Adon swivelled back in his chair so that he could glance at the close door of Raynor's office.

They were still in there, talking. He could not hear what was being said -- the Raydar has put up muffling charms sufficient to see to that -- but the voices were escalating somewhat. It was Kabir who she was talking to. He had an appointment to speak with him later that day.

Bailey walked by, craning his neck as he observed Adon listening. He seemed to be making his way towards his cubicle. Adon wasn't certain whether he wanted to reprimand the "trainee" -- months overdue for promotion to full Auror, not that he was counting -- or to figure out if Adon had heard anything of interest. Or both.

Adon wasn't going to give him the chance. Ducking back into his cubicle, hunched over his work, Adon muttered to himself in a parody of diligence. There was no way Bailey would fall for it, he decided as he felt the heavy shadow of the man obscure his light source from the main room. Yet even if he hadn't, the shadow passed and Adon shook his head, beginning to reshuffle his papers and mutter in earnest.

"All this cloak-and-dagger is enough to make a man go mad!"

And he nearly did. For the next five hours, Adon sent out correspondences to the Indian Embassy. Excused himself from the premises of the Ministry in order to make telephone calls to potential acquaintances of the suspect, returned to make note and document, began to create a new network chart. . .

Sighing, he rubbed his face, sensing the shadow once more come through the entry of his cubicle. He tapped his papers briskly on his desktop, prepared to tell Bailey it was nearly time for his meeting and he'd better be gone. When he realised it was nearly time for his meeting. He swivelled in his chair -- the perks of office life: swivelling, leather chairs -- to greet Ahmed. He suspected it was. But he'd talk to nearly anyone now, so long as it was not Bailey.

Yes...the conversation with Raynor became heated once or twice. Ahmed realized at one point that he was losing his temper, and collected himself. But as his temper rose, naturally his voice did as well and it was hardly surprising that it would be heard beyond the cubical.

Ahmed would have liked to say he had mended his fences with Eleor; but alas, this was not the case. Eleor still gave Ahmed the distinct impression that he was regarded more as a suspect than as the victim of an assassination attempt. But at least he had not been dragged off to Azkaban, so Ahmed supposed he ought to be grateful for small favors. No doubt it was due more to his friendship with Tulojow Najde than to Eleor’s belief in his innocence.

He had to admit that if their positions were reversed he too would be suspicious. After all one of the most common causes of homicide was a falling out among thieves, and Ahmed’s native region had a long and notorious history of smuggling. In fact his best friend since childhood was a known bandit and smuggler. Krishna Daku was also an excellent informant, especially with regards to terrorist activity; but if one had never been to the Line of Control, one might not understand the complexities.

For instance Ahmed, a Muslim, was regarded by many of his coreligionists as a traitor because he served with the BSF. And yet because of his religion, he was also regarded as suspect in his loyalties by many of his own brother officers. But some of them would accept bribes to look the other way when smuggling shipments came through their territory, which was why the locals despised the BSF...

So if someone’s knowledge of Kashmir and the BSF came only from what they saw in the media, it was all too easy to see what had happened that day in Heathrow as an incident in a smugglers’ “turf war.”  However...Ahmed knew now that the Eleor brothers were Israelis, and the conflicts in their homeland were not so different from those he had grown up with.

Which was a large part of the guilt he was feeling, over his reaction to Adon calling him ‘Brother.’ Because...of course...they were more alike than not. Adon had reached out to him as befitted a brother, and Ahmed had rejected him. He was just beginning to understand why, but he was not sure how to explain it even if Adon were to ask him. Which he doubted he would...

Returning to Level 2, he went through all the necessary rigmarole to be admitted, this time without comment, complaint or wisecrack. He passed several cubicles, where people were slaving away over the paperwork which was the bane of every policeman’s existence, magical or not. And then, approaching Eleor’s cubical, he saw the untidy mop of curls. They reminded him uncomfortably of Krishna Daku; as for that matter, so did the scars...

For the second time that day Ahmed was tempted to just turn around and leave. But it was best to get this over with. He knocked quietly on the edge of the partition...

“Hello?”

Adon turned in his swivel chair, tilting his head speculatively at Kabir as he made a quiet entry. He cracked a smile. "Come in! Step into my office," he gestured broadly and dramatically, pointing to the collapsible chair sitting not two feet from him. Cramped quarters -- it felt like at least a fourth of Adon's office was occupied by his legs. He couldn't even imagine how the Philistine fit.

"You know, I'm not exactly sure what to call you." Adon said finally, " Do you prefer Ahmed? Mr Kabir? You know, I don't usually bother with names. There are always so many to remember. In Hebrew, 'achi' – brother -- is an idiomatic phrase; a sort of blanket term and very useful." He looked up at Kabir speculatively. "In using it, I at least err on the side of caution in assessing a person. . ." His glance now turned significant. "Calling me unbrotherly, however, without any knowledge of me, was not rendering the same consideration."

He shifted. "And while I've accepted your apology on this, I hope that your apology was sincere -- and that you've put that behind you." It was no secret that he'd come up in conversation with Tamis earlier that morning. He had been spoken of to Dreogan as well. And who knew who else.

"You can call me Auror Eleor, if that's fine by you." It was a step up from the name he had originally given, indicating his title. And a step back in familiarity. Adon had forgiven the man his misspeaking in the hospital room -- agony of pain twisted words and faces in a way that Adon knew intimately-- but he had not forgiven the man for speaking to others about him.

If he wanted to speak to anyone about him, it would be him. He was tired of indirect reports -- Deen reporting to Tamis on his progress. Tamis suggesting to Deen ways to improve his training. Dreogan asking Archer about him. His mother asking Dreogan about him. When would people just ask what they wanted to know?

He gave a moment's pause before adding, in the voice of business, "Your letters have been helpful, but I'm afraid we were not able to act immediately to search for your attacker. At this point," he shrugged. "It is a lot of guesswork. I followed up with the Muggle authorities and we have a name and passport number for the attacker. We will know if she tries to leave the country, but as of yet, she has not. We are looking for any associations she might have in England. The Indian Embassy has been evasive on the matter." He frowned. "I'm not sure their loyalties are in the right place. They ought to be protecting you and assisting in tracking down her."

"I would not have apologized ," said Ahmed, taking the proferred chair,  "if I did not know I was in the wrong, and was not sincere." He too shifted. The space was small, he did have trouble finding room for his long legs, and yes...he did feel guilty for venting to Raynor about that unfortunate encounter. "And by all means...if it is agreeable to you...do let us put all that behind us."

"As for what to call me...Ahmed is my given name, Kabir my family name, Colonel my rank though it is seldom used in the magical community. But I actually do not mind if you call me anything you please. Including Achi, or," he added, smiling faintly, "Schlemiel, if on occasion I deserve it."

"I'm afraid we were not able to act immediately to search for your attacker....I followed up with the Muggle authorities and we have a name and passport number...We will know if she tries to leave the country, but as of yet, she has not. We are looking for any associations she might have in England. The Indian Embassy has been evasive on the matter...I'm not sure their loyalties are in the right place. They ought to be protecting you and assisting in tracking down her."

Ahmed sighed. "Auror Eleor...you see my predicament. I was sent here without notice, with no time to prepare, to fill a position for which I have no training and as you have seen for yourself,  no talent. By any stretch of the imagination, would you say I am suited to be a diplomat? I can only assume I am here because I was in the way there..."

"But I do not know who in my own Ministry...or perhaps in the Muggle government of my country...might have found me inconvenient enough to want me not only out of the way but dead. It could be almost anyone. Smuggling is big business these days, as you know."

Adon cracked a bit of a smile. "Well. Far be it from me to be disagreeable," he said, holding his hands up in surrender as he swivelled a bit in his chair. The smile grew a bit at schlemiel and Adon lifted his chin upward slightly as he considered. He recalled speaking Arabic to him in the hospital. "How many languages, Colonel, do you speak exactly?"

The Colonel was a bit of a puzzle, and Adon was still having a bit of trouble figuring out if his self-deprecating comments were sincere, or false modesty. He suspected the man to be, as with himself, more likely to tend towards artless and callous sincerity than manipulation, but he had shown a good deal of self-confidence, even in a weakened state. Surely he did not think himself so incompetent.

"Suited is always an odd notion, in my mind." It was what a man did that made him; not what one was like. A man could become almost anything. Dreogan had been through three jobs. At one time, Adon himself was not supposed to graduate from school, his fights kept him on the brink of expulsion. And yet here he was, disciplined (comparatively). No one who had known him in school would have said research and desk work suited Adon -- but Adon had taken it on, had acquired the traits, and had subdued those that interfered. A man didn't try on jobs like suits. He be came what was needed for the job.

"At any rate, I think your honesty does you credit. After all, a diplomat shouldn't be a man who says one thing and does another. It requires a man to be adaptive and intuitive. . . You're an Auror in your country, correct? I can't imagine an Auror without the abilities; so I think it could 'suit' you. But ask my brother on that," he dismissed. He wasn't particularly keen on giving an elder a pep-talk. He wondered, in retrospect, if that had been at all what was required of him.

"But I do not know who in my own Ministry...or perhaps in the Muggle government of my country...might have found me inconvenient enough to want me not only out of the way but dead. It could be almost anyone. Smuggling is big business these days, as you know."

"Mmm. Well, I have some idea, at the least. I've been researching it for the past eight years. . . Have you been informed on the Bernier case?" He was not sure how much this man was privy to. For himself, he saw enough parallels to warrant information exchange. "Jordanian official in charge of legal trade. She was murdered in August with what we had thought to be a runespoor itself, but after your case, we are inclined to believe a similar method had been employed. Only she was interrogated and tortured first." He raised his eyebrows. "So it is fortunate, at least, that you are considered out of the way for now. Though, with your cooperation, it won't be that way for long. I'd like your assistance in getting into the investigation of the trade on the whole. We have . . ." he paused. "My brother and I have come across. . ." Well, it felt wrong to insinuate a Ministry worker while in the Ministry. More talk on Trevor Reid at another time, once things were underway and official. "--a few leads which are still pending investigation. Suffice it to say, Colonel, that I'm afraid the canker of corruption's taken root nearly everywhere. Your Ministry might regret sending you here. You might be just what we need for international action." At present, Adon and those in the DoIMC were the only people to address trans-national trade. Another Auror working at that capacity would be helpful.

"You mentioned the Muggle government -- now, I understand your. . . political and religious alliances are considered somewhat at odds. However, it would be an odd move for Muggles to employ magical methods of retaliation. What is the nature of the non-magical government's interaction with the magical?"

"Well. Far be it from me to be disagreeable.” Much to Ahmed’s relief, the young Auror seemed to be in a good humor. Ahmed would do all in his power to keep it that way. "How many languages, Colonel, do you speak exactly?"

Ahmed thought about it. “English, obviously. Pashto...my native language. Hindi, Urdu, Tamil, Arabic...Tibetan....I went to school there, you see. A little Chinese, not a lot, just enough to get by on the border. And a smattering of Dinka, from when I served with the peacekeeping force in Darfur.” He smiled. “Sorry, I only know a few words of Yiddish. Just the good ones...”

The Colonel was definitely more prone to artless and callous sincerity than manipulation, which was probably why most of his career he had served in far-flung isolated places rather than Mumbai.

"Suited is always an odd notion, in my mind....At any rate, I think your honesty does you credit.”

Ahmed nodded. The nomadic peoples he dealt with respected his honesty, and would tell him things they would not have told anyone else, because they knew he would not pretend to be their friend and then send a troop to arrest them or confiscate their belongings.

“It requires a man to be adaptive and intuitive. . . You're an Auror in your country, correct? I can't imagine an Auror without the abilities; so I think it could 'suit' you..."

Ahmed wasn’t in need of a pep-talk; he just wanted to express that he felt a bit over his depth and didn’t assume he knew it all just because he’d been appointed to something. “I have been an Auror for almost twenty years,” he told Adon. “But...India is not England. Keep in mind that we have had three centuries of conditioning to feel that compared to the English, we are a backward people. I went to a British-style grammar school; and...well...old habits die hard.”

"Have you been informed on the Bernier case?Jordanian official in charge of legal trade. She was murdered in August with what we had thought to be a runespoor itself, but after your case, we are inclined to believe a similar method had been employed. Only she was interrogated and tortured first."

Ahmed pressed his lips together, angered. He disliked hearing of people being tortured, considering it something only cowards would do. If he caught anyone in his command using it as part of interrogation, they would find themselves under arrest. Another reason he was unpopular in certain quarters...

"So it is fortunate, at least, that you are considered out of the way for now. Though, with your cooperation, it won't be that way for long. I'd like your assistance in getting into the investigation of the trade on the whole. We have . . .My brother and I have come across... a few leads which are still pending investigation. Suffice it to say, Colonel, that I'm afraid the canker of corruption's taken root nearly everywhere. Your Ministry might regret sending you here. You might be just what we need for international action."

“Of course I will cooperate.” Trying to kill him made this personal. If it was someone within his own Ministry that set him up, they would very much regret sending him here...

"You mentioned the Muggle government -- now, I understand your. . . political and religious alliances are considered somewhat at odds." Ahmed could only respond to this understatement with a sigh. In his career with the BSF he had been involved in trying to sort out problems not only with Muslim against Hindu; but Muslim against Muslim, Sikh against Sikh, Hindu against Hindu. And then there were the ethnic disputes. Separatists not only in Kashmir but in Punjab, Assam, West Bengal and Manipur...

"However, it would be an odd move for Muggles to employ magical methods of retaliation. What is the nature of the non-magical government's interaction with the magical?"

“Rather like your own, I should imagine. The Minister and the Prime Minister are in occasional contact...most recently over a Runespoor attack in broad daylight, in the fruit market in Mumbai. Also…especially along the Line of Control…we are involved  with monitoring who crosses the border.  I…was born and raised in that area.” There was a small catch in his voice as he said this. It was growing easier for him to speak of home but it was still painful.

“Also…both the Muggle and Magical Community have contact with British Military Intelligence. I know of this because I am supposed to meet with them.”

At the list of languages, Adon refused to look impressed -- not because he wasn't, but rather because it lessened comedic effect. Rather, Adon raised his eyebrows in appraisal before clucking his tongue and, sadly, shaking his head. "Seven fluently, two with only passing proficiency." He wrote something down on a piece of paper. "Well, Colonel, we all have our things to work on. . ."

He looked back up at Kabir before grinning. "Looks like I've got about three to learn before I can match you."

“I have been an Auror for almost twenty years,” he told Adon. “But...India is not England. Keep in mind that we have had three centuries of conditioning to feel that compared to the English, we are a backward people. I went to a British-style grammar school; and...well...old habits die hard."

"Mmm," Adon said, nodding in understanding. "We don't use the British system in Israel." It had been quite a debate after the Balfour Declaration in early Zionist days and Britain's continual support. But they were not going to be anyone's colony. Though they were never fully seen as equal, either. There were essays -- Adon knew there were essays; Dreogan had been talking about them -- on that. But he didn't find he had much to say on the matter.

Adon did make notes, in earnest, to Kabir's other answers. Primarily because writing when listening gave his hands something to do. Still, it would be useful for Deen. As Kabir explained that the relationship between Muggle and Magical government was like "his own," Adon's brows furrowed in thought. He had meant British, but it did lead him to question . . .

"Similar to the British Ministry," Adon acknowledged. "In Israel, there seems to be more contact; the Defense Minister is also aware of the magical community, particularly in its military ranks, under which I served. You've served your country primarily in the military -- is that a Muggle or Magical branch of government? Do you serve and deal daily with . . . are your fellow officers you deal with Magical, Muggle, or both?"

In Israel, conscription in the IDF was compulsory unless you provided religious justification -- which most mages in Israel did. Adon, however, had served with a platoon of other mages in the Golan Heights in Galilee. The Defense Minister had talked of stationing one mage or wizard in each squad, when possible, but the ripple effect of disclosure and knowledge of the magical community would be too immense and monumental. As it was, one contained platoon in a remote but pivotal location was enough.

The slight catch in Kabir's voice did not go unnoticed as he spoke of home. Adon's brows furrowed once more. There was a story there -- a painful one -- and Adon did not know how pertinent it might be. "I did border surveillance," Adon said, nodding that he understood. "So a Runespoor in a Mumbai market, a Runespoor in London market, an assassination in Jordan, an assassination attempt in London. . ." Jordan seemed the odd one out. It might have only been between India and England if not for Salwa Bernier. He wet his lip. "Your home -- where you work -- what are the current issues there? I am not only talking Runespoors. Any other illegal trades. Class disputes. Socio-economic breakdown . . . it will help us better understand who might have been approached, who is smuggling these, and who their contacts are."

“Also…both the Muggle and Magical Community have contact with British Military Intelligence. I know of this because I am supposed to meet with them.”

At this, Adon raised an eyebrow. "Good luck, bro--" Adon quickly broke off before realising he could say this, now, "-ther," he resumed, only a slight hitch in the word, "I met with the Muggle MI5 and DIS for the whole . . . airport thing," he said, summing the fiasco up in as few words. "You know they had me on the list of potential terrorists? For kidnapping!" he replied indignantly, though a bit of a smile crept in as he looked sidelong at Kabir. "Like I'd kidnap you. . . I'd've at least picked a better target," he teased before clearing his throat. "At any rate. . . " he trailed off.

"Seven fluently, two with only passing proficiency.” Eleor sighed and shook his head. "Well, Colonel, we all have our things to work on. . .Looks like I've got about three to learn before I can match you.”

Ahmed smiled faintly. “I forgot to mention Pig Latin.”

He could only nod somewhat enviously when Eleor said Israel did not use the British system. Unfortunately it was part and parcel of every aspect of life for educated Indians and Pakistanis. Including the military...

"In Israel, there seems to be more contact; the Defense Minister is also aware of the magical community, particularly in its military ranks, under which I served. You've served your country primarily in the military -- is that a Muggle or Magical branch of government?”

“Muggle...though yes...our Defense Minister is aware of the presence of magical personnel in the ranks. He is a Sikh; they are quite comfortable with co-existing. As are the Hindus...”

Do you serve and deal daily with . . . are your fellow officers you deal with Magical, Muggle, or both?"

“Muggles. Magical personnel are few and far between...and generally come from families like mine, where there is a long tradition of military service. Kshatriyas, hereditary defenders of the people...”

“Your home -- where you work -- what are the current issues there? I am not only talking Runespoors. Any other illegal trades. Class disputes. Socio-economic breakdown . . . it will help us better understand who might have been approached, who is smuggling these, and who their contacts are."

“The problems are nothing new,” said Ahmed. “The Line of Control...which was established when Kashmir was partitioned...extends through the heart of the Western Himalayas. You understand when I say Himalayas I mean a vast region; not just the Himalayas but the Karakorum, the Hindu Kush, the Tien Shan and the Pamir. This territory is the start of the Silk Road, which is not a single route but a number of trails, by which for centuries silks, spices, and precious stones have traveled from India and China to the outside world. Another ancient and highly profitable commodity is of course opium. Westerners decry the trade, but there are a number of reasons they would not want it stopped entirely.”
 
“The main one is politics. During the Cold War...particularly when real fighting broke out between Russia and Afghanistan...many agents of foreign governments came to our mountains. They have never left. Drug trafficking used to be the excuse, now it’s terrorism. In the guise of counter-terrorism these agents will pay drug traffickers to kill each other, and ask us to look the other way when instead of destroying a shipment, the victors take it and sell it themselves. It is only predictable that some of our officers will demand a cut...”

“As for class disputes... in the not-so-distant the past the Hindus and Muslims of Kashmir had an excellent relationship. We prayed together in mosques and temples, and at the tombs of saints we held in common. But when India was partitioned, the people of Kashmir held a vote, to determine whether they would become Indians or Pakistanis. The majority, who were Muslims, voted that Kashmir should go with Pakistan. The Indian government refused to accept the vote, Kashmir itself was partitioned, and then there were suggestions that the Muslims should all be deported from their own lands to the Pakistani side, giving what was left to the Hindu minority. Naturally this angered people, there were riots, there continue to be riots, and...well...most BSF officers are Sikhs or Hindus. They tend to look on Muslims as ignorant fanatics. And now with everything else going on, they assume they’re terrorists, or at the very least, sympathizers. In turn the people see them as hypocritical and corrupt. And if like me, you happen to be a Muslim and in the BSF...you are regarded as suspect by both sides.”

“And then,” he added with a sigh, “as if all that is not enough...three years ago there was an earthquake. The epicenter was almost directly on the border. Landslides buried the roads through all the passes, so that it took almost two weeks for us to get to some places with help. Almost thirty thousand people died in Pakistan. There were only a thousand in India...all from one isolated tribe, living in the valley where the checkpoint was. They...they were all but wiped out. So now,” he continued hastily, “where there were once orchards, and the flocks that gave Kashmir fleece its name...now there is only rubble. And opium poppies, which were one of the first things to grow back.”

"Good luck, bro...ther. I met with the Muggle MI5 and DIS for the whole . . . airport thing. You know they had me on the list of potential terrorists?”
 
Ahmed smiled, grateful for a little humor after the oblique telling of his own personal tragedy. “Join the club...Brother.” He laughed when he realized Eleor was accused of kidnapping him.

“Like I'd kidnap you...I'd've at least picked a better target...”

“Blonde, no doubt,” said Ahmed. “Or are redheads more your type?”

"I forgot to mention Pig Latin.”

Adon raised an eyebrow, sighed, scratched a line through something previously written on his paper and muttered, "Four."

“Muggles. Magical personnel are few and far between...and generally come from families like mine, where there is a long tradition of military service. Kshatriyas, hereditary defenders of the people...”

Adon did not try to hide the surprise on his face as he heard this, but leaned back in his seat a bit, as though hoping to distance his view to allow a more complete perspective. "Kshatriyas. I'm not familiar with that term, but there's a similar situation in our family. . ." At least his father had claimed as much. Something about prophets. He wasn't sure he bought it. It was the sort of thing someone rose to, not was born with.

There was nothing as effective as pressure-from-birth to give one the impression that he was "destined" to become what he had. Adon wondered if his career choice had been a choice.

Adon listened intently to the geographical, social, and commercial background tinged, as it usually was in their part of the world, with religious history. His face flinched slightly at the term "counter-terrorism," but thoughts went unspoken. His sympathy, more than ever, went to Kabir as he -- rather eloquently -- described the self-fractured identity that anyone who espoused two seemingly (but not necessarily) conflicting sides had to wrestle with.

"I've seen some of that in Jerusalem," he acknowledged sadly. "The Aurors there are both Palestinian and Israeli. We try to keep a fair balance. It does not always equate to fairness, though. You understand," he said, nodding and rubbing a hand over his face as he thought, feeling his left eyebrow prickle as the ruffled hairs shifted. As usual, he felt next to nothing on the right.

They...they were all but wiped out. So now,” he continued hastily, “where there were once orchards, and the flocks that gave Kashmir fleece its name...now there is only rubble. And opium poppies, which were one of the first things to grow back.”

While Adon felt he had some skill in deciphering and reading dialogue and conversation, it was not really necessary in this instant; Kabir had told him -- while maintaining the dignity of not telling him -- that the tribe that had been impacted in the area where he patrolled, the area where he was raised, was his own.

Kabir's response was exactly what Adon's might have been: divert to mirth. And Adon complied, breathing in quickly at the assertion. "Redheads? Nonono. Blondes," Adon reaffirmed.

The teasing smile on his face diminshed a little as he looked down at his notes, which had covered the length of almost an entire scroll. Adon took copious notes -- likely too many -- but it assured that he would not need to ask questions later. And it was in conversations such as this, where there was latent undercurrent of feelings -- sorrow, loss, discomfort -- that reminded him why one should only need to ask questions once.

"The specifics of your case seem to be clear; your initial suspicions have grounds. The girl, a --" he scanned the page before reading, "Surendravati Brara?" he looked up, a bit self-conscious on pronunciation, "Perhaps Brara Surendravati --" he continued, "aged nine-teen, from Rajouri. This is what her passport says." He sighed and put the parchment down. "It's fake, of course. But the ticket was paid for in another name. Paid with credit; according to Air India's records, over the phone. Woman who booked it thinks it was a man. I'd be surprised if anything came from the tracking except, perhaps, to confirm that it is untraceable: the work of an organisation experienced in this." He shook his head. "I am not one for conspiracy theories, Colonel, but I do think you've gotten into a bit of a big problem." Not that the man didn't know.

"Good thing we've both got big heads. Helps with big problems," he said, tapping the side of his temple as he picked up the parchment again. "I've had Deen -- Auror Spencer -- look into some potential leaders of Pashtun organisations: "Pashtun Resist," a London Muggle publication . . .I've, ah, tried to start reading, ah . . ." He rubbed the back of his neck.

"Well, I went to a café and used the . . . internet . . ." Adon was blushing here. "Because when I was a researcher in Jerusalem, we'd often consult a variety of blob--" that wasn't right. "Blogs! And try to find . . . trolls?" This wasn't making sense. "Trolls are, I think, people who write inflammatory responses. At any rate, I looked at alJezeera, the magazine, but didn't see anything of note on the event except--" Well, except an article that had ripped into him, a known Jew, for attacking a Muslim ambassador of peace. "At any rate, I think the use of Runespoor venom is enough to suspect that the orchestrator is magical; I'm not sure what is being said in the Muggle circles. If you are at all familiar with this technology," he said, looking at the man hopefully, "I'd appreciate you looking into that. There is a possibility of collusion between not just the traders and your Ministry, but perhaps a breach of Muggle-Magical non-disclosure. It's important to see who knows what. Does the Magical Ministry have good rapport with the Muggle's Ministry?"

At the moment, it was difficult to tell if the hit was ordered by traders who used the guise of religious disputation in order to rid themselves of a hinderance as they had with Bernier, if it was the Magical Ministry who, having been corrupted, wished a non-compliant to be neutralised, or . . . both.


Adon flipped over his parchment, scribbling three circles and inscribing in each:
IMOM, Pash, Smug

"Three organisations, three motivations. Indian Magical Ministry. Our Ms. Brara. Pashtun, as you said. So we'll go with that for now. No. . ." He crossed "Pash" out to write "Brara" and branched arrows out  to include "Mus," "Pash" and "anti BSF". He pointed to the final circle. "And smuggling. They might all be the same - working together, or they might be parts of a whole. I think we can safely rule out coincidence. . . . but she," he said, tapping his finger on the circle that once said "Pash" "will take the fall for this. If we'd been quicker on this, she would have." He shook his head. "Making her at the bottom. I'd be surprised if she knows names, contacts, or exactly who she is dealing with. And they," he said, pointing to the IMOM circle, "having sent you here, might have acted collusively with the smugglers I am investigating for the Runespoor, making them yoked. Or they might have simply acquired some of the runespoor from them. Or," he said, with a sigh, "they might be under the control of the smugglers."

He rubbed his hand over his face again. "Do you have any insight as to potential hierarchies here?"

When Adon revised his list of language deficiencies to include Pig Latin, Ahmed smiled faintly. If Eleor didn’t know that Pig Latin was just the Queen’s English ackwards-bay, Ahmed wasn’t about to tell him...

"Kshatriyas. I'm not familiar with that term, but there's a similar situation in our family.”

“Kshatriyas were the warrior class of ancient India,” Ahmed explained. “They were created to be spiritual warriors, but with each Yuga...world age...the different orders...the Brahmins, Kshatriyas and others...descended a little, to become more self-centered, less what they were meant to be.” He smiled ruefully. “Right now we are in lowest point of the cycle. The Kali Yuga.”

"I've seen some of that in Jerusalem. The Aurors there are both Palestinian and Israeli. We try to keep a fair balance. It does not always equate to fairness, though. You understand.”

“Too well.” When Eleor brushed a hand over the stubble on his scarred face, Ahmed flinched much as Adon had when he mentioned counter-terrorism. Some of us have scars on the outside, some on the inside, he thought. He suspected that like himself, Adon carried both sorts.

Eleor seemed as glad as he was to escape to lighter topics. "Redheads? Nonono. Blondes.”

“Only if it is natural,” said Ahmed, smiling. There was a minority of natural blue-eyed blondes among the Pashtuns. A relic, according to rumor, of Alexander the Great’s invasion...

It did not take Eleor long to get back to business. "I am not one for conspiracy theories, Colonel, but I do think you've gotten into a bit of a big problem. Good thing we've both got big heads. Helps with big problems."

Ahmed grinned. “I’m glad it’s good for something besides following a big nose around.”   

"I've had Deen -- Auror Spencer -- look into some potential leaders of Pashtun organisations: "Pashtun Resist," a London Muggle publication . . .I've, ah, tried to start reading, ah . . ." The young Auror was obviously embarrassed.

"Well, I went to a café and used the . . . internet . . .Because when I was a researcher in Jerusalem, we'd often consult a variety of blob--" He hesistated. "Blogs! And try to find . . . trolls?” Ahmed bit his lip to suppress a laugh.

"Trolls are, I think, people who write inflammatory responses. At any rate, I looked at alJezeera, the magazine, but didn't see anything of note on the event except—“ Ahmed knew what he saw; he had read the same article. Utter nonsense. He'd e-mailed them,  in an attempt to set things straight...

"At any rate, I think the use of Runespoor venom is enough to suspect that the orchestrator is magical; I'm not sure what is being said in the Muggle circles. If you are at all familiar with this technology, I'd appreciate you looking into that.”

Ahmed nodded, though a brief shadow crossed his face. It was thanks to his children that he knew something about computers. Neither having shown magical talent, they had gone to Muggle schools; and he had bought them a computer for homework. Which he had to learn about himself, so he could e-mail them when he was away. Of course they thought the old man was hopeless... “I think I am up to that,” he said. 

“ There is a possibility of collusion between not just the traders and your Ministry, but perhaps a breach of Muggle-Magical non-disclosure. It's important to see who knows what. Does the Magical Ministry have good rapport with the Muggle's Ministry?”

“So far as I know. The Hindu religion has never been hostile to magic.” He sighed. “Islam is another story. The Ahmadiya and the Sufis don’t have a problem with other traditions, but we are a minority...”

Ahmed looked on as Adon  inscribed his three circles:  IMOM, Pash, Smug

"Three organisations, three motivations. Indian Magical Ministry. Our Ms. Brara. Pashtun, as you said. So we'll go with that for now. No. . ." He crossed "Pash" out to write "Brara" and branched arrows out  to include "Mus," "Pash" and "anti BSF".

Ahmed sometimes read Muggle detective novels, for relaxation. Adon’s system was beginning to remind him of a series about a Native American policemen who used a  map with pushpins, colorcoded for different crimes. Looking at it for long enough, eventually he would figure out a pattern…

"And smuggling. They might all be the same - working together, or they might be parts of a whole. I think we can safely rule out coincidence. . . . but she….” meaning Brara “will take the fall for this. If we'd been quicker on this, she would have. Making her at the bottom. I'd be surprised if she knows names, contacts, or exactly who she is dealing with.”

Ahmed nodded to agree.

“And they..." now he meant IMOM "having sent you here, might have acted collusively with the smugglers I am investigating for the Runespoor, making them yoked. Or they might have simply acquired some of the runespoor from them. Or…they might be under the control of the smugglers."

"Do you have any insight as to potential hierarchies here?"

Ahmed sighed. And then he repeated what he had told Raynor that morning… absitomen.com/index.php?topic=3713.msg25937

"“Kshatriyas were the warrior class of ancient India,” Ahmed explained. “They were created to be spiritual warriors, but with each Yuga...world age...the different orders...the Brahmins, Kshatriyas and others...descended a little, to become more self-centered, less what they were meant to be.” He smiled ruefully. “Right now we are in lowest point of the cycle. The Kali Yuga.”

He was talking about the caste system. Yes; Adon had heard of that. His cheeks tinged slightly pink at this; he should have known that.

"It sounds similar to our conception of kohanim. Not warrior class, but those of direct, patrilineal descent from the prophets," Adon commented. Well, most of them anyhow. His father was a kohen. Adon and Dreogan were kohen. Though there were some -- of stricter mindsets -- who might disqualify all of them. For Dreogan Sr. had married a convert. Dreogan Jr. and Adon, both the children of such a forbidden union to the priestly status, became chalal, disqualified, and lost their status. Adon doubly so, for he was also blemished, irrevocably scarred and imperfect.

Yet the marriage to Hestia had maintained blood integrity in another way, though never the intent: both the Eleor and Aldin lines were pureblooded. Eleor, of the prophetic line, and Aldin of the druidic. Though his father's advocacy of increased disclosure to the Muggles tainted the perception of purity to many.

It was, in a way, what one might call a low point, to be cast out by those who ought to be most accepting of them. "The Kali Yuga," he repeated, interested. That would be for further reading; when he had more time for all this.

Adon chuckled at the talk of blondes. "Brunettes aren't bad, either," he admitted. Thea would have been furious if he didn't, at least, make that concession.

He smiled even more broadly at Kabir's offer to look at the blogs. "I'd like to work with you on that, if you wouldn't mind. It's something I'd like to learn for myself;" there was an edge of determination in it. Adon didn't like feeling uncomfortable. Unlike some people, that didn't necessarily mean he ran away from the things which put him out of his element. Rather, he tried to immerse himself in it until he was able to fully navigate the situation. It was riskier, ballsier, more dangerous. And always more rewarding.

"Mmmhmm," Adon said to the explaination Kabir offered on religious interaction with magical communities. He was listening -- really, he was. But he did not appear like it for the world. To unsuspecting teachers at Beit Gaddol, he had appeared an inattentive daydreamer. Until they had called on him, asking snidely for the answer which he, with an equal measure of snideness, would answer.

Usually correctly.

But Adon was now immersed in his own work, writing out and expanding upon his original, simplistic chart, to outline three options.

"Alright. So," he said, pointing, "either the Indian Ministry is orchestrating, with the Smugglers acting out and contacting  Brara's organisation . . . or 2. Smugglers are organising, controlling the IMOM and contacting Brara, or 3. the smugglers are working with the Indian Ministry. . . and either of them is contacting Brara." He tapped the three categories. "There are questions for each of those. . . but in the first case, Brara would take the fall. . ." he was quiet a moment, tapping his lips with the edge of his feather as he thought.

"WELL!" he exclaimed suddenly. "The Indian Ministry of Magic -- IMOM -- you don't mind if I call it that, do you?" Adon was notorious for "your mom" jokes. "IMom" could not help but lead to one. He waved the feather in the air, indicating the irrelevance of his question. No need for responses now. He had something to say.

"We both know the IMOM is not being cooperative. They refuse to make a statement condemning Brara's actions; they aren't defending you. And, well, that doesn't make sense, does it? Because if they did contact Brara, or order someone to do as much, to make the hit, they would have renounced Brara's organisation once it became known, presented the necessary information to incriminate, and thus have created an effective cover-story. In diverting the blame to a lesser force, they escape scrutiny. Or, if they didn't know about Brara, if they hadn't ordered the hit, they would have seen the atttack on you as a personal assault from a radical group -- either Muslim or Pash. . . But instead . . ." He looked down at the sheet.

"Instead they are withholding. They are not providing information for the press or for our investigation. Which means either they do not have that information on Brara or they do not know what to do with that information if so. . . and this leads me to believe that both Brara and IMOM are taking orders from the smugglers, who are the top of the chain in all of this. The smugglers have approached both with reasons to have you gone. They've orchestrated it in such a way that the left hand knows not what the right will do. And that!" He grinned. "That is perfect. This we can work with. We'll seize upon this confusion. Gather what we know about both sides, and with that, get an even better picture of what we are up against: these smugglers."

He leaned over and wrote, between Left hand and Right Hand "Adon jumps in!" He looked up. "With Kabir and Spencer, of course." He chuckled, pleased, before his face sobered a moment. "If what you're saying about the conversation in the church is true -- and I see little reason to discredit it, as it seems more than substantiated -- this might be an organisation system found in the Middle Eastern, Indian, and British Ministries of Magic. I see cause to suspect that option 4" he here tapped the chart once more, "might be a hierarchical organisation for these smugglers." He looked to Kabir for some validation in this.

This felt more right than anything else had thus far in the case.

"It sounds similar to our conception of kohanim. Not warrior class, but those of direct, patrilineal descent from the prophets."

Ahmed nodded. “We call those descended from Mohammed the Sayed.” He was supposedly of the Sayed, though his father. But then so were a great many other people in Central Asia. Ahmed doubted it was meant to be taken literally. He believed it was an indication that besides being tribal leaders they were followers of the Prophet; and that it was merely an Islamic version of the Kshatriya. But in the end it didn’t matter. He was what he was, himself.

Adon chuckled at the talk of blondes. "Brunettes aren't bad, either.”

“Indeed.” Sorrow showed itself in his eyes as he remembered Sanjana’s dark beauty, her black silken hair cascading over her shoulders on their wedding night. He shook his head slightly to clear it, returning to the present.

"I'd like to work with you on that, if you wouldn't mind. It's something I'd like to learn for myself."

“I can show you what I have learned. It isn’t hard, if...if you have someone to teach you.” Remembering his children’s amusement when he was first learning, so soon after being reminded of Sanjana, was very painful. But then countless little things every day, all part of normal living, reminded him of his family. It was like having a phantom limb...

"Mmmhmm.” Ahmed did not take this as inattention or lack of interest. He suspected that Eleor knew a great deal more than he was letting on, and after all it did not matter. He had only wanted Adon to know that he himself was not a religious fundamentalist; though of course that might already have been gleaned from his use of a Yiddish term...

"Alright. So...either the Indian Ministry is orchestrating, with the Smugglers acting out and contacting  Brara's organisation . . . or 2. Smugglers are organising, controlling the IMOM and contacting Brara, or 3. the smugglers are working with the Indian Ministry. . . and either of them is contacting Brara."

Ahmed nodded. Any of those could be true, which from his point of view was rather distressing.

"There are questions for each of those. . . but in the first case, Brara would take the fall...” 

Ahmed agreed with that as well. “I think it is a given she was meant to take the fall. In fact...though I hate to think it...one reason she may not have been found is that they have already killed her. Another Islamic martyr,” he said bitterly.

Adon grew suddenly excited. "WELL! The Indian Ministry of Magic -- IMOM -- you don't mind if I call it that, do you?"

Ahmed snorted, reminded of a Muggle restaurant he had once taken his kids to, for breakfast. What was it, IBOP? No, IHOP...

"We both know the IMOM is not being cooperative. They refuse to make a statement condemning Brara's actions; they aren't defending you. And, well, that doesn't make sense, does it? Because if they did contact Brara, or order someone to do as much, to make the hit, they would have renounced Brara's organisation once it became known, presented the necessary information to incriminate, and thus have created an effective cover-story. In diverting the blame to a lesser force, they escape scrutiny. Or, if they didn't know about Brara, if they hadn't ordered the hit, they would have seen the atttack on you as a personal assault from a radical group -- either Muslim or Pash. . . But instead . . ."

Ahmed was scowling, not really at Adon, but because he had been thinking that way ever since he woke up in the hospital. It had been what lay behind his attitude at the time. He was outraged that his own Ministry did not defend him, send anyone to look out for his interests...or even inquire about his condition.

"Instead they are withholding. They are not providing information for the press or for our investigation. Which means either they do not have that information on Brara or they do not know what to do with that information if so. . . and this leads me to believe that both Brara and IMOM are taking orders from the smugglers, who are the top of the chain in all of this. The smugglers have approached both with reasons to have you gone. They've orchestrated it in such a way that the left hand knows not what the right will do. And that! That is perfect. This we can work with. We'll seize upon this confusion. Gather what we know about both sides, and with that, get an even better picture of what we are up against: these smugglers."

Ahmed smiled. It was the sort of smile the smugglers he caught had learned to dread.

"If what you're saying about the conversation in the church is true -- and I see little reason to discredit it, as it seems more than substantiated -- this might be an organisation system found in the Middle Eastern, Indian, and British Ministries of Magic. I see cause to suspect that option 4 might be a hierarchical organisation for these smugglers." He looked to Kabir for some validation in this.

“This,” Ahmed said slowly, “is what I have suspected ever since I overheard that conversation. Perhaps even before, without quite realizing it. It is why I went to see Tulo...to ask who within your Ministry I could trust.”

Kabir's expressions, his perceptions -- all the subtleties that were not vocalised went, for the time, unnoticed as Adon scratched away at the parchment.

As Kabir confirmed his logic, Adon nodded, rubbing his chin as he leaned back against the backrest of his chair, swiveling absently as he thought.

“This,” Ahmed said slowly, “is what I have suspected ever since I overheard that conversation. Perhaps even before, without quite realizing it. It is why I went to see Tulo...to ask who within your Ministry I could trust."

Adon had known since at least June that Ministries were being corrupted, that the smugglers were involved, that sometimes third-party groups were as well. He simply had not known who was giving orders. This -- this felt right. And it was a good hierarchy. The smugglers were devious. And brilliant. And knew how to infiltrate --likely accustomed to authority, perhaps a past authority figure themselves. He would need to speak to their profilers, see if they knew of anyone who might fit such a description.

He looked up at Kabir a moment, giving a wry smile. "Well, I am glad I passed the secondary screening." He didn't think he'd passed the first. "And you can trust my brother; he'll be working with us on this. Particularly as his department focusses on international affairs. Including trade. As for Deen," he said, waving his hand, "that goes without saying." She had been working with him on this since his arrival here, in . . . had it been that long, already?

He shifted in his seat, leaning forward, as he swung his head out the cubicle and into the aisle. "Speaking of. . ." he muttered, looking both directions. Aberdeen Spencer didn't seem to be within sight, but perhaps calling distance. "Deen!" he called, not caring if it caused other Aurors to cringe. He wasn't going to use a paper airplane if she was just around the corner. A patronus seemed superfluous. And he'd never use that owl.

He hated that owl.

"Deen was supposed to be here; she's probably caught up. Her kid's been a bit under the weather. . ." he said, beginning a list of excuses for her. "At any rate, we'll need to look into what leads we have. Can I put you in charge of investigating blogs and any literature these groups might put out? We'll need contacts and likely people Brara might have gone to." He couldn't, of course, as Kabir to make any of those visits. Not when he was the easily identifiable victim. "I'm going to call Air India and learn what I can about the person who booked Brara's flight. . . see if I can't listen to the recording of that conversation. It says it was booked on the phone," he said, going back to his pile of papers and shuffling through them distractedly as he repeated himself.

"Anyhow!" he returned, putting the papers on the desk, not finding the paper he had been looking for. "Ah. . ." he rubbed the back of his neck, thinking. Deen still hadn't responded. He sighed and looked back up to Kabir. "And a list of people who are over trade policy and legislation in your Ministry would be helpful. It'll be a whole lot less paperwork if we can get it from you, rather than go to them. We'd meet with counter-intelligence, no doubt."

"Well, I am glad I passed the secondary screening."

Ahmed knew what Adon was thinking. “Actually,” he allowed, “that first meeting...disastrous though it was...did not incline me to distrust you. Your reactions were...” he smiled faintly, “quite honest. However at the time I did not think you would believe me if I told you everything. Nor would it have been appropriate, with all those people there.”

"And you can trust my brother; he'll be working with us on this. Particularly as his department focusses on international affairs. Including trade.”

“My friend Dragulia speaks most highly of your brother,” said Ahmed. “And he was an Auror for many years, so he understands our problems.”

“As for Deen, that goes without saying. Speaking of. . .Deen!” The young Auror seemed troubled. “Deen was supposed to be here; she's probably caught up. Her kid's been a bit under the weather. . ."

“I quite understand. Kids have a way of complicating one’s life.” Ahmed smiled ruefully. “And sometimes it’s not even on purpose.”

"At any rate, we'll need to look into what leads we have. Can I put you in charge of investigating blogs and any literature these groups might put out? We'll need contacts and likely people Brara might have gone to." 

“Certainly,” said Ahmed. Of course he knew Adon would not send him to question any of those people; that would send them crawling back into the woodwork.

"I'm going to call Air India and learn what I can about the person who booked Brara's flight. . . see if I can't listen to the recording of that conversation. It says it was booked on the phone.”

Ahmed nodded. “I would like to hear that recording myself. In case it’s a voice I recognize...”

"And a list of people who are over trade policy and legislation in your Ministry would be helpful. It'll be a whole lot less paperwork if we can get it from you, rather than go to them. We'd meet with counter-intelligence, no doubt."

“No doubt,” said Ahmed, pulling a folded up paper from his pocket. “But in fact I have the list with me.” It was wrinkled and dog-eared as he had been studying it extensively. “Unfortunately I do not know much of anyone personally. None of the ones I know were the voices I heard, but the Indian could have been any of the others. For that matter the woman...well...as you know, there is a large Farsi minority in India. And Pashto is a related language...”