The Ring
Damascus
The comfortable, air-conditioned limousine waved its way through chaotic daytime street traffic, using its horn quite liberally. Its passenger was obviously an important man in quite a bit of a hurry, often glancing at his watch and angrily urging the driver to go faster.
The man had a good reason to be irate, too. He was running late thanks to these damn streets, which seemed to be populated by utter maniacs: and a man of his stature should not be late for a meeting with an important client like prince Issam bin Mahmoud al-Herat. The Prince valued punctuality greatly - and, of course, being an important official of the Syrian government, he could cause no small amount of trouble if angered.
The limo's passenger was used to dealing with such people, having spent most of his adult life gathering wealth and influence. He was past forty now, well respected, influencial and very, very wealthy, but contrary to instinct, maintaining this influence was far more difficult than acquiring it.
The driver finally announced they have arrived at the Prince's palace, and with more than five minutes to spare.
"Excellent, Haytham. Most excellent.", he complimented the man and got out of the car, marvelling at the ostentatious opulence of one of the grandest palaces in all Syria - or perhaps even the world.
A servant approached him promptly and bowed, uttering the customary greeting: "
Salam Alaykum, honored one. What service may I render to such a grand guest?"
"
Alaykum Salam", the man returned the greeting, "Please tell the prince that Karim Saffayed has arrived, and respectfully requests an audience."
"The honored prince has been expecting your visit. It will please him that you arrived so punctually. Please follow me."
Both men walked across the palace to the prince's study. The place was decorated in the old Arabian style, and lavishly so as well: prince Issam spared no expense on the finer things in life. Karim mused idly that a man in his post should really care more about security of his country than material trinkets: but then again, the prince's love for the finer things in life kept Karim's pockets full, and the Syrian police off his back.
The servant left without entering the study, and so Karim opened the large two-piece door himself. He walked inside and bowed.
"
Assalamu Alilkum Wa Rahmatulah Wa Barakatuh, your highness.", he said formally
"And to you as well", the prince responded from behind his massive oaken desk stuffed full of various papers. He rose to meet his guest, "I am pleased to see you in good health, Karim. How was your journey?"
"Quite pleasant, thank you."
"Please, sit down", the prince pointed to a comfortable armchair sitting quietly in the corner of the gigantic office, "I shall call for some coffee. I trust the business in PeZookia went smoothly?"
"Yes, most smoothly indeed. I am sorry I had to leave on such short notice."
"Ah, I quite understand. No harm done, business demands such things from time to time.", the servants appeared as if from nowhere, bearing tiny pots of strong coffee, ground and prepared in the Turkish way. Both men chatted for a while about neutral things, such as the weather, sports and politics, before finally moving on to business.
"I understand you wanted to place an order for some of my merchandise.", Karim began the meat of the conversation.
"Yes, yes. As gifts, you see - two of my closest allies at the Caliph's court aided me greatly in recent times. I wanted to express my gratitude, and make a little purchase for myself, as well."
"I see. Are those...allies...trustworthy not to reveal their benefactor? It would be most unfortunate should word of our dealings get out..."
"Oh, I trust them absolutely."
"In this case, we can certainly arrange something. What did you have in mind?"
"I have enjoyed my last purchase most thoroughly. Could you, perhaps, arrange more of the same type?"
"Eastern Continental? Naturally, without a problem. Any particular tastes to consider?"
"Oh, not really. I would have one serious request, however...I'd like my compatriots to be able to see the merchandise before purchase."
"I see. This will complicate things, but it's doable. Let me make a few phone calls, and see what I can arrange."
Fabowice, PeZookia - Outside of Srebrzycka 18
Pawel sat in the car, half asleep. The cigarette he was holding in his hand smoldered slowly, trailing smoke into the cold night. He wondered idly what was taking his buddies so long - he was already late for dinner, and eating it cold again wasn't a very attractice prospect.
And the goddamned dogs have to bark at everything they see..., he thought when two vicious Dobermans chained up near the front door to the elegant house at Srebrzycka 18 started barking and howling. They did that every time a car passed the house, or another dog barked, or a bird flew by. It was really starting to get on his nerves.
He looked around, yawning, and took another long drag on his cigarette - and he stopped halfway through, when a hunched figure appeared on the driveway. He stared in disbelief at the silhouette, locked up with surprise, and only realized what he was supposed to do when it was already too late.
"Police! Out of the car!", the counter-terrorist shouted, pointing a mean-looking rifle straight at Pawel. Another one opened the car's door and swiftly pulled him out, throwing him to the ground. The team zip-cuffed and left Pawel on the driveway for patrol officers to take away.
The dogs were treated with pepper spray, before the team stacked up at the front door.
Srebrzycka 18, living room
The owner of the house was a huge, bald man with severe asthma, going by the nickname Wielki ; Somehow, he's managed to build up an impressive physique, and the constant state of irritation caused by his sickness made him a bit of a legend in this shady community. Right now, he was having a conversation with Brzytwa's men who brought the suspicious stranger into his "place of business".
"Brzytwa thinks we should keep the guy in here? Well, Brzytwa can go fuck himself. I'm not keeping him here for his friends to come and get him."
"What if he's a cop?"
"
Especially if he's a cop. Hell, if he's a cop, we need to get rid of the fucker right now."
"Brzytwa says we should find out what he knows..."
"Am I speaking Turkish?
I DON'T GIVE A FLYING FUCK ABOUT WHAT BRZYTWA THINKS. You two idiots can go and drag that shithead out here and drive him out into the forest.", Wielki took a shot of his asthma medication, "And get that stupid whore who tried to fuck up one of the customers, too."
One of Brzytwa's men got up, apparently outraged, "We're not here to do your dirty jobs, Wielki! Get one of your own dickheads to do this."
"You watch your fucking mouth in my house, boy, or I sweat to God I'll..."
Wielki didn't quite finish the sentence: he was interrupted by the front door being thrown out of their frame by a deafening explosion. Masked, heavily armed figures rushed inside the room right afterwards, screaming at the top of their lungs.
"POLICE! HANDS IN THE AIR, NOW!"
One of Wielki's guards reacted by going for his gun, but never had a chance: the rifle shots rang out in the living room, adding to the general confusion. Wielki attempted to run at first, but having nowhere to go, he kneeled down and raised his hands.
The police commandoes rushed to secure rest of the ground floor. Sporadic gunfire erupted here and there, as the counterterrorists encountered slavers too stubborn or too stupid to give up.
Patrol officers charged into the house straight afterwards and radio cars rushed onto the driveway. It was quite a spectacle, the symphony of police lights painting the entire neighborhood red and blue, the shouts and radio calls and clipped commands.
Sebastian observed the operation, leaning against his car. When counterterrorists signalled the all-clear, he entered the perimeter - and noticed Wielki, being led out of the house by two officers.
"Why Wielki! I didn't expect to meet you here", he said sarcastically, "Branching out a bit?"
"Fuck you, pig!"
"Yeah...we'll talk about that in a couple of hours.", he turned to the patrol officers, "Make sure to get his medication, too."
People's Victory
Javor Belic enjoyed walking home after work. He could whiz through the streets in an armored limo, of course, and in the old days, he probably would do just that. But times have changed, and Javor was grateful for that. It was safer, less stressful. Less dangerous to work his everyday job.
Being born in Sjenska made him appreciate the newfound peace.
He rounded the corner and heaved his briefcase into his left arm, fishing for the keys with his right. The apartment block he lived in was one of the new ones, dozens of which were growing in place of the sprawling slums which not two years ago surrounded the former capital of Sjenska with a huge, smelly and nasty-looking ring. Now they were being replaced with apartment complexes, interlaced with parks, schools and community centers. God only knows how much such a project had to cost the Shadow taxpayer, but nobody complained. The waiting lists for flats in these new blocks were horrible, though.
"Sir? Would you happen to have a few roubles to help a homeless woman?", came a raspy voice from near the garbage chute, followed by rustling.
"No. Get lost.", Javor answered, not even looking. He finally managed to grab his keys and open the front door.
"Thank you", the voice came again, and then Balic's world exploded with pain.
"Inside", the woman hissed and pushed him through the door, expertly twisting his arm behind his back. Javor tried to resist, but all he managed to achieve was more pain.
"Sloppy, Javor. Very sloppy.", he heard the woman say. She fished out his gun from its holster, "I'll be keeping that, if you don't mind. Now, I'm going to let you go, but I see one sudden move and you're a corpse. Got that?"
Javor nodded weakly. He tried to say something, but was interrupted, "I don't care about your money. Open the door."
He did, and both of them - victim and assailtant - entered Javor's nice, freshly finished flat.
"Sit down. Not here, away from the window.", the woman pointed to an armchair in the corner. Javor followed her command, and for the first time caught a glimpse of her face.
"Oh my God...that's not possible..."
"Yes it is.", Ana locked the door and pocketed the keys, "And you're getting sloppy, Javor. Let me guess...you're a desk rat now?"
He nodded weakly, staring at Ana in disbelief. The former shadow figure behind Karic's system of opression, the second most powerful person in Sjenska, now wearing ragged clothes and smelling of trash.
And holding a gun, he reminded himself.
"Yes...", he admitted weakly in response to Ana's question, "A desk rat."
She grabbed herself a chair and sat down as well, staring at Javor.
"I actually knew that. Funny what usual people know about their rulers...", she said, aiming the gun straight at his face.
"Ana, what the hell do you want?", Javor bursted out suddendly, but not without his voice trembling a bit.
"I need you to get some things for me. More precisely, I need a list of names, a gun and some explosives."
She raised her hand seeing him try to speak, "Right, now you're thinking why you should help me at all, rather than run to your new Shadow friends and just have them deal with me. But, since you're not a fucking idiot, you should remember that Shadows have a grudge against people like us...and I know all about the work you did for Karic."
Javor felt a chill run down his spine. His 'work' involved such things as organizing interrogations of opposition activists at the infamous Pearl Of Sjenska Penitentiary Facility. As far as he knew, the UCSR had only one punishment in store for him.
"You see? It's better for you if I don't get caught. Ever. So now, let's talk about that list."