The Set-Up {{Amos&Mihai

[Mihai Chimet]

A new liaison is being sent from Interpol. The message had come across a couple months ago from the Home Office, a brief notice to tell him that Interpol had sent a representative who, at some point, would wish to consult with him about domestic security against terrorism. Amos Knyarilay was the man's name, an Indonesian who was a good ten years his senior. Not that it mattered; Mihai had been involved in this game with people who were much older than himself for awhile. His concern was what sort of business Mr. Knyarilay would get interested in, because of course, sometimes these representatives and liaisons seemed much too intent on unravelling the mystery of FOL themselves. Luckily, such go-getters were far and few between, and most viewed their assignments as an extended vacation. Mihai preferred them; they made his own job much easier.

Between the time Knyarilay had arrived in London and the present moment, they'd had a couple of meetings. Mihai had given him a non-case sensitive rundown of how things operated in CI, then sent him on his way to consult with MI6. Since then, they'd only met in brief security conferences or passed each other in the halls of government buildings. If that had been it, Mihai would have no cause to worry. But it seemed that Knyarilay was much more proactive than some of his colleagues Interpol had sent over in the past, and soon he wires were getting tripped with all of the snooping around that the new liaison was doing. He hadn't come close to anything vital yet, so Mihai was prepared to let him be for now. If he hadn't had such a perfect distraction, and it was better to eliminate threats before they got too close, no?

As reluctant as he was to admit it, Ivan was giving him trouble. Blackmail was a powerful tool with the right information, and although Ivan didn't know of his affiliation with FOL, evidence that he was trafficking weapons through a casino front would cause an uproar and an investigation that would be—to say the least—troublesome. But if he handled this delicately enough, he could kill two birds with one stone, and get both Interpol and the Bratva off his back. At least for the most part, if Ivan and the liaison were as competent as they seemed, they should keep each other plenty occupied.

It was by chance that he'd stumbled upon Knyarilay's favorite bar to frequent after a day of work. It was by luck that it happened to be the same bar bar which was also the favorite of several high-ranking Bratva members. He'd kept that little piece of information to himself (after having learnt it when Ivan decided it would be prudent to conduct business with him there) for—well—for an opportunity like this, he supposed. A chance to have someone take care of them without his name being attached to it.

So one day after his own hours at the office were done, he dropped by at The Good Companions, taking a seat at the bar. Knyarilay was already at the other end of it, drink in hand, alone, by the looks of it. Perfect. Mihai ordered a raspberry martini, and scanned the room for his desired targets as the bartender prepared his drink. There was no guarantee that the Bratva members would show up that day, but he knew they favored Wednesdays. Yet, he saw no familiar faces in the main area, so he quietly asked the bartender if the back room might be open for reservation, and when she shook her head and informed him it was occupied, he figured that it must be them. His suspicions were confirmed when not ten minutes later, a tall, well-dressed man exited the back and sauntered into the men's room. Piotr Alexandrovich, one of the higher-ups who usually dealt with the Bratva's drug business. The anxiousness over potentially having wasted a trip vanished.

Taking that as his cue, Mihai thanked the bartender and picked up his drink, casually making his way over to Knyarilay and keeping an eye on the bathroom door. "Excuse me, Mr. Knyarilay," he said in greeting, stopping by the other man's seat. "I thought it was you. I didn't know you frequented this place." He smiled, at the same time keeping his tone polite. His interest was totally professional. Gesturing at the chair with his free hand, he inquired, "May I?"

SPOILER: Click to show

Amos Knyarilay: Yaaay finally. I hope this is enough time for you OTL

[Amos Knyarilay]

Adaptation came slowly but surely, showing itself little by little every day and giving Amos time to recognize its nature. His work required him to constantly move between offices, gathering data and interviewing fellow people in London's law enforcement. To be honest, he liked it here. There was an easy access to every information he needed, cooperative people (after he showed his Interpol ID, though) and fast travel around the city. He had pocketed hundreds of names in his arsenal. Thieves, robbers, murderers. Who worked for whom, who frequented what neighborhood to operate, who loved guns, who loved knives. His office now was filled with maps of London, major crime scenes related to one of the organized crimes he investigated marked with colorful pushpins. The city, its stories and strange names soon became familiar for Amos, just like he recognized the nameless paths in his home village. But not the people.

The list of acquaintances had grown larger, with more non-Interpol members he saw every day. Powerful, skillful acquaintances who kept the citizens safe from harm. Amos had been briefed about them before he moved from Lyon, yet he learned more during his data gathering here. He especially liked the efficient parliament member whose last name was hard to pronounce. Despite that, in the end every people had their own lives and the man still found himself alone once the clock struck 5 pm.

Building relation past working business was more difficult since he did not stay in his lent office from 9 to 5. And if he did, the documents swallowed all his attention. When it's time to leave the office he would be too exhausted to do anything but sleep. Perhaps he's really getting older, like his brother once told him when Amos complained about being exhausted too fast.

Nevertheless, he made an effort to visit The Good Companions, a local bar he passed every day, whenever he had some time left. The bartender was quite talkative as well after knowing that he was new in the city, quickly providing him about anything he asked. The drinks they offered were at reasonable prices, albeit weird in his dictionary (fruit flavored? with cream? is this juice or alcoholic drink?). So he ordered nothing but the regular beer in his visits, just like today. The beer was not exceptional on his taste buds, but not too bad either. Its color resembled nutmeg juice served in his brother's restaurant and he liked to imagine he was drinking the juice instead of the beer.

Amos' thoughts came to a halt when a silhouette approached from the corner of his eye, a person he had seen several times in air conditioned office. Michael Collins, head of the Counterterrorism Initiative.

"Mr. Collins," he raised his glass a little and nodded to return the greeting. "I don't come every day, only when I'm not too tired to hear the latest gossips." The Good Companions wasn't as loud as The Shoreditch, making it a perfect place to eavesdrop some gossips. Not that he was someone who liked to do so, but people with loud voices tend to make their business broadcasted around other guests.

He leaned back in his chair, offering a polite smile. "Sure." Collins was not a total stranger to him, therefore Amos welcomed this opportunity to know him further.