The Prisoner

by Omar Shahid Hamid

  “I don’t need sources in your thana, Consendine. I know you. He boasts about the policeman’s daughter openly. And I know that was something you would never forgive or forget.”

  “Well, since you know why I’m here, we don’t have to beat around the bush. Will you help me?”

  “How is your wife? And your little girl?”

  “They are fine. I have another baby girl now, but Salma, you’re changing the topic . . .”

  “Please, Consendine. Allow me for five minutes to live in my fantasy of what could have been.”

  Constantine fell silent and stared at Salma. “Okay. What would you like to know?”

  “Your little one. How old is she?”

  “She’ll be a year old in February. She’s very naughty. She knows her mother cannot control her when I’m in the house. She can barely walk, but the minute I get home, she comes scurrying to me.”

  “What’s her name?”

  “Katherina. But we all call her Choti.”

  “Choti. That sounds nice.” Salma got up from her chair all of a sudden and walked over to a large closet near the door. She took a key from a bunch that was tied to the end of her dupatta and opened a small safety box inside the closet. She took out a silver bracelet and handed it to Constantine. “Please give this to her when she’s old enough. Tell her it’s from an old aunt. And tell both the girls that if they ever need anything they should ask their father to call their aunt.”

  “I can’t accept this.”

  “Please. It will make me happy.” She thrust her hand out towards him, and he took the bracelet. Her voice cracked a little as she said the words. But she regained her composure and continued. “As for your other matter, Tension comes to see Rukshanda every Wednesday night, without fail. She has a little flat, in one of the gullies just off the main road. He is madly in love with her, but he is a sadist. He beats her when he is with her. Normally, I would have thrown him out for such behavior, but everyone is terrified of his name. And he pays the girl well, so she doesn’t mind it. My man will provide you a key to the back entrance of the flat. He comes alone, but his men park their car a little distance away. If you come from the back, no one will even know that the police was there. If you get him inside, there will be no problem.”

  “Won’t they suspect your girl?”

  “I’ll send her away with a good dowry, to find a nice husband in her village.”

  “What about you?”

  “What will they do to me? I’m the naika. They might protest a bit, but I’ll say it was probably one of their own men who informed on him. They’ll grumble, but no one wants to disrupt the flow of business on this street. Not even the UF.”

  “Thank you.” Constantine nodded his head and rose from the cushions.

  “Won’t you stay for a bit, or do you have to rush off now that you’ve got what you wanted.”

  “No, it’s not that. I . . . I have to get back to my thana.” He turned towards the door then hesitated for a moment. “Listen, you don’t have to . . . I mean if you don’t want to . . . I don’t want to put you in an awkward position because of me.”

  “That doesn’t matter to me. I . . . you . . . you got shot. I heard about how you would have died, had Akbar Khan not got you out of there. I . . . I didn’t know if you would survive. I thought of coming to the hospital, but I wasn’t sure I could bear to see you lying there helpless. Besides, I didn’t want to cause a problem between you and your wife. So I used to send one of my girls every day. She befriended the nurses and got me daily updates on your condition. The point is that I didn’t think I would ever see you again. Your reason for being here doesn’t matter to me. It’s enough for me that you’re standing here in front of me once again.”

  Five days later, Constantine and a small police party were lying in wait in the alley behind the building. The naika’s man had tied up all the details for them. He had provided Constantine a key and pointed to the flat where a light could be seen. Tension had been there for an hour, which meant he would be suitably drunk by now not to be able to resist arrest. His men were parked on the front side of the building and similarly preoccupied with alcohol and passing women.

  Constantine counted the seconds go by. When he was sure that sufficient time had passed, he signalled five of his men to follow him up the narrow spiral staircase. As he put the key into the latch, he could hear the screams of a woman from inside. The flat was tiny, with a small sitting area with an attached kitchen leading into a bedroom. The door of the bedroom was partially ajar, and Constantine could just about make out the shape of a man on a woman. The man had left his pants in the outer room, and a .357 Magnum lay on the table next to a half-empty bottle of locally made Murree vodka.

  Constantine signalled his men to hold back as he silently cocked his pistol and approached the door. The woman’s screams had changed into a soft moan, while the man emitted loud grunts. Constantine was so close he could smell the man’s rancid sweat. Although he still couldn’t see the face, something within him told him that this was Ateeq Tension. He stood there for an instant, a mixture of fear and excitement enveloping him, and then he decided that it was now or never.

  He kicked the door in and rushed inside the room, his pistol extended in front of him. The gun had reached the back of Tension’s head before he had a chance to react to what was going on. Ashraf, Constantine’s bodyguard, rushed inside a second later, his Kalashnikov poking into Tension’s ribs. A wave of relief swept over Constantine before he realized that Tension was still inside the woman. She was screaming hysterically now. He grabbed him by the hair and yanked him off the prostitute’s body. Tension was not a man used to the embarrassment of being arrested or having his wilting manhood exposed to a group of police officers. He tried to thrash about, until a sharp poke from Ashraf’s rifle butt knocked him on the floor.

  Constantine stared at him long and hard. There was nothing remarkable about him. He had long, shoulder-length hair and a lean body. “So this is the mighty Ateeq Tension.”

  The effects of alcohol and lust quickly drained from Tension’s eyes as he took stock of his predicament. When he finally spoke, it was a squeaky voice, trembling with rage and fear. “You don’t know what you’re doing, you bloody thulla. You don’t know who I am. Let me go, and I’ll forget that you came here. It’ll be easier on your life.”

  Such threats were standard from UF ward bosses who were used to exercising unchallenged authority. When Constantine and Akbar had been together in Orangi, Constantine was always the calmer of the two in situations like these. He would laugh off the impotent threats, whereas Akbar would endeavor ever harder to make plain to the offender the reality of his situation. Here, too, Constantine smiled and was about to walk away when he saw the bruises on the girl’s ribs as she hurriedly tried to cover herself. Something snapped inside him.

  He grabbed Tension by his long hair and started raining punches on his still naked body. He raised his gun again and pointed it at Tension’s chest. Tension went white with fear at the realization that Constantine was about to pull the trigger. He closed his eyes.

  For many years subsequently, Constantine would relive this moment in his mind. He could never quite put his finger on why he hadn’t pulled the trigger in that instant. Maybe it was the pathetic sight of a naked man’s rapidly shrinking cock as he saw his life ebb in front of his eyes. Or maybe Consntantine just lost his nerve for an instant. Whatever it was, instead of pulling the trigger, he lowered his weapon and dragged Tension down the stairs and into the street outside. The plan had been to sneak him out by the back door, but Constantine didn’t care anymore. He continued to drag a now pleading Ateeq Tension, in front of dozens of stunned onlookers, right up to where his car was parked. Tension’s gunmen were totally overcome with the shock of seeing their boss being so publicly humiliated. They hadn’t even reached for their weapons before Constantine’s team closed in and disarmed them.

  Constantine still didn’t know what to do with his rage
. He couldn’t kill him, but he still needed to do something. He grabbed Tension again and whacked the side of his head with his pistol butt. Tension was wailing like a school girl, still trying to hide his manhood between his legs. He was still under the impression that Constantine would kill him. He begged for his life, promising to confess to all of his crimes. Constantine was taken aback by the sight of it. Here was the terrible Ateeq Tension, whom he had built up in his mind to be some kind of ghoul. But Constantine had ripped off the layers on top of the man, and the person who was now soiling himself in front of dozens of people on a public street had no resemblance to the Ateeq Tension of legend. The man in front of Constantine was pathetic. And with that realization, Constantine’s obsession with Tension came to an abrupt end.

  Major (now Colonel) Tarkeen’s office, one week later

  “Constantine, my dear fellow, welcome! Come on in. Well done on finally catching Ateeq Tension. Excellent job you did.”

  “Thank you, sir. I hear congratulations are in order. I went by your old office, and they told me you had moved to the bigger room upstairs, Colonel sahib.”

  “Yes, my promotion came through. I was hoping to be back in uniform, but they decided the situation was too sensitive to bring in a new hand. So they kicked me upstairs here. But I believe I am not the only one who got promoted this week, Inspector. I take it this is for the Tension case?”

  “Yes, sir. The IG has announced it, but it hasn’t come through formally yet. But I don’t know now, with the new military government set-up . . .”

  “Don’t worry about it. I will ensure that the new authorities don’t delay it in any way.”

  “Thank you, sir. I would greatly appreciate that. It’s just that, you know, the takeover happened totally unexpectedly. Everyone is a little unsettled. There are new masters, new orders. Some captain came to the thana the other day at eight in the morning and told me that he was going to report me for being late. I was trying to explain to him that I went home at seven in the morning.”

  Colonel Tarkeen laughed. “Yes, the regular army officers aren’t used to your style of working like we are. The next time he says something to you, tell him you’re working with me. He won’t bother you again. By the way, Akbar came to see me the day after you caught Tension. He was very angry with you. He kept saying you had gone soft, and that you should have killed Tension. But I’m very happy you didn’t.”

  “Why, sir?”

  “Well, with the new government, there’s a new scenario. We are evaluating the ongoing operation against the UF. It is possible that the government may require the services of the party sometime in the future. An accommodation may be needed. You know how it is in politics. There’s also a feeling in some quarters that the last government went too far in this operation. Therefore we are suspending the shoot-to-kill policy for a while, though we will continue to monitor the situation. Had you killed Tension, it would have complicated things for you.”

  “But sir! What about all the people the ward bosses have killed? If the operation is stopped, they will come back worse than before. Come on, sir, you know all the details. You have been with us in this from the beginning. I thought you said they represented a national security threat?”

  “Threat perceptions change, Constantine. As I said, politics makes the strangest of bedfellows. Oh, I’m not saying I agree with all this. Not at all. My view of the UF remains what it always was. But that’s just the way things are.”

  “So, sir, what will happen to all of us who were in the operation? The UF will be out for our blood.”

  “Well, yes. It’s true that they are urging the new government to take action against certain police officers, but we have made it clear that we will not allow that, as we consider those people our assets. Their main target is Akbar. Our intelligence has indicated that they are planning to assassinate him. I had a word with him and with your superiors, and I thought it was best for him to be posted to the interior for a while. At least until things calm down a bit. That’s why I’m glad you didn’t kill Tension. If you had, they might have made an issue about you as well. But you don’t have anything to worry about.”

  “Did he agree? I mean Akbar, sir.”

  “Not at first, but he really didn’t have a choice in the matter. A spell outside the city will do him some good. Calm him down a bit. Give him some time for reflection. He was starting to run a little too fast anyway.”

  “What do you mean, sir?”

  “Well, you know he had become Dr. Death’s bright-eyed boy. We were starting to receive a lot of complaints from your own officers about him overreaching himself. He also started to do a lot of work for our sister agency. We don’t have an issue with that, but one mustn’t forget who one’s original friends are.”

  “So what happens to me now, sir? Where do I go, and what do I do with Tension?”

  “You’re fine, Constantine. You will continue to work as before. Yes, the operation is halted, so don’t go after any more ward bosses, but manage the regular crime in your area. And since Tension was caught before the operation ended, no one will question you about him. Prosecute him like any normal criminal.”

  “Yes, sir.” Constantine’s voice lacked its usual surety.

  “Don’t worry, Constantine. I have my eye on you. You are a valuable officer. We will have a need for you in the future as well. There will be other operations, maybe not against the UF, but other targets. This Nawaz Chandio fellow, for instance. The brother of the opposition leader Yousaf Chandio. He’s been in exile for many years, but we know he’s been in contact with anti-state forces. His brother aspires to become the next Chief Minister, but he’s got some very dubious friends in the underworld.”

  “But sir, I thought Nawaz Chandio was just a politician—and not a very good one. No one ever took him seriously. His brother was the one who did all the hard work politically, by staying in the country while he was having a good time in Switzerland or wherever he was.”

  “No, it’s more serious than that. He had excellent contacts with the Russians and the Indians. We believe he’s secretly building an underworld army that may ultimately even rival the UF’s wards. His aim is to provide his brother with muscle in the streets. His point man over here is a Pathan called Shashlik Khan. Have you ever heard of him?”

  “He’s a medium-level operator, sir. Runs a couple of books and a gambling den in Sohrab Goth. But do you think he’s that big a player?”

  “He may become big if Chandio’s brother becomes Chief Minister. So, you see, Constantine, believe me when I say that I will need you in the near future.”

  9

  Day 1, 4:01 p.m.

  Walking out of Tarkeen’s office, Constantine knew that he didn’t have a way out. His involvement in this case was unavoidable. Therefore, he decided to go to the scene of the crime to see it for himself. Zamzama, the chic shopping and restaurant district where Friedland had been abducted, wasn’t too far from Bleak House. Whenever Constantine passed by there, he always felt that he had been transported out of Pakistan to some glamorous foreign location. Zamzama was a haunt of the wealthy and well-heeled. Rows of shops sold everything from iPods to Armani jeans. Designer boutiques displayed lavish, 100,000-rupee wedding dresses. A range of cafés and trattorias offered superb international cuisine from every corner of the world to the privileged. There was a price for all of this, of course. A meal at one of the trendy restaurants cost what an average person earned in a month. In short, the city’s elite had created a little oasis for themselves, a place where they could shut out the problems of this chaotic metropolis. Constantine balked as he passed by a billboard showing a scantily clad woman advertising lingerie. He knew that the changing attitudes of the last few years had led to the liberalization of a lot of things. After all, a billboard like this one would have been unthinkable just five years ago. But Constantine remained a prudish man at heart. These things were fine for the barey log, the rich people who frequented Zamzama and bought such things, but
he still believed that there needed to be some limits set to the growing licentiousness. People often assumed that because he was a Christian, he would be a more liberal person. He resented that presumption. As an Anglican preacher’s son who had spent all his life in Karachi, both his faith and background ensured that he remained staunchly conservative in his views.

  His pickup pulled up in a small lane off Zamzama, where the Okra restaurant was located. This was the place where Jon Friedland had been kidnapped. It was mid-afternoon, and the narrow street was virtually deserted. A private security guard dozed in a chair outside the restaurant. Inside, the waiters, dressed in bow ties and waistcoats, were getting the place ready for the evening dinner rush. They had all been questioned by Maqsood Mahr’s men several times already. Constantine asked them a few questions, but they had nothing new to add. Friedland had finished his meal and had stepped out with his friends, when a group of men had approached him. They brandished their weapons, so that passersby would be frightened off. Then, one of the men had held a gun to his head and pushed him towards a waiting car. Everyone had been shell-shocked and did not react. The security guard, an old, half-blind man who had been on duty that day, had thought that the men were initially coming to rob the restaurant. He had panicked and did not even attempt to stop them with his ancient shotgun. He hadn’t noticed the car with the engine running. He had assumed that it belonged to one of the patrons who was looking for a parking space, like several other cars on the block. Once the kidnappers shoved Friedland into the vehicle, they had sped away. The descriptions that Constantine got were not helpful either. The kidnappers’ faces had been covered with scarves, but they had been dressed normally, in shirts and jeans.

  The incident had shaken up the area. Things like this just didn’t happen in Zamzama. Kidnappings, car snatchings, and armed holdups were bad anecdotes that happened in faraway corners of the city. People in Zamzama were immune to these things, cocooned behind their high-walled mansions and legions of servants, watching satellite TV and dreaming of shopping excursions to Dubai. They were more attuned to what went on in London than in Lahore. Their principal cause of concern since this war on terror had started were the problems they had in securing US visas. So when the American was kidnapped from their midst, everyone here had gotten spooked. The restaurants and boutiques, usually overflowing with customers, had been deserted for the past few days. The city’s reality had hit just a little too close to home.