| Hawaaon Ke Paighaam | Messages Of The Wind

| Maktabi Palace |

Hum jo chalnay lagay

chalnay lagay hain ye raastay

manzil se behtar lagnay lagay hain

ye raastay...

Early Morning

The Royal Suite, Burj Al Arab, Dubai

The fragile curtain of sleep was jolted as Murtasim's mind registered a faint vibration coming from somewhere far off. His arms tightened around the soft, warm weight snuggly nestled in them and let out a soft grunt into a smooth shoulder as his mind began pushing back the curtain to focus on the noise. It was his phone, which had been somewhere in his jacket pocket, and that had been chucked somewhere when he'd entered the bedroom with his wife. Breathing in a deep inhale full of her scent and warmth, he slowly extricated his arms from around her sheet covered body and got up in search of his phone and a pair of trousers.

"Morning, brother." Omar's voice sounded in his ear.

"Since when do consider six am morning?" Murtasim's voice was low and gravelly from sleep and lack of it.

"Since I got a rude early morning call interrupting my sleep." his friend grumbled

Well, that made two of them...

"It was the lieutenant from Al Qayyam. They've got the transfer papers set. Just waiting for us. Apparently the Latvian attacked a guard."

Murtasim frowned, listening as he walked past the glass wall which separated the bedroom and little study. Putting the phone on speaker, he picked up the packet of cigarettes on the desk and lit one before replying.

"And?"

"Nothing major. It was controlled but he's getting impatient."

"Let him. He isn't on vacation. He'll leave when we're done with him."

"Baba called. Since its now confirmed that the target of the hijack was never a crash, only financial loss, he's worried about the Latvians are still being after the labourers. He wants to meet and talk."

Murtasim hummed in acknowledgement.

"Also, government sources are saying the Latvians are poking about trying to figure out where exactly the men are. Its a good thing its all completely off book, otherwise they're poking pretty deep."

"Hmm. They're leaving a trail. It means they're getting edgy and that means they could strike again impulsively."

This time Omar hummed in contemplation. Murtasim turned his head towards the bed which held a blissfully sleeping Meerab, wrapped in a plain white sheet and relaxed without a care in the world.

'Tell your boyfriend how much it hurts and how scared you are.'

His gut twisted as Meerab's gasp of pain and following cry echoed in his mind. Clenching his jaw, his eyes slid down to her throat, now smooth but which once had been marred with a jagged scar for weeks. it was easier to think of the prisoners as hijackers; easier on him and them. Because the second Murtasim remembered that one of those men had taken a broken glass to Meerab's throat and dug in enough for her skin to tear and blood to seep out, it took physical effort not to fly to the island they were kept on and kill the man himself.

'You think the worst I can do is kill her? Now watch. It is open season on your woman now.'

Taking a long drag of the burning cigarette, he breathed out and then breathed out again to let his suddenly tight chest loosen. Transferring them into the hands of the state to stand trial went against everything primal in him. It was like letting the enemy walk free and have their fate be decided as something as flimsy as the justice system.