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Episode 063 |
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“War
is the continuation of politics by other means.” Karl Von Clausewity The elevator doors opened before Assif. With an angry scowl on his face, he stormed
into the hallway. Before him, a pair
of wooden double doors waited while a woman at a modest wooden desk typed
away on a small computer that was several years obsolete. As Assif approached, the woman looked up. “Hello,” she began in English. Assif ignored her, stomping towards the
door. “Sir, I’m afraid Dr. Howitz is…” Assif threw open the door into the small, windowless
office. Behind the desk, a man looked
up, his phone sandwiched between his shoulder and head. He stared at Assif as the honey-skinned man
waited in the doorway. “I’ll call you
back,” the man said, hanging up the phone.
He settled his gaze on Assif and sighed. “I know why you’re here.” “Get them authorization,” Assif snapped. “Assif, it’s not that simple,” the white-haired man
said, closing his eyes as he tried to reinforce his patience. “The “Which is ironic given their country,” Assif said
coldly, shutting the door. He glanced
around the room, then leveled at the doctor.
“Turn off the monitoring devices.” “No,” Howitz said simply. “Right now, the UN ambassador to the “Two of my people are being held by a terrorist group,”
Assif insisted loudly. “My team is
standing by, ready to take them. They
would have already arrested the terrorists if the Royal Air Force hadn’t
interfered.” “Assif, we can not allow the Responders to get involved
in legal matters of state,” Howitz insisted.
“You are a black-ops group, which means you must avoid any official
encounters.” “Then let us do our job and we’ll be on our way,” Assif
insisted, his hands balling into fists.
“Its bad enough that we had to acquisition a Danish transport
plane. All the British government
needs to give us is six hours and we’ll be gone.” “I can’t do that,” Howitz insisted. “It is not the place of the United Nations
to force policy on any non-threatening government.” Assif chortled.
“Then get the “Assif, this conversation is over,” Howitz said
simply. “My hands are tied. Until the Assif took a deep breath. He closed his eyes, letting the tension
drain from his body. He opened his
eyes again, glaring down at Howitz. “So
it comes down to the British government allowing the Responders?” Assif
asked. Howitz nodded. Assif turned and started out. “Assif,” Howitz called.
Assif stopped at the door, but didn’t turn. “I know what you’re thinking. I won’t stop you, but if your gamble doesn’t
pay off, I can’t help you.” Assif shut the door. Jin and Assif sat in the hall. On a leather bench pushed up against the
wall, the two sat alone in the nearly empty hall. Occasionally, someone appeared at the far
ends of the slightly curved hall, but they disappeared quickly. Assif’s arms were crossed as he stared forward, an
intense gaze burning a hole in the far wall.
Thoughts visibly raced through his mind. Next to him, Jin looked about, nervously
tapping his feet. In his lap, a small
plastic briefcase shuffled with the motions. After a moment, the door beside the bench opened and a
man dressed in military fatigues stepped out.
“Gentlemen,” he said in a British accent, “the air marshal will see
you.” Assif rose, buttoning his suit
as he headed inside. Jin scrambled to
his feet, holding the plastic case as he walked. Through
the doors was a small paneled room that smelled of ancient oak. Directly beyond the assistant’s desk was
another door. Opened, it led into an
office where a man in a suit sat unobtrusively. Staring at his computer as he held a phone
to his ear, he sat in front of a large flag with two red stripes between
three light blue stripes, capped with dark blue stripes. Assif
sat down in the chairs before the man’s desk.
Jin glanced around uncertainly.
Assif subtly pointed at the other chair, making Jin sit down
quickly. After a moment, the older man
behind the desk said “very well,” and hung up the phone. He looked at the two. “Gentlemen,” he said succinctly. “Please be brief.” “You have taken a team of UN special operatives into
the custody of the British Royal Air Force,” Assif said. “As their commander, I am here to request
their immediate release and allowance for them to complete their assignment.” “Which was?” the marshal asked. “The apprehension of known terrorists which have fled
to British soil.” The marshal sat back in his chair. He sniffed for a moment, then tapped on his
desk. “You’re Muslim, aren’t you?” Jin suddenly glanced about uncomfortably. “I am,” Assif answered without hesitation. The marshal nodded for a second. “The answer is no,” he said. “The RAF is not in the habit of looking
kindly on unauthorized incursions into our airspace.” “The incursion was authorized, by the UN,” Assif
insisted. “If the RAF didn’t authorize it, it doesn’t matter,”
the marshal said. “I oversee the
operations of the air force, I oversee the operations of this base, and I say
that their release is pending a full investigation into their actions.” “Sir,” Assif said with tight-lipped control, “known
terrorists have already made safe-haven in the “And we will look into that bit of speculation,” the
air marshal said, uninterested. “But
until I am satisfied of your team’s actions and intentions, I will not be
releasing anyone. Now,” he continued,
sitting back, “I suggest you go back to the UN and wait until we contact
you.” Assif sat for a moment, then rose without saying a
word. He looked at Jin, then turned to
head out. Jin looked from Assif to the
marshal, then back, standing. The
marshal watched them go, but just before they made into the front office, he
called “gentlemen.” Assif stopped and
turned. “The briefcase.” Assif turned to Jin and took the case from him. He walked back into the office and sat it
down on the marshal’s desk. He undid
the clasps of the case and lifted the top.
“This is a signed authorization from the Secretary-General of the
United Nations.” Assif reached into the suitcase and took out the single
piece of paper. “It authorizes my team
to use whatever means are necessary in order to achieve their goals as
outlined by the team’s charter.” The air marshal looked at Assif. “And the charter is?” “Classified,” Assif said, putting the paper and back
and shutting the case. “If you’d like,
when I next meet with the secretary-general, I will inform him of your
curiosity and ask that you be authorized to read it. I will then send you a fax.” He took the case.
“If you’ll excuse me, I am now off to meet with the Speaker of the
House of Commons.” He stared at the
air marshal’s eyes. “I will be
pleading my case to him. And I will be
certain to mention your refusal to cooperate as well as your insistence on
denying a UN authorization code.” The
air marshal stared into Assif’s eyes for a moment, then smiled. “Well,” he said, “tell him I said hello.” |
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