by Duane Evans
The tone in Salim’s voice was one of determination, and Tarek simply acknowledged his remark with a nod.
“Major Durrani, our Islamic republic, with the blessing of Allah, will not be intimidated by India’s Hindu extremist government. Pakistan will reassert itself in this region. We must face the Indian challenge and expose it to the world as the arrogant power it is. To do this we need smart, dynamic men who can take initiative and make things happen. I firmly believe you are this kind of man, and you will be a tremendous asset for the IRE. Consider this conversation as the IRE’s formal acceptance of your assignment here.”
Tarek was not surprised at the quickness of the ambassador’s decision to accept him. Men like Salim seldom deliberated long on such matters, trusting their initial instincts to guide them. They were usually correct in their judgments. Sometimes, however, they were spectacularly wrong.
“You will be working exclusively on the India account for the IRE,” Salim said. “No other duties or distractions—period. You should also know that everything you do at the IRE is compartmented and cannot be shared with anyone, not even your colleagues at ISI. I’m sure you are well acquainted with the ‘need to know’ principle. Now, if there are no other questions, I am expected at the prime minister’s office in a few minutes.” With that, Salim stood up, signaling the meeting was over and walked Tarek to the door.
“The India Office Director is Admiral Mohammad Nurullah, with whom you will become acquainted shortly. I suggest that before you report to work, you make sure your personal accommodations are in order, as you will have little time once you start work.”
“No problem, Ambassador,” Tarek responded, “My accommodations are already arranged, and there is little else in my life but my work.”
“Excellent, Major, I can see you have the right attitude. Again, I must tell you how delighted I am that you are here. The IRE needs you, and more importantly, Pakistan needs you.”
Salim shook Tarek’s hand and, in what appeared to be an afterthought, said, “Oh, Major. You can expect to spend some time traveling. I hope that is not a problem for you.”
Tarek smiled. “Not at all, Sir. Traveling has always been part and parcel of my occupation.”
“Very good, then. Admiral Nurullah will fill you in on additional details at the appropriate time.”
When Tarek had gone, Salim returned to his desk. A moment later Rahim joined him. “Rahim, I am quite impressed with Major Durrani,” Salim said, again slowly working his prayer beads. “The ISI has certainly filled the bill by sending him to us. He is perfectly suited for the task.”
“I was impressed as well,” Rahim agreed.
“Still, we can’t afford to take anything for granted. I want to continue our due diligence right up to the time Major Durrani deploys. He is an ISI officer after all, and it is not clear which camp he falls into—the old guard, or the new.”
“With a little time, I should be able to determine on which side of the line he stands, Mr. Ambassador.”
“Excellent, Rahim. Stay on top of it and please keep me informed.”
6
It had been two weeks since Tarek began work at the IRE. Admiral Nurullah had assigned him to the smallest branch in the India Department. Aside from its small size, it was also distinct from the rest of the department in that it was located in a different building. Tarek was surprised to learn that most of the 15 men in his branch—there were no women—were detailed from the Army, although two were officers belonging to the ISI’s domestic rival, the Intelligence Bureau.
Tarek was given a small office with just enough room for two gray metal desks, a desktop computer on one of them. The white walls were barren and dingy, speckled with the squashed remains of mosquitoes, victims of previous occupants. The office didn’t matter to Tarek—he wouldn’t be spending much time there.
Arriving at work, he found a package containing materials he had requested shortly after being briefed on his project. Most of the information contained in the package was unclassified—a few open-source documents, most from international news publications, along with some Foreign Ministry reports and a series of reports submitted over recent months by Pakistan’s embassy in Bangladesh.
The largest document was a 54-page report produced the previous year by the Pakistani mission to the United Nations in New York. There was also a reference book on environmental studies and several maps covering the border areas of India and Bangladesh, including a 1 to 250,000 scale military version. He was primarily interested in the last item.
Tarek unfolded the map and spread it over one of the small desks. He studied it closely until he located the point where the Ganges River intersected the India-Bangladesh border. Placing his index finger on the spot, he traced the river westward into India. At a distance of 18 kilometers from the border, Tarek saw a thick black line intersecting the Ganges. It was Farakka Barrage.
At the time of his project briefing, Tarek had known nothing about Farakka Barrage and felt embarrassed having to admit this to the briefing officer, a stuffy colonel of the Pak Army’s engineering branch. The colonel, however, was not the least bit surprised at Tarek’s ignorance and showed no hesitancy in saying so. He proceeded to give a standard briefing that included a description of Farakka Barrage and its significance in India’s political relation with Bangladesh.
The 2,250-meter-long dam known as Farakka Barrage had been completed in 1971 with Soviet assistance at a cost of $1 billion. Although the Soviets had provided funding, the dam was still a point of pride for India, as it was designed by the internationally renowned Indian engineer Rabindranath Advani. A related project, the Jangipur feeder canal that connected the Ganges to the Hoogly River, was completed in 1975.
Farakka Barrage was built to divert water south during the dry season, keeping the river navigable and controlling the salinity of the water, particularly for Calcutta to the south. In the monsoon season, the gates of the barrage were raised to allow floodwaters to flow unimpeded eastward into Bangladesh.
In recent years, the Farakka Barrage had become a serious friction point between Bangladesh and India. The government in Dhaka blamed the barrage for the desertification of some parts of western Bangladesh, as well as the loss of vegetation and increased salinity in the Sundarbans, the world’s largest mangrove swamp.
New Delhi held that the desertification was due to natural changes in weather and river patterns. Dhaka insisted otherwise and took its case to the United Nations. In its petition to the UN, Dhaka demanded that during the dry season the barrage gates be raised, allowing water to continue to flow eastward into Bangladesh. India had refused.
Now, as Tarek stood in his office staring down at the line on the map indicating Farakka Barrage, he began to anticipate the challenges he would face carrying out his mission to collect full design specifications of the structure. According to Admiral Nurullah, flow rates of water passing through the dam could be calculated from these blueprints. From that, calculations on the amount of water blocked from entering Bangladesh and the Sundarbans during the dry season could be made. The admiral said the IRE planned to use these calculations behind-the-scenes to support Bangladesh’s case against India in order to embarrass her on the world stage.
Tarek’s mission was a straightforward collection operation, the kind he enjoyed most. Although his target was not military in nature, the fact that it was in India raised the difficulty level by several notches. India’s intelligence and security services were highly professional, and if they were able to compromise the operation, it would add to the growing spiral of political and military tension between the two countries.
Tarek wondered if a mission to collect what could best be described as environmental intelligence was worth the risks. After all, the site had no military value, and it was located on the opposite side of the country, far from Pakistan. Other questions puzzled him too. Why wasn’t the ISI given the job instead of the IRE? The ISI probably already had agents in place that could pr
ovide at least some base-line data on the dam.
He had to conclude the reason was a bureaucratic one. The IRE was a new organization, and it wanted to prove its worth and self-sufficiency, even if it was not up to the task. Asking for an ISI officer to be temporarily assigned was a compromise position, probably seen as a better option than asking the ISI to carry out the Farakka Barrage mission, and any others like it. Tarek cleared the materials off the desk, returning them to the cardboard box. Sitting down at his computer, he began to read through the daily diplomatic cables coming from Pakistan’s embassies abroad. He could not read ISI operational traffic at this office; however, once every couple of days he would go to ISI headquarters and read up on developments in India. He didn’t mind; it gave him a good reason to be at ISI, where he could keep in touch with General Ali.
Tarek had not for a moment taken seriously Ambassador Salim’s admonition that he should not discuss his work at the IRE. General Ali was one of the very few people Tarek knew he could trust completely. Above all others, Ali, as the Director of Operations for ISI, needed to know about any intelligence operations being mounted abroad, particularly in India, a hostile nation armed with nuclear missiles, all of which were pointed at Pakistan.
Nonetheless, Tarek was being as discreet as possible in his contacts with Ali, who had cautioned him that he suspected his own movements and activities were being monitored. As a precaution, he and Tarek had agreed there would be no telephone contact between them.
Tarek decided it was time to brief Ali on how he planned to carry out the Farakka Barrage mission.
7
Sahar Advani stood at the large dining room window and gazed out at the garden, the Delhi heat penetrating through the windowpane. Stepping away, she turned and walked into the kitchen where her father sat sorting the morning’s mail.
“I am certain were it any hotter even the lilies painted on my sari would wilt away,” sighed Sahar. “Can the heat possibly get any worse? You must tell me we will take our retreat to the hill country soon or I will abandon you to this miserable place.”
“Sahar, why do you threaten your old father? Do you think I dislike the heat any less than you? In a week’s time we will leave for the tea gardens. I hope you find some comfort in this news. Were you not my only daughter, I would not be so tolerant of your complaining.”
The tense expression on Sahar’s face disappeared. “I guess I can persevere in that case. Besides, I still have to complete the design for the library, and I don’t want to take my work with me to the hills.”
“I would forbid you bringing work in any case,” Advani responded sternly. “A vacation by definition means ‘no work.’ Modern life has turned us all into slaves. And for what? To earn more money to buy more things that we cannot enjoy because we have to work! Again I ask, for what?”
“Father, you loved your work. How many times have you talked of the pleasure your accomplishments brought you? Has retirement changed your mind?”
“Yes, it’s true,” Advani agreed. “My work brought me immense pleasure, but my pleasure did not come from the money I made. And I should point out that I never took my work along on any retreat. Those times are special and should be reserved for families and friends spending time together and for restoring our connection to the Divine. Ultimately nothing is more important than this. No, the time away from our normal routines must be preserved as sacred, and that means not bringing any work along.”
Sahar thought for a moment, canting her head slightly and causing her thick black hair to slip from her shoulders to its full length. “You’ll get no argument from me. As much as I’m enjoying the library project, I need a break from the routine—and from Delhi,” she said. “If all work and no play make Jane a dull girl, then I must be the dullest girl around.”
Advani paused from his mail, removed his gold frame reading glasses and looked at his daughter, his eyes reflecting a father’s concern and love.
“Sahar, I am worried about you. Your job seems to have become your life. You no longer paint, you don’t listen to music, and you no longer spend time with your friends. Not to mention you seem to have closed the door on the possibility of a romantic interest. You need to examine the way you are living and ask yourself if there isn’t more to be taken from life. You are such a beautiful and talented woman; I hate the thought of you devoting yourself only to your job.”
This was not the first time her father had voiced these concerns and it pained Sahar to know he was worried about her. She knew he was right; she needed to change the rhythm and routine her life had assumed over the last few years. But changing one’s life was not easy, especially with a demanding career—and a father to look after.
As for romance, there was no shortage of interested men. But since her divorce three years earlier, her experiences with men had been mixed—and ultimately disappointing—leading to a self-imposed hiatus on romance. Her intent originally had been to withdraw socially for only a few months, but this limited timeframe had almost unnoticeably extended into years. Sahar was only now awakening to that fact, and an increasing feeling of restlessness had begun to set in.
Sahar knew that should she wish again to attempt a romantic foray, her father would not involve himself. He had played an influential role in convincing Sahar she should accept the marriage proposal of her former husband. The marriage had been a disaster, and her father had sworn never again to undertake the role of matchmaker.
Sahar walked to him and leaned down to kiss his cheek. “Don’t worry. Once I have completed the designs for the library, I will be able to cut back on work and do the things I enjoy. In fact, I have already talked to my old master about resuming yoga, and he has agreed to take me back.”
Her father’s delight was evident. “That is wonderful Sahar! And what about your painting?”
“I’m actually thinking of bringing my things to the tea gardens to try my hand again. I know I will be very rusty, but I must begin sometime.”
Her father smiled and seemed to relax. Returning to his review of the mail, his gaze fell upon a business envelope bearing a Dubai return address. He had once visited Dubai briefly, but did not know anyone from there.
His curiosity aroused, he picked up a letter opener, slit the envelope and unfolded the one-page, single-spaced letter, noting the expensive paper and the crisp professional type-face. Adjusting his glasses he began to read the English text.
Esteemed Engineer Rabindranath Advani,
It is with great honor that I open this communication with you, and I pray it finds you and your family in good health. The opportunity to which I am now taking to seek contact with you is surely given to me as a blessing ordained by God in all his great mercy. I can only hope you will not find the step I have taken in sending this letter to you as an arrogant undertaking, but rather accept it as a small token of the great respect I hold for you as a master in your field, whose accomplishments have been equaled by very few men.
It is in this spirit of personal respect and professional admiration that I reach out to you to solicit your possible interest in regards to a training program I have designed on behalf of my firm, which specializes in advanced training for promising engineers. I think you may find the program interesting, as its goal is to not only improve technical skills, but to also increase creative thinking and confidence. To accomplish this, I plan to introduce these young engineers to the most accomplished engineers living today, and I hasten to add, you are foremost among this select group.
I realize you are now in a well deserved “retired” status, but I note from your recent contribution to the International Engineer Quarterly that you continue to take a strong and active interest in the engineering field, as you were quoted as saying you think you can still make a positive contribution in our chosen field. I believe, Sir, through our training program, you can indeed make a major contribution by sharing your wisdom and experiences with the engineers who will be responsible for the great design and construction a
chievements of the future.
If you are interested in this idea, and you could find the time to come to Dubai under my company’s full sponsorship, I would look forward to discussing this project with you further. Whatever your response may be, please accept my sincere admiration for you and your work. May God bless you and your family.
Sincerely,
Tarek Durrani
Sable Enterprises
Dubai, UAE
[email protected]
“Interesting,” Advani said, mostly to himself.
“What is it?” Sahar asked.
“Oh, it’s just another employment offer.”
“You’re not interested are you? You said you were enjoying retirement, with no deadlines hanging over your head, and finally having the time for your meditations and prayers.”
“No. I’m not really interested. But this proposition is a bit different from the others. From what I can tell, I would not actually be working on a project.”
“What would you be doing then?”
“It appears I would serve more in a professorial or mentor role, working in some capacity with young engineers,” Advani said.
“That’s interesting. You’ve always said you would not mind working in the academic field, and I know you would be a great teacher. Why don’t you at least consider it?”
Advani shook his head, “No, I don’t think so. They’ve asked that I go to Dubai for further discussions, and I really have no interest in foreign travel—at least not any time soon.”
Sahar laughed, “Too bad they did not ask me to come. I could hardly turn down a trip to the shopping capital of the Middle East.” Sahar sat down at the table beside her father and put her hand on his.
“Why don’t you contact the company and ask that they come here to discuss the idea with you? After all, it is they who have approached you. Let Mohammad come to the mountain, if the mountain does not choose to go to Mohammad.”