
He motioned towards the waiting caravan of official vehicles. "Come."
/ / / / /
Renee adjusted the scarf covering her hair. She and President Taylor had been assured that no one expected them, non-Muslims, to cover their heads, but they had both chosen to out of respect.
The mourners stood solemn and silent. Men lined one side of the grave, and women the other. Omar Hassan's body had been washed, first with water and then with oils and herbs, then wrapped in a shroud of simple white cloth. Now he lay on the ground at the head of the open grave.
Dalia and Kayla knelt and briefly placed their hands on his head and chest, saying a silent goodbye. More tears spilled down Dalia's cheeks as she gripped the shroud's white fabric in her trembling fingers. She drew in a shuddering breath and slowly, painfully, pulled the fabric over her husband's face.
Kayla squeezed her eyes shut. At her side, her left hand reached out ever so slightly. President Taylor was the one who saw it, and she wordlessly took the young woman's trembling hand and clasped it gently.
The imam, wearing a black shalwar kameez and turban, moved to stand by the corpse's shoulder to lead the prayers. Everyone turned to the west, their backs to the shrouded body and the imam. "Allahu akbar", his clear, melodic chant rang out. The crowd of Muslim mourners huddled around the grave lifted their hands and repeated the words.
The group recited the prayers in unison, chanting solemnly with one voice. Death was a part of life, and this ritual was a part of death.
Two men stepped forward, one at Hassan's head and the other at his feet. Together, they lifted the shrouded body and gently placed it in the casket that was open and waiting. Two more men joined them and closed the wooden lid of the casket. A stifled cry came from Dalia, and a choked sob from Kayla, as the four men stooped and gently lowered Hassan's casket into the grave. As they did, the imam's voice rang out again. "Bismillah-i w'ala millat-i rasulillah," he intoned. In the name of Allah, and in accordance with the way of His messenger.
With the casket in the grave, the four pallbearers stepped back. The imam knelt at the head of the grave and scooped up a handful of loose dirt in his fingers. "Minha Khalaqna-kum," he chanted as he sprinkled the dirt over the top of the casket. Picking up another handful, he continued, "Wa fi-ha nu'idu-kum." With the third, he said, "Wa min-ha nukhriju-kum laat-an ukhra."
Kayla and Dalia approached the grave and took their turn at the ritual, their voices barely above a whisper.
Everyone else followed, three handfuls of dirt at a time.
As the others had done, Renee chanted the words in Arabic.
Following behind her, President Taylor quietly and solemnly spoke them in English. "Out of the Earth we created you," she said, sprinkling the first handful over the casket. Picking up the second handful: "Into it we deposit you now." And the third: "And from it, God shall take you out again."
The crowd's voice rose as one, in Arabic. "Peace to you. Allah willing, we will all join you. May Allah forgive you and have mercy on you, and on all of us."
"Allahu akbar."
With that, the body of Omar Hassan was solemnly committed to the earth, and the ceremony concluded.
As the mourners filed away from the grave, the group of visiting American officials gathered around Dalia and Kayla. Formalities aside, President Taylor reached for Dalia and drew her into a comforting hug, as Renee did the same for Kayla.
"I am so sorry," she whispered.
Dalia shook her head. "Do not apologize," she said, addressing both Renee and Jack. "You did everything that you could to try to save him."
A member of her security team, carrying a short-barreled tactical rifle slung across his chest, spoke up. He was facing Dalia and directly addressing her, but the words were intended for everyone else as well. "You know that the IRK has been involved in conflicts in this region for decades. This treaty was a fragile one, at best. Remember that not everyone in this country loved and supported your husband. Some may see his death as an opportunity to – "
Dalia held up a hand to stop him. "Please," she said quietly. "I trust you all; we always have. We are in capable hands. Do what you think is best. Forgive me, but I can't think about any of that now. You understand, yes? Let us just get through the rest of today."
"Of course, Mrs. Hassan. I understand." The man nodded sympathetically.
He turned to address their American guests. "For now, arrangements have been made for you at the Hassans' residence here in Badar. You all are honored guests here, welcome in our country," he said.
"Thank you," Jack told him. "I wish it were under much better circumstances."
"As do I," the man agreed sadly.
"Come. Let's go."
.
More to come soon, hopefully! Working on the next chapter(s) now!
.