by Duane Evans
“Okay Mahmoud, this is where you get out. I’ll see you in Karachi as we discussed. Until then, be safe. Khoda hafez.”
“You as well, my brother.” HV/30 got out of the car and disappeared into the night.
Tarek quickly pulled back onto the street and made his way to the highway headed toward Islamabad. The news of Latif’s death, a man he had never seen, was so unexpected and disturbing that Tarek could think of nothing else. As he left the outskirts of Wah and drove down the black empty road, a cold rain began to fall.
Tarek tried to console himself that Latif’s death was an unintended consequence of a necessary action and that the man was involved in a plot that could lead to Pakistan’s destruction. Still, Tarek could not avoid the great darkness that engulfed him.
49
It was late when the phone rang. Sahar, who had just dozed off to sleep, was instantly wide awake, her heart racing, hoping it would be Tarek. She hadn’t heard from him in more than a week and was desperately worried something had happened. She picked up the phone to hear the voice she longed for.
“Sahar? I hope I have not awakened you. I know it’s late, but I could not make myself wait until tomorrow to call you,” Tarek said.
“Tarek, I am so glad it is you. I was so worried that something was wrong. Are you alright?”
“I’m fine. I’m sorry I have not been in touch, but I have been so busy with travel that I have hardly had a moment to sit still. I feel terrible that I made you worry.”
“You are forgiven,” Sahar said, “but only if you tell me you will be in New Delhi next week as you promised. I think I will die if you say you cannot come.”
“Nothing could stop me from being with you next week, Sahar. I miss you so badly. I ache for you, body and soul,” Tarek said.
“And I for you, Tarek.”
The sweet sound of Sahar’s voice was both a soothing balm and an inflammatory agent for Tarek’s increasingly strained emotions. If he had ever forgotten how badly he needed this woman, he was again acutely aware of it.
“When will you be here?” Sahar asked. “I want us to spend some time together before we travel to the ceremony. Once we leave for that, we won’t have much time alone.”
“I was thinking the same thing. I have reservations to arrive a week from today.”
“That’s wonderful! That will give us three days here in Delhi before we go to Calcutta. From there we will travel by air to Malda, then take a bus to Farakka Barrage for the ceremony. It is going to be great, Tarek! We have to make up for lost time.”
Tarek smiled to himself as he imagined once again being with Sahar. “I will do my part,” he said.
Sahar laughed. “Of that I have no doubt. Are you bringing any business contacts to tour the area for investment possibilities?”
“There is a prominent UAE businessman and friend who is very much interested in making the trip,” said Tarek. “I’ll send you his name by email tomorrow.”
“Excellent!” Sahar said. “I will pass his name along with yours to the protocol office.”
They talked for another half hour, and it was all either of them could do to say goodbye. After he hung up the phone, Tarek gave some thought to what Sahar had just said. The fact that they would first go to Calcutta before traveling to Farakka Barrage was news to him. He wondered how it would play into his efforts against the LT team.
On the surface, it seemed it could work to his benefit. Calcutta was at the top of Tarek’s list as the likely target for the team. But there were so many uncertainties it was impossible to say what, if any, advantage would come from his being in Calcutta. Only time would tell.
50
A hot wind was blowing off the Arabian Gulf as Habibi waited for Tarek at the arched entryway of a shopping mall a few kilometers east of Abu Dhabi. The mall’s location on the coast gave it a commanding view of the Gulf, and Habibi passed the minutes watching giant cargo ships slip slowly by.
Stoic as he could be about physical discomforts, the heat was beginning to get the best of him. He was about to take temporary refuge in one of the air conditioned shops when he spotted Tarek in the back seat of a taxi pulling up to the curb.
Habibi waited a few more moments until Tarek left the car and, after establishing eye contact, turned and walked through the entryway into the outdoor mall. Tarek followed and for the next five minutes shadowed Habibi as he window-shopped, admiring the glittering gold jewelry and fine Swiss watches that were prominently displayed.
At last Habibi turned into a narrow alley that led to a covered parking lot. Tarek followed a short distance behind him. Habibi walked to his Land Cruiser, unlocked the doors by remote and got in the vehicle. Tarek walked to the opposite side, opened the front passenger door and climbed inside. The two men turned toward each other.
“Salaam aleikum, my friend,” Habibi said. He leaned across and bear-hugged Tarek.
“Aleikum as-salaam,” Tarek replied with some difficulty, as Habibi nearly squeezed the life out of him.
Habibi released Tarek and slapped him on his knee.
“You know, you have brought me out of my air conditioned office on the hottest day of the year. You will owe me for this, my Pakistani friend. I hope you are here to discuss a trip to Oslo, or perhaps Zurich, where I might cool off a bit. If this is the case, your debt will be smaller.”
Tarek laughed as Habibi cranked up the Land Cruiser, put the AC on high and began to work his way out of the parking lot. Glancing at Tarek, he raised an eyebrow and said, “All right, just exactly where is it you would like me to go?”
“India.”
Habibi chuckled as he pulled onto the coastal highway headed toward Abu Dhabi. “Well, I have to say, I had assumed this would be the case. But I did have hopes that perhaps we would be going where it was a bit cooler.”
“It will not be cool but I promise you, it will be interesting,” Tarek said.
“All things with you are interesting, my friend. I think that is the only reason I put up with you. Well, then, if you need me to go to India, so be it. I will go. Although I find Indian men can sometimes test my patience, this is more than made up for by the beauty of the women and the fantastic cuisine.”
“I’m glad you are not blind to the benefits of my travel plan,” Tarek responded. “I’ll fill you in on the details when we get to the apartment and can relax. In the meantime, tell me about what you have been up to. And the family? I pray they are all well?”
For the remainder of the drive, the two men talked of family, and Habibi discussed some of his most recent business activities. Tarek relished every moment of the light discussion. It had been so long since he had an opportunity to just relax and talk in the company of someone he counted as a friend.
Habibi took Tarek to the same apartment building where they had met the previous times. The number of cars parked in the underground garage indicated the occupancy rate of the building had gone up considerably.
“Habibi, are you sure you have an empty apartment for us?” Tarek asked.
“Not only do I have an apartment, I have the best apartment. I think you will be impressed.”
Habibi parked the car, then the two men left the vehicle and walked to an elevator. Stepping in, Habibi swiped a card in front of an electronic sensor and pushed the button for the top floor. After the non-stop ascent, they exited and walked down the hall to a double-wide doorway. As he punched in a combination to an electronic lock, Habibi turned to Tarek with a grin. “I wish all doors could be this wide.”
Tarek was indeed impressed. It was a penthouse apartment decorated in a modern motif, with clean lines and a minimalist style.
“This is beautiful. Why isn’t it leased? You could get a fortune for it.”
Habibi motioned for Tarek to have a seat in the living room, where wide windows provided a spectacular view of the coast. In the city below, the evening lights were starting to shine as dusk turned to night.
Sitting down in a red leather chair, Hab
ibi looked at Tarek and said, “I’ve been keeping this apartment off the market for a while, thinking that a certain friend from Pakistan might like to entertain his lady in style. But alas, he has yet to make good on his claim that he would return with her.”
“You are kidding, aren’t you?” Tarek asked, dumbfounded that Habibi was not renting it out so he and Sahar could perhaps one day stay there.
“No, I am not kidding. But don’t worry about it,” Habibi said. “I have let a few of my out-of-town business contacts stay here. It makes for good business.” Habibi paused and said in an emphatic manner, “I really do want you and Sahar to use it. I know how much you care for her, and I want the both of you to stay here and enjoy yourselves.”
“But Habibi, by not renting this place you are forfeiting a lot of money. I do not want you doing this on my account.”
“That’s your problem, Tarek.” Habibi responded, an edge in his voice. “You never permit anyone to do anything for you. Why do you think you are so different? Everyone needs a favor or a good break every now and then, even ISI officers. You know, Tarek, you are human. I’ve known you for many years now, and you always are thinking and planning ahead. You are always working hard, devoting every moment of your life to your work. It is as if everything is a crisis, and only you can prevent disaster. Have you ever thought for a moment that the world might just be able to get along even if you are not out there trying to save it?”
Tarek was a little taken aback by Habibi’s tone, but he knew the words were well-intentioned. He also knew Habibi was right. He had spent his entire career immersed in working one crisis after the other, always heading toward the sound of the guns.
But what was wrong with that, he thought. He was a professional intelligence officer, after all. It was his job to do the tough tasks.
Even so, Tarek had seen problems develop in officers who always followed that same philosophy: a certain distancing of themselves from anything routine and a general inability to keep their attention on any one thing for very long—almost a compulsive restlessness. Tarek knew he fit that profile.
“Harun, I know what you are saying, and I don’t disagree with you. The rush of adrenaline is probably part of why I’m the way I am, but that may not completely explain it.”
Habibi nodded. “I’ve watched you for a long time, Tarek, and I think I can put my finger on it. You use your professional life to escape from real life. Some people use drugs, or video games, or whatever—but you use your work. The question you need to ask yourself is, ‘Why?’ You have become a martyr to your profession. The only difference between you and one of those fanatical suicide bombers is that you are not killing innocent people. But you are sacrificing a life nonetheless—your own life. And you know what? You don’t have to. You are not the only one doing your job. My God, at this point you have more than met your professional obligations. It is time for you to back off a bit and put some balance in your life, while you still have some good years ahead of you. Think about it Tarek; you’ve completed your 20 years of service. You could retire if you wanted and do something completely different. Start a new life. Even go into business with me.”
Habibi stopped and smiled for an instant. “And I would be your boss, which I think would be a very nice turn of the tables. And now that you have met Sahar, what a great time to make a change.”
As he listened, Tarek thought that it sometimes seemed as if Habibi were his conscience, reminding him of truths about himself he already knew but refused to deal with.
He did want to make a new start. He already was imagining himself and Sahar, sharing all the good things that life had to offer. Maybe even raising children, or traveling the world. It suddenly became clear to Tarek: If he was to ever have a chance at such a future, the time to take that chance was now.
For an instant he felt as if a great weight had been lifted from him. This was the time for him to make a change, and it suddenly seemed urgent that he do so. There was just one more thing he had to do.
“Habibi, you are a persuasive man and a true friend. I have heard your words, and I plan to heed them,” Tarek said.
Habibi smiled widely. “I think you actually mean it.”
“Oh, I mean it.”
“But?” Habibi said with a touch of suspicion in his voice.
Tarek looked Habibi in the eye. “I have one last thing to do, and that is why I need you to come with me to India.”
“Did you hear anything I just said, Tarek? Does it have to be you that does this? Surely the ISI has someone else who can go on this mission. Sure, you should go to India, but not for work. Go there to lay claim to Sahar.”
Tarek shook his head, “There is no one else who can do this, Harun. In other work I’ve done, others could have filled in. But not now. Not this time. I’m a one-man show, and that’s why I need your help. I still plan to ‘lay claim to Sahar’ as you so quaintly say, but I, or rather we, have to stop something from happening. If we don’t, it could mean millions will die.”
Habibi studied Tarek’s face and sighed. “Oh that’s not fair, Tarek,” he said. “Millions may die? Did they teach you this stuff at ISI’s spy school?” Shaking his big head in resignation, Habibi said, “Okay, my brother. So we’re still going to India. Now tell me, what on earth are we going to do there?”
Tarek had to smile at his large friend. “Habibi, you are as loyal as they come. Make yourself comfortable. We have a lot to talk about.”
For the rest of the evening, as the lights of ships anchored far off the coast twinkled through the window, Tarek discussed the situation with Habibi, providing him with as many details as he thought prudent. Tarek explained about HV/30, calling him by his true first name, and his information on the LT team. He also briefed him on likely support to the LT mission by sympathetic Pakistani military elements that were in touch with Abu Shafik. Tarek explained that his mission was not authorized by ISI headquarters, and the only person knowledgeable about it was his former boss, General Ali, now assigned in Washington.
When Tarek was finished, Habibi asked, “Why don’t you just go to the Indians? Let them stop it.”
“I wish it were that simple,” Tarek responded. “If we told the Indians, we would be taking a huge risk. Just the fact alone that members of my government are behind the plot might be enough for the Indians to go to war with us.”
“Do you really think so? Going to war is a big step,” Habibi said.
“Harun, you have to keep in mind that there is a new government in Delhi and one of their campaign pledges was to go to war with Pakistan should it be involved in supporting terrorism against India. Telling the Indians about this plot might provoke an attack. No, Harun, I have to do everything I can to stop this first. Only if I get to the point where I know there is no possibility of succeeding can I take a chance and go to the Indians.”
Habibi shook his head, “Well, I’m still not sure I agree.”
“There is no choice here, Harun.”
“Alright, alright, what can I do to help?” Habibi sighed.
“I met with Mahmoud less than 48 hours ago in Karachi. He told me that the following day, now yesterday, he was to board a ship bound for Chittagong,” Tarek said. “Unfortunately, he did not know the name of the ship or when it would arrive in Chittagong.”
“And you want me to try to identify the ship they sailed on?” Habibi asked.
“That’s right. According to Mahmoud, one of the LT members told him the ship’s last port prior to arriving in Karachi was Dubai. I thought your contacts at the port might be able to provide some helpful information.”
“Of course there are a number of ships that leave Dubai for Karachi on any given day, but some of the details that Mahmoud gave you should help narrow it down.”
Tarek nodded. “But how about in Chittagong? Do you have anyone who could help you find out about the ship there?”
“Maybe. I don’t know any Bangladeshi port officials, but I do have a shipping agent there whom I
keep on retainer. We don’t do a lot of business out of Bangladesh, but occasionally we handle a few containers coming from there.”
“That could be useful. Where is his office?” Tarek asked.
“He has offices in both Chittagong and Dhaka. He primarily deals in garment shipments, and most of the factories are in Dhaka.”
Tarek turned the discussion to another area of critical importance—communications. “Habibi, because this operation is off the books, I have no access to communications gear and without communication we are dead in the water. The problem is that the cell coverage in some of the areas we will be in is spotty at best, so we need a dependable back-up to our cell phones. I know you use satellite phones for some of your company’s construction projects in remote areas. Do you have any we can take with us to India?
“Only a room full,” Habibi said with a chuckle. “How many do we need?”
Tarek breathed a sigh of relief. “Four. We each will need one plus a back-up, plus chargers and spare batteries.”
“No problem.”
“Well, there still may be a problem,” Tarek said.
“What is that?”
“We need to get them into India without drawing any suspicion to ourselves, so I’d rather we didn’t bring them with us on the plane.”
Habibi laughed. “Tarek, you are so paranoid. I take the damned things with me all the time. No one gives them a second glance.”
Tarek smiled. “It’s my job to be paranoid, Habibi. We can carry cell phones in. That is no problem. Everybody has a cell phone, but few have satellite phones.”
“That’s true, but I still think we could just bring our sat phones with us.”
Tarek shook his head. “No way.”
“So what do you suggest?”
“As I recall, you have a company rep in Delhi. Could you send the phones there via DHL and ask the rep to hold them for you?”
“Consider it done,” Habibi responded. “But Tarek, how will Mahmoud be able to contact us? He doesn’t have a phone, and he doesn’t know any of the phone numbers of the phones we will ship out to India?”