by Deva, Mukul
‘Arre, bhaijaan, you can use the computer now.’
Ignoring the man, who was a few feet behind them, Iqbal kept walking. However, the man was not to be thwarted easily, business was obviously not good these days.
‘Come, miyan. We are back online,’ he called out again. Iqbal continued walking, but Maqbool turned and looked back. The owner waved at him. ‘Tell your friend he can use the computer now.’
Maqbool was perplexed. ‘Is he talking to you?’ He nudged Iqbal.
‘I have no idea who he is talking to,’ Iqbal mumbled, cursing under his breath, not breaking his stride.
Maqbool looked back at the café owner and then at Iqbal. Suspicion was writ large all over his face. He started walking again but he was pensive and did not exchange another word with Iqbal as they headed back to the safehouse.
Iqbal took note of the taut expression on Maqbool’s face and knew he would not fail to report this incident to Rahim. That will blow the game away for sure. Rahim will come back to check the facts with the cybercafé owner. Or he will ask Colonel Imam to do so.
That was a risk Iqbal knew he could not afford to take. With a mental shrug he made up his mind. There was no choice left, not if he wanted to stay alive.
They had left the busy part of town and were passing through a deserted, tree-lined street. Soon the residential area would begin. Iqbal knew he had to act now.
Looking around to make sure they were alone, Iqbal checked his stride and allowed Maqbool to get a step ahead. In one swift motion, he drew the knife from his waistband and drove it into Maqbool’s back, angling it upwards at the heart. The blow fell woefully short. Maqbool grunted in surprise and his mouth fell open. Iqbal lunged forward and cut off his scream. At the same time he pulled out the knife from Maqbool’s back and slashed it across his throat. This time the wound was fatal. Iqbal held him fast as life drained out of him. Then he dragged the body towards the edge of the tree-lined street, taking care to stay clear of the blood streaming out from the long gash in Maqbool’s throat.
Dumping the body in the thick hedge running along the pavement, Iqbal cleaned his knife on Maqbool’s clothes. He wiped the flecks of blood that had splattered on his sleeves and hands. Then he quickly walked away. He knew the body would be found before long.
By the time he reached the safehouse, his story was ready. He headed straight for Rahim’s room.
‘I am not sure if Maqbool is coming back.’
‘What do you mean?’ Rahim looked confused.
‘I saw him leave with some men.’
‘What men?’
‘I have no idea. He dropped me off at this whorehouse, saying he would check out another one. I went in but came out a few minutes later because the pimp was asking for too much. That’s when I saw Maqbool talking to some men. I was about to call out to him when they walked away.’
‘Why didn’t you try to stop him? Where the fuck has he gone? Who were they?’
‘I have no idea, but it all looked very suspicious to me. I came back at once to let you know.’
‘Who do you think they were?’
‘I have no clue, miyan, but it certainly does not bode well for us.’
‘Do you think I should tell the Ameer?’ Rahim said doubtfully. ‘Maqbool has been with us for a long time. I would never have guessed…’
‘I would tell the Ameer right away if I were you,’ Iqbal interrupted. ‘We need to get clear from here just in case…’ Iqbal let his voice fade away as he saw the seed of doubt thrown by him grow in Rahim’s mind, especially after what Mahroof had done just a few days ago.
Rahim nodded and headed for the Ameer’s room.
The Ameer did not waste a single moment. The fear of treachery loomed large in everyone’s minds. A flurry of frantic phone calls followed.
Fifteen minutes later, they were off again. This time the journey was much longer because the Ameer had decided that he did not want to stay on in Lahore any more. The six vehicles sped through the night and they were in Rawalpindi before dawn.
The safehouse that the ubiquitous Colonel Imam arranged for them in Rawalpindi was another army officers’ mess. Like the others, it was vacant, barring a two-man staff.
News of Maqbool’s death reached them the next morning, through Colonel Imam.
‘They must have killed him when they did not find us at the safehouse,’ Rahim chipped in when Imam finished giving the details to the Ameer. ‘They must have thought he had lied to them when they did not find you there.’
‘Serves the bastard right!’ the Ameer said furiously. ‘I would have fed him to the dogs had I laid my hands on him. How could he have done this! He was related to me by blood.’
No one in the room dared to respond. The Ameer’s unpredictability and anger were legendary. The expression in his eyes left no doubt in anyone’s mind that Maqbool was better off dead.
The direct consequence of the Maqbool episode was that they now moved houses every second day and no one was allowed to go out for anything. This effectively put paid to any chance Iqbal had of contacting Force 22 again. He knew it was vital he do so, even though he was still not sure of the venue for the tanzeem’s meeting, or when it would take place.
The next five weeks were a blur of activity as they moved from house to house. Rawalpindi, Islamabad, Nowshera, Mardan, Abbottabad, Haripur… they flitted from one city to the other. Although no one spoke about it, each one kept a closer eye on the others.
Imam started to show signs of exasperation at the Ameer’s almost paranoid suspicions, but obviously he had been given orders to keep him in good humour. Not that it made any difference to the Ameer. With each passing day he got increasingly agitated. News of the renewed Pakistan Army offensive in the FATA and NWFP made matters worse. He would fret in front of the television and over newspapers for hours every day and Iqbal and the others would hear him raging and ranting on the phone, his deep voice booming through the walls. All three of them, Iqbal, Rahim and Sultan, bore the brunt of his frustration and anger.
The situation worsened as the offensive lost steam and dropped off the front pages, replaced by the now predictable rash of suicide bombers that had begun to systematically decimate the major towns in Pakistan. The death toll mounted rapidly. But that was not what bothered the Ameer.
‘Why can’t we head back now?’ Iqbal heard him ask Imam. The two of them were sitting in the verandah outside the Ameer’s room. Their voices trickled into the adjacent room, which was occupied by the three bodyguards. ‘Things seem to be normal now.’
‘Not yet,’ Imam replied. ‘I need to check with the director first.’
‘Then do that. I can’t keep staying this way. I need to get back and organize things for the tanzeem.’
‘I will, I will. You know he will not agree as long as the American secretary of state and Pentagon staff are here.’
This unleashed a tirade from the Ameer. But Imam kept his cool.
Another three weeks and several more safehouses went past before Imam came back with the news that they could return. The Ameer was thrilled. He had them packed and ready to move before Imam had even finished speaking.
Despite the fact that they were heading back to the area where the uncertainty of death always hovered overhead, even Iqbal was eager to break out of the futile monotony of the past ten weeks.
The Ameer spent the last two days before their departure on the phone. They would not have free access to secure phones much longer. Later, as they headed towards the waiting vehicles, Iqbal heard him tell Imam, ‘It’s all done.’
‘Excellent. When do they reach?’
Iqbal missed the reply as Imam and the Ameer got into the car and the doors were slammed shut.
The return journey was almost an exact replay of the way they had moved out from Jandola. An uncomfortable ride in the Pakistan Air Force helicopter and a few dusty hours of driving later, they were back in the rugged heights of the frontier region.
There were three station
wagons waiting below Jandola, where they had first met Colonel Imam.
Iqbal felt a familiar knot of stress begin to coil in the pit of his stomach as the vehicles nosed their way down the narrow dirt track and drove into Jandola.
Twenty minutes later, they were back in the caves where they had left the wounded Karamat. There was no sign, however, that he had ever been there, and Iqbal knew that Karamat had not made it. He also noticed that the Ameer did not once ask about the man who had stood in the line of fire for him all these years.
I wonder who will remember me if I do not get back alive. My son? He does not even know me… Perhaps Colonel Anbu will tell him about me. But do I want him to? Some day, perhaps, when he is old enough to understand… Will he ever understand?
Iqbal pushed the thought away, forcing himself to focus on other issues. He wondered what was going on at Force 22, whether they had given up on him; weeks had passed since he had been in touch with them. And he still hadn’t managed to get across the grid reference of the meeting place to them. He knew that, no matter the cost, he had to let them know in time when and where the tanzeem was meeting. It was now no longer just a matter of killing the Ameer to avenge Tanaz. Iqbal was keenly aware of the impending disaster and massive loss of lives if the tanzeem executed its plan.
Iqbal’s mind turned to his son yet again. Those fleeting memories of the infant he had handed over to Anbu clung to him as he lay in the dark solitude of the night. He did not know when sleep came, but finally it did. And with it came the terrible dream.
Iqbal was holding his son in his arms, a warm, tiny bundle of life. In the next moment, the infant had grown up. Now he was a little boy, chuckling as he tottered along on unsteady feet, trying to get away from his father as they played catch. Iqbal was laughing with the same gay abandon.
Then the father’s face changed. It was now Anbu. Or was it the Ameer? The little boy’s face changed too, to that of the American soldier they had bayoneted.
Iqbal began to run, like a sprinter closing in on the finish line.
Suddenly he was a young man dressed in atheltic shorts and a vest. There was a number printed on his vest. Six. The number was written in bright red on a white square cloth. It was stuck to his body, glued in place by the sweat. Iqbal knewthat number. It was the number he had worn when he had broken the school record for the 100-metre sprint. As he ran, he saw his family standing among the crowd of spectators, cheering him on.
He could see Tanaz too, standing beside his mother. But he could not see their son. Where had she left him? He was too young to be left by himself.
Troubled, Iqbal almost stopped running.
I have to win.
He looked at the finish line ahead. The glossy red tape strung between the two white poles fluttered in the breeze, teasing him.
When he looked down at himself again, he was dressed in the black attire of the Lashkar-al-Zil.
The poles holding the bright red finishing tape vanished. They were replaced by the dead American soldier on one side and Mahroof on the other. The red ribbon of the finishing tape was a thick stream of blood. Standing just across the bloody line was Maqbool. With his slit throat and arms wide open, he was urgently beckoning Iqbal on.
Iqbal knew he needed to win, otherwise his family, especially his father, would be disappointed. He glanced at the stands. They were still there but no one was cheering him now. Instead, they were looking at him sadly. His mother, sister and Tanaz had tears in their eyes.
Suddenly, his mother’s head exploded. Blood, brains and tiny shattered pieces of bones confettied over the people in the stand.
The soundless explosion jolted Iqbal awake.
The dull sunlight of an overcast dawn entered the room. Despite the bitter cold, Iqbal’s body was soaked in sweat. And the Ameer’s voice was calling his name. It snapped him back to reality.
‘Where is Rahim?’ the Ameer asked from the doorway. ‘Call him quickly.’ For a change, he was smiling. There was a piece of paper in his hand. ‘We have work to do.’
Iqbal did not know it yet but the end game had just begun. In a few days, the six leaders chosen by the Ameer to constitute the tanzeem would be on their way.
SITUATION REVIEW
From: Director
RAW To: NIC
Security Classification: Director – Eyes Only
Priority: Urgent
Subject: Review of internal security situation in Pakistan
As expected, the Pakistan Army offensive against terror groups along the Durand Line has ground to a halt. This has as much to do with the resistance put up by the jihadi fighters in the area as with the terror bombings across the Pakistani heartland which have eroded public support for this operation. There is also significant evidence that several Islamist, right-wing political and politico-religious leaders have been exerting pressure on the Pakistan government to call it off. Large-scale desertions from Pakistan Army units engaged in this offensive have not only thrown morale in disarray but enhanced the mental divide that exists amongst senior army and ISI commanders, with a number of them openly in favour of jihadi groups.
Two of the remaining three intelligence operations (of the six that we had originally launched) to identify the Ameer-ul-Momineem and penetrate his organization have also not made any headway; both operatives have failed to make contact for several weeks now. Fresh efforts are being launched, but no noteworthy results can be planned for in the immediate term.
However, the Force 22-assigned operative seems to have successfully infiltrated the Ameer’s organization. There is still no reliable, continuous line of communication established with this operative, but during his last contact the operative confirmed that the Ameer-ul-Momineem is Jalaluddin Haq. A detailed dossier on Haq is attached.
Haq has been maintaining a low profile and has only recently started getting into action. He seems to be operating with the blessings of the Quetta Shura and the ISI.
American intelligence has confirmed that the Pakistanis have stonewalled all efforts to eliminate Haq or provide any information about him.
It has been established that Haq is one of the key terror leaders who moved out from the FATA during the recent Pakistan Army offensive.
The Force 22 operative has also confirmed that Haq has constituted a new group of leaders, one from each continent, simply called Tanzeem, meaning ‘group’. While nothing further about this group is presently known, the operative has reported that Haq plans to use the tanzeem to spread urban jihad across the globe. He has also reported that the tanzeem is soon likely to assemble somewhere in Pakistan to meet Haq.
It is also pertinent to mention that there has been no contact with the Force 22 operative since then. We do not know if he is still effective or has been neutralized.
The intel provided by this operative confirms reports of a major jihadi operation currently underway to strike at various targets across the globe.
Although time does not seem to favour more operations to verify these facts by getting HUMINT sources in place, all possible ELINT and SATINT sources have been deployed over the target area.
Also, intelligence-sharing efforts with known friendly agencies operating in the FATA and NWFP areas have been strengthened to ascertain the intent and time plan of this operation, as well as to confirm the identity of the six tanzeem leaders.
Finally, efforts to cultivate SUKOON, the senior Pakistan Army officer posted in Peshawar Corps HQ, have made headway. The asset has agreed to the remuneration offered by us, but a secure line of communication with him is yet to be established. This task has been assigned due priority and we expect to have it in place very shortly.
Full details of SUKOON are being forwarded under sealed cover.
And I will strike down with great vengeance and furious anger those who attempt to poison and destroy my brothers.
Book of Ezekiel
G.K. Rao, the Indian National Intelligence Advisor, had just finished reading the latest Int Sum. Despite the p
rogress it reported, he was in a grey mood when he finally put it down. Something about it bothered him. He sat back and began to go over the report in his head.
He gave up after several minutes. The nagging feeling wouldn’t go away but he knew they still did not have enough actionable intelligence to put together the bigger picture. He started to reach for the phone, and stopped. Calling up the director of RAW and pushing him to set up the communication link with Sukoon would not help. Rao knew that undue haste could easily blow the lid off an asset’s cover or scare him off.
His gut told him that contacting the Force 22 operative was a safer option. He reached for the phone and began to dial Colonel Anbu’s number. Maybe he could come up with a way to get hold of the operative.
Miles away, seated in the rear of a station wagon, the man Rao was thinking about watched the rugged frontier terrain flee past. Excitement gripped the occupants of the vehicle, primarily due to the Ameer’s infectious energy. They all knew the next few days would be momentous.
As soon as the vehicles jolted to a halt, the Ameer got out. There was a spring in his step and he was beaming as he surveyed the compound. The others followed suit. Iqbal was the last one out. He stretched his limbs as he looked around.
So this is where the tanzeem will meet.
Iqbal watched as the Ameer walked up to the men waiting to greet him. It was not long before he was shooting out orders. After all, there was much to be done, with only two days to go.
Unlike most other compounds in Waziristan, this one was huge. It was almost like a series of heavily fortified compounds strung together in a tight defensive perimeter. Lying in neat, circular lines was a well-planned, triple-layer defence that posed a formidable barrier of lead and steel to any attack.