2010-09-05: The Reach Of Allah






September 5, 2010


Supermax — Colorado, USA


"It's dangerous for him to be alive in prison. There's always the possibility of an escape. There's always the possibility he could take hostages to secure his release." — Margaret Pothier

Word passed down through the Mossad grapevine indicates that there is an attack planned on multiple installations in the very near future. Unfortunately, the source of the information has been neatly disposed of, in other words, he's dead. The rest of his cell? Scattered. With time running out, there is only one place for Rivka to look, to the dead man's brother.

Is'haaq Rassim isn't a face recognized the world over, he's been in prison much too long. That hasn't stopped him from sending and receiving messages though, the network within is extensive and it's impossible to track. Even without normal means of communication, people have been receiving orders from the inside and the other way around. This was pointed out quite clearly to Olivia on the day she witnessed the death of an inmate on his way to a hearing.

Rivka has been granted a one hour pass to the facility, as long as she's with an escort. The FBI have provided her with adequate backup and as the two women enter the gates of the penitentiary, they are met with a rather awesome sight. It's like Alcatraz on land… only more secure. Three gates, six checkpoints, and two retina scans later, they are in a cinder block room with Mister Rassim.

Truth be told, Rivka isn't at all pleased with any of this. First, interrogation is not her area of expertise. Second, what she does know of interrogation techniques may not fly in the good ol' US of A. Third, she's guessing it's going to be exceedingly difficult to get information out of a man who somehow manages to convey and receive orders from possibly the most secure prison in the Western hemisphere. This will not be easy, and the fact is making Rivka even more irritated than usual.

She walks through the corridors with the American agent at her side, considering the blonde thoughtfully. "Has there been any observation detail on him here? Who he talks to, even amongst the guards?" It seems basic, and she almost hates to ask. She's not looking to insult anyone. Maybe bash someone's head against a wall but not insult them.

Armed with a gun and a new suit, since the one she wore while tumbling out into the desert is now ruined, Olivia calmly escorts Rivka through the Supermax facilities. She doesn't look particularly thrilled to be there - but really, who does look happy to be in a prison? Her expression is one of quiet confidence, greeting guards and other officials with as few - but polite - words as possible.

"I imagine so.." the blonde's voice trails off, as she flips out her phone to check up on the notes she was given. "There's only a few guards that have been given the authority to handle him. Off the record, though, it's hard to say who he has and hasn't spoken to. Things have a way of.. getting around," she adds, a hint of frustration in her voice.

When they enter the room, Is'haaq is chained to the table by the wrists. His dark eyes travel to the raven haired Mossad agent and his lips curl in recognition of her heritage. "Yehudim," he growls softly, giving an upward nod to the blonde, "This is who you bother my prayers for?"

It's nowhere near prayer time in the Islamic religion.

He drifts off to silence as his long and slender fingers curl into fists. He turns his head to the corner where the small camera is pointed at them, the red light blinking to indicate that it is turned on. With a jerk, he pulls against his shackles and yells toward the camera. "Let me out, I am not speaking to women! You find me a man that is not a Jew!"

In the security booth, the two guards set to monitor the discussion are huddled around one monitor. Not the one that has the image of Is'haaq ragin in anger, but the one with Larry Bird and Shaq.

"Shiite pig." Rivka mutters under her breath. She remains standing, as she can't bear to sit down at a table with this man, and making him have to look up at her is a psychological tactic. "How's the food, Rassim? I understand they use a lot of lard here." There's a tight smile, and she shrugs. "You'll talk to who you talk to. I'm sure there are means to make your accommodations less comfortable.

She gets to the chase though. She is really not good at interrogation. "There are a series of assaults scheduled in the coming days. Coordinated strikes. Let's begin with what you know." And here we go. Step one. The wheeling, the dealing, the insults, the denials.

Interrogation is clearly not Olivia's thing either. Watching people? Sure. Chasing? No problem. The intricate art of wrangling the information out of someone that has life or death consequences? With a step to the side, it's apparent she is going to leave the bulk of the questioning to Agent Ophir. Or maybe she's got a different tactic in mind that involves her being silent, for now.

There are other ways she's helpful at the moment, though. For example, when brushing back the hem of her jacket to slide her hands into her pants pockets, she flashes a rather visible glimpse of the holstered Glock 23 at her hip. When Rivka doesn't sit, neither does she - she hovers, pale gaze tight as it shifts from one figure to the other.

The Arab meets the Mossad's steely gaze with one of his own. Her comment about the food? It receives a tick of the lips, as if he's holding something back from her. Possibly another insult or worse. Gritting his teeth, he leans forward in his chair in a small attempt to be intimidating. "I will talk to no one here." His speaks slowly, drawing his words out. Possibly because he can't fathom a woman understanding what he's saying.

Up in the monitoring station, the two guards are still fixated on the basketball game. A monitor two screens down from the one featuring the interrogating duo depicts a silent movie. This small screen picture stars a solitary guard walking down a hallway… when all of a sudden he slumps to the ground.

"I understand you're doing a lot of talking." Rivka offers no show of her temper. He wants to match wills? Okay, bring it. "And some rather severe effort is going to go into making sure that stops. I understand that there's being alone in your cell, and then there's solitary confinement. Two very different things. The second can get uncomfortable in some very unfortunate ways." She puts her hand on the table, leans on it, a bit toward him. "Your people might be murderous, but they don't lack for purpose. So we can start with something easy. The facilities chosen, and the reason why. It's not anything you wouldn't tell us anyway." Just after the fact.

Much to her chagrin, Olivia's practical flat black shoes make a quick, unfortunate scuffing noise as she casually paces back and forth. "She's right," the blonde notes, nodding at Rivka's threat of solitary confinement. "I'd be happy to make the arrangements," she adds, parting with a saccharine smile. Leaving the table-leaning to the other woman, Olivia wanders toward the door. There she lingers to the side of it, pausing while waiting to see if Is'haaq will be forthcoming with something. Anything.

Bwooop Bwoop Bwoop

The electronic alarms go off as two armed guards rush into the room, their rifles raised up by their faces. "We're going to have to ask you to stay in the room." One of the guards, has a rather panicked expression on his face. Looking between the two women and then the Arab, he nods toward Olivia. "Ma'am, if you could use that firearm… we've got an armed inmate out there along with a half dozen more ready to shank us if we get too close to the walls."

Is'haaq? For his part, he just leans back in his chair as a serene smile touches his lips. Nodding to Rivka, his tone of voice seems almost too nice to be natural. "John F. Kennedy… today."

Rivka's brows lift to her hairline, and she curses softly in Hebrew. Nonetheless, shen gives Is'haaq a chilly smile. "Don't go anywhere." she growls, and takes a step away from those with the guns. "Do either of you have radios?" she asks of the two men. She had to surrender her cell phone to get inside.

"Lovely," Olivia sighs, deftly reaching a hand into her jacket to retrieve her handgun. "I'm glad I wore my vest today." Tossing a glance over her shoulder, she gives Rivka an apologetic smile - these things are inconvenient, after all. "I'll be right back." Lifting up a finger, she nods toward the two guards and then the door. Gun at the ready, she poises herself to peek out into the hallway and look for said armed inmate.

The inmate is nowhere to be found, not down this corridor. Both guards look hesitantly at each other before looking back at Rivka and Is'haaq. "I don't think this is a good idea ma'am," one of them says weakly as he prepares to follow Olivia out into the hallway. His voice cracks with fear as he glances back to Is'haaq and widens his eyes. "It was you!!"

The Arab's eyes widen in mock alarm and he raises one of his hands to gesture at himself, straining the chain that holds him to the table. "Me? I am sorry, friend, I do not know of what you speak." There's a smug sense of accomplishment in his tone, it's either his natural demeanor or he's wordlessly taking responsibility for the little coup.

"Frankie, the Cobras, they're working for him!"

The other guard gives a cursory glance back at the inmate and shakes his head. "Just… we'll think about it later. Just concentrate on putting this guy down." The radio at his side is unclipped and tossed toward Rivka, "It's only good in here. The only line outside is up in the control room."

Rivka takes the radio, and for the moment seeming to ignore their prisoner (seeming being the operative word), she speaks into it. "This is Ophir. Status report." No please, just give her what she wants, and give it to her now. She calls after Olivia, "They're right. We should stay here. Keep our guest contained, and have a bottleneck for anyone who tries to get in at us."

Hmmm. Olivia pulls her head back inside, swiveling to look at the others still in the room. Her neck jerks almost violently as the guard turns to Is'haaq in fear, gaze shifting from the armed man to the seated prisoner. "We need more guards, clearly," she notes to Rivka, briefly looking toward the duo in their presence. "Where was he?" she asks of the second guard, brow furrowing. The gun in her hand is clenched tightly, ready for use at a moment's notice.

«*crackle* Ophir? Who the hell is Ophir? Over. *crackle*»

Whoever is on the other end doesn't sound amused, the rest of the radios are silent. The two guards glance at each other before each turning to a different one and answering simultaneously.

"They have some guards on the take… the warden called for radio silence." Apparently it's something they failed to inform the women about before.

Is'haaq maintains the calm smirk on his face as he slouches calmly in his chair. For all intents and purposes, he really is making it seem like he was behind all of this. Looking up at Rivka, he gives her a partial grin and twitches one eyebrow. "The reach of Allah is far."

This is how the Americans run things? With an expression of disgust for the guard who didn't bother to warn her of the radio silence before he handed her his comm, Rivka turns instead to study Is'haaq. She has no gun, and can't be of much help to the others, so she focuses instead on the prisoner. If only she'd paid more attention in the micro-expression lectures. She says nothing, just watches him with a flat gaze and maintains the radio silence.

"Thanks for mentioning that now." Olivia eyes the guard, crisply shaking her head in disappointment. For now, it would seem anyway, that the FBI agent is ignoring the prisoner. "Staying holed in here while there's someone running about seems a little fruitless," there's a pause, "..but I guess I am the one with the gun." Keeping the door cracked open, she keeps her gun pointed downward and her eyes attentive toward the crack providing her a glimpse of the hallway outside.

In the control room, the warden and the two guards who were watching the basketball game can do nothing but watch helplessly as a few more guards drop to the floor. The rifles are liberated from the corpses by newly freed inmates and one by one, as they pass by the cameras, the screens go black.

Inside the room, shots can be heard from various directions. The sound reverberating off the walls and echoing loudly into the ears of the two agents, the two guards, and the smirking inmate. "It seems, as though we are at a stalemate." Is'haaq says calmly, placing his hands on the table. "If you wish to leave this place alive, I would suggest you unlock my chains. Otherwise, you will not see the morning." His smile is directed at Rivka. Then, he turns his head toward Olivia and the guards and yanks hard on one of the cuffs causing a small bang.

The reach of Allah might be far, but the reach of Is'haaq is not.