North from Calcutta

by Duane Evans

  After what seemed like an eternity, Tarek could make out the faint outline of the rear of the boat no more than 30 meters ahead. It was holding still in the river. Tarek signaled back to Mahmoud to stop their forward movement, then slipped over the side into the cool water. Looking back at HV/30, he gave him a quick wave and began to swim toward the LT boat.

  HV/30 waited a few seconds to ensure Tarek was well clear. After telling Omar to lie down, he gunned the motor and sped past the LT boat about 30 meters off its port side. Within seconds, a burst of gunfire erupted. HV/30 felt a deep pain in his side.

  Tarek reached the LT boat just as the shots were fired. His view of what was happening on the boat was blocked by its protective shelter, but he was able to see the muzzle blast of an AK light up the night.

  Taking advantage of the distraction caused by HV/30’s maneuver, Tarek worked his way to the starboard side. He took off his backpack and removed the grenade from the pocket as he moved around the boat. With his left hand Tarek reached up to the top railing and grabbed hold. He found a foothold built into the side of the boat and pulled himself up out of the water to a position where he could see the members of the team in ready positions, their backs to him as the men stared out into the darkness in the direction where HV/30 had headed.

  Studying the interior of the boat, Tarek looked for the best placement for the grenade. For an instant, he saw the glow of a red-filtered flashlight and was able to make out the silhouette of a man kneeling beside a large canister-like object.

  “Forget about that dam boat,” the kneeling man said. “Pull up the drag anchor and let’s get to the placement point.”

  Tarek knew once the boat started moving it would be impossible for him to hang on. He had to make his move. The two diesel fuel cans were close enough to him that he could touch them. He pulled himself up a little higher and reached over the side of the boat, yanked the pin and held the grenade spoon down as he gently placed the grenade between the two fuel cans. His hands were wet, however, and the spoon slippery. It sprang free of his grip and flew across the boat striking the canister and making a distinctive pinging sound.

  Suddenly, there was a cry. “Hey!”

  He had been spotted.

  Tarek pushed himself off the side of the boat and dove under the water, using the boat as a counter force to push against. In a second, he could hear the muffled sound of guns blasting and the hiss of bullets passing through the water near him.

  He swam to a point directly underneath the boat where he was relatively safe from the rifle fire, but he would not be protected from the blast once the grenade detonated. He had to get away from the boat—preferably behind it, where the team would have trouble spotting him. Tarek could not see the boat’s propeller but he could hear it and feel its vibration in the water. Diving deeper, he swam under the propeller, feeling the force of the water it displaced pushing against his back.

  Then came the explosion, a combination of sound and concussive force that pushed Tarek even deeper and knocked the breath out of him. Fighting the natural impulse to breathe in, he struggled to make his way up through the water, finally breaking its surface with a desperate gasp for air.

  Everything around him was in flames and an acrid stench permeated the air. Burning debris from the boat littered the area and an oily veneer coated the water’s surface. Tarek could see three bodies a few meters away, all of them on fire. He knew he had to get away from the flames, or he would soon become a floating human candle.

  He took a deep breath and dove back into the water.

  88

  Engineer Kamal had just begun his opening remarks to the assembled guests and dignitaries when a bright flash illuminated the black night behind him. Within seconds the noise of a powerful explosion followed. So sudden and unexpected, the flash and the sound it produced caused everyone to flinch. Standing on the speaker’s podium with his back to the river, Engineer Kamal instinctively collapsed into a low crouch as startled cries rang out from the audience.

  Quickly regaining his composure, Kamal turned to see the flames flickering well out into the river. Turning back to the panicked audience, he tried to assure them there was no cause for concern.

  “I apologize for the disturbance, ladies and gentlemen; it appears the military has been conducting some training exercises this evening. Normally, we are notified in advance, but sometimes the proper notifications are not made. I think it best that we continue with our program. It would be a shame to let this disrupt our ceremony any further.”

  Sahar had instinctively gripped her father’s arm tightly when the explosion occurred, but with Kamal’s explanation, she began to relax her grip. “Oh, Father, that scared me,” she said.

  Advani nodded. “It was a surprise indeed, but I agree with Engineer Kamal; let us try to enjoy this event that so many have worked so hard to organize. It is yet a very special night for me and for India.”

  89

  HV/30 had no problem finding the debris from the boat, but by the time he and Omar had returned to the area of the explosion, the debris had spread out, swept along with the current toward the dam.

  Feeling weak, HV/30 sat down in the bottom of the boat and rested himself against the side. “Mahmoud? What’s wrong?” Omar asked.

  HV/30 reached inside his shirt then pulled his hand back out. It was covered with blood. “I’ve been shot,” he said.

  Omar knelt down beside him to see a pool of blood collecting on the bottom of the boat next to HV/30. “Oh my God, we have to get help,” he said.

  “No! We have to find Rashid. If we don’t, he won’t survive the dam. Now start looking for him. I know he is out there somewhere.”

  “Rashid!” HV/30 began to call. “Rashid!”

  Almost immediately came a voice barely audible over the noise of the boat’s motor. “Over here. Over here.”

  “There he is,” HV/30 said pointing off the port side. “Omar, get us over to him. I’ll pull him in.”

  Omar expertly maneuvered the boat, keeping a close eye on the man in the water to ensure he did not run him over.

  As they moved closer, HV/30 said, “He is floating on a little piece of the boat. Thank Allah he found that to hang on to.”

  “Rashid are you okay?” he asked as he painfully leaned out of the boat. All he heard in return was a low moan.

  “Omar, quick, toss me the flashlight on top of the pack,” HV/30 commanded.

  Omar threw it to him, and HV/30 turned on the light and shone it on the man in the water.

  “No!” HV/30 exclaimed. “It’s Sheik Osman.”

  Omar turned off the motor and moved up beside HV/30 to lean over the edge of the boat.

  “It is! It’s him!”

  For a moment both men looked in stunned silence at Sheik Osman, who appeared to be injured and barely hanging on to the piece of wood.

  “Help me,” Sheik Osman pleaded.

  HV/30 pulled the revolver from his waist band while keeping the light on Sheik Osman’s grimacing face.

  “Sheik Osman, do you know who I am? It’s Mahmoud.”

  “Mahmoud,” Osman replied weakly. “Praise Allah you have come. Please help me get into the boat.”

  HV/30 lifted the revolver, extending it into the flashlight’s beam so Osman could see it. “Do you remember Soriya?” HV/30 asked.

  “Mahmoud, yes I remember her. She is your daughter. Now please, put the gun down and help me.”

  “Do you remember the day you raped her, you bastard?”

  “No, no Mahmoud. I don’t know what you are saying. Please! I am suffering. I need your help!”

  “Have you heard the expression that revenge is a dish best served cold?” Mahmoud asked.

  “What are you talking about?” Osman asked. He appeared to struggle more and more to hang onto the wooden debris.

  “I am going to kill you, Sheik Osman. I have waited for this day a long time and Allah has rewarded me for my patience.”

  Sheik Osman managed to r
aise one of his hands. “Mahmoud, do not do this. You are a good Muslim, I am a Muslim. You must know that you cannot kill me without a fatwa.”

  HV/30 said nothing as he slowly cocked the hammer on the revolver.

  “He is right,” Omar interjected. “Allah must decide his fate, just as he decided mine.” Omar edged himself closer to the side of the boat to ensure Sheik Osman could see him. “It is me, Sheik Osman. Omar. Remember? You had your men throw me into the river from my father’s boat and Allah in his mercy decided my fate. I am here alive in the boat, and now it is you in the river. Will Allah be as merciful to you as he was to me?”

  “I am a Muslim; why don’t you help me? Allah will reward you.”

  “Can you swim?” Omar asked.

  “No, I am injured. I think my legs are broken and something is wrong with my arm. My back is burned. I am very weak.”

  HV/30 looked at Omar and lowered the still cocked pistol. Leaning forward, he slowly reached out toward Sheik Osman. Raising his injured arm, Sheik Osman reached up to grab HV/30’s outstretched hand.

  In one swift movement HV/30 pulled away the debris that Sheik Osman had been clinging to.

  “There will be no virgins for you in paradise, Sheik Osman. The demons of hell are all that await you.”

  Osman began to flounder in the water as much as his broken body would allow. Within seconds he disappeared below the surface. His head popped up briefly as he gasped for air, then disappeared beneath the water once again, never to resurface.

  “It’s done,” said HV/30. “My daughter’s honor is avenged.”

  “Praise Allah, that monster is gone,” Omar said.

  “Yes, praise almighty Allah.” HV/30 sat back down on the floor of the boat. “I feel so weak,” he said. “Omar, I’m dying.”

  “No, no! You will be alright. There is a hospital at Crowe’s Bazar. I will take you there.”

  HV/30 smiled. “No, it is too late for that but there is still time to find Rashid.” HV/30 grabbed Omar’s shirt sleeve. “Omar, you must find Rashid. Promise me you will find him.”

  Tears welled up in Omar’s eyes. “Alright, I will find him. I promise. I will find him.”

  HV/30 nodded. “Thank you, Omar. You are a good young man. May Allah watch over you.”

  Slowly, HV/30 loosened his grip on Omar’s shirt and closed his eyes as his last breath passed from his body.

  90

  It was 8:15 on a Saturday morning when General Ali pulled into the Roosevelt Island parking lot off the George Washington Parkway. There were already several cars in the lot, and joggers and bicyclists were taking their morning exercise along the park’s trails and bicycle paths.

  Ali drove to the far end of the lot and parked close to a pedestrian bridge that crossed a branch of the Potomac River to the wooded island. As he got out of his car, he could see a man in the middle of the bridge, leaning against the railing. Even at a distance, Ali could see that the man was tall and strongly built, but it was his bald head and pastel shirt with matching tie that confirmed it was Dan Barlow.

  As Ali started toward him, Barlow turned his back and began to walk across the bridge toward the island. Once there, Barlow stopped on the dirt trail and waited for Ali to catch up, confident they would be out of sight, protected by the trees and the vegetation.

  “Good morning, General. Let’s walk. I have things to tell you,” Barlow said.

  The late spring morning was warm and humid and as they began to walk, Barlow slipped his suit jacket off and folded it over his right arm. Ali did likewise.

  “Since I briefed you on the decision to call off the strike, some developments have occurred. Before Transformer left the area, an explosion was detected on the river. Transformer was given permission to check it out, and it looks like the target boat was somehow destroyed.

  “Thank God,” Ali said. “Tarek succeeded.”

  Barlow nodded. “Yeah, I think your man came through, and we are all beholden to him for that.”

  “Were there any secondary explosions?” Ali asked.

  “No. Nothing beyond the diesel fuel. It’s amazing that whatever they were carrying with them did not detonate.”

  Ali nodded.

  Barlow and Ali still had no knowledge that the explosive the team had been carrying a low-yield atomic device which could only be detonated by an internal electronics system. Also unknown to them, the device was now lying in the mud at the bottom of the Ganges, its initiation sequence never fully activated. It no longer posed a threat to Farakka Barrage or anything else.

  “Any evidence of survivors?” General Ali asked.

  “It is difficult to say. We surveyed the area after the hit and there were bodies in the water, a couple of them on fire. But it is very unlikely, between the blast and the river currents, that anyone would have survived.”

  “No sign of Tarek or his boat?” Ali asked.

  “None,” Barlow responded. “We were not able to look for very long before we were ordered to vacate Indian air space, so I would not give up hope at this point. As we agreed, General, in the event something like this would happen, we have contacted our Indian counterparts and told them that we’ve learned the ISI had just prevented an attack on Farakka Barrage and that an ISI officer is missing in action. They are looking for him. They know he prevented a major terrorist attack on their soil and if it wasn’t for him, there would be a big hole in Farakka Barrage right now. They have promised that if they find him he will be treated well. Hopefully, word will come soon that they have located him.”

  “Let us pray that it is so,” Ali said solemnly.

  “General, you have done a great service for all the countries of South Asia by preventing yet another war between India and Pakistan. The last thing the US wants to see is a war between your country and India. After all, there are enough wars going on right now, thank you.”

  “Let me tell you, if I had not felt I could trust you, we wouldn’t be standing here talking about this.”

  “I appreciate that, General. You’re a good man and it means a lot to hear you say you trust me.” Barlow paused for a moment and continued. “Thanks to you, General, and your man Durrani, a war has been averted, but it would seem only temporarily. After all, the key players that you’ve told me you suspect are behind this are still in place.”

  Ali nodded. “Yes, I know. Ambassador Salim and General Huq and their cohorts are still there. Prime Minister Bahir is in no position to challenge them. He has no power base to speak of, particularly within the military, and that is what is needed to confront these men and contain the extremist movement that is tearing my country apart. Believe me, I have thought long and hard about trying to take some action myself, but I am isolated and, frankly, I am not certain which of my colleagues I can trust.”

  “General Ali, there are many Pakistani officers, some within ISI and some in the regular military, who feel the way you do. There are civilian leaders as well. We are in contact with them, and we want to facilitate your meeting with them. The truth is, General, we can’t stop what is happening, but you and men like you can, and this is your opportunity.”

  Ali stopped in the middle of the sandy trail for a moment, and then pointed to a nearby bench. “Let’s sit and talk, Mr. Barlow.”

  An hour later, a deal had been struck, and General Ali for the first time in months felt there was hope for his country.

  91

  It was early evening, nearly two months since the commemoration ceremony at Farakka Barrage. Sahar and Engineer Advani sat silently together on their favorite bench in Lodi Park, the occasional chirping of a small bird the only sound to be heard.

  “Sahar, you haven’t spoken about Tarek since the ceremony. I think it’s time that we talk about what has happened. It’s not good to hold your feelings inside yourself,” Advani said, breaking the long silence that had fallen between them.

  “I know you are right, Father, and I’ve wanted to, but it just hurts so much. I keep waiting for the hurt to
go away,” Sahar responded softly.

  Advani was encouraged. This was the most Sahar had said on the subject since the Intelligence Bureau inspector informed them that Tarek was a Pakistani intelligence officer.

  “I guess I never understood what deceit was or how hard it could be to experience,” Sahar said.

  “I know this has been hard for you Sahar, as it has been for me as well. To be deceived is indeed a painful thing.”

  Sahar sat motionless, staring vacantly into the deepening dusk. “I actually thought I loved him. How could my heart have been so wrong?”

  “Maybe your heart was not wrong,” said Advani, gently brushing a tear from Sahar’s cheek.

  “How can you say that?” Sahar replied with an uncharacteristic edge in her voice. “Tarek was a complete fraud. He lied to both of us about everything.”

  Advani nodded. “Certainly he lied to us about his purpose in coming to India, but was he a complete fraud? I don’t think so, and I don’t really think you do either.”

  Sahar shifted her position on the bench so she could more directly face Advani.

  “Father, why are you saying this? You heard what the Intelligence Bureau said about Tarek. He came to meet you so he could steal the plans to Farakka Barrage, and then they were given to terrorists.”

  “Part of that is true, but even the Intelligence Bureau said Tarek had no knowledge that the plans were to be used in an attack and, most importantly, that as soon as he learned that an attack was being planned, he acted to stop it at great risk to himself.”

  “Well, that may be what Tarek told them, but it could be a lie as well,” Sahar said.

  Advani shook his head. “Tarek did not tell the IB anything. From the moment they found him on the riverbank until he was put on the plane to Dubai, he never said anything to them.”