by Duane Evans
“At this point, screw the cover,” Tarek responded. “I have to do everything I can to find out where these guys are going and somehow get them to abort their mission. Cover or no cover.”
“Aren’t you worried about Indian security? The Farakka Barrage ceremony and the tour are government sponsored events, you know. They have got to be paying attention to the foreigners on the guest list, where, may I remind you, both you and I are prominently listed.” Habibi flashed a smile. “I, however, am not Pakistani, but a well-established Arab businessman. You, Sir, are neither of these things. Although your ex-pat UAE residency papers may buy you some consideration, the fact of your Pakistani origins will not be lost on them.”
“Thanks for the encouragement, my Arab friend,” Tarek said.
The two men looked at each other for a moment, not really wanting to think too much about all the things that could go wrong.
Finally Tarek said, “Let’s go say good morning to our hosts and see if we can beg some tea.”
54
The thick haze over Calcutta was an ugly brown, the air still and stifling hot. Standing on the outdoor observation platform at Calcutta International Airport, Anil was oblivious to it all. His eyes searched the sky for the plane carrying the visitors. Seeing nothing, he turned to Mathir and asked for the tenth time, “Are you sure all preparations have been made and that you’ve left nothing undone?”
“Please Anil, give me credit here,” Mathir replied patiently. “I have worked for the Protocol Office since the time you were a boy playing with sticks in the mud. Everything is prepared. The police are in place ready to block off the major intersections, and the hotel is prepared to receive our VIPs.”
Anil nodded. “It sounds good, Mathir. You have done your planning well. Let’s hope we have not forgotten anything. I want . . .” Anil stopped in mid-sentence, a panicked look on his face. “Oh, did you remember to talk to that police captain? He seemed somewhat agitated when I talked to him.”
Mathir nodded, “Yes, I talked to him and an Intelligence Bureau inspector as well.”
“An Intelligence Bureau inspector?” Anil’s eyes went wide. “What did he want?”
“He just asked me to bring him our visitors’ passports before I turn them over to the hotel for registration.”
“Why? If he wants to see the documents, why doesn’t he just get the hotel to give them to him?”
Mathir laughed. “He could, but the Intelligence Bureau doesn’t work like that. They don’t trust anybody, particularly not some hotel clerk. They prefer to work with people they know well and can trust. People like me.”
Anil was becoming annoyed. “I am the senior protocol officer in West Bengal. If Intelligence Bureau needs my office’s assistance, they need to come to me, not you.”
“Yes, yes, of course. I’ll be sure to tell them,” Mathir answered. The IB had already informed him they wanted as little to do with Anil as possible.
Mathir looked back toward the main runway. “Well, it looks like our guests have arrived.”
“What?” Anil spun around to see. “Oh, my God! The plane is already on the ground. Let’s go! Let’s go! We must be at the gate when they disembark!”
Mathir shook his head and chuckled as he watched Anil scurry into the terminal.
A short while later, Anil and Mathir were greeting Engineer Advani and his small entourage. “Your baggage claim tickets, please,” Mathir told the group. “I will arrange for the bags to be transported to the hotel and,” he added, addressing Tarek and Habibi directly, “if I may have your passports, they will be needed for hotel registration, which I will handle personally for you.”
As Mathir departed, passports and baggage claim tickets in hand, Anil invited the group to follow him through the airport terminal and out a special exit, where a black Mercedes sedan waited. Anil opened the right-rear passenger door and motioned grandly for Sahar to enter the car. Tarek and Advani joined Sahar in the back—without invitation—and Habibi sat in the front.
“I hope the ride to the hotel is comfortable,” Anil said through Sahar’s open window. “It should take about 30 minutes to get there. I’ll be in a separate vehicle right behind you.”
With that, he waved for the driver to go. As the Mercedes drove away, Anil took out his cell phone and called Mathir.
“What?” Mathir answered as he struggled with six pieces of baggage.
Mathir’s impolite response sent a bolt of anger through Anil.
“Don’t say ‘what’,” Anil scolded.
“Why?” Mathir replied, which only exasperated Anil further.
“For God’s sake, man! You are a protocol officer! Now act like one.”
“I would,” Mathir responded, “but right now I am acting like a bellboy pulling two carts full of luggage, and I am dripping with sweat. You know I just had this suit cleaned!”
“Why didn’t you get someone to help you? The office can afford a few rupees for these kinds of expenses,” Anil asked, without the slightest sympathy in his tone of voice.
“Because the rules have changed! Airport security does not allow baggage bearers to come inside the airport. They have to wait outside. I told you this last week.”
“You did no such thing,” Anil said.
By this time Mathir was furious, and quickly tiring of this pointless discussion. With all the self-control he could muster, he responded in a conciliatory tone. “It doesn’t matter now. I have reached the car and will be on my way to the hotel.”
“Wonderful!” Anil said. “I’ll see you there. Remember, we are taking them to the VIP room for tea and biscuits upon arrival at the hotel. That should give you enough time to get their bags to the rooms. Oh, how about the passports? When will you get them to the Intelligence Bureau?”
“It has already been done. My IB contacts met me a few minutes ago and looked at the passports in their office here at the airport.”
“Fine, then. Our foreign guests should not be troubled by the IB during their visit here.”
“Not unless the Intelligence Bureau determines they are terrorists,” Mathir said.
“Really, Mathir! Somehow I doubt that Engineer Advani would invite terrorists to the commemoration of one of his crowning achievements.”
“Well, Anil, as you are fond of saying, there is no accounting for taste, and they were interested enough to make a copy of Mr. Durrani’s passport.”
“Please, Mathir. You are wearing my nerves thin, and this is only the first group to arrive. Thank God the others don’t come until tomorrow evening. I must be in tiptop shape. Our rep from the UN will be in one of those groups, and I do not want to disappoint.”
“Right,” Mathir responded with feigned interest. “Listen, the bags are in the car, and I’m going. So goodbye.”
Anil stood for a moment looking at his silent cell phone, then snapped it shut and started off toward his car, cursing Mathir as he went.
Thirty minutes later, all was well and Anil’s anger with Mathir was forgotten. The Advani entourage was checked into the Taligange Hotel and had gathered in the VIP lounge awaiting the arrival of Governor Ghule.
Tarek and Sahar were seated together on the couch. Advani stood admiring a painting by a local artist when Habibi entered the room, a disturbed look on his face.
“What is it?” Tarek asked. “Is something wrong?”
“I’m afraid so,” Habibi responded. “It seems a cousin of mine who runs a clothing import business is having problems with his supplier in Dhaka. The supplier has not delivered on his agreement to ship a large consignment of garments that my cousin needs to meet his contract obligation with an American buyer.”
By now Advani had picked up on the conversation and walked over to where Tarek and Habibi were talking. “Is there something we can do to assist?” Advani asked. “I have many contacts in Dhaka who might be able to help in this matter.”
Habibi smiled at Advani. “Thank you for your kind offer, Engineer,” he said, “however,
my cousin wishes to handle this as quietly as possible, as he is concerned that the US buyer might somehow get wind of the delay and possibly cancel the deal. The problem is, the supplier is in Bangkok on business and my cousin has been unable to reach him. Fortunately, my corporation also retains a shipping agent in Dhaka who is well-connected to the company in question. He should be able to help out but, to make sure it gets done quickly, I’m afraid they will require my presence.”
“Then you must go?” Sahar asked, disappointed at the prospect.
“I am afraid so, Sahar.”
“Mr. Habibi, you should not feel badly,” Advani said. “You must do what you can to protect your cousin’s interest. This is only right. In any case, the ceremony isn’t for another three days. You will have time enough to go to Dhaka and still join us for the ceremony. After all, it is only a short flight from Calcutta to Dhaka.”
“I assure you, Sir, I will do all I can to be back in time.”
Habibi then excused himself in order to pursue travel arrangements for the late-night flight to Dhaka.
No sooner had Habibi departed the room than Governor Ghule, accompanied by his security detail, arrived at the front of the hotel. Anil and Mathir were waiting in the hotel lobby for his arrival. When Anil saw the governor’s car, he immediately started for the lobby door, but Mathir reached out and grabbed him by his shoulder to hold him back.
“Anil! Don’t you remember the last time you rushed out to meet the governor? His guards almost shot you. Do you want to tempt fate again?”
Anil flashed an angry look at Mathir and was about to scream at him when he realized that Mathir was right. He did not want to again be looking down the barrel of a pistol held by some brute whose greatest wish was to fulfill his duty by shooting someone.
“You are right, Mathir. Let’s wait for the governor to come into the lobby before we greet him.”
As Mathir took his hand off of Anil’s shoulder, a plainclothes member of the governor’s protective detail entered the lobby, immediately followed by Governor Ghule himself, dressed in a well-tailored double-breasted suit. Anil noted that the governor had a new hair style as well, wearing it well-oiled and slicked straight back. Certainly not movie-star quality, Anil thought, but the governor did cut a dashing figure, nonetheless. Anil stepped forward to greet him and escort him to the VIP lounge.
When they met a moment later in the lounge, the governor greeted Advani warmly. Advani turned to Sahar and Tarek to introduce them.
“Governor Ghule, this is my daughter, Sahar,” Advani said. “I am sorry that I have never had the opportunity to introduce her to you before.”
For a moment, Ghule could not speak and could only stare. “No, Engineer,” he said finally, “It is I who am sorry not to have met your beautiful daughter before today. It is my greatest pleasure, Ms. Advani.”
Sahar smiled. “It is an honor, Governor Ghule.” She nodded toward Tarek. “This is Mr. Tarek Durrani,” she said, “A friend of mine, and as it would happen, an engineer as well.”
“An honor to meet you, Mr. Durrani. Are you resident in New Delhi?” The governor greeted him with a handshake.
Tarek smiled and shook his head, “No, I am from Dubai, where my business is located.”
“Wonderful,” Governor Ghule said. “I love Dubai. It is one of my favorite places to visit.”
“Mr. Durrani is most interested in visiting Tagore’s childhood home,” Advani said. “Could that be arranged?”
“Why yes, of course. I’ll have my staff work-in a private visit tomorrow during our tour of the city.”
“That would be wonderful,” Advani replied.
The group engaged in several minutes of conversation about the schedule of events planned for the following day. Tarek excused himself in order to check on Habibi’s preparations for his trip to Dhaka. He found Habibi in his room.
“How do you think it went?” Habibi asked. “Was I convincing?”
“What? Your cousin doesn’t have a business problem in Dhaka?” Tarek asked with a smile. “No, it was perfectly natural. You are good at this business, my friend. That is why I like working with you.”
Tarek sat down in a wing chair and motioned for Habibi to sit in the other one. “Let’s take a few minutes to go over the plan.”
“Ah, yes, the plan,” Habibi said.
“First, where will you stay?” Tarek asked. “Do you know yet?”
“Oh yes, I have reservations at the Sonargaon. It is a great hotel near the downtown area.” Habibi handed a folded piece of paper to Tarek. “If you are ever unable to reach me on my cell or satellite phone, here is the number for the hotel. I‘ve also included my shipping agent’s name and number.”
Tarek unfolded the paper, looking at it for a moment, then refolded it and put it in his pocket.
“Since I will essentially be in a hold pattern until you call with more information, all I can really do is check in with my shipping agent,” Habibi said. “I have already notified him that I am paying a visit to Dhaka and stopping by his office sometime tomorrow.”
Tarek nodded. “As soon as I hear something from Mahmoud, I’ll let you know. Hopefully, he will be in Dhaka when he calls. It is possible of course, that he might not get the opportunity to call, but that is a chance we will have to take.”
Tarek paused for a moment and looked steadily at his old friend. Habibi returned the look, then broke into a soft laugh. “We are flying by the seat of our pants on this one, aren’t we, my commander,” Habibi said.
Tarek’s nod was almost imperceptible. He stood up and walked over to the window. “I can’t say what you will be able to do, if anything. It really will depend on what Mahmoud tells me. In a general sense, what I am thinking is that if we can somehow create a situation that attracts the attention of the local authorities to the team, they might abort, even if their actual mission has not been compromised. The LT is a careful lot, and if they suspect someone may be on to them, they will likely stand down from their plan.”
“But don’t you want these guys permanently put out of action, either by arrest or otherwise?” Habibi asked.
“Right now, all I care about is stopping their attack. Whether they are arrested or killed is secondary,” Tarek responded. “Let’s be honest, Harun. Our ranks are thin. It’s just you and me. Under these circumstances, our methods will by necessity be less sophisticated than we otherwise might want.”
“Well, put that way, I guess you are right. If we can derail them from their plan, through whatever means, we will have succeeded.”
Habibi looked at his watch. “It’s time for me to go. I don’t want to miss this flight as it is the last one for the evening.”
“Alright, let me help you with your bags. Sahar and Advani said they would be in the lobby to say goodbye. They really like you, you know.”
“And why shouldn’t they? I am a most likeable fellow. Both handsome and charming, and all this nicely fitted into one rather large package.”
“Oh, you left out modest, too,” Tarek said.
“Because that’s so obvious.”
The two men left the room with Habibi’s bags in tow. Sahar and Advani were waiting in the lobby to say their goodbyes to Habibi, making him promise he would try to return in time for the ceremony.
Habibi handed Sahar a sealed business-sized envelope. “I saw that tomorrow the program calls for a visit to the orphanage founded by Mother Teresa. Would you be so kind as to deliver this small donation to the administrators there?”
“Certainly. This is so nice of you.” Sahar took the envelope and placed it in her purse. She had no idea that inside the envelope were ten countersigned traveler’s checks each in the amount of $500, made out to the orphanage.
A few moments later, Anil entered the lobby and approached Habibi.
“Sir, I am so sorry to learn of the need for your departure. There is a car outside, courtesy of the Office of Protocol, which will take you back to airport.”
Habi
bi thanked Anil and said his final farewells, waving goodbye to the assembled group as he exited the hotel.
Tarek watched for a few more moments as Habibi got into the waiting car, which quickly drove off into the night.
Go with Allah my friend, Tarek said silently, go with Allah.
55
The smoky yellow-hued streets smelled of burning dung, which only exacerbated HV/30’s depressed mood as he and the LT team made their way via bicycle rickshaws from Dhaka’s central bus depot to the White Swan guest house in the Banani district of the city. HV/30 missed his wife and children, and doubts about what he was doing had been seeping into his thoughts since the day he boarded the ship in Karachi. As much as he had tried to ingratiate himself with his companions, he knew the team viewed him as just a last-minute stand-in, selected for the job because bad fortune had befallen their comrade.
During the cramped bus ride from Chittagong to Dhaka, HV/30 had seriously considered abandoning the group. He might have acted on the idea had it not been for Sheik Osman’s secret instruction to him. Osman, who sat squeezed next to HV/30, had leaned close at one point and said in a low voice, “Mahmoud, when we arrive in Dhaka, I want you to find me a woman for the night.”
Osman had even instructed that HV/30 not share a room with the other members of the group, but instead find a room at another guest house. This was ostensibly for the sake of security, but HV/30 saw now that it was to facilitate his pimping for Osman—he was to bring a prostitute not to Osman’s room but his own, and wait there with her for Osman’s arrival.
It was the last part of Osman’s instructions, however, that gave HV/30 new-found determination and strength to complete what he had set out to do. “And Mahmoud, don’t bring me some old hag,” Osman had informed him. “She should be no more than 16 or 17. Those are the ones I like.”
With those words, HV/30’s great hope was renewed that soon he would see Osman dead.