[Al-Qaeda]: No Safe Haven

[Grant]

Omar and Jamal, two young Afghan men, knelt in quiet devotion, facing each other on worn prayer mats. Their whispered prayers filled the dimly lit room as they bowed in unison, foreheads pressing to the ground in reverence. Their movements were smooth and practised—a ritual ingrained in them since childhood. For five minutes, they remained in solemn worship, their voices barely above a murmur. Then, with a final whispered Ameen, they sat back on their heels. Omar, the elder of the two, glanced at Jamal and offered a slight nod. Wordlessly, they rose, carefully rolling up their mats and setting them aside.

Outside, the night was still, with only the sounds of the wildlife heard in the distance. Jamal exhaled slowly, rubbing his hands together as if trying to shake off an unseen weight. Omar, ever watchful, placed a steady hand on his friend’s shoulder.

“We’ve received the call. We fly tomorrow morning at 7, so you must ready yourself, Jamal”, he said, calm but firm.

Jamal hesitated, his jaw tightening. Then, after a moment, he met Omar’s gaze and nodded.

“I understand, Omar… I will be ready.”

Omar gave a knowing nod but said nothing more. Instead, he turned toward the window, staring into the darkness. In times like these, faith was their only assurance.

Jamal retreated to his small room, the worn wooden floor creaking softly beneath his steps. He moved to the battered wooden trunk at the foot of his bed and lifted the lid, revealing neatly folded clothes, a weathered notebook, and a few personal belongings. His hands trembled slightly as he reached inside. He pulled out regular jeans, t-shirts and his prayer ceremonial white tunic, running his fingers over the fabric before carefully placing it in his travel bag. His movements were methodical, but his mind raced.

He took a string of prayer beads from a small shelf by his bedside and let them roll between his fingers, finding comfort in the familiar rhythm. His heart pounded, not with fear but with the weight of anticipation. He had trained for this moment, prayed for this moment, yet the unknown still gnawed at the edges of his resolve.

He reached for a framed photograph tucked beneath a few folded garments. It was old, the corners frayed—an image of his family, taken long before the war changed everything. He studied their faces, lingering on his mother’s warm smile and his father’s strong gaze. A deep breath steadied him before he placed the photo carefully in his bag. Next, he retrieved a small notebook and flipped through its pages. Inside were notes, prayers, reminders—words that had guided him through uncertainty. He hesitated, then slid the book into his pocket, close to his heart.

With a final glance around the room, he zipped up his bag and placed it by the door. He reached for his phone, his fingers hovering for a moment before setting the alarm for 05:00. The screen’s glow reflected in his eyes as he exhaled, long and slow. Jamal lay down on the thin mattress, staring at the ceiling. Sleep did not come quickly. His mind wavered between duty and doubt, but he pushed the uncertainty aside and drifted asleep.

 

[Grant]

Jamal was jolted awake by the startling sound of his alarm piercing through the silence of his room. He gently gazed towards the bedside table where his phone rang out, the screen's light illuminating the room. He led there for a moment, letting it ring out. He couldn't believe it was 5 a.m. already. Had he even slept? He groggily sat up and disabled the alarm, swinging his legs out of the bed. He quickly dressed and dragged his case into the hallway, where he saw Omar flat-out asleep on the armchair. Jamal chuckled to himself and stepped over cautiously to him. He nudged him awake with a brutish shove.

"Omar. Wake up. We leave for the airport in less than an hour, and you aren't even ready!"

Jamal stood over him, watching for a moment, his annoyance simmering as he waited for any sign of life. Omar groaned, barely stirring, and Jamal's patience wore thin. He nudged him again, this time with more force, and Omar's eyes cracked open, blinking groggily in confusion. "Okay, I'm up, I'm up!" Omar muttered, pulling himself up from the chair with a deep sigh. Jamal returned to his bag in the hallway, unzipping it with ease. He shoved his passport into the side compartment as he had left it on the kitchen counter the night before. He lifted the suitcase, setting it upright and leaning it against the wall by the door. His eyes flicked to the bathroom door as he heard the faint sound of water running, and he waited for Omar to be ready. After a few minutes, Omar emerged, fully dressed and dragging his suitcase behind him.

With a glance at his watch and feeling the urgency in the ticking seconds, Jamal grabbed his car keys, turned, and headed for the door with his luggage in tow. As he stepped outside, he noticed Omar sluggishly dragging his suitcase behind him, clearly struggling with the early hour. Jamal walked over, his impatience worn thin, and effortlessly took the case from Omar’s hands. It was apparent—Omar was no fan of mornings and wasn't awake yet. Without a word, they both climbed into the car and began the drive to the airport.

---

As they pulled into the airport parking lot, Jamal’s eyes briefly settled on the terminal in the distance, the building buzzing with the early morning rush. They grabbed their bags and slipped into the flow of pedestrians, weaving through the bustling crowd. It was surprisingly hectic for this time of day—people darting toward their gates, some in a hurry, others lost in the quiet spaces between them. Jamal scanned the faces around him but quickly redirected his focus as they neared the check-in counter. He politely smiled at the hostess on the desk and handed over his passport and boarding passes while smoothly placing the luggage on the conveyor belt. She gave a quick nod, efficiently scanning the documents before validating the flight with a swift motion. She quickly gestured down the queue to direct the two men in the right direction without disturbing her flow of checking the endless queues.

The security checkpoint loomed ahead, a bottleneck of passengers trying to move as quickly as possible. Jamal’s pulse quickened as he and Omar approached the line, scanning for any sign of delay. They slid into the shortest line, hoping to dodge any holdups. Jamal dropped his bag onto the conveyor belt, fingers trembling slightly as he quickly removed his shoes and belt. As the line inched forward, Jamal’s eyes flicked up, scanning the security officers and the others around them, calculating the chances of anything going wrong. As it came to his time, he made it through the metal detector with a sharp exhale, waiting for the usual beep—but it didn’t come. He rushed forward, grabbed his things off the belt, and motioned for Omar to hurry up while redressing himself.

Jamal could already hear the announcements echoing through the terminal, and the boarding calls for their flight were growing more frequent.

They arrived at the gate just in time, the last few passengers trickling through. Jamal and Omar stepped up to the counter. The attendant scanned their boarding passes quickly, barely glancing up before waving them through. Jamal felt a surge of relief flood through him as they passed into the jet bridge, the tension of the rush finally lifting. They moved down the narrow corridor toward the plane, the familiar engine hum growing louder as they neared the entrance. The flight attendants greeted them with polite smiles as they boarded and guided them to their seats. Jamal and Omar made their way down the aisle, the rows of filled seats stretching before them. They settled into their assigned places, Jamal by the window and Omar beside him. As they buckled their seatbelts, Jamal leaned back, finally allowing himself a moment to exhale.

The cabin settled into a quiet hum, the air system's gentle whir and the seatbelt's clinks as they're being fastened. A calm voice filled the cabin, the pilot’s announcement cutting through the peaceful air. The plane began to taxi down the runway, and as it lifted off into the sky, Jamal settled deeper into his seat,

"Good morning, ladies and gentlemen. Welcome aboard this flight to Moscow. The estimated flight time is about eight hours. Please sit back, relax, and enjoy the journey. We’ll keep you updated on any changes. Thank you for choosing to fly with us today."

Jay

 

[Grant]

Jamal awoke from his slumber to the familiar voice echoing through the cabin: the pilot announcing yet another flight update, but this one took Jamal's interest. It was the start of their initial descent towards Sheremetyevo International Airport, and they estimated they would land within the next 15 minutes. Jamal glanced over to Omar, seeing he was equally knocked out and fast asleep, his mouth wide open and snoring loudly. Jamal smirked and struck the back of Omar's head.

"You're a pig, you know that? Close your mouth, your breath smells like camel ass."

Omar groggily stirred, stretching his arms with a dramatic yawn before adjusting himself in his seat. He shot Jamal a half-lidded look.

"Camel ass? How would you—wait, you've been sniffing camel asses, haven’t you?" Omar smirked, shaking his head with mock disbelief.

"Shut up," Jamal replied, rolling his eyes. "We're landing soon. I want to get through security without any hassle. Ideally, I want to be in front of the crowd, not stuck in the rush."

As the air hostesses and stewards began preparing the cabin for landing, they moved through the aisles, ensuring seat belts were fastened and items were stowed. One hostess approached Jamal, lightly tapping his shoulder and offering a warm smile as she pointed to his seatbelt. After she moved on, Jamal secured himself in his seat, his eyes drifting back to the window. Moscow came into view, a stunning sight as they descended through the clouds, the city's vast skyline stretching below. The aircraft began its final bank towards the runway direction, bringing the skyline into full view on the turn.

A few minutes passed, and the aircrew had also fastened their seatbelts in preparation for landing. The cabin fell into an eerie silence, with everyone on board holding their breath as they braced for the touchdown. Jamal never understood the tension—he loved flying, and this was the most exhilarating part. His eyes were fixed on the window as the airport slowly came into view below. With a smooth touch and a deep rumble, the wheels kissed the tarmac, and the aircraft began its rollout down the runway.

Once the aircraft had taxied to the gate and the seatbelt signs were turned off, Jamal nudged Omar to get up and grab their luggage before the crowd surged toward the front. They quickly retrieved their bags and made their way toward the front. As the air hostesses opened the airlock doors, the jetway to the terminal came into view. Jamal and Omar exchanged thanks with the hostess before stepping into the terminal. Following the signs, they reached the Security and Customs desks. With only a few people ahead, Jamal moved to the front of the queue and presented his passport. He smiled warmly at the Russian customs officer and waited for him to speak.

Jay

 

[Jay]

Under the cold fluorescent lights of Sheremetyevo International Airport, the ebb and flow of travelers created a ricocheting sound amidst the hurried footsteps and muffled conversations. Amid the throng, Jamal and Omar could make out several figures from Muslim Tatars and Chechnyans, Orthodox fathers, and ordinary Russians from all corners of the Federation.

One old woman, wearing a hijab would approach Jamal and speak to him in Chechnyan asking for directions, assuming that the man was a Chechen himself.

On the other side, he could see an unveiled woman, of Afghan origin speaking in his native Pashto as she walked through the airport with a man clung to her arms.

“Did you remember to pack the jackets?” the woman asked, her voice light.

“Of course,” the man replied, flashing a reassuring smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “And the camera. What’s a trip without memories, right?” He said shaking the Camera to what looked like his girlfriend.

“Right,” the woman replied, a flicker of amusement dancing in her gaze.

As they approached the immigration checkpoint, He slid their Russian passport across the counter, meaning these two were Afghans who had immigrated to the Federation. The two used an e-gate that allowed them through without any hassle. Joining the crowd of thousands of other passengers who streamed out of the gate.

Jamal and Omar presented their Afghan passports as they went through the immigration terminal.

“Purpose of your visit?” the officer asked, his voice flat.

“Tourism,” Jamal replied. “Always wanted to explore Moscow. Heard many stories from your boys who were in Kabul when I was a kid."

The officer raised his eyebrow. "How long will you be in town?" He asked looking at the other man with him.

“Two weeks,” Omar replied. “We're staying in the City Centre and maybe a day trip to Saint Petersburg."

The officer nodded his head, looking for a return ticket. "Where is your return ticket?" He asked as he flipped through their passport and then the terminal in front of him.

Omar looked at Jamal, not knowing what to say. "Return ticket." The officer said coldly.

Jamal quick on his feet replied, "We may want to extend and you know ho..."

The officer rose without saying a word, his gaze shifting across the room. He gave a subtle wave to a colleague standing at the far end of the hall. Moments later, a woman approached, her footsteps light and deliberate. She leaned in, her voice in a whisper, speaking to him in Russian.

The woman turned to the two and asked them, "Do you have a return ticket?"

Grant

 

[Grant]

Jamal’s mind raced as he scrambled for an excuse, all while keeping his expression calm and neutral. He stole a glance at Omar, then spoke with an air of confidence.

"My friend and I are embarking on a grand world tour, starting in Moscow and crossing Europe. My family was unfortunately killed in the fighting back home, and I inherited some money. Since it’s our first time leaving Afghanistan, we figured—why not go big? If not now, then when? We don’t have a return ticket because we’re not returning immediately. The plan is to spend two weeks in Moscow, see the sights, and then move on. We’re deciding destinations as we go, week by week, until our money runs out. By the way, have you ever been to Norway or Finland? We’re considering them and could use some recommendations.”

Jamal studied the woman’s face, searching for any sign that his explanation was working. He reassured himself that nothing on his person could arouse suspicion. But he couldn’t ignore the tightening security, especially after the London attacks. What he didn’t fully grasp, however, was just how much the stakes had risen. The woman turned, speaking quietly with the border guard before facing them again.

"You must understand why we are taking additional precautions, gentlemen. Since you lack a return or onward ticket, we will need your details and the address of your accommodation in Moscow. Within two weeks, you must provide proof of onward travel to the FSB Office. I will ensure you receive the address. Failure to comply may result in detention or arrest."

Jamal and Omar nodded, their faces carefully neutral despite the unease creeping through them. Jamal cleared his throat.

"Of course. Thank you, ma’am. We appreciate your patience."

Jamal and Omar watched as the officer settled back into his seat. Omar spoke for the first time during the entire exchange. His voice was steady, his lie seamless. He provided false hotel details—an extra layer of misdirection to ensure they wouldn’t be easily tracked. The officer studied them for a moment, then nodded. A few tense minutes later, they were waved through. Emerging into the chaotic rush of the airport, they navigated past the throng of passengers before finally reaching the luggage area. They stood silently, watching the conveyor belt churn out suitcases, their nerves humming from the encounter.

Bags in hand, they made their way outside. The air was thick with exhaust fumes and the sound of engines idling. Hundreds of taxis, coaches, and buses clogged the curbside, shuttling new arrivals toward different corners of the city. Jamal and Omar lingered, scanning the scene. They had no real plan—only the knowledge that blending into the crowd was their best option. They wandered along the curb, searching for a bus to take them into Moscow, each step pulling them deeper into uncertainty.

Jay

 

[Grant]

Jamal and Omar sat quietly as the bus rumbled along the highway, taking them from the airport into the heart of Moscow. The vehicle was packed with a mix of weary travelers, bustling locals, and eager tourists, all crammed together in the dimly lit interior. The scent of damp coats and stale air clung to the cabin, making the ride feel even longer. Conversations in Russian, English, and other unfamiliar languages hummed around them, blending with the rhythmic drone of the engine.

Tension simmered among the standing passengers, their eyes darting toward any empty seat, ready to claim it the moment someone stood. The occasional sharp elbow or impatient sigh only added to the discomfort. Outside, the cityscape unfolded—a mix of Soviet-era buildings and modern skyscrapers, their glass facades reflecting the grey afternoon sky.

Finally, the bus lurched into the station. The doors hissed open, and a blast of cold, crisp air swept inside, a welcome contrast to the thick, humid atmosphere. Jamal inhaled deeply, savouring the freshness as he and Omar braced themselves against the shifting crowd. They pushed their way toward the exit, dodging hurried commuters and travelers with heavy luggage. Stepping onto the pavement, they took a moment to adjust to the bustling terminal.

"The hotel is a five-minute walk from here. We'll set up and meet with our contact tomorrow morning. I'll make the call once we're in the room," Jamal said softly, his voice nearly lost in the din of the busy terminal. Omar barely heard him, too distracted by the icy wind that had already begun to seep through the gaps in his clothing. He glanced around, watching bundled-up commuters hurry past, their breath misting in the frigid air. The thought of walking even a minute in this cold made him shudder. With a resigned sigh, he yanked his jacket zipper up to his chin, burying half his face in the collar.

"Five minutes is too long," he muttered under his breath. His shoulders were hunched against the chill, and his steps became sluggish as if hoping Jamal might change his mind and hail a taxi instead. But Jamal had already set off, walking with purpose, his boots crunching against the pavement. Omar sulked as he followed, stuffing his gloved hands deep into his pockets. Jamal, unfazed by the bitter air, marched ahead with his focus set on their destination. Omar, lagging behind, cast a longing glance at the cafés lining the street, their windows glowing with warm, golden light. He exhaled heavily, his breath swirling in the air before him.

"If I freeze to death before we get there, I hope Allah appreciates the effort I made," he grumbled.

Jamal smirked but didn’t slow down. "Keep moving, Omar. You'll warm up."

As they turned the corner, the hotel finally came into view. It was a modest, unassuming structure, dwarfed by the towering modern buildings that surrounded it. The paint on its exterior was faded, the signage flickering slightly as if struggling to stay lit. A few windows on the upper floors were cracked open, revealing dimly lit rooms beyond. It wasn’t much to look at, but that was exactly why they had chosen it—cheap, discreet, and inconspicuous. The kind of place no one would remember or ask too many questions about.

Jamal and Omar had given themselves a week to complete the job. Staying somewhere too luxurious would only draw attention, and blending in was their priority. This rundown hotel, with its peeling wallpaper and outdated decor, was the perfect place to lay low. They stepped inside, the heavy wooden door creaking as it swung open. A rush of cold air followed them in, sending a chill through the dimly lit lobby. The space was small and cluttered, with an old radiator rattling in the corner, struggling to warm the room. A musty scent of dust and stale cigarette smoke lingered in the air.

From behind a scratched wooden counter, an elderly man jolted upright from his chair, his expression instantly souring. He muttered something in Russian, his voice rough and impatient, then gestured angrily toward the door. Though the words were lost on them, his meaning was clear—he wasn’t pleased about the blast of winter air sweeping through the hallway. Jamal offered him a calm look before stepping forward. “Apologies,” he said smoothly, reaching into his pocket for the necessary documents.

The old man huffed but took the details, flipping through them with slow, deliberate movements. His sharp, weary eyes studied Jamal and Omar for a moment longer than was comfortable as if trying to decide whether they were the type of guests he wanted staying in his hotel. Omar shifted uneasily, still cold, still annoyed. He eyed the faded wallpaper and dim overhead light, wondering just how much heat this place could possibly have. After what felt like an eternity, the man let out a grunt of approval, shuffled behind the counter, and reached for the room key. Jamal took it without a word, giving the man a slight nod before turning toward the stairs. Omar sighed, resigning himself to whatever state the room would be in, and followed.

Jamal led the way up the narrow, creaking staircase, the dim overhead light casting long shadows against the peeling wallpaper. Each step groaned under their weight as if protesting their presence. Omar trailed behind, his boots scuffing against the worn-out carpet that ran along the centre of the steps. The stale scent of damp wood and old varnish hung in the air, mingling with the faint odour of cigarette smoke that seemed embedded into the very walls of the building.

At the top of the stairs, the hallway stretched out before them, lined with faded green doors, each one bearing a tarnished brass number plate. A single flickering lightbulb buzzed overhead, casting an eerie glow on the cracked plaster walls. The corridor was eerily silent, save for the muffled sound of a television playing behind one of the doors and the occasional drip of water from a leaking pipe somewhere in the building. Jamal glanced at the key in his hand. Room 207. He walked ahead, counting the doors until he reached theirs. The paint on the door was chipped, and the handle was scratched and slightly loose as if it had been forced open one too many times. He inserted the key, turning it with a soft click before pushing the door open.

The room was as unimpressive as they had expected. A small, dimly lit space with a single bed pushed against the wall, its sheets wrinkled and thin. A wooden chair sat by a dusty desk, and a tiny television rested on a stand, its screen coated in a thin layer of grime. The walls were faded yellow, marred with old stains and faint pencil marks from previous guests. The heater beneath the window rattled weakly, struggling to push out enough warmth to combat the cold seeping through the glass.

Omar groaned, stepping inside and letting the door shut behind him. He dropped his bag onto the bed, then rubbed his gloved hands together in a futile attempt to warm them. “This place is a dump,” he muttered, kicking off his shoes and collapsing onto the mattress, which let out a pathetic squeak beneath his weight.

Jamal, unfazed, locked the door behind them and moved toward the desk, pulling out his phone. “It doesn’t matter. It’s just a place to sleep,” he said, dialling the number for their contact.

Omar rolled onto his side, staring at the cracked ceiling. “Yeah, assuming we don’t freeze to death first.”

Jay