FROM THE ASHES
Chapter 12
Sanjana hurried down the long hallway as quickly as her lehenga choli and propriety allowed. Only the scuff of her feet across the carpet disturbed the morning silence of the residence. Normally she went to Barsad's room later in the morning; he liked to sleep in. But as she had headed to her mistress's room at the appointed time, Hisham had stepped out of Bane's suite to intercept her and instruct her to awaken Barsad with all haste and direct him to Bane's office.
She always looked forward to seeing Barsad, but the urgency behind Hisham's orders made her worry that Bane had something unpleasant to say to his lieutenant. Though Bane had been nothing but polite to her over these past weeks, she still instinctively feared him, not just because of his muscle-bound size but because of his overall inherent menace—the mechanical-sounding voice, the mask that reminded her of a tarantula, the piercing eyes that seemed to read what was in her very soul, making her feel ashamed and vulnerable. How could Talia, Barsad, and Maysam feel so much affection for such an intimidating figure? No wonder Gotham had trembled beneath his rule. She admired Barsad for his fearlessness around his commander and hoped that one day she would be as brave.
Whenever she asked about Bane and what influenced him to lead this kind of life, Barsad was always evasive, simply saying that Bane's early life had been nothing short of hellish at best. Such a revelation deepened her curiosity and unexpectedly stirred her sympathy. While her own life thus far had been anything but pleasant, she had never considered it hellish. What had happened to Bane and why did he wear that hideous mask? During the siege of Gotham many theories had arisen, but when she asked Barsad about them, he reminded her that he would never reveal anything about his commander that he had not received permission to divulge.
She smiled when she thought of Barsad and their nightly talks. She enjoyed his company immensely. He made her laugh with his quick wit and dry humor. Also, he was teaching her English, a process that often made both of them laugh as she struggled to pronounce words.
At first she had expected him to eventually force himself on her, that his friendship was merely a ploy, but as the days and weeks slipped by she felt more at ease and was almost ready to trust him. Sometimes, though, she told herself she was being a fool for consorting with an infamous terrorist, a man who served someone the world viewed as demonic and inhuman. Yet, sitting in Barsad's room or on his veranda, looking into his amazingly blue eyes and seeing his broad smile, Sanjana found it difficult to believe this was the same soldier she had seen standing next to Bane on the portico of Gotham City Hall.
Once she reached Barsad's door, she hesitated before knocking. She hated to disturb his sleep; he was not, as he had warned her, a morning person, not until after his coffee, which she brought to him every morning. Hisham's urgency, however, made her rap upon the door.
"Mr. Barsad, good morning," she said in English. "Are you awake?"
No response. She frowned and pressed her ear to the door, listening for snores or any sound that would indicate his status. Again she knocked. Still nothing. Perhaps he was in the shower or smoking on his veranda.
"Mr. Barsad," she tried a bit louder with a glance up and down the hall, not wanting Maysam to hear her.
After waiting a moment longer, she sighed in frustration and opened the door just enough to call to him again. Why did he not answer? She stuck her head in a bit farther in order to see his bed through the dimness. The blankets were scrambled and lumpy, but Sanjana could not tell if he were under them or not. The bathroom was dark. One of the veranda doors stood open, the warm morning breeze trickling inward.
Confident Barsad was indeed out smoking, Sanjana entered the room, closing the door behind her. To reach the veranda, she had to pass the bed, and just as she drew next to it, the blankets flew back and in one blinding movement Barsad had reared up in bed, a pistol pointed at her. Sanjana gasped and froze.
"Jesus, Sanjana, what the hell are you doing? I could've shot you."
"I—I'm sorry," she said in Hindi. "I thought you were on the veranda."
Barsad set the Glock on one of his pillows and slumped to one elbow. "It's too early."
"I know. I'm sorry." Her voice trembled, gaze glued to the gun. "Hisham sent me to fetch you."
Barsad noticed how the weapon unnerved her, so he slipped it beneath his pillow again. "Hisham?"
"Yes. Mr. Bane needs to see you right away."
At this, Barsad untangled himself from the blankets and swung his bare legs over the side of the bed. Sanjana realized he wore only dark gray boxers. She did her best to avert her eyes. His movements wafted his scent to her, and now she knew what a woman would smell after sleeping with him.
"Did he say why he wants to see me?"
"No. Just that I should fetch you immediately."
"OK. Thanks." He stood. "Would you hand me that shirt on the chair behind you?"
For a moment she had forgotten how to move. Did he not realize he was standing in front of her with hardly any clothes on? How oblivious Americans were.
"Sanjana? You OK? I'm sorry about the gun. It's instinct."
She nodded, trying not to look at his hair sticking up in every direction like a precocious little boy's. Mechanically she handed him his t-shirt.
Barsad dragged it over his head then went to the foot of the bed where he had left his jeans on a low, ancient chest. Realizing himself, he hurried to pull them on.
"Sorry," he muttered. "Not very gentlemanly of me, huh?"
"No, it is my fault. I did not mean to intrude like this."
Barsad offered a lopsided grin to comfort her. "Don't worry about it. You're doing your job. Where is Bane?"
"In his office."
"Would you bring me some coffee there?"
"Right away."
"Thanks, Sanjana." For a moment he stood with his eyes upon her as he buttoned his jeans. "You're quite a sight in the morning, you know."
She blushed and looked away.
"Afraid I'm just the opposite," he laughed. "Well, off I go. Coffee, eh?"
"Yes."
Watching him rush from the room, Sanjana mentally replayed his compliment and smiled to herself.
###
"It appears I roused you from your beauty rest, brother," Bane said as Barsad sat on the opposite side of what was once Siddig's desk, a familiar room to Barsad from his years of service here.
"Yeah, but at least I had a beautiful alarm clock."
"I had no idea you had such feelings for Hisham," Bane quipped.
Barsad chuckled. "He sent Sanjana."
"A wise move on Hisham's part. He knew what would get you up."
"Ha, ha, brother. Very funny."
"And accurate. But enough levity for now. I just got off the phone with Finn. He relayed some puzzling information."
"What's that?"
"The CIA has released Khasanov from their black site in Morocco."
"What? Why the hell would they do that? He's their only link to us."
Vlad Khasanov had been grievously wounded during the final day of fighting in Gotham, unknowingly left behind by his evacuating brethren, the only League member captured by the authorities. The Americans had worked feverishly to save his life so he could be interrogated. Even before the siege of Gotham, his face was well-known by both Interpol and the CIA for his rumored association with the League of Shadows. During his captivity, Khasanov's attempts to kill himself to protect his organization had been thwarted each time.
Bane had little fear that Khasanov would break under any method of torture. He had fully expected the man to die in custody, and certainly he had never expected Khasanov to be freed.
"There can be only one reason for his release," Bane said.
"They couldn't have turned him."
"Doubtful. But they know he will be able to contact us, and by doing so confirm that we did indeed survive."
"Vlad's not going to allow himself to be their puppet."
"Agreed. But he may have a reason for being a messenger. Either that or he is playing them. However, if it were the latter, I think the Americans would have been able to sniff that out and never would have let him go. No, I expect we will be hearing from Vlad very soon."
"He'd never contact us directly. He wouldn't even know how. Only our regional commanders know where we are."
"Yes, and Vlad will know that."
"Should we have him eliminated?"
"We may have to. But at this point I prefer to let this play out a bit. Let us find out what he has learned while a guest of the Americans, and let us hear the reason for his liberation."
"Have you told Talia?"
"Our sister is still asleep. I wanted to speak to you first. Ah, Sanjana, come in."
"Good morning, sir," Sanjana said from the threshold where she stood with a tray.
"I see you have read your charge's mind and brought his coffee. By all means, come pour Barsad a cup so his eyes open a little wider. It's the least I can allow after so rudely interrupting his decidedly lonely sleep."
Barsad shot him a look of irritation.
"See how he glares at me," Bane said as Sanjana set the tray on one corner of the desk. "He is a beastly thing before his first cup, is he not? That and one of his vile cigarettes afterwards will return his humanity."
Sanjana struggled to hide her amusement, always surprised whenever Bane said something witty. It pleased her to witness his friendship with Barsad. Who would have thought two such ruthless men could show brotherly affection? "Can I get you anything, sir?"
"No, thank you, Sanjana. Hisham has already seen to my needs. He's used to my early morning prowls."
She poured some of the steaming brew and handed the cup to Barsad, who thanked her.
"Shall I make your bed, Mr. Barsad, or will you be returning to it when you are finished here?"
"No, I'm wide awake now, thanks to the two of you. Go ahead and make it up."
"Very well. Good day, Mr. Bane."
"The same to you, Sanjana. And please assure your mistress that Talia and I will be joining her for breakfast."
"I will, sir. She will be very pleased to hear that."
Bane watched her go and remained silent until she was well out of hearing. Then he gave Barsad a taunting look.
"Enjoying this, are you?" Barsad asked.
"Yes. In case you've forgotten, brother, over the years I have been celibate many long months while you whored about. Now the shoe is on the other foot, and it does indeed amuse me."
"Why don't we get back to the matter at hand—Khasanov?"
"Of course. As I was saying, I wanted your opinion of the situation before discussing it with Talia. Do you agree that we should allow him to remain in play until we discover why he was released?"
"I'd feel better if we eliminated him, but I can see your point."
"Then we are agreed upon the course of action?"
"For now."
"Very well."
"But why bother talking to Talia? She's just going to defer to you again."
"I won't allow it. I will insist upon her decisiveness."
With a skeptical sidelong glance, Barsad sipped his coffee.
"You will have a small team intercept Khasanov," Bane instructed, "and take him to one of our safe havens in Dagestan. Have him debriefed and evaluated."
After further discussion, Barsad finished his coffee and left the suite to carry out his orders. Bane returned to the bedroom.
Talia still slept, so Bane made no sound as he approached the bed. She lay on her side, looking peaceful and stunning. Without make-up, she appeared so very young, reminding him of her teenage years and her time at university. Her mother's old blanket was all that covered her nakedness. The fabric was getting threadbare after all these years, the earthy colors faded, but it was all they had left of Melisande. Originally the blanket had been a gift from her husband, used to swaddle Talia after her birth and keep her warm during the pit prison's brutal nights. Following Melisande's death, it had given them much comfort. After Bane's rescue, Rā's al Ghūl had allowed him to keep the blanket…until Bane was excommunicated, then Rā's reclaimed it. When Rā's died, Talia returned the blanket to Bane, though he insisted she keep it to remember her mother. She, however, knew how much it had always meant to him and that it soothed him when they were apart.
Though reluctant to wake her and deprive himself of such a serene sight, Bane sat beside her on the edge of the mattress. The sensation of his weight sinking against her caused her eyelids to flutter and open. He brushed her wild hair back from her face and exchanged a smile with her.
"Good morning, my love," he murmured.
"Good morning."
"Hisham is bringing a fresh pot of coffee. I apologize for waking you, but remember we promised your grandmother we would eat breakfast with her."
Talia's sleepy eyes flicked to the clock on the nightstand.
"And there is a League matter that we must discuss."
He relayed the news of Khasanov's release and his discussion with Barsad as Talia sat up against their mountain of pillows, suddenly awake.
"Barsad is sending a team now to locate our brother and ascertain the reason for his release."
"They'd never release him unless they have an agenda."
"Indeed."
"You won't be talking to him yourself, will you? You shouldn't expose yourself."
"For now, I will leave it to our team."
Her sigh of relief pleased him, to know she worried about him.
"Do you agree with my plans?"
"A part of me agrees with Barsad that we should eliminate Khasanov in case there is a chance he can expose us, but as you said, such measures can still be taken if we deem it necessary after his debrief. You will use our best men to interrogate him."
"Of course, habibati. They will find out the truth." He took her hand, smiled to assure her. "Have no fear. I won't take any chances with him. But he is our brother. We must show him a sufficient amount of respect for what he has endured these many months. The very fact that he is alive is a testament to his value."
She frowned and kissed his hand. "I hope you're right."
###
The first words from Khasanov when the League reacquired him were, "I must speak with Bane." As directed, his brothers refused to confirm that Bane lived. During two days of questioning, Khasanov told them extensively about his time as a prisoner, but always he asked to talk directly with Bane, refusing to believe anything except that his commander lived. When he was asked why he needed to speak with Bane, he told them again and again of the reason for his release—he was a messenger with important information for Bane, information for his ears only.
"I don't like it," Barsad said after their latest update from Dagestan. "If he's demanding a face-to-face, it could be to assassinate you."
"Do you have such little faith in our brother?" Bane asked.
"He's gone through months of hell, Bane. You don't know if he's been turned. Our brothers aren't convinced."
"If I met with him, I would be able to tell."
"Jesus. You're not seriously considering that, are you?"
"You have been wanting us to return to the field, have you not, brother?"
"Yeah, but not to visit a potential assassin."
"We are all assassins, Barsad."
"You know what I mean, damn it."
Bane considered his agitated lieutenant. "Very well. We will give him a couple more days under our brothers' care and see if something changes."
But Vlad Khasanov refused to deviate from his demands or narrative, even after additional days of scrutiny and isolation in the mountainous border region of southern Dagestan. Bane had to admit he was more and more intrigued by Khasanov's determination and insistence that his commander would want to hear what he had to say. Khasanov claimed his demand to divulge his message to Bane alone was for Bane's own safety.
"I believe it is time for me to get to the bottom of this matter in Dagestan," Bane said to Talia and Barsad one evening as they relaxed on the suite's veranda.
Barsad, standing downwind of Bane, removed a glowing cigarette from his mouth. "What are you suggesting?"
"I'm suggesting nothing—I'm telling you I am going to Dagestan as soon as it can be arranged."
Talia immediately straightened in her cushioned chair, color draining from her face. "No, Bane. You can't. I won't allow it."
"I will not be gone long."
"It's too risky," she insisted.
"My entire life has been a risk, habibati, but still I endure and will continue to do so after I pay a visit to Khasanov. I will remind you of my history with him. He has served me since Chechnya. I saved his life on more than one occasion. He has never faltered or failed us all these years. If anyone could withstand the CIA's tactics, it is Vlad. I must show him the same loyalty he has shown me."
"Bullshit," Barsad said, whipping the cigarette over the railing and stalking toward Bane. "What could he possibly have to say that we need to hear?"
"Perhaps he must warn us of something."
"You don't believe that," Talia said. "The CIA would never have released him unless it served their purpose, not ours. They're just trying to confirm that we are alive, and if you contact Khasanov, they will have that confirmation."
"I will be able to know if Khasanov has been turned or not, I assure you. And if he has, I will eliminate him myself. So you see there is no danger to us. And if our brother wins his life, I will not speak a word to him of either you or Barsad."
"Me?" Barsad said. "If you think you're leaving me behind, you're batshit crazy."
"You will stay with Talia where you are needed most."
"She's safe here with Yemi and the others."
"And I will be safe with our brothers in Dagestan. You will obey my orders, brother."
Talia interjected, "I won't allow you to go, Bane."
Bane turned to her with darkened gaze, the lover gone, the protector front and center. "And if you get your wish and I become Demon Head, is this the interference I can expect? Am I not currently acting-commander of the League?"
"You are, but—"
"Then it is settled—I will leave for Dagestan as soon as possible."
Talia stared at Bane, her jaw tight with tension. "Barsad. Leave us."
Recognizing the iron determination on Talia's face, Barsad hesitated a mere moment before stomping from the veranda. Only after they heard the distant closing of the suite door did the staring contest end. Talia's expression softened slightly, and she reached across the small coffee table between them, her hand open and inviting, but Bane knew better than to touch her right now.
"Don't do this, habibi. It's too dangerous. Let Khasanov simmer a bit longer. Perhaps the CIA will grow impatient and show their hand."
"Or they will make a move on us while we are distracted by Khasanov's presence. If we want to know their game, we must get answers from Khasanov. He will give them to me."
"What if you're wrong?"
"I am not wrong."
Talia got up from her chair and knelt between his knees, her hands on his thighs. He refused to show any reaction to her subservient position. "Being together these past weeks…you've given me so much strength, habibi. But this…I don't have the strength to let you go right now, especially for something as dangerous as this. Send Barsad first. Let him decide if Khasanov is still loyal to us, and if he is, you can talk to him then."
"I won't ask Barsad to do what is mine to do. It will expose him for nothing. Khasanov will not speak with him. He will maintain his directive. No, I am the one who must go."
Talia's lips pressed together in frustration, and she momentarily looked the length of the veranda, a slight sheen of moisture coming to her eyes.
Bane's voice took on a gentler tone when he saw her familiar anxiety. "You have nothing to fear, habibati."
"I have everything to fear." Her fingers gripped his thighs. "I can't lose you, Bane." She seemed about to say something else but closed her mouth and looked away once more.
Intrigued by the sudden conflict in her gaze, he leaned forward and took her face in his hands. She closed her eyes.
"You can't go," she whispered. "I won't let you."
He leaned his forehead against hers in their age-old gesture of affection. "In this, you have no choice. You have given me this temporary power, and if you truly mean to give it to me permanently, you must be prepared for many moments like this. You must be strong and fearless."
She sank back to sit on the tiling, still not meeting his gaze. He caressed her hair.
"I will come back to you, my love. I always will. You know that."
Talia remained motionless for some time as he stroked her head. Bane waited, knowing she was weighing everything in her mind. He wondered if she would say whatever it was she had stopped herself from saying. His foolish side hoped that she had been about to declare her love for him, the same kind of love he had for her. And if she did, would his resolve crumble? And if not such a declaration, then what had hung there on the tip of her tongue?
At last she raised her head, the trepidation bundled away now, replaced by resolution. "If you must do this, then I ask one thing, one thing you must promise me."
"If I can."
"No, you can and you must."
"What is it, habibati?"
"You will take Barsad with you."
"He should stay with you. He will protect you."
"That's not why you want to leave him here. Be honest with me. You want him here in case something happens to you, in case you don't come back."
"I will come back."
"You don't know that." She raised a hand to stop him, squeezing her eyes shut. "Promise me you will do this one thing that I ask of you. If you love me, you will."
"Habibati—"
"Promise me!"
Bane sighed, slumped back in his seat, watched her eyes open, those large blue pools looking to him for solace as they had since the day she had been born. He frowned and at last said, "As you wish."
