Author's Notes: As with all fanfic, I do not own the universe, the media properties or the characters. I'm just borrowing them for a story, etc. etc.
On a larger point, this fic is going to deal with multiple cultures, and multiple religions.
I myself am an Indian-American, raised in a Hindu household and a Christian. That is who I am and what I know. I try to educate myself on other cultures and other beliefs. I am not a professional author, and can not afford to travel to other countries on a regular basis for research. I pretty much have wikipedia, a few friends from far corners of the globe, NPR, National Geographic, and a lot of pop-culture.
I will be using religion in this fic, but in doing so, I am not trying to pass judgment or claim to know everything. I am attempting to use culture and religion to enrich my characters and give them motives, beliefs and consistency. I will make every attempt to avoid stereotypes or demean anyone's culture or beliefs in anyway. If I do offend with any portrayals, please feel free to contact me via my personal email at rishianarain AT yahoo DOT com.
Again, I am attempting to tell a story, not define anyone's beliefs for them. If my story can be made better through your feedback, I would greatly appreciate it.
Thank you for reading.
"Traitor."
No one dared say the word to his face, but he heard the whispers all the same.
Kemal Baig had taken an oath to serve and protect. He was a man who took his oaths seriously. He did not hold with others who had sworn that oath to break it so lightly, and for a thing as petty as money.
The division was supposed to stop drug trafficking. They were experts from all over the world, connected to the biggest centers, the largest networks. Their expertise was supposed to bring the system crashing down.
They made a few high profile busts, grabbed some headlines. But behind the scenes, things were not as they should have been. Arrests were calculated to open power vacuums; vacuums that could be filled by men looking to make more money than could be made working for INTERPOL.
Kemal did not value money as much as he valued justice. So he did what justice demanded. He turned them in; regardless of how much power they held.
He paid the price. Evidence was forged, witnesses were coerced, and Kemal Baig found himself cast out of the agency, dishonored and discredited. His badge and weapons were seized, and he was denied access to the vast networks that were key to his work.
For the first time in a long time, Kemal was out in the cold. The agency would not protect him; the division would not shelter him. He had enemies before. He had more now. And they knew he was vulnerable.
There were some things they could not take from him: his training, his instincts, his sense of duty.
Or the emergency funds in the offshore accounts, the secret safe houses and the weapons cache.
A good agent was always prepared, always had a plan. Kemal had enough to get by for a time, but he didn't have a clear plan. His purpose had been ripped from him. Everything he held dear had been taken from him. For the moment, he just had to survive.
That included evading the hit squads that would inevitably come for him.
The streets of Athens were empty, and the hour was late. It was not when he would have chosen to be out, but he did not always get to choose his circumstances these days. They had not fully revealed themselves, but Kemal knew the patterns: the non-descript van across the street, the fluttering of a curtain in an unlit window, the street sweeper working odd hours.
Ambush.
He could not avoid it. His only hope was to decide where the encounter would take place.
There were some stray bottles about. A plan formulated in his head.
He picked up one and threw it at a high up window.
"You think you can do this to me?" he screamed, making his voice sound as though he was drunk. The fact that his Greek was a little rusty helped. "I saw you with that man at the bar! Don't think I don't know!"
A light came on in several windows, and people began to shout at him to keep it down.
It had the desired effect. The van peeled out of its parking spot, and the street sweeper dropped his equipment. Three men came rushing out of the building in which he had seen the curtains flutter.
Whatever plan his enemies had was now in chaos as they knew the police would come before they wanted. Kemal used the opportunity to take off down a narrow alley. His enemies still had numbers, but he could choose when and how he would face them. The men from the building made it to him first.
They might have worn masks and gloves, but their tactics and fighting styles were too distinct. He did not relish fighting his old comrades, but it was him or them.
He was not unarmed. He pulled a knife from his belt and stabbed the first man through the throat. He hurled the limp body at the onrushing men, allowing him a brief advantage. In the confusion, he stabbed another man in the shoulder, causing him to loosen his grip on his gun in agony. Kemal seized the weapon and felled him with a close range shot to the gut. The third man was not so easily overcome. He managed a wild shot that hit Kemal in the abdomen before Kemal shot him in the chest.
The wound was serious, and very painful. He limped out of the alleyway. His options were becoming seriously limited. Time was against him. He would be unable to properly dispose of the bodies. His identity had been compromised.
He would have to run again. He would have to do it soon.
At that moment, a black coupe screeched to a halt in front of him. Fearing another ambush, Kemal aimed the gun at the window. The door opened. A dark-skinned woman was behind the wheel.
"Get in." Her tone brokered no argument, and Kemal had little choice but to comply. He got in and shut the door. She sped out. Kemal kept the gun pointed at her head. She seemed supremely unconcerned. She was dressed very smartly in a well tailored black pant-suit. Everything about her, from her clothes, to her dark skin, to her very dark, almost green colored hair, the expensive, non-descript car all spoke of mystery.
She was elegant, maybe even beautiful, but Kemal felt mostly intimidated by her. And that said something as he was a trained agent.
"Start talking."
"Or what?" she retorted as though they were having a disagreement about white and red wine. "Are you really going to shoot me while I'm doing 100 kilometers an hour and you need to get to a hospital in the next 10 minutes or you're dead?"
Kemal hesitantly lowered his gun. As soon as he did, he found himself at the business end of one she had trained on him.
"You've been very sloppy tonight. You're lucky to be alive. If you want to stay alive, you'll have to be better." Her voice was cold, and Kemal had little doubt she would hesitate to pull the trigger.
"Open the glove compartment."
Kemal complied. He found a medical field kit.
"Take care of yourself, and stop bleeding on the leather. We'll be at the clinic soon."
"Al-Rahim… Al-Latit… Al-Muqit…"
The prayers fell quietly from his lips as the doctor tended to his wounds. There was very little light and a strong stench of alcohol, not just for sterilization.
"You need not call upon God, Agent Baig. Despite our surroundings, you are in very good hands. The doctor knows his trade, even if he once practiced it for organ harvesters."
Kemal still didn't know if he could trust this woman. But given that he would have been dead ten minutes ago if not for her intervention, and the competent, if somewhat gruff treatment of the man in the dirty white coat, he had little choice.
"Al-Baith…"
"You aren't dead yet. I have many more plans for you. I've made an investment in you, so stop praying and start getting better."
"What is it you want me-"
The scalpel took his next words from him, but she understood his question anyway.
"You are a man of some skills. I can make use of these skills. And, I can give you something you are lacking."
"What is that?"
"A purpose."
His eyes widened for a moment before the doctor found the bullet, making him black out.
He awoke to darkness. He could not tell if it was hours, or even days later. His whole body ached, and his throat was parched.
A light came on, making him squint painfully.
"Drink."
He sipped greedily from the offered cup, spilling down his chin and coughing.
"I am just a veritable oasis for you today, Agent Baig, am I not?"
Her tone was light, as though she had caught him slipping on a banana peel.
"Why-" he began, but coughed again. His voice had not yet recovered from his ordeal.
"I told you, we have mutual interests."
"I want-"
"I'm sure you want many things. But you have much more pressing concerns. Less than three hours ago, a team of your former comrades came in force to kill you in an ambush. You left three bodies in an alleyway. Your prints and blood are all over the scene, and the police already have been notified by Interpol that you are a fugitive. Your cover here is blown."
She was right. He was still at her mercy. He truly had no choice but to trust her, and look for his opportunity later.
"I need to make one stop."
"So it is time then."
It was not a question. The old imam always seemed to know what was in Kemal's heart. Before he could even respond, the imam shuffled off, opening a locked door. Kemal waited a moment until he returned with a heavy black duffel bag. Kemal rushed forward to take it from the old man.
"Ah, thank you brother," he said, wiping his brow. "I always knew you carried a great burden. I had forgotten just how great."
In spite of the gravity of his situation, Kemal smiled, but only briefly. "I carry nothing but the weight of my own sins."
The imam put a hand on his shoulder and considered his face for a moment. He also studied the bruises, and the way that Kemal was favoring his right side, as though he had been recently wounded.
"I have often wondered if you did not carry more than you should."
Kemal considered the imam's words. "Don't we all."
The imam sighed heavily. "Perhaps. I don't suppose I will see you again."
"I do not believe we will meet again in this life. I can only hope we will meet again in the next."
"Insha'Allah. Where will you go?"
"I do not know yet."
"What will you do?"
"I do not know. But I hope I might be walking the road to redemption."
The imam took his hand, and laid the other upon his forehead.
"Bismillah."
He returned to the car and threw the duffel into the trunk. Gingerly, he stepped into the passenger door.
The woman barely acknowledged him as she drove. Frustrated by his lack of control, it was Kemal who spoke first.
"What should I call you?"
"What makes you think you should call me anything?"
"It would make conversation much easier."
"Come now Agent Baig, you don't think we're going to be having extensive conversations, do you?"
She really was maddening. "We must have at least one."
"No Agent Baig, we need not. I will give orders, you will follow. I think you know this."
"I will not work in ignorance."
"No, you will not. I will tell you what you need to know, when you need to know."
Her tone still brokered no arguments. Given that he was wounded, and she could still dump him on the side of the road to fend for himself against the police, and the division, he had no choice but to trust that she would tell him what he needed to know.
"I represent some very powerful interests. We have need of your services."
"Who are these interests?"
"Agent Baig, do you really believe these interests exist anywhere that you might be able to find them, track them or confront them?"
He did not answer.
"We've had our eye on you for some time now. You have skills we are interested in."
"There are hundreds of agents at Interpol. Why me?"
"Because there are few with your unique profile. You are special. And we have plans for you. Open the glove compartment."
Kemal obliged, and found a file marked with the seal of the Criminal Investigation Bureau of the Japanese National Police Agency.
"Three weeks ago, there was a body found in an apartment in Tokyo. There were signs of a struggle. There was nothing of value taken from the home. The victim was a twenty-nine year old surgeon, and prominent socialite. He was shot three times in the chest."
Kemal surveyed the crime scene photos, and the translated police reports.
"The wife was missing?"
"We assume she was kidnapped. But we fear the worst."
"Who are these people?"
"They are important, you need not know any more than that for now."
"Can you at least tell me their names?"
"The husband was Chiba Mamoru. His wife is Usagi."