“Small majority is not our concern,” Tariq shouted. “We are the government and should be allowed to find a suitable replacement for Azam Shah. We should not be constrained by you or anyone else’s timeframes.” Turning his anger to Saeed Ghani, “Why did you not tell us this yourself? You were at the family residence this morning!”
“Mr. Speaker, I spoke to the family and the party leadership at the residence. You were not brought on board with the discussion at the leadership’s request,” said Ghani with a smirk. He never really liked Tariq Nadeem, and was enjoying his upper hand, temporary as it may be.
“What would you have us do?” Tariq yelled at the President, who was moving towards the door.
“Who the fuck do you think you are? I am the President of this country and you will address me as such!” the President’s temper rose. “I am not one of your party bootlickers, so I would recommend that you not treat me as such. Otherwise, I may just send your government packing myself.”
Aijaz, seeing the opening created by Tariq’s behavior, lurched forward to position himself as the natural successor. “Mr. President, to get names to you by end of day would be near impossible. Could you give us some time to speak with the party leadership in this matter?”
“I have already given you until the end of the day,” the President replied brusquely. “I don’t care if you duel at ten paces for the honor. I want the names on my desk first thing in the morning. Otherwise, I take up serious conversations with the opposition parties on forming a government.” He stepped out the door without waiting for a response from the group, having left no doubts in their minds on his position.
They could hear the footsteps fading as they moved down the hall to the waiting motorcade outside. “The Prime Minister was the leader of the party. Do we start there?” Tariq said, still fuming from the lack of support he had received. “We can’t make this decision without a named party leader, otherwise the government will be stuck between two decision-makers.”
“We don’t have the time to elect a new party leader and consider names for the Prime Minister in one day,” Aijaz answered. “The entire party will be at the funeral, we need to discuss it with them there.” He stood, adjusting his white cotton shalwar kameez. He left the room, his mind already racing with the alliances he would need to form. He had worked hard to support his party whether in government or in opposition. His climb through the ranks had been full of successful programs in his home province of Baluchistan and the federal government, leading to support from politicians across the spectrum.
Tariq turned to Jaffer Shah, seething in anger from his show of defiance. “You are my deputy! How dare you not support my bid for Prime Minister?” Tariq growled through clenched teeth. “The party will stand with me.” If there was ever a direct opposite to another person, Tariq Nadeem was that to Aijaz Awan. Having been the party’s blue-eyed boy, he had never had to achieve anything himself. Instead, he had regularly been placated with cabinet positions because he was the Prime Minister’s son-in-law, a fact he expected to grant him the highest seat in the country.
“The party leadership may support you, but the alliance partners will not,” said a calm Jaffer Shah. A seasoned politician from the NWFP, he had built his long career spanning over two decades as a kingmaker, and now served as the Deputy Speaker in the National Assembly. Solely responsible for collapsing several opposing governments, Jaffer’s abilities had been put to the test forming the current coalition to secure Azam Shah’s Prime Minister seat. If anyone could stop Tariq Nadeem, it was him.
“So we give more cabinet seats and benefits to the coalition partners to get me elected. What is the harm in that?” Tariq said, inches from Jaffer’s face. “Get it done!”
“Do I look like your fucking houseboy?” Jaffer said, grabbing Tariq’s arm with a hard grip, saying “And let’s be clear. To get Azam elected, we gave up the finance, religious affairs, Kashmir and petroleum ministries, along with two Chief Minister seats. We also created another ten cabinet positions to get him the votes he needed.”
“I don’t care what we give up. I will be Prime Minister when this is over!” exclaimed Tariq.
“You may be willing to give up defense, foreign affairs and other ministries for your seat, but the party will not!” Jaffer fired back. “That would make us the de facto government without any power over policy.”
Tariq stopped and thought for a moment, then with a smirk said, “Houseboy or not, you will do what the party leadership says. And they will support me for Prime Minister.” He turned and descended down the stairs to his waiting Range Rover. He had a motorcade to join, a funeral to attend and a leadership to convince.
Jaffer Shah, dejected, turned to the law minister, who had been watching the entire exchange. “The government has collapsed. Let the President know,” he said, shaking his head. “Our shortest term ever and this time it is our own fault,” he mumbled, as he turned and descended the stairs to his awaiting vehicle. He kept thinking to himself that this would most probably be his own exit from the party he has served honorably for most of his life.
* * *
“Chief, we can’t trust the politicians to find a way out of this,” said Lt. Gen. Bilal Siddiqui. “They will cut each other’s throats for the PM seat. It can only damage Pakistan further.”
“Bilal, the country will not accept us stepping in at this point,” said General Amjad Ali, Chief of Army Staff. “Look at what the journalists are already saying about us,” he said, passing a file down the table. “We are already being accused of a major security lapse. If we step in now, they will be saying that we orchestrated the assassination.”
They sat barely twenty kilometers away from President’s House, but the Army command around the table knew they were thousands of kilometers away in perspective. Outspoken journalists had not wasted any time getting onto international news channels to decry the army’s security lapse and their failure to stop the assassination, while domestic newspapers carried much harsher accusations in their headlines. It almost seemed that they had forgotten that it was an elected government, with the protection of the civilian law enforcement organizations. No, they hadn’t forgotten, General Ali thought, they just liked to blame the Army rather than admit that the civilians had failed yet again. His next steps had to be carefully thought out, otherwise the international media would be singing the same refrain.
“Gentlemen, the world expects us to step in and take over the country, but we must resist,” General Ali continued. “The government must find their feet… and quickly. There is no reason to embroil ourselves in controversy again.”
“Chief, I think we are making a mistake. Bilal is right, the politicians will spend the next few months jockeying for superiority in the Parliament while the country suffers,” said Lt. Gen. Hassan Alam, Corps Commander Multan. “We cannot allow this to happen.”
“Hassan, I know your personal animosity towards this party, but we must show our discipline. If they are going to fail, they must fail on their own. We can’t be seen as the catalyst,” said General Ali, hoping to calm down one of his most trusted lieutenants.
Lt. General Hassan Alam had been Corps Commander Lahore, one of the most prized postings in the Pakistan Army due to its forward position against India, prior to the Shah government coming into power. They had never liked him because of his refusal to kowtow to political whimsy with army personnel. Four years ago, Azam Shah, then Chief Minister of Punjab, had a very public dispute with Alam over his refusal to post army soldiers as protection for his relatives. This was the first of many public disagreements that led to his transfer from Lahore to Multan. General Amjad Ali had personally fought to keep Alam in Lahore due to its strategic significance, but Shah, now Prime Minister, eventually won by introducing a series of legislations in the Parliament to strip the COAS of many powers, transferring them to the Ministry of Defense. General Ali conceded in return for the quashing of the legislations, knowing that a failure to do so would have pu
t both on a collision course.
“Our job is to support the government investigation into the assassination,” the General said, trying to keep order among the commanders. “Misbah, Asim, what do we know?”
“We have just returned from the Interior Minister’s office and a meeting with the law enforcement agencies. What a clusterfuck!” said Lt. Gen. Asim Junejo. “Everyone was accusing everyone else for the failure. It just made good sense for the two of us to watch the shit-storm,” he said laughing. “I have no doubt that this assassination will end with the same result as in the past. No one will be arrested. No one will be held responsible.”
“We need to be concerned about the investigation, Asim,” said Lt. Gen. Misbah Qadir. “All the civilian intelligence organizations are running around like chickens with their head cut off, fighting amongst themselves to lead, but no one will follow the other. I can assure you that each is forming independent teams as we speak. This will fall at our doorstep in the end.”
“Misbah, can you and Asim form a joint internal team to start looking at the information that we have and what is generated from the civilians?” General Ali asked. “If this is going to fall to us in the end, we might as well start now.”
“Already in progress, General,” said Misbah. “I think we should talk about Bajaur. There may be some roots to this from there.”
“Misbah, let’s keep that off the table for now. I want more intel from our operative before we put that time bomb on the table.”
“Sir, I think we need to consider that this has the possibility of being orchestrated by an unfriendly country with assets in the country. That is Bajaur,” said Misbah, trying to get the General to pick up the issue with the other commanders.
General Ali shrugged it off saying, “We need more intel before we can make that decision. But I do agree with you that this is not a domestic plot.”
* * *
“Where is this coming from, Faheem?” asked Brigadier Imtiaz Riaz, Director General of the Frontier Constabulary.
“Sir, we have been monitoring a group of people working in the mountains of Khar,” Faheem explained, trying to make what he was saying actionable in the Brigadier’s eyes. “We have seen these two frequently at their camp over the past five months.”
“In Khar?” the DG asked. “You have been in monthly meetings with me since you were promoted to Post Commander. Why is this the first time you are mentioning this?”
“Sir, we had nothing to connect the intelligence until the Prime Minister’s assassination,” Faheem said. “Before that, it could have just been tribals getting together to blow off some aggression. They still like to think Afghanistan is at war.”
“But what makes you think its these two that we should focus on?” said Imtiaz. “You said that it was a group, so what make these two stand out?”
“Brigadier sahib, I don’t know what makes them stand out. They make me suspicious,” Faheem said glancing away. “Can I be honest with you?”
Imtiaz nodded his head, “If you want me to authorize any action, I expect it.”
“You know that I am from Khyber Agency, right?” Faheem said. “Well, I asked some old friends there. Showed them pictures. They knew one of them.” Quickly flipping through the photos he had provided the DG, he pulled out Dawood’s picture, “This one. He was involved in some high profile kidnap for ransom cases. A couple went wrong and he shot the targets. He’s a loose cannon.”
Faheem paused for a moment, waiting for the Brigadier’s ambitious streak to kick in. He had been on the fast track in the Army at one time, until he was assigned to the Anti-Narcotics Force in Baluchistan. He had been tipped off to a major shipment of drugs running through Quetta headed for the Far East through Karachi. Only when they seized the shipment, it was not drugs and the transport belonged to an influential politician. The army gave him two options – retire with nothing but his rank or be demoted and join the FC. He went from Colonel to Lieutenant Colonel and was posted to Peshawar. Ten years later, he saw an opportunity to return to the army as a hero.
“What is your action plan?” Imtiaz asked.
“Sir, I know Dawood has disappeared, but the other one is easy to find,” Faheem told his Commander. “I think he can tell us where to find Dawood… given the right motivation. Maybe even led us right to him. But sir, I need authorization to operate in Peshawar.”
“If you take him, how sure are you that you can get the information?” Imtiaz asked. “The whole country is tense and any wrong step could mean our careers. Convince me that these two will lead to something concrete.”
“Sir, I am embarrassed to say this,” Faheem said fumbling with the words. “Your expertise would be a great asset in extracting information. I would only be able to… ah… I wouldn’t be able to go to the next level without killing him.”
Imtiaz leaned back in his chair, putting his feet up on his desk. He had the needed expertise and had broken harden criminals in the past. He also wanted to make sure that the required information was extracted; otherwise his career would be over. “Yes, I think I will join you. We can’t afford to miss this opportunity.”
Faheem smiled, believing that he had gotten what he needed to. Whether the Brigadier joined or not was not the point, as long as he had authority to operate in Peshawar. He already had an abandoned warehouse for the interrogation, it was just a matter of getting Kaleem. Before joining the FC, Faheem has performed many snatch and grab operations. He had shared that information with the Brigadier, only he substituted Dawood’s name for his own. Semantics, only semantics, he thought to himself.
* * *
The road had been blocked for traffic since the night before. In spite of the roadblock, there were thousands thronged along the roadside from President’s House to Faisal Mosque. Everyone from regular citizens to party loyalists, had made the trek to Islamabad to be part of the funeral procession. The funeral had been delayed to allow for heads of state to arrive in Pakistan, only making the security concerns greater. With the US Secretary of State and British Foreign Minister in attendance, whoever had assassinated the Prime Minister had another opportunity to do greater damage to the nation’s reputation.
The President’s motorcade turned off Constitution Avenue and gained speed down Jinnah Avenue, where they could see the snipers posted on top of buildings and army soldiers lined the parade route. The police had been moved to the perimeters to control the influx of people and traffic to the roads leading to Faisal Mosque. There was very little chance that anyone would get a shot at the President’s motorcade with the police and military escorts closely flanking the vehicle, but all precautions had been taken. It took all of twenty minutes for a normal citizen on a normal day to travel the nine kilometers, but the motorcade would be able to do it within four minutes with the roads cleared and sirens blazing.
Sitting in the Mercedes, President Butt reviewed the speech that he had recorded prior to leaving President’s House, wondering if this would be his last act as President of Pakistan. The President glanced down at his vibrating phone, debating whether to pick it up or not. He didn’t want to be seen by the media stepping out of his vehicle at the funeral with a phone to his ear. So he checked to see who was calling first. Anyone with a television can see that I am traveling to the funeral ground, he thought to himself, why would they call now? The phone stopped vibrating for a moment, only to start again almost immediately. Now, visibly perturbed by the interruption, he pulled up his phone and handed it to his aide, with a simple, “Answer it and tell them we are busy.”
“Hello,” said the aide.
“President sahib?”
“No, I’m sorry. I am his aide. He is unavailable at the moment.”
“Tell him it’s Saeed Ghani on the phone. He will speak with me.”
“Please hold, Minister sahib.”
The aide looked at the President, as the façade of Faisal Mosque began to emerge in the front windshield, and offered him the phone. “Sir, it’s Saeed Gha
ni. He needs to speak with you.”
President Butt took a deep breath and told the driver to drive past the mosque’s front entrance to the VVIP entrance on the side. Taking the phone, he barked, “What is it, Saeed? Why are you not here?”
“Mr. President, I am two cars behind you, but needed to inform you of what happened after you left the meeting,” Ghani said. “You were right. They started fighting amongst themselves within minutes of your announcement.”
“And?” the President asked, anxious to see if his plan had played out as expected.
“Jaffer Shah says that the government is collapsed. The ball looks to be in your court now,” Ghani said with a slight tone change in his voice.
“Ghani, don’t start getting excited yet,” said President Butt. “They have fourteen days to elect a new Prime Minister. Let’s see who they put forward and what they do.”
“But, Mr. President…” Ghani tried to continue.
“Ghani, not now,” cautioned the President. “Every intelligence agency in the world is listening to our calls right now. We can discuss this in detail later.” With a snap, he hung up the call.
The car jerked to a stop in front of the VVIP entrance and security leapt from their vehicles to form a human shield around the President. Quickly ushered into the mosque, he was taken to a secure room where other foreign dignitaries were already waiting. Before joining the funeral, he had to meet the dignitaries who would not be attending the funeral prayers. He entered the room to find all of the dignitaries in a receiving line awaiting him.
“Mr. Secretary, thank you for being here. I am sure the Prime Minister would be honored,” the President said, shaking hands with the David Northrup, the US Secretary of State.
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