"You consider yourself heroic?"
Alfred's eyes were dark and low, the point striking hard into his chest, although he denied the pain any out through his expression or stance.
"This is only a minor interruption. Ali Hassam will be eliminated. Interrogation is a waste of time. I can withstand anything you do. I will not reveal anything-"
"Yeah, I know," Alfred cut in. "Where is Iraq?"
Koshir's eyes remained trained on the lightly tanned face that met him with defiance. He pushed himself off the wall, his training evident in his feline grace, and he took a breath.
"You could not possibly know the sort Arab Shia is."
"Oh, yeah, he's an awful son of a bitch. Everyone knows that." Alfred shrugged as he spoke, and he gave a light chuckle: "I'm still not gonna let you murder him."
"It's not murder. It's war."
Alfred's expression visibly relaxed, schooling itself into what should have been blank neutrality.
Koshir's eyes darkened, even as they softened into what should have been concern.
"I pity you, America, because you are the one that has inherited it. You try to reason your way into it - - - politically, economically, theoretically - - - but we are the ones who have seen the blood. We have heard the cries. Our war is here." He touched a hand to his heart, hazel gaze a perfect expression of somber sobriety.
Alfred shook his head and stood up straighter: "You two were on patrol. You and Afghanistan."
Koshir's hand drifted back to his side.
"You left Iraq alone. No back up. No support."
Koshir turned and paced the length of the table in the interrogation room.
"Nothing but a pile of stolen weapons."
The Pakistani sighed, and lifted his gaze, almost-green meeting scrutinizing blue. He was silent, all composition above nary the slightest substance.
Alfred's brows lifted and the corners of his mouth quirked up in surprise. "Is that where he is? He's placing weapons?"
Koshir's gaze never wavered.
"Do you know where Ali Hassam is supposed to be? Today?" Alfred asked.
Koshir slowly turned his gaze to the chair behind him. He preoccupied himself as he sat down and gazed at his clasped hands when they settled in his lap. He took a breath:
"The answer to both is the same." He met the eyes of his interrogator. "Ali Hassam - - - Arab Shia - - - will be lying dead in the street." He leaned forward, his countenance smug. "And Yishvish Utzar - - - Iraq - - - will be standing over him."
Alfred had to keep himself focused on the nation in front of him - - - he had terrible difficulty in not looking toward the one-way window at his back. His heart hurt for Jordan, knowing he was watching from the other side at one of the men who were planning to kill his family.
