by Duane Evans
Replacing the phone on the hook, he lay back down and began the wait for Tarek’s next call.
62
At half-past noon the Dhaka sun was showing its strength, as Habibi made his way in the rented Land Cruiser from the hotel to central Dhaka. The air conditioner blew cold air as Habibi sat in comfort negotiating the crowded streets.
At last he spotted the billboard sign with a black arrow indicating the entrance to the central freight office. Habibi turned into the large compound and within a few minutes had determined there were eight warehouses within the compound, divided into two rows of four buildings each. The compound was alive with the activity of dozens of moving vehicles. Most were large transport trucks but there were a few smaller trucks similar to the one the LT team was supposed to be using, but none carried the license tag he was looking for.
According to HV/30’s info, the warehouse where the package was to be picked up was in Building 8. Habibi found it at the far end of the second row of buildings, and negotiated his way through the gauntlet of trucks until he found an empty parking space some 200 meters away from the building. He parked and waited. Initially thinking the truck must not have arrived yet at the freight office, his heart skipped a beat when a freight truck pulled away from the north dock of Building 8 revealing a white Hyundai truck parked there.
That’s it, Habibi said to himself, his pulse quickening. He could see two men sitting in the truck cab. Deciding he needed to get a closer look, Habibi left the Land Cruiser. The heat of the day hit him like a furnace blast and within seconds beads of sweat began to form on his forehead.
Careful of the trucks moving about, Habibi crossed the road to a brick walkway that separated the two rows of warehouses, making his approach to the truck. Coming 30 feet behind the Hyundai, he stepped off the walkway and approached, moving at a slight diagonal angle to the truck but close enough to read the license tag. Excitement raced through him as confirmed the tag number.
There were no windows in the back of the truck, and Habibi had no way of knowing if the package had already been picked up or not. He decided to return to the Land Cruiser where he could continue to watch the Hyundai.
Just as he turned and started to go, the driver’s door of the Hyundai suddenly swung open, and a short white-bearded man jumped out. Both men were startled by the other’s unexpected presence. Neither man spoke, nor looked away from the other, their gazes seemingly frozen.
Although they had never met, Habibi surmised that this was Mahmoud, based on the description Tarek had given him. Although Habibi wanted to tell Mahmoud that he was a friend sent by Tarek, he knew to do so might confuse Mahmoud and inadvertently complicate the situation.
Finally, Mahmoud nodded ever so slightly to Habibi and continued around to the back of the truck. He used a key to unlock the rear door, but left it closed, then returned to the front of the truck, climbing back into the cab.
Habibi quickly headed back to the Land Cruiser, worried that their unexpected encounter might have made Mahmoud suspicious. There was nothing he could do about that now.
The interior of the vehicle was so hot that he immediately cranked the engine and turned on the AC, making himself as comfortable as he could while he continued to watch the Hyundai.
Ten minutes later, a man with a thick black beard man stepped out of Building 8’s administrative office, followed by two other men pulling a cart containing a wooden crate. Whatever was in the crate was heavy, as it was clearly difficult for the men to maneuver the cart down the ramp to where the Hyundai was parked. HV/30 and the other man in the cab of the truck got out and moved to its back. When they opened the rear doors, several other men clambered out of the truck.
Habibi watched as the crate was loaded, noticing that the body of the Hyundai sank lower on its rear axle when the crate was set inside.
Once the crate was loaded, all the men began climbing back into the truck. Almost as if he sensed Habibi’s presence, HV/30 looked around before he got into the cab. Habibi felt a powerful sense of respect for the diminutive man, whose head barely rose above the steering wheel. He knew the courage it took for such a man to take such great risks.
Don’t worry, my friend. I’ll make sure you come out of this okay, he thought to himself as he turned the Land Cruiser around and drove straight to the exit of the freight compound.
Vehicles exiting the freight compound had to make a right turn onto the street. To go in the opposite direction, a driver had first to travel five blocks to a traffic circle, where he could then reverse course.
Habibi’s plan was to position himself on the last side street before the traffic circle. The cars had to slow down in single file as they approached the circle, and this would make it relatively easy to run into the Hyundai. He would park and wait, then when he saw the Hyundai approach from his left side he would accelerate out from the side street and crash into the vehicle’s right side. As the road out of the compound was a single lane, there was no risk of another vehicle coming between Habibi and his intended target.
Turning into the side street, Habibi drove for a block and turned the Land Cruiser around in the driveway of a small market. After driving back down the block, he parked 100 meters from the intersection with the road that the LT team would be traveling on. A stone wall paralleled the road and might have blocked Habibi’s view of the vehicles approaching, but it was in a bad state of repair, some sections having collapsed to nothing but piles of broken stones. Habibi had a good view of the road through these open sections. He was confident he would have plenty of time to spot the approach of the Hyundai.
Realizing the moment of truth was fast approaching, Habibi broke into a sweat, and he could feel his heart pumping harder. He tried to calm himself by staying focused on the mission, making sure everything was properly prepared. He turned off the air conditioner so the Land Cruiser would have maximum power available, and he lowered all the windows to minimize the amount of glass that could fly about during the crash.
Habibi did not normally use a seatbelt, as his large girth made it uncomfortable, but given the current circumstances, he was willing to make an exception. He reached down beside the seat for the belt but couldn’t locate it. Looking down he realized there was no seat belt to be found.
Glancing around the car’s interior, he realized that the vehicle did not have air bags either. He had assumed the Land Cruiser he rented would be equipped with the same modern safety equipment as the one he drove in the UAE. A bad assumption, he thought, I am in Bangladesh, after all.
Realizing he had become distracted, Habibi quickly looked over at the vehicles approaching from his left. Instantly he spotted the white Hyundai headed his way. Seat belt or no seat belt, he intended to stop that truck. He pulled out from the curb and began to accelerate toward the line of vehicles passing in front of him. As the Land Cruiser lunged down the side street toward the Hyundai, Habibi knew he would be spot on for colliding with it. He instinctively tensed in anticipation of the coming impact.
That’s when he saw her, a young woman carrying a baby in her arms, walking into the Land Cruiser’s path, oblivious to the vehicle rushing toward her like an angry bull. Habibi instinctively reacted, yanking the wheel left, sending the Land Cruiser over the sidewalk, missing the woman by inches. Habibi spun the steering wheel violently back to the right but not quickly enough to avoid slamming the Land Cruiser into the wall. The impact completely collapsed the corner, sending stones and dust flying. The Land Cruiser stopped dead in its tracks.
The swirl of dust and debris that went shooting into the street next to the white Hyundai caused its occupants to flinch. “My God, what was that!” one of the men exclaimed.
There was so much dust in the air as they passed the accident scene that HV/30 could barely make out the crumpled Land Cruiser, but through its shattered windshield, he could see the driver, slumped behind the steering wheel.
“Poor man,” HV/30 said. “May Allah have mercy on him.”
63<
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It was mid-afternoon as Tarek and Sahar finished their tour of the Tagore residence. They were standing in the sun in the front garden. Tarek motioned toward a bench under a flowering plumeria tree and said, “Let’s sit there while we wait for your father and the governor. After all, we are neither mad dogs nor Englishmen.”
It was the first time that day that Tarek and Sahar had actually been alone with each other and, despite the heat, they sat close together, their legs touching and Tarek holding Sahar’s hand. For a few moments, Sahar watched the gateway where her father should soon emerge. Then turning toward Tarek said, “You don’t seem to be yourself, Tarek. Is there something wrong? Are you not feeling well?”
Tarek squeezed her hand. “I’m fine,” he said. “I guess I’m a little concerned about Habibi. When I spoke to him this morning, he said he should have his business finished by 1:30, and he would give me a call to confirm his return to Calcutta. It’s past 3:00 and still no word.”
“I’m sure he is fine. Perhaps his appointments were delayed or he got caught up in traffic. I understand Dhaka can be terribly congested.”
If for some reason he was not able to carry through with the plan, he would have called by now, Tarek thought to himself. Tarek had tried to call him on his cell phone a few minutes earlier, but could only reach the message service. He knew something had gone wrong.
Still he responded to Sahar in a positive tone. “I’m sure you are right, but I haven’t been able to reach him on his cell. I have the number for his shipping agent, so I think I will give him a call while we wait. Hopefully, he will be able to put me at ease.”
“Well, while you are doing that, I’ll fetch some mineral waters at the shop next door,” Sahar said, giving Tarek’s hand a squeeze.
Tarek took out the slip of paper with the telephone number for Habibi’s shipping agent and carefully punched in the number. He was surprised how quickly the call went through.
Almost immediately, a voice on the other end answered, “Joseph Bilal, here.”
“Yes, Mr. Bilal, this is Tarek Durrani speaking. I am a friend of Mr. Harun Habibi. I have been trying to reach him but have been unsuccessful. He gave me your number as a point of contact while he was in Dhaka. I thought perhaps I would give you a ring and ask your assistance in locating him.”
“Oh, Mr. Durrani, I have very bad news,” he said. “Mr. Habibi was seriously injured in a vehicle accident and is at the Dhaka General Hospital.”
Bilal’s response made Tarek feel like he’d been punched in the stomach.
“My God, how badly is he hurt?” Tarek asked, bracing himself for the worst.
“He was unconscious for a couple of hours, but he is awake now and seems to be in full command of his facilities, although the doctors believe he may have suffered a concussion. He also cracked his sternum and fractured three ribs. While he is in some pain, according to the physician attending him, praise Allah, he is not in a life threatening situation,”
“Thank God,” Tarek said. “How did the accident occur?” Tarek prayed that Bilal’s response would include mention of another vehicle matching the description of the LT truck.
“Traffic conditions are daunting here, particularly for foreigners, and Mr. Habibi was very near our freight center when the accident happened. That can be one of the busiest areas of town.”
The mention of the freight office raised Tarek’s hope that despite the unintended consequences, Habibi had still been successful in his attempt against the team.
“But exactly what happened?” Tarek persisted
“You must understand, Mr. Durrani, Dhaka is full of ignorant pedestrians—poor villagers who come to the city for work, and then think they can walk in the street like it is some country lane. They are killed by the dozens. Poor Mr. Habibi crashed into a wall in order to avoid running over a beggar woman who stepped into the street in front of him.”
“That sounds like Habibi,” Tarek said. “He cares about people.”
“Yes, I can tell. Mr. Habibi has a good heart. I am so sorry that he has been injured.”
“Do you know if I can call him?” Tarek asked.
“No, I’m afraid the doctors have forbidden calls for at least 24 hours. However, I have enlisted my personal physician to assist in his care. He was trained in the US, and he is very good. If you would like, I could relay a message to Mr. Habibi through my doctor.”
Tarek thought for a moment. He was certain there were no commercial flights into Crowe’s Bazar from Calcutta. In an instant he made his decision. “Yes, thank you very much Mr. Bilal. I do have a message. Tell Mr. Habibi I’m coming to Dhaka.”
64
The sound of Ambassador Salim’s Mont Blanc pen moving swiftly across the IRE stationary could be heard on the other side of the office where General Huq sat at the oval meeting table, which was covered with the maps of India and Bangladesh that he had brought with him.
Huq was usually a patient man, but he was growing irritated as he sat waiting for Salim to finish his scribblings and join him. Although Salim was his brother-in-law, some respect was due. He was a general officer, after all, and the deputy defense minister of Pakistan to boot. Having to wait like a tea boy for a civilian, even one of Salim’s stature, was most annoying.
Finally Salim rested his pen. “There,” he said, as he carefully laid the pen inside its decorative silver case. “I think this note will make clear to my executive officer that he is not to procure any office furnishings for senior IRE officers without my personal approval. I will not tolerate any furnishings of poor taste being associated with the leadership of this organization. It sends the wrong message about the kind of people we are. My God, I walked into Colonel Hassan’s office this morning, and I had to cringe. The man’s couch was upholstered in camouflage and his meeting table was made of metal. Does the man think he is still posted to the Siachen Glacier?”
Relieved that Salim was at last coming to the table, General Huq grinned. “You must forgive him. Colonel Hassan is one of those officers who fancies himself a ‘Rambo’.”
“Rambo! What a stupid thing for a grown man to think himself. If he wasn’t otherwise competent in his duties I would replace him in an instant.”
Salim sat down, his prayer beads in hand, and turned his attention to the map-strewn table. “And what do you have for me today, Huq?”
“A new message from Sheik Osman. The team now has the package and is departing Dhaka as we speak.”
“So, no problems? The package arrived in Dhaka in good working order?”
“The package appears to be in great shape. Of course they have not yet had a chance to run a systems check to make sure. They will do this once they are away from Dhaka,” Huq said.
“When do you expect to hear from them again?”
“They will call me after they cross into India and have reached Crowe’s Bazar.”
“That is fine, but I want you to make sure we have contact with the team right up until they execute the mission. And . . .” Salim paused to emphasize the next point, “I want to be the one that gives the final okay. This will be the catalyst on which all our plans depend. There is no room for error. It must succeed. We know there is no hope of taking Kashmir by force as long as Indian forces in the region are up to full strength. They are simply too powerful. The diversionary attack on Farakka Barrage is the key to getting them to shift their forces.”
“Do not worry. We will be in control right up to the very last second. Right now we are using cell phones to communicate, since there is reliable service in the major towns. However, once they leave Crowe’s Bazar, the cell phone infrastructure is poor and therefore our communications plan requires that Sheik Osman revert to his satellite phone.”
“Is it secure?”
“Yes. Reasonably so, anyway. We acquired a state-of-the-art commercial encryption system, and then we tweaked it a bit. Even if the Indians, or anybody else for that matter, picks up the signal, they will not be able to decipher what
is being said. Besides, we won’t be up on the air for very long, so it is unlikely the signal will come to anyone’s attention. It will simply be a blip on a screen—an electronic anomaly—and then it will be gone.”
Salim nodded. “And even if someone suspects something, at that point it will be too late. There will be no means to react to the signal.”
“That is correct.”
Salim continued, “Now, what about the other preparations?”
“That is why I brought the maps,” Huq said as he spread out a map of northeast India. “We have coordinated with two indigenous insurgent groups. Within the next 12 hours, they will begin to step up their operations here and here.” Huq pointed to areas in Nagaland and Manipur. “I might mention that this is the first time that they have cooperated operationally, and neither group is Islamic; they are ethnic minorities with long-standing grievances against India.”
Salim nodded approvingly. “The principle of ‘the enemy of my enemy is my friend’ seems to apply well in this situation.”
Huq continued, “Their activities should get the Indians’ attention, so their military commanders will already be looking to the east and considering the need to shift forces in that direction.”
Huq paused for a moment and hit the map with the heel of his fist on the serpentine blue line demarcating the Ganges River at the location of Farakka Barrage. “And when we take Farakka down, the Indians will immediately shift forces to the east, sending them all the way to the Bangladesh border and beyond.”
Huq added a caveat to his bold statement, however, expressing a lingering doubt that he had harbored about the plan from the beginning. “That assumes, of course, that the Indians attribute the attack against the dam to the Bangladeshis.”
“They will,” Ambassador Salim responded confidently. “They will be forced to this conclusion, given the bellicose statements coming out of Dhaka in the wake of the UN decision not to intervene in the water sharing dispute.”