North from Calcutta

by Duane Evans

  The thought of Barlow as a fashion model made General Ali laugh to himself. Barlow had the deserved reputation of having a no-nonsense, call-it-as-you-see-it approach to things—characteristics that Ali liked in a liaison partner. Ali felt he could work with Barlow and was hopeful they would have a productive relationship, the internal problems of the CIA notwithstanding.

  The single item on that day’s meeting agenda was the proposed multi-intelligence service conference on the growing opium trade in Afghanistan. Neither Barlow nor Ali was excited by the topic, both believing that the burning issue was the resurgent Taliban, not narcotics. As was often the case, though, it seemed US political considerations were behind the push for the conference which had been urged by the British, who were the ungrateful recipients of the increasing opium production.

  Ali spent the morning attending embassy meetings, then after lunch called for his chauffeur to drive him across the river to Langley for his meeting with Barlow. Ali had begun to look forward to his trips to CIA headquarters. The drive down Canal Road and across Chain Bridge was picturesque but, more importantly, it provided him an escape from the dull grind of embassy existence and the demands of an overbearing and irrational ambassador.

  In addition to Dan Barlow and Ali, two representatives from the Counternarcotics Center participated in the one-hour meeting to discuss plans for the opium conference. Ali thought it a waste of time, as nothing new was discussed and no decisions made.

  “My friend, such meetings are the life blood of bureaucracies,” Barlow noted sarcastically as he escorted Ali to the building entrance.

  Walking past the memorial wall in the main lobby, Ali stopped to look at the dozens of stars carved in the white marble, each symbolizing a life lost by a CIA officer in the line of duty.

  “You know,” he said, “I was recently given a tour of FBI Headquarters, and they also have a memorial to their fallen special agents. I am surprised to see that the CIA actually has suffered more casualties than the FBI.”

  Barlow nodded. “Many people are surprised to learn that the Agency has lost about twice the number of personnel as the FBI, despite the fact that the FBI is a much larger and older institution. People understand that an FBI agent’s work can be very dangerous. What they don’t grasp is that intelligence work can be more so. Of course, our losses earn us no sympathy; we have no political or popular constituency,” Barlow added. “The media and our own politicians have convinced the American people that the CIA is an incompetent, perhaps evil institution. Certainly no president or congressman is going to be re-elected on the basis of his or her support for the CIA.”

  Thinking of the ISI’s own losses, Ali gave an emphatic nod. “It is much the same with the ISI. Intelligence agencies always provide political leadership an easy scapegoat.” Ali shook his head. “But what can we do?”

  Still looking at the starred wall, Barlow responded, “Our jobs, General. We can do what we signed on to do.”

  46

  Tarek was at his apartment when the call finally came at midnight.

  “Good evening, Captain Ahmed. You have news?” Tarek asked.

  “Indeed, Sir. You were right. The man is in our custody now. He claims not to know anything about the contraband—says he is innocent, of course. But we have it. At least 10 kilos of good-grade opium.”

  “So, a very good catch, I would say. Any trouble with the apprehension?”

  “None at all, Sir. We picked him up as he drove through the checkpoint. I think he was surprised that we would actually search his truck. You would not believe the look on his face when we started pulling the bags out. He said he had no idea how it got there, which is hilarious. I pulled a bag right out from under his seat.”

  “He will have a hard time explaining that,” Tarek said.

  “Well, he can tell it to the magistrate. We are almost done with him. He is a simple trucker from the village and no doubt was duped into this.”

  “I suspect you are right,” Tarek said. “How much time do you think he will get.”

  “It is hard to say. At least five years, possibly more. But you know, he was stupid to get himself involved in this. He has no one to blame but himself.”

  Tarek was silent for a few moments. “Yes, he will have to live with the consequences of his actions, just as the rest of us do.”

  He told the captain goodnight and set the phone down on the table beside his chair, continuing to stare blankly at the barren wall across the room for several minutes. What he had done had been necessary, he thought. Still, he took no satisfaction from it.

  47

  It was another warm day in Islamabad, and General Huq had worked up a sweat in his walk from Army Headquarters to the IRE building. Ordinarily, he had his driver transport him the six blocks in air-conditioned comfort, but his waist line was in an expanding mode of late, and he had begun taking every opportunity to get in a little exercise. General Huq was a short man who did not carry extra weight well. As a uniformed officer, he knew there was nothing more unsightly than a soldier with a belly hanging over his belt.

  The general was not looking forward to his meeting with Salim. The LT team had suffered its first setback, and Huq was not sure how Salim would take the news. He knew Salim’s temper—like an angry cobra, some had described it. So far, the general had managed to avoid being on the receiving end of it. Today, however, he suspected that he would not be spared Salim’s venom.

  After the initial greetings and Salim’s offer of tea, Huq got straight to the point. Salim said nothing for a few moments, but listened in silence to Huq’s explanation of the “problem.” When he did speak, it was obvious Salim was doing all he could to control his rage.

  “Huq, explain to me, how could a man like this have been selected to be part of this team?” Salim demanded, his face livid. “My God! A drug smuggler! Everything depends on this mission, and we are trusting drug smugglers to carry it out? I thought Shafik handpicked these men.”

  “It is a shock,” Huq said, “particularly coming so close to the team’s deployment. But I want to assure you we have a plan to deal with this.”

  Salim said nothing but again listened in silence.

  “I considered intervening with the police to get the man released, but he had already appeared before a magistrate, and any intervention at this point could result in unwanted attention.”

  “I agree,” Salim said. “We must do nothing to bring any attention to ourselves. There are still those in this government who oppose us. We must not give them any ammunition that they can use to undermine us.”

  General Huq nodded, relieved that the firestorm of Salim’s temper seemed to be past him. “Fortunately, Abu Shafik has a replacement that is particularly well-qualified to fill in. He is the same man who has been sheltering Sheik Osman when he comes out of Kashmir. Additionally, he is a fluent Bangla speaker and has excellent area familiarization.”

  “Does he trust him?” Salim asked.

  “Yes, he does. He would not trust the security of his best commander to the man otherwise.”

  “I suppose that makes sense. But what about the technical training?”

  Huq shook his head. “It is too late for that. The device has already been prepared for shipment and will be loaded on the boat in Karachi within the next three days. Within a week it will be in Chittagong.”

  “So he doesn’t need the training?” Salim asked.

  “Ideally, it would be a good thing for him to be trained, but as a backup only, in case something happens to the others. But his primary job will be in a support role—driving a truck, getting supplies, that sort of thing. With his language ability and his knowledge of the area, he will be a true asset for the team even without the training.”

  “I see,” Salim responded. “It sounds workable. But what about our drug smuggler? He has been through the training. He knows the mission is being supported by someone in the Pakistani government. He will be expecting someone to come bail him out. If no one does
, he may start talking.”

  “Yes, that is unfortunately true. We cannot afford to run this risk. I have already discussed it with Abu Shafik, and he will take care of it.”

  “How?” Salim asked.

  “It is not necessary that you know the details. Rest assured, Mohammad; the problem will be handled appropriately.”

  “Damn it, Huq!” Salim shouted, his eyes intense and his fists clenched. “I will decide what is necessary for me to know. Not you, and certainly not Abu Shafik.”

  His head bowed, Huq responded, “I apologize. There are a number of Abu Shafik’s men currently in custody at the same facility as our drug smuggler. Abu Shafik has provided instructions that the drug smuggler be eliminated as soon as possible.”

  “Fine,” Salim responded, his voice starting to return to normal. “Let me know as soon as this man is dead. I do not want anything left undone in this matter.”

  “I will. You can count on that,” Huq replied.

  Apparently satisfied that the matter of the arrest could be laid to rest without any compromise, Salim turned his attention to other details of the mission.

  “Now, Huq, let us review. How will we get the device to where we want it?”

  “Initially, it will travel by ship. Once the ship makes Chittagong, the package will be transferred to a train. It is marked as manufacturing equipment for a garment factory in Dhaka, and it will have all the necessary paperwork to get it as far as the receiving office at the Dhaka freight office. There, an employee who is a trusted LT sympathizer will take control of it and hold it until our team makes contact. Once the team arrives, they will be put it on a truck that will transport the device and the team to the objective area. At that point, the team will procure a boat for the final approach to the target.”

  Salim interrupted, “Will it be in assembled form during shipment?”

  “No. Again for security, it is better that the device not be assembled, so that should it be examined, it will not appear to be a weapon. Also, the team will need it disassembled in order to carry it in their packs. Except for a systems check, it will not be assembled until the team is in the objective area.”

  “But how do they plan to get across the border from Bangladesh into India?”

  “Where they plan to cross is an open border. Neither government wants to interfere with the flow of goods and people, as it feeds the economy on both sides of the border.”

  Salim thought for a moment. “So what happens once they are across?”

  “The team needs to approach the objective from the up-river side in order to be able to manage the current and get the right placement. To do this, they will proceed to Crowe’s Bazar, the closest town of any consequence, and there they will obtain a boat for use in their final approach.”

  Salim shifted in his seat. “I am not a military man, Huq, but all these transportation arrangements make me nervous. Do you think the team can actually get there without being discovered?”

  Huq smiled. “I know they can, Ambassador, because we have already done it. A full dress rehearsal was successfully completed last week, using another team of men who had no clue as to the true nature of the mission. I suspected at some point you would raise this question, and I wanted to be able to give you a proof-of-concept. And we have it.”

  General Huq reached inside his jacket pocket, removed a three-by-five photograph and handed it to Ambassador Salim. In the photo, five dark-eyed men dressed in Bengali lungis sat in a boat, all with wide grins on their faces. Behind them in the distance was the faint silhouette of a linear structure rising above the dark water.

  Salim looked from the photo to Huq.

  “Farakka Barrage?” Salim asked.

  “Farakka Barrage,” Huq responded.

  Salim looked again at the photo and began to smile.

  48

  HV/30 did not wait long to signal Tarek for an emergency meeting. He had big news and needed to talk with Tarek immediately.

  Tarek arrived at the pick-up point, confident he knew why HV/30 wanted to meet. HV/30 was no sooner inside the car when he literally reached over and grabbed Tarek by the arm. “Rashid, praise Allah you made it. Sheik Osman wants me to go with him on the mission. He …”

  “Settle down, Mahmoud,” Tarek told him as he drove away from the pick-up point. “Tell me, calmly, what has happened.”

  HV/30 released Tarek’s arm and sat back in his seat. “Okay, okay. Here is what happened. One of the team members was arrested.”

  “By whom? The Indians?” Tarek said, feigning ignorance.

  “No! By the provincial police. He was carrying opium in his truck!”

  “How do you know this?”

  “Because the man arrested is the man in the group that I knew. Remember? He is the one I told you about. Latif. Remember? The trucker that lived in the next village.”

  “Oh yes, I remember. You didn’t say he was a drug smuggler.”

  “That’s because I didn’t know!” HV/30 exclaimed. “I am surprised. We all thought he was a religious man. But because he was arrested, Sheik Osman sent word that he wants me to take Latif’s place.”

  “What answer did you give him?”

  HV/30 nodded. “I told the messenger that I would go.”

  “What instructions did he give you?”

  “He told me to be in Karachi next Tuesday and to stay at the Royal Guest House. He made me memorize the address, but I wrote it down for you.”

  HV/30 handed Tarek a slip of paper. Tarek glanced at the note and stuffed it into his shirt pocket.

  “Did he give you any other instructions?”

  “Yes, he said to bring a couple of changes of clothing. He also said not to tell my family or friends that I am going to Karachi, but to make up a story about where I am going.”

  “Did he say how long you will be gone?”

  “He said not longer than two weeks.”

  “Did he give you a telephone number or name of who you were to contact in Karachi?”

  “No. He said I would be contacted at the guest house by a brother.”

  At this point, Tarek spotted a place to pull over, stopping the car on the side of the road near a shuttered teahouse.

  “Alright, Mahmoud. This is great news. Do you feel up to the task?”

  “Definitely. I was afraid that once Sheik Osman left, I would never see him again. I believe now that I will have my vengeance.”

  “You’ll get your revenge, Mahmoud, but you need to do exactly as I tell you. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, of course. But how will we be able to stay in touch once I leave Karachi?” HV/30 asked.

  “This will be the tricky part; communication always is. I will need to meet with you just prior to your departure from Karachi. By then you should know more than you do now. At that point, I’ll provide instructions and a telephone number where you can reach me at any time. Once you have met your contact and have learned as much as you think they are going to tell you about the mission, you will need to call me at the number you already have to set up a meeting using the same procedure I have already taught you. The only difference is that the location of the meeting will have to be in Karachi. Make sure you do not call me from the guesthouse. Go to a public phone exchange and call from there. And Mahmoud— make sure you aren’t followed.”

  “I will make sure, Rashid. But where can we meet? I don’t know Karachi at all.”

  “It will have to be at a location away from the guest house, somewhere that is easy for you to find and gives you a chance to make sure you are not being followed.”

  “Do you know a place?” HV/30 asked.

  Tarek thought for a moment. “I think I do. There is a Navy memorial a few blocks away from the main entrance to the Mohammad Bin Qasim port. It sits back from the street, but it is easy to spot, as it has a tall white ship mast that serves as a centerpiece to the memorial. On the back side of the memorial, opposite the street entrance, is a small courtyard with a fountain. There are step
s leading down from the fountain to a larger courtyard where there are some benches. I’ll meet you there at the time you signal for. The place is outside and open to the public, so we can meet at anytime that you think is safe.”

  HV/30 nodded. “Alright, then. I think I have it.”

  Just to make sure, Tarek took out the aviator notebook and drew a sketch of the site and showed it to HV/30.

  “So, think you can find it?” Tarek asked.

  “No problem.”

  Tarek checked the side-view mirror, pulled the car back onto the street, and continued driving as he went over some additional points to help prepare HV/30 for what might lay ahead. Once he had finished, he drove back to the general area where he had picked up HV/30 and looked for a place to drop him off.

  “You know, Rashid, we do reap what we sow. That is Allah’s justice, and through it all things are made right.”

  “What do you mean?” Tarek asked.

  “Latif dealt in drugs and was arrested, and now he is dead and his family will be destitute. This was his punishment. But because of it, I am taking his place, and I will have an opportunity to take vengeance against Sheik Osman for attacking Soriya. This is my reward for my faithfulness and patience. This is true justice.”

  Tarek had heard nothing beyond the news that Latif was dead. “Latif is dead? How?”

  “The day after he was arrested, he was found stabbed to death in the prison yard. Everyone suspects that the gangsters Latif was working for arranged his killing so he would not talk. You know talk in that kind of business is dangerous.”

  After a few moments, Tarek said, “Yes, talk is dangerous. I guess Latif could have compromised the whole enterprise if he had started talking.”

  “Yes, he could have. But he isn’t talking now.”

  Tarek suddenly had no interest in continuing with the meeting. He slowed the car and pulled to the side of the street.