The minister wore a mischievous grin. “Take it easy. I said it would be difficult, not necessarily impossible. The circumstances of this case give me a lot of leverage. The recommendation of the Agencies will carry a lot of weight, and I think even the Don can be persuaded, because he is aware that his personal position in New York is precarious. But”—here he raised his hand and rubbed his thumb and forefinger together—“persuading is much easier with the help of the Quaid-e-Azam.”
Constantine was silent, but the implication was clear. Pakora always came back to the one thing he loved the most, and the one thing that could solve all problems. Cold, hard cash. He nodded understandingly.
“Talk to him and explain my . . . point of view. You know, D’Souza, that your own department bosses are powerless in front of the party. Tell Akbar he may need a friend like me when he gets out. I can get him all the things he wants. A posting and immunity from the UF. I am very reasonable. I am sure he and I can come to an arrangement.”
“I will convey your message, sir.”
“Good. Colonel Tarkeen has told me that you have been invaluable in all of this. Don’t worry. If we get the American back, I will ensure that you are suitably rewarded. And pay no heed to your boss. The man is a vegetable. I only keep him around because he pays well for the post.”
“What about Tension, sir? I believe he wants to settle old scores with me.”
“I’ll deal with him in due course, but I can’t move against him just yet. Until I can, you’ll have to watch out for yourself. Just be very careful that none of this gets out. We have to do this very quickly, and very quietly. Go to the prison right now and give Akbar this SIM. My private mobile is already saved on it. Tell him to contact me on that number. But be sure no one suspects anything! If any of this gets out, it will ruin everything!”
“Sir.”
A wave of relief swept over Constantine when he got back into his car. He had come back with his life intact. But the stakes in this case kept growing by the minute. Everyone was playing his own angle. The Agencies needed Akbar to break the case to prove their innocence to the Americans. Maqsood feared a draining of his power base if the case were solved by anyone but him, so he was hell bent on trying to stop Akbar. Hanuman would always ensure that, no matter what happened, he ended up on the winning side. The thing working in Maqsood’s favor up till now had been the belief, shared by everyone, that the UF would never forgive Akbar. But now, that was no longer an absolute. Pakora’s indication was clear. Old enmities could be buried, for the right price.
As he drove to the jail, he started thinking about how he would pass on Pakora’s message to Akbar. There was no way he could walk into the prison in the middle of the night, go see Akbar, and not arouse suspicion. Constantine already knew that he could trust his own staff about as far as he could throw them. So he decided on an alternate plan. He pulled up at the prison and announced to an astonished night shift of wardens that he was here to conduct a snap inspection of the entire prison, to find and confiscate any contraband items being held by prisoners. They stared at him as if he had gone mad.
Virtually every item was considered contraband according to the prison rules, and therefore virtually every prisoner was in possession of some sort of contraband item. The jail staff already knew this and encouraged it because this was what their livelihood depended on. In most cases, they had supplied the items themselves. It was an exercise in futility, but at least it would give Constantine an excuse to wander around inside the prison at night.
Sirens and klaxons started ringing to alert the prisoners to the inspection. Constantine and the wardens fanned out through the prison compound. After casually inspecting a couple of barracks, Constantine took up a position near Akbar’s barrack and instructed his staff to continue the search. All the lights of the prison had been turned on and the place became a hive of activity. Akbar, who had also woken up for the inspection, approached Constantine.
“Wah, Consendine. Midnight searches. You’re growing well into this job. Becoming a big afsar.”
Constantine passed Akbar an empty cigarette pack in which he had hidden his mobile phone, with Pakora’s SIM fitted in it. “I just came from a very interesting meeting with Pakora.”
“Oh really? And what did our beloved Home Minister ask about? Aren’t you paying him enough of a monthly from the jail?”
“It wasn’t about that. He was actually asking about you. He’s quite keen to speak to you personally. He sent the SIM. His number’s saved inside.”
Akbar looked at Constantine quizzically. “Really? Must be getting close to the day of judgment if he wants to speak to me.”
Constantine smiled. “Actually, it may be the day of judgment for their party. The Americans are threatening to throw the Don out of their country if the journalist is not recovered. Tarkeen has told them you are the only one who can help find Friedland.”
“Really? That is fascinating. The old bastard kicked out of his little American empire. Heh.”
“I never understood why he didn’t come back after the last election. The party could easily have squared everything with the Agencies. It’s not like someone was going to go up and arrest him while the police were in control of his party.”
“It’s not the police he worries about. It’s the others. The ghosts who hunger for his blood.”
“You think they really exist? Did you ever come across any of them?”
“I knew some people who knew some people. And yes, they do exist, these ghosts, but they are burrowed deep within his own party. No one has a clue. They could be part of his inner circle, they could be one of the bearers who make him his tea. That’s what’s driven the old bastard so crazy. He just doesn’t know where and when these ‘ghosts’ will come for him, but they will come. The Don has caused so much pain to so many people in this city, you think their prayers don’t reach God? I can guarantee you one thing. If that madarchod drags his ass back to this city, he will be dead within five days. No matter what precautions he takes. And he’ll never see it coming. Why do you think he bumps off a couple of his ward bosses every few months? He can’t be sure which one of them is loyal. That’s what happens when you take so many lives. You learn to love your own. Heh.”
“Well, anyway, Tarkeen has convinced Pakora that you can solve this mess, and he’s willing to give you a clean sheet. Not just freedom but a posting as well. Complete reinstatement.”
“What does he want in return? An apology for killing so many of their terrorist bastards? Hell will freeze over before that happens.”
“Not at all. He’s not so naïve. Pakora’s a man of the world. He understands that these things happen in the line of duty. He only wants the one thing that he always wants.”
Akbar let out a hearty laugh. “That’s it? That’s easy. This should be fun.”
“Do you have the money? He won’t come cheap. I had to pay five petis for this job. And that was a discount after I got General Ibadat and the Bishop of Karachi to call Pakora. Your matter is infinitely more complex.”
Akbar slapped him on the back. “Ah, Consendine, didn’t I always tell you back in Orangi that you approached problems the wrong way? Don’t worry about the money. I’ll sort that out. Their veto was the only thing I was worried about. By the way, you paid five petis for this posting? You could have gotten something much better for that amount.”
“I wanted to come here. The job’s really changed in the past few years. Everyone has become a mercenary, bartering services to the highest bidder. The Karachi Police isn’t a disciplined force anymore; they’re a rabble, with everyone trying to drag everyone else down. There’s no professional pride left. I didn’t want to become a member of a faction, so I opted out of the rat race.”
“Still, you must be recouping your investment tenfold. After all, you’re the head here. You can make a nice little nest egg for the family.”
Constantine sighed. “I suppose I could. But the prison is different from a police stati
on. Out there, you’re like a hunter in the wild, living by your wits, looking for prey to sustain you. Here, making money is a captive sport. You just sit back and benefit from the misfortunes of these poor bastards in here. I’m not saying I don’t take the money, but it doesn’t sit well. There’s no joy in it.”
Akbar grunted understandingly. “Oh, thanks for sending me the case file. I couldn’t have figured out the whole thing without it.”
“I thought you were tapping the tableeghis.”
“My informers had given me the overall picture, but the case file made me connect the dots.”
“You really think he’s still alive?”
“Are you asking, or Colonel Tarkeen?”
“Come on, Akbar. You know me well enough. Who do you think?”
Akbar scratched his beard. “The story I told the major was true. There are two groups involved. The funny thing is that in these reports everyone presumes that they marked him from the tribal areas. No such thing. It was just pure luck. One group was in touch with the informer, the houseboy. They had been waiting to do something big, but didn’t have any resources. Then this American just fell into their lap when the boy called them. They couldn’t really put together an operation in such a short time, so they contacted the other group for help. The second group was more professional. Hardcore jihadis. They agreed to help out, but they had connections in the tribal areas who knew the American and objected to him being targeted. Problem was that it was too good an opportunity to pass up. The operation itself was hurriedly planned. You can tell. The car they stole was brand-new, with no registration plates. They were very, very lucky not to get caught or stopped anywhere in the city. Completely amateur. The UF boys would never have done it like this. The name of this organization that they put up on the Internet. All made up. There is no such group. Just these two gangs, who continue to fight amongst themselves. That’s the biggest guarantee of the American’s survival.”
“But if the crew is so amateurish, how come the Kaaley Gate wallahs haven’t infiltrated them, or got a source on them?”
“Hah. They are so petrified that they will somehow be linked to this kidnapping, that some old contact of theirs will be found to be responsible, they aren’t talking to any of their informers. They aren’t even picking up their phones. I never thought I’d see the day when the Kaaley Gate wallahs would become as meek as kittens!”
“And the tableeghis’s network is reliable enough?”
Akbar turned towards Constantine and grinned. “I never said it was the tableeghis. I always told you that I never share my sources. It’s the only asset we have as police officers.”
“Fair enough. What do you know about a man called Qari Saif? One of my informers mentioned him in relation to this case.”
“Qari Saif? Never heard of him. His name hasn’t come to my attention.”
“Okay.” Constantine shuddered involuntarily and rubbed his shoulders to warm himself. “I had a strange experience tonight. When I left for the minister’s house, I thought I was going to be ambushed by Ateeq Tension. I didn’t think I was going to make it home alive. I hadn’t felt like this since that night in Orangi, when I was wounded. I didn’t think I would come back from there either. I wasn’t scared, just resigned to the fact. You saved my life that time. I wouldn’t have made it out without you. It occurred to me that I never really thanked you for that.”
“Ah, it was nothing. You were my friend. That’s all that mattered. Life and death are in God’s hands. All of us have a time of going that is written for us. I have always believed that. All of the Don’s cocksuckers put together can’t kill you if it isn’t your time. Believe me, I know. They’ve tried with me.”
Constantine was quiet, thinking back on a lifetime of shared experiences between the two of them. It was strange. They hadn’t spoken for years, yet he couldn’t think of another person in Karachi whom he would trust with his life.
“What happened with Tension? Why did you think he would try and kill you tonight?”
“Oh, nothing. He’s out of prison, and the party has appointed him as Pakora’s secretary. It’s pretty obvious that he bears a grudge. But I’m not too worried anymore. What will happen will happen. The wardens are coming back. The inspection is coming to an end. I have to go. Talk to Pakora.”
Akbar nodded. Constantine turned and walked back to his office.
16
Day 3, December 23, 12:00 p.m.
The prison
Constantine was surprised that the day began so normally. He had chosen to spend the night in his office, partially due to security reasons and also because he expected a flurry of activity in the morning. Besides, there was no one at home to go back to. He rose later than he normally did, closer to ten, and panicked for half a second when he saw the time. Only then did he remember that he didn’t have to see the girls off to school today. He called the naika’s kotha and was reassured when Salma’s assistant informed him that the girls and Mary were safe and sound, but still asleep. The naika too had not yet woken, so he hung up.
He washed, and called for a barber to shave him. He glanced at his mobile phone as the man lathered his face. He hadn’t received any further calls from Colonel Tarkeen or Major Rommel, or from Pakora. He did have a number of missed calls from Maqsood Mahr on both his office number and his mobile, which he chose to ignore. Maqsood Mahr had undoubtedly learned of the moves afoot to reinstate Akbar and would try to stall them if he could. He was also without a doubt aware of Constantine’s role in all of this and would be furious at him for helping Akbar. But a strange serenity had come over Constantine in the past twenty-four hours. In the context of the threat to his family, a temper tantrum from Maqsood Mahr was an inconsequential thing. He would cross that bridge when he came to it. Besides, from the looks of things, Maqsood was currently in no position to harm him.
Constantine got through the routine paperwork and was just starting to worry about why there hadn’t been any communication from anyone, when Colonel Tarkeen finally called at around two and said that he was on his way. Literally five minutes after he put the phone down, the sentry at the outer gate informed him that the colonel had arrived. Constantine quickly donned his beret and buckled his belt, and had just finished tucking in his shirt, when the colonel and Major Rommel walked into his office. They both seemed to be in a cheery mood. Constantine saluted Tarkeen and offered him his own seat.
Tarkeen firmly shook his head and sat down in the plastic chair opposite. “No, no, Constantine, not at all. We have come to your office, you are the boss. By the way, I was noticing the other day that you’ve put on a lot of weight. You were an athlete, weren’t you? Captain of the police hockey team? Shame on you.”
“Yes sir, I have been enjoying my wife’s cooking a little too much of late. You look like you have good news, sir. I was getting concerned when I didn’t hear from you in the morning.”
“We were actually working with the FBI experts tracing down the numbers from the houseboy’s phone. Akbar’s clues seem to have put us on the right track. I feel we are closing in. Rommel tells me that Akbar insisted that I should come, personally, to . . . finalize things. But before we go in, Constantine, tell me, do you believe, 100 per cent, that he can lead us to the American? We have very little time left. This is basically the last throw of the dice.”
“Yes sir, I do believe that. I spoke to him last night as well, and I think he is the only one who can recover the American.”
“Good. Then let’s get started.”
The prison somehow seemed more crowded as they walked to Akbar’s barrack. The inmates stared at them with an air of expectation. Constantine wondered how much they knew of what had been going on. Given the speed with which news travelled through the prison grapevine, it wouldn’t be surprising if they were already aware of all the details. Akbar, having been informed of their arrival, was waiting at the door of his barrack to receive them. Colonel Tarkeen hugged him like a long-lost comrade. Akbar, immune to
the irony of the situation, or perhaps revelling in it, reciprocated and welcomed them inside.
Before entering the barrack, the colonel turned and held up his hand to the major. “Uh, you wait for us here, Rommel. I’ll deal with this one. We have some confidential matters to discuss. Come on in, Constantine.”
The major’s shock and humiliation at having been snubbed by his fellow officer was apparent on his face. Constantine felt for the major, but obviously there were matters that Tarkeen didn’t want Rommel to know about. They may have shared a uniform, but the worlds they inhabited were completely different.
They entered and sat down on the low stools while Akbar sat down on the mattress opposite them and started stroking his beard, waiting for the colonel to begin.
“Akbar, first of all, thank you. I can see you haven’t lost any of your zeal, or your talents. You can still pull a gem out of nowhere. You should have gotten into the jihadi hunting game a long time back. You have a natural flair for it. You might never have gotten stuck here.”
“Oh, I don’t know about that, Colonel sahib. I think I would have ended up in here irrespective. A lot of people would have made sure of that. But I never wanted to get into that game. I have moral objections. These people do God’s work. They aren’t criminal scum like the kidnappers or the UF. I don’t think it’s right for us to treat them in the same way.”
“Oh please, Akbar! Don’t tell me you’re as deluded as the rest of these fools. I didn’t expect this naïvety from you! God’s work! How is killing innocent people God’s work? They are exactly the same as any other criminal. You think they don’t do it for money? All the charity funds they receive? You think that money doesn’t end up lining their pockets? Why do you think they are always fighting over who gets to control which mosque? Why are they so willing to shed blood over such petty issues? It’s the money. You know these things better than I do. You’ve worked on the streets. They’re exactly the same as the UF, or the kidnappers. Jihad is just an excuse for them. They are just making a mockery of our religion and our country!”
The Prisoner Page 21