North from Calcutta

by Duane Evans

  As Tarek slowed from a run into a cool-down walk, he started to think about the implications of General Ali no longer being accessible to him to discuss developments concerning HV/30.

  Written communications through official ISI channels would not be possible, as officially the case was dead. Any mention of it would attract unwanted attention. Official secure voice communications would be risky as well, since ISI routinely monitored most if not all official conversations. Calling General Ali over commercial telephone systems would be fairly secure in terms of the ISI finding out about them, but other unwanted listeners could tune in. E-mail might be a good alternative, but that had security risks like those of the telephone. Clearly, communication was going to be a problem.

  Tarek had hoped HV/30 would signal for a meeting before Ali departed for Washington, but it was now too late for that to happen. General Ali was getting on the plane that night.

  The situation was unlike any Tarek had dealt with before. He knew how to deal with external threats, but he did not know how to deal with threats from within his own government. Without General Ali available, he would have to make decisions, possibly critical ones, on his own.

  Anticipating the problems Tarek would encounter after Ali’s departure to Washington, Ali had assigned him to a position as special programs officer, from which he reported only to Ali and could travel as needed with no approval necessary. Equally important, Ali also authorized an off-the-books budget for Tarek’s use. With this arrangement, Tarek could continue his handling of the HV/30 case without his ISI colleagues becoming aware of it. Still, this arrangement was good only until Ali’s replacement was on the job. Once the new chief of ops arrived, things would undoubtedly change. Tarek guessed he had only three or four weeks at most.

  Ali’s unexpected assignment to Washington added yet another element of uncertainty and confusion to Tarek’s life. It had been weeks now since he had last seen Sahar, and he longed for her. They wrote to each other by e-mail almost daily and spoke on the phone several times a week. All the while, she believed he was in the UAE. While their frequent communication helped sustain the relationship, for Tarek they were no replacement for being with Sahar. Not even close.

  Needing to plan something definite, during their last phone call Tarek had committed to coming to India for the anniversary ceremony at Farakka Barrage. Sahar had almost squealed in delight on hearing his decision. Tarek thought his attendance at the ceremony would be an important milestone in their relationship and a good way to put his relationship with Advani on a different footing, one he hoped would lead to Advani accepting him as a deserving suitor for his daughter.

  Tarek’s great concern was that he might have to cancel the trip if something related to HV/30’s information developed. He prayed he could go to India before anything happened. Earlier in the week, he had gotten General Ali’s approval for the necessary leave, telling him only that he planned to see an old friend in Abu Dhabi. Of course, the only friend Tarek planned to see in the UAE, before proceeding to New Delhi, was his old agent, Habibi. It bothered Tarek that he continued to deceive Ali about this one area of his life. But what could he do? His desire to be with Sahar outweighed all other considerations.

  Returning home, Tarek showered and dressed before heading to Islamabad International Airport where he met with a dozen other ISI officers and members of General Ali’s family to bid farewell to the general. Given the crowd of people, Tarek had only a limited opportunity to say a personal goodbye. Ali’s final words to Tarek were simply, “Stay safe.”

  After the General boarded the Gulf Air 777, the group stayed to watch it taxi down the runway and lift off into the night sky. As the lights of the plane disappeared from sight, Tarek said goodbye to the others in the group and headed toward the main exit.

  Just as he stepped outside, he felt his cell phone vibrate. He pulled the phone out of his inside jacket pocket and flipped open the cover to read the text message.

  To anyone else, the message would have seemed innocent enough, just another unsolicited advertisement for car insurance. To Tarek, however, it was much more important than that.

  It meant he would be meeting HV/30 the following night.

  40

  Tarek departed Islamabad late-afternoon and arrived in Wah shortly after nightfall. He parked several blocks away from the contact point, then approached on foot through the nearly deserted streets, passing by shuttered shops and tea stalls.

  Rounding the last corner he saw HV/30 arriving at the designated spot, white plastic bag in his left hand. After closing the distance between them, Tarek gave a slight cough. HV/30 looked his way and recognized Tarek immediately.

  The two men started up the street together. As they walked, Tarek provided him with directions to the safehouse, telling him to be there in an hour. Tarek had HV/30 repeat the directions, then parted company with him.

  Tarek returned to his car and drove to the safe house, a residence in a middle-class neighborhood. While renting the safehouse, he had arranged for an illiterate old man to live at the residence in the servant’s quarters, adjacent to the main house, to serve as the caretaker and chokidar. The man’s wife lived with him, and both believed the house had been leased by a wealthy man from Islamabad who periodically did business in Wah. They were happy with the arrangement and had no inclination to question it.

  At the entryway, Tarek beeped his horn. Wearing rubber flip-flops and a threadbare plaid jacket, the bearded old man peeked through the pedestrian doorway. Seeing Tarek, he swung open the heavy metal gate. Tarek pulled inside. After an initial greeting, Tarek told the man to wash his car and to be alert for the arrival of a villager who was interested in selling his property to Tarek.

  HV/30 arrived as instructed. Tarek had brought a generous meal to share with the agent: ample servings of chicken kabob, rice, and freshly baked naan, with a juicy ripe pomegranate for dessert. HV/30, who had not eaten since early morning, ate voraciously. Tarek did not spoil the atmosphere by talking about business. Instead, he used the time to talk about his own background—his family, his likes and dislikes, all in an effort to establish a rapport with HV/30. Ninety percent of what Tarek said was true. The rest were lies necessary to protect his identity from HV/30.

  HV/30 responded to Tarek’s apparent candor by opening up about his own background. Over the next two hours, Tarek learned more about HV/30 than a headquarters file could ever provide. During the conversation, he at last learned the truth about what had motivated HV/30 to betray an organization he had once risked his life for.

  HV/30 recounted how at the age of 30 he had married a young woman from his village. The couple had been together for 20 years, deeply devoted to each other and their five children. Their first child was a girl named Soriya. HV/30 spoke of how disappointed he had been when informed that his firstborn was female. At first, he did not even want to go to see the child, but wanted to shelter his wife from his disappointment. So he went to his sister’s home, where the child had been born, determined to conceal his unhappiness.

  HV/30 smiled as he told Tarek that this had been easier than he had imagined. The moment he first saw the tiny girl, with her dark curly hair and a soft round face, he knew she was “a gift from Allah,” given to him to care for and protect. HV/30 said he loved all his children, but with none of them, not even his sons, did he feel such a profound sense of love and responsibility.

  “I suppose it was because she was the first,” he told Tarek, “or maybe it was because she was just special. Whatever the reason, I have always been devoted to her more than any of the others.”

  Tarek was surprised when HV/30 mentioned that, for reasons of economy, Soriya no longer lived with the family, but stayed with his sister’s family. This struck Tarek as strange. Customarily, a young girl left home only after marriage, but Soriya was still unwed. It would have been acceptable to send a son away if necessary, but to send a daughter away was unusual. Tarek began a subtle elicitation campaign to get to the tr
uth of the matter.

  “Mahmoud, I had no idea you had sent one of your children away. This is not right; a young girl should be at home with her family,” Tarek said, partly because he believed it and partly to affect empathy with HV/30’s situation. “If you have need of money, there is no reason to have your daughter stay with your sister. I can give you a stipend every month that will more then pay any expenses she may cause you.”

  “No, Rashid, your money is really no solution to the problem, although perhaps there is something else you can do for me.”

  “Of course, Mahmoud. I will do whatever I can to help you.”

  “I thank you for that,” HV/30 responded. “But first it is important that I explain myself. You see, since its founding, I have given my all to the Lashkar-e-Taiba, and I did not refuse when I was asked to give occasional refuge to one of its commanders, even though this put not only me but also my family at great risk. At first, they would not even tell me who this commander was, and not until I took him under my roof did I learn that it was none other than Sheik Osman.”

  HV/30 stopped and took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. “I told you at our first meeting that my friend Yasin was assisting Sheik Osman, but that was a lie. While I do have a friend named Yasin, he knows nothing of Sheik Osman. I was not ready to tell you of my connection to Osman, but since our last meeting, I have thought this over. Now I want to set the record straight. I am the one who hides him.”

  Tarek showed no umbrage at HV/30’s deception and was careful not to interrupt HV/30’s story.

  “Of course, I had heard of him, but never had I laid eyes on him. So although I was frightened, I was honored that Abu Shafik had entrusted me with his best commander’s safety. This man was a hero to our cause. Totally fearless in battle, he has personally killed more Indian soldiers than any other LT fighter. This, and the fact that he is very smart, makes him an exceptional warrior.”

  HV/30 paused for a moment, his eyes filling with hatred, and said, “But after I brought him into my home and gave him shelter and food, I learned that he is also arrogant and impulsive, and he does what he wants. And why shouldn’t he? Who can challenge him? He is untouchable, or at least he thinks he is.”

  HV/30 did not look at Tarek. He gazed downward, his eyes glowing with intensity.

  “So, is Sheik Osman staying at your home now?” Tarek asked.

  “No, he was with me until early yesterday. That is why I couldn’t come to the meeting before now. I had to wait until he left.” HV/30 gave a slight smile. “But I think the inconvenience for you will have been worth the trouble.”

  “Why do you think so?” Tarek asked.

  “Because he hosted a meeting at my house in which some plans were made— plans that I think you will be interested in.”

  Tarek was very interested, but he knew he had to understand what was between HV/30 and Sheik Osman if he was ever going to learn why HV/30’s was betraying the LT.

  “I do want to hear what happened at that meeting, Mahmoud, but first, tell me, why do you hate Sheik Osman?”

  “Is it that obvious?” Mahmoud asked.

  “It’s pretty obvious,” Tarek said.

  HV/30 slowly lifted his head and looked at Tarek as tears replaced the hatred in his eyes. Softly he said, “Because he raped Soriya. The bastard raped my little girl.”

  HV/30 began to sob so intensely he was unable to speak. Tarek was the first person he had ever told about the rape of his daughter, and months of pent-up emotion came to the surface all at once.

  HV/30’s pain was difficult for Tarek to witness. Reaching over, he placed his hand on HV/30’s shoulder. “Brother, I am so sorry. May Allah give you strength.”

  Tarek could see the great difficulty this situation presented for HV/30. In a rural village, it was rare to hear an accusation of rape, which usually resulted in severe punishment, not for the accused, but for the accuser. Often, victims who made these accusations were beaten, even killed. The lucky ones were simply exiled from the village, sometimes after being permanently disfigured to mark them for life as a whore. In Soriya’s case, the fact that the attacker was a fabled LT commander would only work against her.

  Regaining his composure, HV/30 confirmed Tarek’s assessment of the situation and explained what had happened. The attack had occurred the first time Sheik Osman stayed with HV/30. The day it happened, HV/30 and his wife had walked into the village to get bread. When they left, Sheik Osman had been sleeping, and Soriya was in the courtyard hanging up the laundry to dry. HV/30 and his wife were gone for less than an hour, and Soriya was no longer in the courtyard when they returned. They did not suspect anything, assuming she had gone down to the river to wash another basket of clothes. After an hour, Soriya still hadn’t returned, so HV/30 walked to the river to check on her.

  He found her near the river, sitting in the tall grass and crying. When she told him what had happened, he nearly collapsed in shock. For a moment he thought he was dying. He held Soriya in his arms and cried for a long time. As he cried, his pain turned to anger, and he resolved to kill Sheik Osman. He would have done so that very day had Soriya not stopped him, ultimately convincing him that people would still blame her for what had happened. Then both he and Soriya would be punished. Soriya demanded HV/30 promise that nothing be said to anyone.

  Despite his burning hatred for Sheik Osman, HV/30 agreed that for the good of the family there was no other choice but to remain silent. He told no one, not even his wife, about what had happened. The most difficult part was not allowing Sheik Osman to see that he knew of the rape.

  To get his revenge, HV/30 had even considered approaching Indian intelligence to set up Sheik Osman for capture. No doubt the Indians would love to get their hands on him. But he himself was on the Indians’ wanted list. It was more likely the Indians would imprison him for many years, impoverishing his family.

  With the Indian option closed, HV/30 decided the ISI would want to know what the LT was up to, particularly information about leaders like Abu Shafik and Sheik Osman. And if he could convince the ISI that Sheik Osman had stolen the money the ISI had provided to the LT, then there would be hell to pay.

  Tarek listened to HV/30’s story in silence, nodding his head at key points in HV/30’s litany of wrongs, real and perceived, done by Sheik Osman, and by association, Abu Shafik and the LT. At last, HV/30 seemed to have run out of words to say.

  “Mahmoud, you have been carrying a great burden. I want you to know that I am outraged about what has happened to Soriya. This is a terrible crime, one that makes me ashamed to be called a man. But Soriya was right. Had you taken action yourself, only more harm would have come from this despicable act. You and your family would have suffered gravely.”

  HV/30 nodded. “I know you are right, Rashid, but somehow this must be avenged. And this is why I need your help. I need you to help me avenge Soriya in a way that protects her and the rest of my family.”

  Tarek understood HV/30’s feelings, but for the moment, Sheik Osman was the means by which HV/30 was obtaining information on Abu Shafik and his involvement with the still unidentified Pakistani officials. To take any kind of action against Sheik Osman now would mean shutting off that information stream, something Tarek knew he could not do.

  “Look, Mahmoud. I will have to study this situation. We have to be very careful and patient if we hope to make Sheik Osman pay for his crime. At this moment, I cannot tell you what I can do to help. I can only promise you that if there is a way I can help, I will do it. But you must be patient.”

  “Rashid, I have been patient. But I do not know how much longer I can endure.”

  “I know, Mahmoud. Still, you must be patient a while longer. There is a saying that applies here, perhaps you have heard or read it.”

  “Rashid, you know I am not a well-educated man. Please, tell me this saying.”

  Tarek smiled and again placed his hand on HV/30’s shoulder. “The saying goes like this. ‘Revenge is a dish best served cold
.’”

  Mahmoud lifted his gaze up for a moment, as if looking away at a distant sight. “Hmm,” he said. “I think I like this saying.”

  41

  After HV/30 departed the safehouse for his village, Tarek headed back toward Islamabad. As he drove, Tarek mentally reviewed the information he had gleaned from the meeting. HV/30’s deep-seated need for revenge for the rape of Soriya was the key to understanding his motivation for cooperating with the ISI, which meant that Tarek was now in a better position to manage HV/30 and, if necessary, manipulate him to accomplish the operation’s goals.

  Tarek had not forgotten to debrief HV/30 on the details of the meeting Sheik Osman had hosted. It was clear that something big was underway. Three days ago, a group of seven LT fighters had arrived at HV/30’s doorstep. HV/30 knew only one of the seven, a neighboring villager and old LT stalwart named Latif. The rest were strangers.

  HV/30 was able to learn bits and pieces of what transpired during the meeting as he moved about serving food and tea. It became clear from the conversation that the fighters had been hand-picked for a special but unspecified mission to take place in India. Sheik Osman would lead the mission after some training that would occur soon.

  Curiously, all of the men were fluent in Bangla, which HV/30 himself spoke, having lived much of his early life in East Pakistan, before it became Bangladesh. Based on the team’s language abilities, Tarek had to assume the mission would be carried out somewhere in eastern India, most likely in Calcutta, the largest city in Bangla-speaking West Bengal. Tarek remembered Ali telling him that one of the Intelligence Bureau officers assigned to the IRE had traveled to Calcutta. Tarek thought it possible the officer’s travel there might be related to what the LT team was up to.