by Duane Evans
While Advani was out of the room, Tarek stood and walked over to the window where he could get a better view of the parrots. As he watched the birds flitting from branch to branch Tarek began to consider his own next move. He hoped that Advani had not forgotten his offer to show him his professional portfolio. If he had, Tarek would have to remind him of it. He had not yet brought up business with Advani. As he liked the man and thought Advani liked him, he did not want to do anything that would spoil the budding relationship.
Advani returned with what appeared to be a stack of photo albums and motioned Tarek to have a seat, pushing aside the tea tray to make room on the tabletop.
“I think you will enjoy these pictures that Sahar and I took last year during a trip we made to a game park in Nepal. You will not believe the birds we found there.”
Opening the book, Advani began to describe the variety of game they had seen. On the first page was a photo of an entrance sign for Royal Chitwan National Park. Standing next to the sign was a smiling woman wearing sunglasses and dressed in shorts and a light cotton shirt. It was hard to tell the woman’s age but Tarek guessed she was in her mid to late thirties. What was not hard to tell was that the woman was beautiful, stunningly so.
“That is Sahar,” Advani noted as Tarek continued to look at the photo. Thinking Tarek did not understand and perhaps did not remember his daughter’s name, Advani said, “Sahar, my daughter.”
Tarek had in fact not heard, or at least had not registered Advani’s words, so taken was he by the woman in the photograph. Advani’s repetition of Sahar’s name did register, however, and Tarek realized he was in danger of embarrassing himself.
“Yes, yes,” Tarek said quickly, “a very lovely lady,” and then quickly added, “I have read about the Chitwan game park. It sounds like a great place to visit. Did you stay there long?”
This was all the encouragement Advani needed to resume his narration of the visit to the park while he leafed through the photos of game and colorful birds. Advani was very animated as he discussed the park, and it was obvious he had thoroughly enjoyed it. Tarek, however, was beginning to feel a sense of growing impatience. He began to look for a way to move the discussion to professional matters.
At last Advani reached the final page in the album and, almost as if he had read Tarek’s mind, said, “Well, now. Let me show you something of more immediate interest to you.” He put the photo album aside to reveal a thick leather-bound book, which he picked up and handed to Tarek.
“This is my portfolio of the major projects I have built, going back 40 years. There are eight in all, most of them dams or related structures. All the details about the projects are provided—design plans, photos, and supplemental material, along with my personal notes that describe how each project progressed. I believe this document can serve as a great source for putting together seminars for young engineers.”
Tarek was impressed with the collection of projects and the way each was organized and presented in the book, which obviously had been professionally prepared and published.
Turning to the index page, Tarek noted that Farakka Barrage was listed as one of the eight projects. “This is fantastic,” he said. “Very detailed. Very complete.”
Advani beamed. “As an engineer yourself, I know you appreciate this work. And I want you to know that even if I do not join your project, I have no problem with you using this material in your training program. In fact, you may have this copy if you like. If I cannot influence a new generation of engineers in the flesh, at least my work can be applied toward that goal.”
Leafing through the book, Tarek knew he had in his hands everything he needed on Farakka Barrage. Since Advani was willing to give him the copy of the portfolio, Tarek’s mission was very near the point of completion.
“This is an excellent document, and its value as a training reference is obvious. If you are serious in suggesting that my company may use this as part of its training curriculum, I enthusiastically accept your offer.” Tarek said. “Of course, I am still hopeful that we will have the creator of these projects in the flesh and before our engineers as well.”
Advani smiled and said, “I have given your kind offer some serious consideration Tarek.” He paused and asked, “If I may call you by your first name?”
“Of course, Engineer,” Tarek responded. “I would be honored to have you address me as a friend.”
“Well, as I indicated at our first meeting, I have had some doubts about the wisdom of my committing to your program. I think it is a wonderful concept. However, I am dealing with some small health issues and, as I said to you before, there are issues relating to Sahar as well. Sadly, I believe I must decline this wonderful opportunity.”
Advani cast his eyes downward. “I realize you have come a great distance and at some expense just to talk to me. I regret this, particularly since in my correspondence with you I perhaps gave you an overly optimistic impression about my willingness to accept your proposal. For this, I am sorry.”
Advani’s decision was the best news Tarek could have hoped for. It greatly simplified the operation in terms of how he would terminate contact with Advani without causing suspicion. Often this final phase of an operation could be very difficult.
“Engineer, there is no reason to apologize. This is business, and in business not everything works out as planned. I admire you for your dedication to the welfare of your daughter, and I hope your health situation is not serious. I assure you, I have enjoyed getting to know you, and I hope we can continue to be friends. Who knows? Perhaps at some point in the future you will be in a better situation, and we can pick up our discussions at that time.”
“Perhaps, perhaps,” Advani responded. “I also have certainly enjoyed talking to you, Tarek. I do like you. I believe you are a special man. You have a good heart. I can see it in you.”
Tarek was caught off guard by Advani’s candor. He felt a little embarrassed and was uncertain how to respond.
“I am sorry if I embarrassed you, Tarek. In my old age, I have become more direct in saying what I feel. I suppose it is because I have learned that our time on this earth is very limited, and saying what we feel, particularly when it is a good feeling in regards to people we come to know, is one of the most important things we can do.”
Tarek looked into Advani’s penetrating eyes. “I take no offense, Engineer. Although I know I fall short of your opinion of me, it pleases me that you should think this about me.”
“Good,” Advani said with a quick smile. “I know you will accomplish great things in your life, Tarek. One day you will look back and realize that I was right about this. Yes, one day you will see.” He paused for a moment. “Perhaps I can provide you one piece of important advice.”
“Please do, Engineer. Advice from a man of your credentials is worth more than gold.”
“This advice is not about professional matters, Tarek. It is about something of much greater importance, for it deals with your soul. You must learn that your true identity is not what the world says it is— not your race, nor your nationality, your profession, your religion, or even your sex. These are all superficial things that we take up when we are born into this world. Each of them has it uses, but do not make the mistake of believing they are who or what you are. They are not. What you are is buried deep within you, and you must dig yourself out if you are to become whole and truly know yourself in this life. And do not be surprised if when you uncover your true self, you also find in the same exact instant that God has been patiently waiting for you to remove that last covering from your soul. Many seek completeness in other ways—wealth, sex, drugs, professional accomplishments. Despite their best efforts, they all fail. Do not make this mistake with your life.” Advani then fell silent, his eyes holding Tarek’s.
For a second time that afternoon, Advani had taken Tarek by surprise. Never before had Tarek had an experience during an operation where a target had so overwhelmed him by the power and wisdom of his words
. Even more overwhelming were Advani’s devastating insights into Tarek himself.
Sensing Tarek’s discomfort, Advani added, “Tarek, please consider my comments, and if you find them useful then perhaps in the long run they will be of greater worth to you than my portfolio.”
Looking into the old man’s kind face, Tarek answered, “Yes, perhaps they will be. In any case, our meeting has been a remarkable one that I shall always remember.”
After a few minutes more, Tarek’s afternoon tea with Advani came to an end, and the two men walked toward the front door, Tarek’s thoughts having fully returned from the realm of the transcendent to the practical.
He could not believe his good fortune. In his hand was the information he had spent the previous two months planning to collect. In relation to other intelligence missions he had conducted, this one had been extremely low-cost and had been accomplished securely in a country known to have a highly efficient security service.
The situation seemed to violate one of the principles Tarek had always found to be true about intelligence work—that nothing important is accomplished easily. Tarek could only rationalize his easy success as being one of those favorable aberrations to which every operations officer is entitled at least once in a career.
The only thing remaining was to get himself and Advani’s portfolio out of the country and back to Pakistan. Tarek hoped now that he would be able to get his return airline reservations for Dubai changed so that he could leave the next day, rather than in three as scheduled.
Tarek and Advani stopped at the foyer and were saying their final goodbyes when the front door opened.
“Sahar! You are back!” Advani said, surprised and pleased as his daughter walked through the doorway.
“Yes, the committee meeting was mercifully short, so I did not stay any longer than necessary.” Then, immediately turning to Tarek and extending her hand, she said, “You must be Mr. Durrani.”
As mesmerized as Tarek had been by Sahar’s photo, it had not fully prepared him for the shock of meeting her face to face, so powerful was the effect of her physical presence on Tarek. Surely this is what Adam felt when he first saw Eve in the garden, Tarek thought.
Taking her hand in his and making a supreme effort to conceal his almost primal reaction to her, Tarek said, “I have heard much about you from your father. I am sure you know he is quite proud of you, and with good reason I should say. I understand you are the lead architect for a project at the National Library. That is quite a testament to your abilities.”
“Oh, I am not so sure of that,” Sahar laughed. “I think no one else was crazy enough to sign on to a project that is being overseen by a committee of government bureaucrats. After this meeting, I am truly convinced they are all insane.”
Standing so near to her, watching her, and listening to her soft voice, Tarek was glad he had seen the photo of her prior to their meeting. It had at least prepared him in some way for the experience of a personal encounter. Her presence had energy to it and everything about her—her looks, her voice, her movements—accentuated that energy.
“I can imagine it makes your work much more difficult,” he said, hoping the expression on his face did not make it plain to Sahar how completely captivated he was. “As if the challenges of producing design plans weren’t enough to keep you occupied, you also have to deal with a committee.”
“You are so right. The design part is easy. Trying to deal with egos, all of them male, I might add, is another thing all together.”
Advani placed his hand on his daughter’s shoulder and said, “Don’t forget Mr. Durrani has some engineering experience, and I am sure he has had similar situations in projects he has worked on.”
Tarek shrugged his shoulders and said quite truthfully, “Not as much as you might think,” adding, “I’ve spent much of my career on the personnel and training side of things.” Shifting topics he asked, “When will the library project be finished?”
“We’ve only recently started, but it should go quickly. Another wing similar in design was renovated two years ago, so most of the problems have been encountered and worked through.”
Sahar enjoyed the fact that Mr. Durrani seemed genuinely interested in her work. Her father had spoken so highly of him and, now that she had met him for herself, she judged him an attractive and educated man. She did not miss the fact that he wore no wedding band.
“Mr. Durrani, I would love to show you what we are doing in our project,” she said on impulse. “If you are interested, we could go to the library tomorrow, and I could give you the grand tour.”
Tarek knew his work in New Delhi was finished and that operational protocol required he leave India as soon as possible, so he was surprised when he heard himself say, “That would be lovely, Ms. Advani. I accept your invitation.”
17
Colonel Khaja sat at his office desk in the Pak Army Corp of Engineers Headquarters building in Islamabad, thumbing through his rolodex. He prayed he had not lost the card. This was going to be a dirty job, and he did not want to have to do it himself. But if he couldn’t find the card, he would have no choice—that had been made perfectly clear to him.
The second time through the rolodex he found it. It wasn’t under the ‘T’s where he expected to find the card of the man who called himself “the Turk.” The card was behind the ‘B’ tab. Why did I file it there? he asked himself, and then he remembered. It was his own little joke—the ‘B’ was for “bomber”.
Placing the card on his desk, he picked up his cell phone and punched in the number he had written on the card. He hoped the Turk was not away on a trip; there was precious little time to pull this together. After four rings, a gruff voice answered, “Speak.” It was the Turk.
18
General Ali was behind schedule—of all days for this to be the case. He had less than an hour to get out to the Equestrian Center for his lunch with Prime Minister Bahir. Ali was never late for appointments, and he certainly could not be late for this one. He picked up his notes and placed them in his valet case, then he checked his pants pocket to make sure he had his car keys. He had given the office driver the day off, which gave him an excuse for taking his own car, and at the same time, avoided an entry in the motor pool log that would have shown him at the same location as the prime minister.
The telephone rang just as he was about to leave the office. It was his direct line. He picked up the phone. “General Ali here.”
There was no answer. Just a click as the caller hung up.
Ali thought the call odd, but he quickly dismissed it as a wrong number.
His Kia sedan was parked in the underground parking lot reserved for senior ISI officers. Ali unlocked the car and got inside, placing the key in the ignition. He checked his valet once more to make sure he had not forgotten his notes, then cranked the engine and drove out of the garage, exiting the ISI compound through the rear gate.
Despite being pressed for time, he decided to run an abbreviated check route prior to turning onto the highway that led out of town to the Equestrian Center. He had to be sure he was not being followed.
About mid-way into his run, he spotted a car behind him that he thought he might have seen just after he had departed the ISI compound. Ali made a turn and the suspect car continued on. After a few more turns, the car did not reappear. Ali wrote it off as a “ghost,” intelligence-speak for a false sighting of surveillance. Satisfied he was clean, Ali made his way to the highway and headed east.
Ali had fond memories of the Equestrian Center. Many years before, he had ridden there regularly. Once he had even owned a horse that he boarded at the center, a spirited thoroughbred gelding named “Black Dancer” that stood sixteen hands. Ali had loved that animal. He remembered sadly how the magnificent horse had to be put down after bowing a pastern. He had never felt the same about any horse after. Perhaps it was just as well, he thought, for as he had risen in rank, his time for horseback riding had disappeared.
Ali ex
ited the highway and took the two-lane road that led to the turnoff to the center. Approaching the turnoff, Ali slowed his speed and turned the Kia onto a tree-lined gravel road bordered by broad green fields on both sides of the road. Ali lowered the windows of the car and inhaled the smell of fresh-cut hay. The sound of gravel crunched beneath the tires as he drove slowly down the road. Up ahead, parked well off the road to the right, he could see a collection of cars, bikes, and motorcycles. Ali had forgotten there was a spring-fed lake in the field where locals came to fish.
Ali looked beyond the vehicles and spotted a slow-moving Equestrian Center truck pulling an open-top, fully loaded, six-horse trailer. He noted that roughly halfway between his position and the approaching truck, a small car was parked on the left, barely off the road, and directly across from the lake parking area. The car appeared to be unoccupied. It seemed odd to Ali that someone would leave their car there, when better places to park were open just across the road. Probably it has broken down, he thought.
The road was narrow, and the car’s position would make it impossible for both Ali’s car and the approaching truck to pass each other. Ali assumed the truck would swing off the road into the parking area and let him pass. But as it came nearer, it became clear the truck intended to continue straight ahead and would make no accommodation for his car to pass. Ali pulled off into the parking area, across the road from the parked car. The truck with its trailer load of Arabians slowly passed between Ali and the parked car.
Ali admired the beautiful animals standing together in the passing trailer, their ears pointed forward as they looked at him with intense, large black eyes. It was a scene that would be burned into his memory forever. An instant later he was deafened as an explosion lifted up his car and threw it onto its side.
Ali was stunned by the concussion of the blast. He could feel stabs of pain on the left side of his head, a high-pitched noise ringing in his ears. The burnt smell of cordite filled his nostrils as smoke engulfed his car.