by Rahul Badami
They were on a narrow plateau that was one of the three mountains that cradled the facility. They looked around cautiously and made their way to the other end of the plateau.
The facility suddenly appeared below. It was exactly like they had seen in the satellite images. A flat rectangular two storey building centred inside a wide compound. The sentries at the gate appeared like specks from this height. There were a few vehicles in the parking lot. The missile launch silos were adjacent to the main building. Roshan looked around and found a boulder that jutted out at the edge of the mountain. He beckoned Hitesh to follow him and made his way to the boulder. The boulder was perfect for their needs. They could hide behind it and observe the on goings without being detected. Hitesh and Roshan positioned themselves behind the boulder. It was time to let the other know.
Roshan initiated the communication. “Markhor One, this is Three. We are in position.”
“Copy that, Three. I presume the journey went well.”
“Yes, it did. I see multiple hostiles in here, but nothing looks out of the ordinary.”
“How many are there? I need to know what we are getting into.”
“We are too far away to find out with any reliability.” Roshan said. “I assume at least twenty hostiles guarding the perimeter.”
“The exact number is twenty-six.” Eagle's smug voice boomed in their ears. “I already counted them while you were on the way.”
“Thanks Eagle.” Armaan said. “It's nice to know you are not spending your time checking the colour of our undies and actually doing something useful.”
“I try to be of service, One.”
“Three and Four,” Armaan spoke to Roshan and Hitesh. “We are moving in. Keep us covered. If they start shooting at us, give them hell.”
“Roger that, One.” Roshan replied.
“I will contact you once we have reached near the gates.”
Chapter 31
“Kill him, I would say.” One of the voices intoned.
“But, we need to know who he is working for.” Another voice spoke.
The voices were sometimes indistinctive and sometimes clear. They floated in and out of his head.
“It doesn’t matter. He’s a liability and a traitor.”
“Yes, but if we know who he is working for, we could know which of our enemies turned him against us.”
“Okay, once he wakes up, question him. If he’s uncooperative, kill him.”
Shafiq struggled to open his eyes and found the ground staring up at him. From deep within his consciousness, an instinctive voice told him, you are captured.
A dim light illuminated the room; the walls were grey in colour, the shadows darkened the room in a gloomy hue. A chair creaked somewhere and then footsteps echoed on the floor moving out of the room.
Shafiq tried to focus. There were two people talking to one another as far as he had understood. One had left; meaning somewhere around him the second person was nearby. He didn't want to let the person know he had come to his senses. He discreetly stretched his hands and legs. He couldn't move them. His hands were bound behind his back. There was a creaking of another chair and footsteps appeared in his line of sight as the person walked across him.
Shafiq quickly stole a glance at his captor. It was Zia.
Zia said, “So, you are awake?”
Shafiq didn't know how Zia could see that he had come to his senses. Zia kneeled down in front of him and grabbed his jaw in his hand and shook it. “You know, I wanted to torture and kill you. But it looks like you are going to be dead soon anyways.” Zia ran his finger down Shafiq's side and then poked at the bullet wound in his stomach.
Shafiq yelled as an excruciating pain sizzled through his insides. He glanced down and saw with horror that his robe was sodden red. He remembered that he was shot in the stomach when he tried to evade Zia outside the resort.
“Where am I?” The place didn't look familiar.
“I will do the questioning around here. But I will satisfy your curiosity. We are in a basement room of the villa. You have been unconscious for two hours. I was supposed to go on the mission, but I let my team move ahead with the others. Malik and I stayed because of you. For all intents and purposes, you are a prisoner. And I am your executioner.” Zia’s face was filled with glee. “And since you are my guest, I will have the pleasure of slowly torturing you if you don’t answer my questions. Now tell me, who were you speaking with?”
Shafiq coughed, “None of your business.”
Zia's eyes glowed like red-hot coals. He reached into his pocket and brought out a switch-blade. He kept looking at Shafiq as he brought it over to his stomach and slowly twisted it in the open wound.
Shafiq felt the painful jarring travelling from his stomach all through his body. His nerve-endings were on fire. The pain reached a crescendo with every twist to an unbearable level. He let out a long, tortured, agonized scream.
Zia looked pleased to see a response out of Shafiq.
“Tell me,” He almost shrieked. “Who do you work for?”
Shafiq shuddered in pain. He tried to compose himself. Zia was a maniac who didn't know the subtle art of torture. When torturing to extract information, there was a fine balance between pain and death, and it looked like Zia would likely finish him off before he would gain any information. He glanced down and could see that the blood was flowing freely.
The life was ebbing out of him.
He had to do something. This couldn't go on for long. Shafiq knew that Zia didn't realize who he was truly working for. His only safety lay in the fact that he could bluff his way to gain a few minutes. Zia was impulsive and jealous by nature. He could use his flaws against him.
“Okay,” Shafiq spluttered. “I work for the Jamaat-ul-Ahrar.”
“The Jamaat-ul-Ahrar?” Zia frowned. They had been present today as one of the groups. “It doesn't make sense.”
“Yes, it’s true. We in the Jamaat were the ones who first conceived the idea of this mission. It was a lofty mission and we pitched it to Hamza. Hamza loved it but he said that we needed an army of terrorists to execute this mission. It was then that we decided to bring other likeminded groups together. But what if there were dissidents and rebels, or even worse spies and traitors who would report our every move to our enemies in the government. It was then a few of us were tasked to join other groups and check if there were any spies in the groups. It was a top-secret mission and we wanted to ensure there were no leaks. I was chosen to join Lashkar-e-Jhangvi. Over the past few months, I observed every member of the clan and I was satisfied that there were no threats to the mission. It was then that your leaders were told by Hamza to join the mission.”
Shafiq hoped that Zia would take the bait. He continued, “I am a trusted veteran in the Jamaat. We appreciate the role Malik's group is going to do. It’s going to be a difficult mission and I knew that you brothers will help us. Especially you, Zia.”
Zia's eyes betrayed his thoughts. Shafiq could see his expression widen when he informed Zia that he was a senior member of the Jamaat. For long Zia had abused him thinking him as just another person in the group. He could see the hatred spiral out when Shafiq appreciated Zia as a true warrior. Zia obviously didn't like the patronizing tone in which Shafiq talked about Zia's achievements. It seemed to instigate him even more. He could see the struggle on his face as the realization dawned that his captive was in fact a veteran member of another gang.
“I don't believe you,” Zia managed, his tone unconvincing.
Shafiq knew his only chance lay in unbalancing Zia for the moment so that he could buy time. The members of the Jamaat were here and his secret would be out once they walked up to him and identified him as a stranger.
Zia's slow brain reached the same conclusion. “The Jamaat leaders are here. They will tell me if you are telling the truth. And if you are not...” Zia left the words hanging.
Shafiq appeared unperturbed. “Yes, that's a good idea. They will be horrifie
d to find one of their senior members tied up and being tortured. They will ask who did this. And once they find it was you, there will be serious consequences.”
Shafiq didn't know if Zia would be afraid to own up to his deeds, but he wanted to see if there was a chance he could delay Zia going over to the Jamaat group.
Zia looked at him and then at the door. He wavered for a few moments and then came to a decision. “I will ask Malik. He will know what to do.”
Zia walked up and went to the door. He slammed it behind him and Shafiq could hear the bolt being latched tight. He appraised the locked door. The door was reinforced with steel rods. Zia had chosen a good place to interrogate him. Probably it was used as a storage room.
He had to escape. But that seemed impossible in the state he was in. Shafiq twisted his body sideways. The white hot pain deep inside his stomach burned like lava. But Shafiq clenched his jaws tight against the pain. He slowly rolled around. Each roll was an agony. His insides were on fire. Blood oozed out at the slightest movement of his body. He kept rolling till he was at the door. He then twisted himself into a foetal position.
If his understanding was correct, Malik would listen to Zia and guess correctly that Shafiq was bluffing his way out. Malik would go to the Jamaat to confirm if Shafiq was one of them. Once they told him that Shafiq wasn't one of them, they would return and the torture would start.
Again.
This time in earnest.
“Approaching target in sixty seconds.” Roshan heard Armaan speaking.
“Copy that. We are in position.”
It had been twenty-five minutes since they had last spoke. While Armaan and Baldev made their way to the facility, Roshan had scoped the area using the Vidhwansak. As he had observed earlier, nothing looked out of the ordinary. The sentries were patrolling the perimeter in a systematic pattern. There wasn't any unusual or sudden activity that would cause them to feel disconcerted about going in the facility.
“Now, the only thing left is for the Israeli's mole to let us in.” Armaan said.
Roshan watched as Armaan's car swung in view from behind a mountain and made it to the bridge at a sedate pace.
“I am approaching the entrance.”
“I have you covered. Good luck.”
Roshan peered through the scope of the Vidhwansak and focused it on the guard tower in front of the gate. He estimated his distance at around one and half kilometres. Yet the guard's head in the powerful scope appeared as if he was only a few metres away. Roshan could clearly see his profile as the guard’s eyes fell on the incoming vehicle. The guard rose and walked over as Armaan's car stopped.
It’s the moment of truth. Roshan whispered to himself as he saw the guard peering down the window of the car speaking with Armaan. His finger gently touched the trigger ready to pull it; he would know instinctively the moment things went awry.
A moment later, the guard waved at his colleague to open the gate. Roshan exhaled in relief as the gate swung slowly open and the car passed through the entrance.
The Israeli's agent had come through.
They had penetrated the enemy's liar.
Chapter 32
“That is the second delay in a month.” Mohammed Tahir's voice boomed across the conference table. There were five men sitting at the long table. The conference room was relatively empty, it could seat twenty people.
Jamal, the recipient of his anger squirmed in his seat. “Our apologies sir. We faced some logistic issues but they are now sorted out. We promise the shipment will come in a week.” Jamal flustered.
But Tahir would have none of it. “That's what you said last time as well and the time before that. Meanwhile, my men,” Tahir pointed outside the glass windows of the building where one could see the soldiers moving around purposefully intent on their work, “my loyal soldiers are struggling bravely against the cold.”
Tahir had enough of this snivelling nonsense. He had ordered thermal jackets for his team to protect them against the harsh environment. He always dealt with another gentleman, but that person had been transferred to a different department, and now he had to contend with Jamal who never seemed to run out of excuses.
The person was from Central Trade and Logistics, who supplied them their military equipment and gear. If Jamal had been reporting to him, Tahir fumed; he would have fired him on the spot.
“This is your last chance.” Tahir blasted. “If I don't hear anything by Wednesday, your supervisors will get a nasty feedback about their new recruit.”
“Yes sir.” Jamal stammered. “You will receive your order.”
The meeting was over. Everyone dispersed from the meeting room. Tahir stood up and walked over to his office, his anger dissipating with each step. He had long ago learned to control his emotions, and use his emotions to his benefit. The angry tone was meant to convey his opinion about the non-shipment of the consignment. The additional threat of escalation to Jamal’s supervisors was a way to reinforce Jamal's commitment. In truth, Tahir felt nothing.
He felt emotionless.
Empty.
In fact, he no longer cared much about anything. He was just doing his job, without hope, without expectations.
It had all started with the death of his son.
On 16th December, 2014 he had received a call informing him that his son was gunned down by terrorists. The terrorists had entered his son's school, the Army Public School in Peshawar and had fired indiscriminately at everyone. Along with his son, one hundred and forty innocent children were killed.
The loss had been devastating. Tahir had felt a sickening pit in his stomach. What kind of cowards targeted children? He was overwhelmed with grief and rage. For Tahir, the culprit was clear enough. The terrorists were just a symptom. The real virus was in the system itself. It was the ISI which had harboured and armed the terrorists for decades, and now the terrorists roamed around Pakistan with impunity and terrorized the citizens.
Mohammed Tahir wasn't just a cog in the Army ranks. He was a much-decorated Colonel. As such, he vehemently expressed his rage against the ISI and publicly condemned the ISI's good terrorist, bad terrorist policy.
It was a skewed policy wherein terrorists who crossed the border and attacked in India and Afghanistan were called good Taliban, and those who attacked Pakistanis in Pakistan were treated as bad Taliban. Tahir knew that all terrorists were the same. They had no creed and no honour. Once their means were attained, even the so-called good terrorists wouldn't have any qualms killing the friendly Pakistanis who harboured them.
A lot of people shared solidarity with him for his pragmatic opinion. Since he was a top-level Army officer, even some people quoted him in the media for his outspoken thoughts.
But his opinions didn't find any quarter in the ISI camp. He got a few calls from unknown officials to keep a low profile. But the spark had already lit up the hay, and now a lot of voices joined his in unison.
Soon enough his commanding officer called him. “Tahir, you have created a controversy with your remarks.” his superior said bluntly.
Tahir was unmoved; he was still mourning the loss of his son, “I have spoken only what a true Pakistani should. These terrorists should have no place on our soil or in our policies.”
“I am sorry for your loss, Tahir.” His superior said, “But this is a time for you to focus on your family and not get into these affairs.”
“What family are you talking about, sir?” Tahir could barely restrain himself. “I had one son and one wife. Now, I only have my wife who is sobbing her way to death. She is neither eating nor drinking and lamenting her loss all day long. What was the fault of my kid that the terrorists killed him in cold blood? Who do you think is responsible for the loss of so many innocent lives?”
But his supervisor didn’t want to see his point of view. “I think you need a break. The stress of work and your personal loss has unhinged your beliefs. I have been ordered to give you a posting which will be relaxing and less stressful.”
And just like that, Mohammed Tahir had been transferred because he stood up for what was right and humane. It hadn't been the first time it had happened, but it was the first time he realized that in a country ruled by corrupt and self-serving leaders, a voice of sanity had no place.
Two days later, Tahir had been moved into the Karak facility as the head of the facility. It had been a demotion for him and he had stoically accepted it. His wife had joined him and they had their quarters a few kilometres away from the facility. But the place was isolated, and his wife was lonely as he spent long hours learning the responsibilities of his new assignment.
Two weeks after he had been transferred, he came home one day to find his wife lying face down on the floor, dead. She had committed suicide by consuming an overdose of sleeping pills. A letter left by her expressed her grief at being lonely without her son, and asked for forgiveness for her extreme step.
Mohammed Tahir was inconsolable. He raged at the unfairness of life. First his son, and now his wife. He was left all alone. A victim of terrorism and state policies.
But he decided not to protest. He felt numbed by the vicissitudes of his circumstances. Complaining against anyone wouldn't lead to any results, nor would it bring back his family.
Tahir threw himself headlong into his work. Nothing mattered to him and nothing made sense to him. He lived on a day to day basis, immersing himself into his work so that the pain of loss couldn't touch him. He dreaded going back to the house that had been allotted to him; it would be empty and forlorn. He started sleeping in his office and rarely went home, working eighteen hours a day, and sleeping only because of exhaustion.
A month after his wife's death, he was contacted by a person who called himself Ijaz Ibrahim. Slowly over two or three meetings, he realized that the person was an Israeli and he had a job for Tahir.
Tahir wasn't surprised by his offer, and accepted it. And so far Ijaz had been pleased with all the information Tahir had provided.
Ijaz had told him that he should be expecting visitors today and to provide them with the Intel that they wanted. Tahir as usual had agreed to the Israeli's request.