“Thank you for the clarification, Captain,” the General said, somewhat angered that his assistant had not highlighted that in his file. “Gentlemen, as the Captain as told us, he had provided regular reports through all channels. These reports are the basis of the de-briefing today. We are gathered to determine what intelligence is actionable; what, if any, action should be taken by the army itself, and when.” He paused for a moment before asking the group of five, “Are we all clear?”
The General waited for all the men at the table to acknowledge. “Captain, the floor is yours. Please take us through the intelligence.”
Kamal rose from his seat and moved to the video screen against the front of the room. He picked up the remote for the projector, flipping through photographs to where the whole story started. He had spent the past two days putting together the presentation that he was about to deliver, but as he stood there, the nervousness of his first briefing caught in his throat, and he paused to grab a glass of water to settle his nerves. He spent the better part of three hours walking the generals through the seven months of being Dawood Islam, the people that he had met and the places that he had been to. He knew that these men wanted to know the five W’s so that they could make an informed decision about what the army’s response should be to this potential threat.
Kamal stopped when he reached the slides about The Sanctuary. There were none. So he described the location as well as he could, since he hadn’t been able to take any pictures without compromising his cover. He pulled up maps of the area and used a white board to define the location and layout of the compound and the proximity of law enforcement agencies to it. As he retuned to the slides, he introduced and discussed both Mufti Fazal and Sheikh Atif in greater detail, pointing out that he felt he had seen the Sheikh somewhere previously, but was unable to place where. The last slides of the presentation were of the crates of weapons, taken with the minute light of a match, making them harder to decipher, but clear enough to get the urgency of the message across. “This was not just a jihadi organization, and probably not affiliated with the mujahideen in Afghanistan. They are planning something much more ominous for Pakistan,” Kamal said as he flipped the projector off.
“How do you think something like this can exist for so long, Captain?” asked Lt. General Asim Junejo, Director General, Military Operations. “You would think that the Frontier Constabulary would have neutralized this by now.”
“Sir, I would have thought so myself, but the realities on ground are significantly different. I am not commenting on the FC command, but from my investigations, I’ve discovered that the line soldiers are more interested in protecting notables than policing the region,” Kamal answered, making sure not to overstep his boundaries. “I don’t think, sir, that the FC is willing or able to neutralize this compound. I also don’t believe that they are operating independently. They have some major support and international donors to be able to feed, train and arm this many jihadi fighters.”
“Captain, are you suggesting that the army needs to step in?” asked Brigadier Ahmed Saeed, Director General Military Intelligence.
“Sir, I am in no position to suggest anything to the army. My job is to gather intelligence and report back to my handler for informed decision-making,” Kamal answered. “The army does what our command decide.”
The questions continued. How did the compound operate? What were its defenses like? If it needed to be neutralized, how it could be done, quickly and efficiently? There were many questions about the potential weaponry that might be stored at the compound that Kamal may not have seen, but Kamal had spent two nights hunting around the compound to get as complete an intelligence picture that he could. “They had Kalashnikovs, sir, which makes me think they have a store of old Soviet armaments. I am sure that they have the necessary weaponry to defend themselves against air attacks, but there was no indication of where those may have been stationed while I was at the compound.”
The discussions continued into the late evening hours before the Director General adjourned, requesting that all parties reconvene tomorrow to continue. Kamal was asked to leave the room so that the five could have a private discussion, but the Director General sent his aide to ask Kamal to stay behind for a conversation once everyone had left.
“Just a question, if you don’t mind.” Outside, Kamal stopped the aide before he opened the door to re-enter the conference room. He had been watching the Generals lighting up throughout the presentation and discussion, but didn’t think it was proper protocol to light a cigarette himself. “I’ve been here a few hours and would like to have a cigarette. Is there somewhere on this floor where I can smoke?”
The aide grinned. “Why didn’t you just smoke in the conference room? The Generals wouldn’t have said anything.”
“First time here, I didn’t want to offend anyone,” Kamal replied wryly. If he had known…
“There’s a room three doors down that you can duck into for a cigarette. Why don’t you just stay there and I’ll collect you?” the aide replied, as he opened the door and ducked inside.
With his nicotine addiction taking hold, Kamal moved quickly down the hall to the third door and popped it open, walking in without a second thought. He stopped. A young woman sat at a desk, furiously typing away on her laptop. She lifted her head to see him standing there. With a scowl she said, “Is knocking no longer part of military training, soldier?”
Kamal was taken aback first with the woman sitting in the office and then by her tone. “Excuse me, ma’am. I was told by the aide that I could smoke here. I was only following the directions that I had been given. Apologies, I must have the wrong room.”
“Well you obviously can’t smoke here,” the lady replied abruptly. “You can go downstairs to the fresh air and pollute it with your cigarette smoke, along with the rest of the rank and file.”
Kamal, offended that she grouped him in with the rank and file, stepped into the room and walked straight to the her desk. “It’s Captain, not soldier. Soldiers are the ones who stand with rifles on your gate. I’ve earned my stripes already,” he said pointing to the captain’s bars on his collar.
“So sorry,” she mocked. “Captain. You still can’t smoke in here. This is my office and I don’t know what idiot aide would send you here for a cigarette.”
From his pack, he pulled a cigarette and lighter. Placing the cigarette in his mouth, the flicked the lighter and watched the flame emerge.
“I wouldn’t light that,” she warned him.
Kamal pulled the lighter closer and lit the cigarette, taking a long satisfying drag before exhaling into the air around her. “I would like to go downstairs for a cigarette in the fresh air, but since I can’t leave this floor, I’ll just have to deal with your freshness,” he said with a smile.
The lady picked up her phone and dialed quickly. “Security, I have a soldier in my office who is smoking. Please come and remove him.”
The security team for headquarters was stationed on every floor and within seconds of the call, two men burst into the room, only to freeze in their tracks when they saw Kamal. Every member of the security team had been alerted that there was a field agent in the building along with his location to avert any incidents. The security officers glanced between Kamal and the young lady, trying to decide which one to appease, finally settling on Kamal.
“Ma’am, you’ll need to excuse the Captain. He’s not allowed to leave the floor under the orders of the Director General,” one security officer said.
“So my office becomes his smoking room?” she retorted angrily.
Unable to resist, Kamal smirked at her. “My waiting room as well. The aide told me to wait here to be collected.”
She was furious. Kamal could see her temper rise with each word the soldier said. But she controlled herself admirably, ignoring Kamal and taking her anger out on the poor soldiers. “Get out! I’ll take this up with your commander!” she yelled.
Kamal strolled to the sofa
next to the door, and calmly sat down. “Bring me an ashtray, double time!” Kamal ordered the soldiers. A soldier returned seconds later with the ashtray, causing Kamal to smirk ever more. “This is a military building ma’am. I’m sure it would be different if this were a civilian one. Fortunately, here the uniforms have a bit more clout. This is very comfortable, by the way. Where did you get it?” Kamal asked. “I’d like one for my flat.”
“Do you know that each puff you take off that stick decreases your life by two minutes? Are you willing to make that sacrifice for a little smoke?” she said without answering the question.
Kamal grinned, running his hand over his beard. “If you knew what I do for a living, this sacrifice is the least of my worries,” he said waving his cigarette above the ashtray, careful not to drop any ash on the sofa or floor.
She gave him a withering look and a parody of a smile. “Do you regularly push your way into other people’s offices?”
“Well, I’m normally out in the field protecting your freedom and your frontiers, so, no. I don’t make it a habit.” Kamal answered, getting up from the sofa to look around the office.
“Excuse me, but what do you think you’re doing?” she asked.
“Well, I like your taste in furniture, so I thought I’d check out the art and see if we match there as well,” Kamal said, turning towards the painting on the wall. “This is a Sadequain, right? Excellent! I have always wanted one of these.”
“You know Sadequain?” she said with surprise.
“I know. A ‘soldier’ that knows art, how could it be possible?”
“No, that’s not what I meant…” she started.
“So what did you mean Sara?” Kamal asked her.
She fell silent, stunned that he knew her name. “Do I know you?” she looked at him suspiciously.
“Actually… no,” Kamal answered. “We’ve never met.”
“Then how do you know my name?”
“Intelligence services. We know everyone’s name. Well, that’s what you civilians think anyway.” He saw the incredulous look on her face and relented. Even with a beard, Kamal was charming when he tried. “You have three pieces of paper on your desk with your name on them. It’s pretty easy to figure out who you are from there.”
She looked down and saw the confidential memo, airline ticket and visiting card sitting in full view. Futilely, she swept them off the table and into a drawer.
“That doesn’t do any good after they’ve been seen, Sara,” Kamal mocked. “You should have done that as soon as I came in the room. Or maybe you wanted me to know your name?”
“Why would I want you to know my name? I just met you and I’m not really impressed with you so far.”
“Now, that’s a lie. See how you voice went up and you looked to the left. That tells me you aren’t being completely truthful,” Kamal was enjoying himself. It had been a long time since his last interaction with an intelligent, educated woman. “Had your voice stayed at the same pitch and your eyes not moved, I might have bought it.”
Sara blushed at his comment. She had checked him out when he came in the office, but thought that she had hidden it better.
“Wow, you really do like me.” Kamal said. “I completely threw you a line with the lying, but that says that I was dead right with my observation,” pointing out the red in her cheeks.
Before Sara could answer, there was a knock at the door. The aide popped his head inside. “Sir, I’ve spent the last ten minutes looking for you. Security told me where to find you.”
“Havildar, you told me the third door down. That is where I came.”
“Sir, I did tell you third door down. This is the fourth,” the aide answered with a smile. “Good evening, Miss Ahmed.”
“Good evening, havildar. Can you take this man out of my office?”
Kamal moved towards the door, turning back with a smile. “Thank you for the entertainment, Sara. Apologies for any misunderstanding.”
“Just leave, Captain.”
Kamal paused at the door for a moment and just before he closed it, said “I’m sure you have more questions and insults for me, but would you prefer that I call you on your office line or mobile for dinner later this week?”
“I wouldn’t be interested, so don’t bother,” she said.
“See there it is again, the voice pitch and look away,” Kamal said. “I’ll call your mobile to set the time and place. Good evening, Miss Ahmed,” he said, closing the door behind him.
It may have been a long time since he had been in ‘civilization’, but he had not forgotten how to flirt with a woman. He pulled his cell phone from his pocket and dialed the number from Sara’s visiting card. The phone rang twice and she picked up.
“I wanted you to have my number in case you want to call me,” Kamal quietly said. “Please do save my number. It’s Kamal Khan.”
“No Captain anymore?” she asked.
“Just Kamal for you,” he said as he hung up and walked into the conference room.
Chapter 11
The last few days in Islamabad were a whirlwind for Kamal. He made excuses to see her and spent his nights talking to her on the phone. Three days of using all his energy just to spend time with her in the controlled environments where he was allowed to be. He learned about her, telling her half-truths about himself. He could not let her in while he was still under cover, but maybe after, he kept telling himself, rationalizing his half-truths. She seemed very different from the young lady he had first encountered. The whole time he listened to her, he tried to reconcile every half-truth from his mouth with a simple “become what you must,” believing that everything could be fixed once his mission was over. Major Iftikhar’s words haunted him even outside the mission. Had he forgotten who he was?
He returned to Peshawar with gifts for his friends. Any respectable Pakistani wedding would yield two things for the brother of the bride, mithai and money. He was returning with both, but only the mithai was for his friends. His cover had to stay intact for the mission to continue. He hadn’t told anyone that he had a sister, but that wasn’t uncommon among working class Pathans. Family relations were kept quiet, even from the closest of friends. Dawood would just have to hope that held true now, since his background was not from a working class Pathan family.
* * *
Two hundred kilometers away, in the conference room at headquarters, the gang of five had gathered to discuss the intelligence that had been presented and discussed ad nauseam with their deep cover operative. The conversation had ended in a deadlock, each side trying to impose the validity of their position on the others. These men had been together, moving up the ranks of the army command, since Staff College Quetta. Each knew where the other’s bodies were buried, enhancing the trust between them. But Lt. General Qadir knew a little bit more than he let on. He called it his ‘emergency package.’
Hours, later, Lt. General Junejo swirled his whiskey, making the ice clank as it rolled around the glass. He loved watching old British comedies, a habit formed while he was at Sandhurst. As his family lay sleeping on the second floor of his colossal home, he indulged himself with a few episodes of Black Adder, one of his personal favorites. It had been a long, tiring day of meetings and arguments; he needed to relax before he tried to sleep for the night. The whiskey, he hoped, would help with that mission. He was still struggling with the events of the past week. He couldn’t understand why his colleagues would consider such a volatile action on the basis of one intelligence operative’s information. It was the fuse that would light the dynamite, bringing war to Pakistan. He was lost in thought when his phone began to ring from across the room. He glanced down at his Rolex. Junejo couldn’t understand who would be calling him so late. Pushing himself off the plush leather sofa in front of the plasma, he stumbled across the room to silence the disturbance.
“Hello?” he said, only hearing silence on the other side. “Hello. Who is this?”
“Let’s not worry about names, Gene
ral. Let’s talk about responsibilities.”
The general, even in his semi-drunken state, recognized the voice.
“I hope you are standing strong against the proposed action,” the voice said
“It will never happen on my watch,” Junejo replied, trying to shake the cobwebs from his inebriated mind. “Your orders are being followed.”
“My orders?” the voice said laughing. “I think you have misunderstood. This is about… what do they call it… a convergence of interests.”
“Interests?” Junejo replied, confused. “What do you mean interests?”
“Why such a foolish question, General?” the voice replied, anger slipping into his tone. “Do you really think that you would do this if we were not taking your interests into account?”
“I haven’t shared any interests with you,” Junejo replied harshly.
“Ah, but you have,” the voice replied. “We shared our interest in having our friends in Bajaur protected and you shared your interest that your family be left unharmed. You see, a convergence of interests.”
Before Junejo could answer, the line went dead.
* * *
“Dawood bhai!” Kaleem yelled from across the construction site, dropping the wheelbarrow of bricks as he ran over to his friend. “Pa khair raglay!” he said, throwing his arms around him in an embrace. “Mubaraksha!” Kaleem said, releasing his friend. “How was the wedding?”
“Khair Mubarak, Kaleem,” Dawood replied. “The wedding was excellent. I’ve brought sweets for everyone. It’s nice to be home after the heat of Lahore.” Reaching into his shopping bag, he took out a box of Lahori burfi for his friend and brother.
Opening the box, Kaleem quickly shoved a sweet into his mouth. Trying to catch the crumbs as they fell from the corners of his mouth, Kaleem said, “How did you know burfi was my favorite, brother?” as he reached into the box again.
“When you go to Lahore, is there really any other sweet to bring back for friends? It’s their specialty,” Dawood replied with a small smile, as other members of the construction crew gathered around him clamoring for a box of sweets for themselves. Passing out the boxes, the recipients each smiled and congratulated Dawood on the wedding. The bag quickly emptied and Dawood folded it into a small square, shoving it into his kameez pocket. Shopping bags were always reusable as trash bags and suitcases. Kaleem took his hand and led him to the roaming chai vendor, wanting to talk more about the past week in Peshawar and get details of the wedding in Lahore.
Agency Rules - Never an Easy Day at the Office Page 13