Razia

by Abda Khan

  ‘Sorry? My … my intention?’ Farah asked, perplexed.

  ‘Yes, your intention?’ he said coldly.

  ‘I don’t know what you mean, Sir.’

  ‘Are you trying to say that you are not understanding me?’

  He leaned over slightly, to look directly at Farah. She could see from the determination in those eyes that he was going to make sure she heard every word he said.

  ‘OK, let me make myself clear, so there can be no misunderstandings further down the line. I hear that you have been hovering around my son rather a lot recently. I understand there was some case you needed his help on. I am also led to believe that case is now over.’

  ‘Yes, it is, not to anyone’s satisfaction, but there isn’t much more that can be done,’ said Farah.

  ‘Well, in that case you will be returning to the UK shortly?’

  ‘Yes. Imminently.’

  ‘Good. Keep it that way, because if you have any designs on my son, then you can forget it. I don’t wish to appear unkind, but obviously, we are not of the same social status. Many a girl has tried to snare my son with a view to climbing the social ladder, but you see, he can only marry a girl who is our equal, and I’m afraid that excludes somebody like you.’

  Farah was astounded. No one had ever addressed her in this way. She didn’t allow herself any time to process the shock though; she reacted instantly.

  ‘With all due respect, Sir, firstly, I don’t think you have any right to comment on my private life or jump to any conclusions about the relationship between myself and Ali. And secondly, I think it is you who is so very keen to climb the social ladder – otherwise why would you have been so upset when Ali broke off his engagement to Sofia?’

  Ali’s dad looked enraged; his face started to turn red, and he seemed stuck as to what to say next. Farah saved him the bother, for she carried on, and didn’t hold back. She was going to return home soon, and most likely she would never see this irritating man again, but moreover, she could not just allow him to get away with saying all this nonsense about her or Ali.

  ‘My father may be a driving instructor, Sir, and he may come from a farming family, but quite frankly, he’s worth ten of you. And another thing; thank God your son is nothing like you. You don’t even know me as a person, but you think so highly of yourself that you feel it’s all right to approach me and insult me without a second’s thought. Your son, on the other hand, is a decent, polite and kind-hearted man. Unlike you, he is a true gentleman.’

  His mouth dropped open. Farah was certain that Ali’s father would now think she was a thoroughly insolent young woman and wonder how she had the nerve to talk to someone as important as him in this way.

  ‘Enjoy the rest of your evening,’ Farah added, and walked off with her head held high.

  Inside, her blood was boiling. Then the procession started, and Farah caught a glimpse of Ali walking his sister into the marquee down the aisle. She tried to push the unpleasant exchange out of her mind and began to relax. Seeing the siblings together, witnessing their affectionate bond, made her realise even more just how different they were from their father.

  Ali’s sister wore a traditional green and yellow lengha, and her hair was braided with yellow and white flowers which hung down to one side. Her scarf was pinned beautifully at the crown of her head and around her shoulders, so that it dropped down elegantly. Floating above her was the red dupatta that was traditionally held over the top of the bride-to-be as she came in on her henna night. The four corners of the large, heavily embroidered red and gold scarf were held by four members of the family: Ali was at the front to her right, and three male cousins held the other corners. It was like a protective canopy, and protectiveness is what it symbolised, but it also gave an almost regal feel to the entrance, making the woman feel like a princess. Ali smiled at Farah as he walked past; she smiled back, and the melody and lyrics of the traditional mehndi song flowed into her ears.

  The night of the mehndi has arrived, the night of the

  mehndi has arrived

  Look at the hands of the beautiful bride

  Full of colour, and fragrantly adorned

  She hides the dreams of her beloved in her heart.

  Farah’s mind drifted as she reflected on the lyrics; she thought about the hopes and dreams that a bride-to-be carries on this important evening, just days away from her wedding day, when she will utter those all-important words in her nikah: kabool hai. Just those two words, ‘I consent’, will seal the Islamic marriage contract and change her life forever. Seeing these formalities and celebrations played out here in Pakistan really brought home to Farah the value of culture, traditions and religion, of how they all play an integral part in bringing together this union in the most beautiful way possible. And then her mind turned to her return to England; she was looking forward to seeing her parents, for she had missed them dearly, but she also had to face going back to the office.

  And then a strange feeling overcame her; as soon as she thought about the office, something started to niggle away at her, although she couldn’t say what it was exactly.

  *

  That night, Ali was sound asleep in his bed when his mobile phone rang. There were six or seven rings before he slowly opened his eyes. He looked at the phone; it was Farah. And it was 3.30 a.m.

  ‘Hello,’ he said groggily.

  ‘Ali!’ she replied loudly.

  ‘Do you know what time it is?’

  ‘Yes, of course I know what time it is!’

  ‘I only got to sleep a short while ago. And I only dropped you off a couple of hours ago. What’s wrong?’

  ‘Ali, I’ve got it!’ Farah almost shouted.

  ‘Got what?’ Ali asked, as he rubbed his eyes, and stifled a yawn.

  ‘I’ve worked it out. I know where it is.’

  ‘Where what is?’

  ‘I know where the evidence is – with a friend, stored away safely.’

  ‘Are you talking about Zaheer? What are you thinking, Farah? Don’t do anything rash!’ said Ali, now totally focused on the conversation.

  ‘I’m catching the morning flight back home; it leaves at six a.m. I need to get back to London to sort this out.’

  ‘What? You can’t go alone; I will come with you.’

  ‘I appreciate your offering to do that, but think about it. You accompanying me will look suspicious and draw attention to what I’m doing. If I go alone, it will just look like I’m returning home,’ said Farah.

  ‘But it’s so sudden,’ said Ali.

  ‘I know it’s sudden; I’m sorry. I will phone you once it’s all sorted.’

  ‘But you haven’t actually told me what you are going to sort. You’re not making much sense.’

  ‘It will make sense; I promise. Now I need to finish packing quickly and get to the airport.’

  ‘Wait, I’ll drive you.’

  ‘No, it’s fine, the hotel has arranged a car for me, and as I said before, it’s best if I keep a low profile with this. I’m going to be out of here shortly.’

  ‘Oh, I see.’

  ‘Take care, Ali.’

  ‘But—’

  Farah cut off the call before Ali could finish his sentence. He flopped back onto his bed and rubbed his forehead as he tried to work out what the conversation had been all about. He wasn’t happy about her going alone; he couldn’t help but worry about her safety considering the sort of people she was dealing with. And it would help if he knew what she was planning on doing; he wondered why she didn’t trust him enough to tell him. But putting all those things aside, he had expected to spend a few more days with Farah yet, and Ali knew deep down that he was going to miss her.

  42

  LONDON

  Paul Drake finished his telephone call, placed the telephone receiver gently back on the handset and walked over to his grey metal filing cabinet to pull out the correspondence file on a fraud case that he had been meaning to get around to looking at all week. It was a biggie, a ca
se involving millions, and there were literally thousands of pages to get through. The documents were stored in black folders in boxes stacked on the floor at the side of his desk; boxes the paralegal would be trawling through in the days ahead.

  He sat back at his desk, opened the file, and then his phone buzzed.

  ‘Yes?’ he asked his secretary rather grumpily.

  ‘Mr Drake, just to let you know, Farah is back in the office, and there are three gentlemen here to see you.’

  ‘Thanks for letting me know. I will catch up with Farah shortly. As for the three men, I don’t recall any appointments for this morning. In fact, I remember blocking out the diary specifically because I wanted to look at this fraud case,’ he said, a little annoyed at having been disturbed before he had barely opened the file.

  ‘No, they don’t have an appointment, Mr Drake,’ she replied.

  ‘Then why are you bothering me? You know I don’t see anyone unless they have booked an appointment.’

  ‘Yes, I know, Mr Drake. But these gentlemen are with Farah, and they’re not clients.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘No, Mr Drake, they’re police officers. They say they need to see you right now. Immediately.’

  Paul fell silent for a few seconds.

  ‘OK, show them through.’

  Paul opened his office door to see Farah accompanied by a tall, dark, plain-clothes policeman, who entered with a shorter Asian-looking man, also in plain clothes. Behind him was an officer in uniform.

  ‘Hello, Paul,’ said Farah.

  ‘Good morning, Farah,’ he replied, and then looked at the police officers.

  ‘I’m Detective Chief Inspector Leon. This is Detective Constable Sandeep, and this is Police Constable Smith,’ announced the policeman. The men did not shake hands.

  Paul didn’t know what any of this was about, but clearly it was something serious. He glanced at Farah, who stood silently and gave nothing away.

  ‘How can I help you?’ asked Paul.

  ‘We have a search warrant for these premises,’ DCI Leon told him, and handed the papers to Paul, who glanced briefly at the warrant; a cursory look was sufficient for him to be satisfied that the warrant was in order.

  ‘What on earth for?’ asked Paul.

  ‘We believe you have files or papers for a Mr Zaheer Mansur. Is that correct?’ asked DCI Leon.

  ‘Also perhaps for his wife, Aneela Mansur?’ added DC Sandeep.

  ‘No, I don’t. Look here, can you just tell me what all this is about? You can’t just stroll in here and search this office without even an explanation,’ Paul said.

  ‘Mr Drake, you of all people, being an experienced lawyer, should know how this works. Now, if you have nothing to hand over to us, we will begin our search,’ said DCI Leon.

  The three policemen went over to the cabinet and started taking out and looking at the files, one by one, discarding each file on the floor haphazardly, before moving on to the next one.

  Farah walked up to Paul.

  ‘Don’t you think it’s best that you just co-operate? You know they’ll turn this place upside down if you don’t.’

  Paul didn’t respond. He rubbed his hand along the back of his neck as he thought for a moment.

  ‘Wait,’ said Paul, infuriated by the intrusion of the police officers and the feeling that Farah was back to her meddling. ‘I’ve just remembered; Zaheer gave me an envelope to keep in the office safe. He told me it was just some personal papers; their wills, I think. I haven’t opened it, so I can’t confirm what’s in there.’

  ‘Lead the way,’ said DCI Leon.

  Paul took the safe key from the top drawer of his desk and headed towards a small room at the end of the corridor, followed by Farah and the police officers. The room was so tiny that only Paul and DCI Leon could squeeze in.

  Paul was becoming increasingly irritated with Farah; she had turned up at her own offices with three policemen in tow, ready to effectively raid the place, and wouldn’t even so much as hint at what it was all about. As soon as Paul had heard Zaheer’s name, he knew it didn’t bode well, and he wasn’t happy that Zaheer might have put him in an awkward position.

  Paul inserted the long silver key, turned the handle and opened the large, old, speckled grey safe, which was bolted to the floor. After rummaging towards the back, he took out a brown A4-sized envelope and handed it to DCI Leon.

  Farah watched DCI Leon emerge from the room, followed by Paul; he opened the envelope and looked at the contents. Paul’s face was now flushed; he shot a glance at Farah, but her eyes were fixed on DCI Leon as she waited eagerly for him to reveal the contents. Everyone stood close by. Farah watched for some change in the expression on the police officer’s face; he was studying the papers very closely, but he didn’t say anything. He read as much as he needed to and quietly placed the documents back in the envelope.

  ‘Thank you for your co-operation, Mr Drake,’ said DCI Leon. ‘This will do for now, but we may come back again, either to carry out further searches or to question you if relevant. I can tell you that Mr Mansur is under investigation for very some serious offences. Please do not contact him or inform him in any way about this visit, or about our taking the documents. I should tell you that you will be implicated if you do contact him or tip him off in any way, as you probably well know.’

  Farah allowed a small inner smile to branch out on to her lips, and let out a hitherto suppressed breath of relief.

  ‘Right,’ replied Paul. Farah thought he looked dazed. She had never seen him like this before; he was always slick, and together, no matter what the circumstances may be. Despite seeing tough challenges in the office and in the courtroom, Paul always had a cool demeanour, and this had slipped today. Although Farah wasn’t sorry if evidence had been found against Zaheer, she did feel a bit sorry for Paul, as no doubt Zaheer would have reeled him in just like all the others.

  ‘Please, let me show you out,’ said Farah, and she accompanied the three police officers out of the building. She was glad that there might now be some closure to this whole mess. As they left, she took out her mobile phone; she had promised to phone Ali and update him. However, when she did call, there was no answer.

  *

  Mr Amin showed Farah into his office at the High Commission.

  ‘I believe you have some news? I have heard about some of the developments, but I would like to hear the full story from you,’ he said.

  They sat down facing one another across the desk. His secretary walked in with a tea tray, and left, closing the door behind her.

  ‘Yes. I do have news for you. You will be pleased to hear that Zaheer Mansur was arrested in Islamabad a few hours ago; and I doubt that even his slick, expensive lawyers will be able to get him out of this one.’

  ‘I did hear about his arrest, but I don’t know any of the details as of yet. What happened?’ Mr Amin enquired.

  Farah wondered how he might take the news she was about to deliver about someone who was until recently his right-hand man.

  ‘It seems that Mr Mansur has been a very bad man, in more ways than one,’ said Farah sombrely.

  Mr Amin listened quietly.

  ‘It turned out that some very important documents had been stored at Drake’s. I don’t think Paul knew anything about the contents of the envelope, and that is the official police line. In fact, I think he feels like a bit of a mug. This giving business to the firm, and taking a modest kickback, it was all just a cover to gain Paul’s trust, and then make sure he was compromised if the authorities got wind of anything suspicious. The money Zaheer got from Drake’s was insignificant. He just needed Paul to store papers for him in his safe, no questions asked.’

  ‘So, what did the police find?’ Mr Amin asked.

  ‘They found enough evidence to land him in real trouble, the consequences of which I’m sure he won’t be able to wriggle out of. It turns out that poor Razia overheard a very important conversation; she may not have known the significance a
t the time, but it was enough to rattle Zaheer. It seems certain that he had her, shall we say, disposed of to make sure she didn’t say anything, even by accident. The police in Pakistan are now aware of the letter that she wrote in prison and are going to investigate Razia’s death, and if they can possibly do it, then they will add murder to the other charges.’

  ‘OK, so Razia’s death aside, what are they charging him with?’ Mr Amin asked.

  Farah sipped her tea. Mr Amin took a nan khatai biscuit and placed it on his saucer whilst he waited for Farah to continue.

  ‘In the envelope that was stored in the safe, there was an agreement.’

  ‘What kind of an agreement?’

  ‘A bribery agreement.’

  ‘Really?’

  Farah could see that this revelation hit Mr Amin harder than she had anticipated.

  ‘A bribery agreement,’ he repeated, and placed his cup and saucer back on the desk.

  ‘Yes. It seems that Zaheer had used his official position to connect with an arms dealer to supply weapons to Pakistan. The bribery agreement stated that for the introduction and successful sale of the military equipment, Zaheer would be paid over a million dollars and it also listed the prices for the various arms and machinery to be artificially inflated, allowing further kickbacks to be paid along the supply network.’

  ‘What a complete disregard of all his duties not only as someone working in a position of power and trust, but as a citizen of his own country. How could he even think of being such a traitor, of betraying his Motherland in such a heinous way? What happened with this deal? Did he manage to conclude it?’ asked Mr Amin.

  ‘Luckily, it hadn’t gone through yet. It would appear that I, without realising it, was the one who inadvertently put a stop to it. Zaheer was very close to concluding the deal. But then I raised the alarm about Razia, which meant he had to return to Pakistan. As he was suspended from his post, and was under investigation, it all had to go on the back burner.’

  ‘Unbelievable,’ commented Mr Amin.

  ‘I will always deeply regret not being able to piece it all together in time,’ Farah said, with a shudder. ‘If I had spotted something sooner, Razia might still be alive; as it is, a whole family has been torn apart.’