“Mr. President, Pakistan has been a long term ally in South Asia. We had hoped that the President himself would travel here, but his schedule didn’t have an opening,” Northrup said. “He will be calling you personally later.”
“Thank you, David. Foreign Minister Johnstone, thank you for coming,” the President said, moving down the line.
“Mr. President, the British government and its people all share Pakistan’s sorrow,” said Nick Johnstone, British Foreign Minister. “The Prime Minister was a close friend of Azam Shah. He has already called the family to offer his condolences. He should be calling you in a short time.”
The President moved down the line of foreign functionaries, repeatedly checking his watch as he knew that the funeral was being held up for his inclusion. His aide came alongside and whispered in his ear, “Sir, you must join the funeral now. Everyone is here and they can’t wait any longer.”
The President nodded that he had heard, apologizing to the remaining dignitaries before moving down the stairs to the join his country in mourning the loss of its Prime Minister. The aides led him to the front of the masjid and his spot between the Chief of Army Staff and the Speaker of the National Assembly, as the Imam began the funeral prayer, broadcast across Pakistan via the PTV cameras mounted around the gallery of the masjid.
* * *
On a lonely street in Peshawar’s University Town, a man stood outside in the dead of night looking for a way to get home. A rickshaw sped by, only to slam on his brakes and do a u-turn in the middle of the road, returning to inquire if the man needed a ride.
“Where to?” the rickshaw driver asked, killing his engine to be able to hear him better.
“I’m not going in a rickshaw,” the man told the driver, unwilling to trouble his already tired mind with the incessant tuc-tuc of the rickshaw engine.
“Oh ho, why?” the rickshaw driver asked. “It’s the middle of the night and you are standing on a street where very few vehicles will come by. Let me take you to the main road at least,” trying to coax the man into his vehicle.
“No! Rickshaw kei na zam!” the man angrily replied, walking a few steps away.
The rickshaw driver pulled the handle to start his engine back up and uttered a few expletives, before hitting the gas and rushing down the road.
He continued to stand on the road waiting, checking his watch every few minutes, but there was no sign of any vehicles coming from either side. Angered that he had not taken the rickshaw driver’s advice and gone to the main road, he started walking. He hadn’t walked more than three hundred yards when a taxi came whipping around a corner almost hitting him. The man jumped out of the way, landing on his backside in the gravel. The driver realizing his error, an unlikely coincidence for a taxi driver in Pakistan, slammed on his brakes and hurried out to see if the man was ok.
“Oh my God! I didn’t hit you, did I?” The taxi driver said panicked. “Are you hurt?”
“My God! What the hell were you doing?” the man said. “You could have killed me!”
“I’m sorry. So sorry, sahib gee,” the driver said, helping him to his feet. “Let me at least take you home. You should not be walking on this street at night,” he said, opening the back door to his taxi.
The man, who had been looking for a taxi most of the evening, was pleased that he had not only gotten what he wanted, but would also get it for free now. Climbing into the back seat of the taxi, he commented, “I live in Hayatabad Phase 1, just before the Industrial Estate begins. Will that be a problem?”
“No, no problem,” the driver commented, jumping into the driver’s seat. “I just want to make sure that you are ok. Should we stop at the hospital just to make sure?”
“No, I am fine,” said the man, checking his arms and legs for bruising. “It’s just some scrapes and scratches. I have bandages at home.”
“My name is Kaleem,” said the driver glancing in the rearview mirror as he pulled away. “What is yours?”
“Faheem.”
Chapter 13
Standing in the hall of the abandoned warehouse, blood dripped from his body, leaving a trail on the grimy floor. A body was slumped in the chair in the middle of the hall with a singular light hanging above, illuminating a small radius around it. Another lay in the doorway propping the door open. The fight inside had been more than expected from the three days he spent surveying the warehouse. By his count, there should not have been more than five men both inside and out. Instead, he had found almost seven men around the facility.
They had prepared well for his arrival.
On his approach, he saw one man guarding the entrance. There were usually two… where’s the other one? Kamal shook off the thought and sized up his enemy, noting that he was a scrawny soldier that didn’t fill his uniform. He ducked into the shadows where he could use the darkness against the soldier, catching him by surprise. He rushed the guard, knocking him to the ground before he could set himself or draw his weapon. With a quick strike to the head, the first guard was neutralized. Before he could get up, he heard the door to the warehouse open. Jumping to his feet, Kamal saw the second guard emerge, finding Kamal hovering over his partner’s incapacitated body. The guard, surprisingly, dropped his AK-47 and rushed at Kamal, driving him into the concrete wall of the warehouse with a shoulder block. As he pulled back from Kamal, he landed two solid right crosses to his jaw stunning Kamal and giving himself time to set for the fight.
Kamal pulled himself up from one knee, gasping for air and taking the time to assess his opponent. The guard didn’t wait for Kamal to position himself and struck again with a swift kick to his midriff, bring the taste of blood to Kamal’s mouth. Oh, that is just unacceptable. Kamal spat the blood onto the ground and spun around, taking the guard’s legs out with a vicious kick to his knees. As the guard hit the ground, Kamal launched himself onto him, grabbing his neck in a chokehold. The guard threw elbows behind him, and kicked helplessly in the air as Kamal increased the pressure on his throat. Within minutes, his body stopped fighting and he was down.
Kamal stood, spitting a few times to clear the blood that had filled his mouth, finally using the sleeve of his shirt to wipe the remaining away. He smirked, admiring his work. Not as tough as he looked.
Standing over both bodies, his plan rapidly changed. Grabbing the second guard by the legs, he dragged him around the corner and pulled his uniform off. Silently and rapidly, Kamal undressed and pulled on the FC garb. Wow, this fits well. The guard had seemed so much larger than himself. He ripped his own shirt in half, using half to tie the guard’s hands together and the other half to seal his mouth, in case he came to and tried to warn the others. Kamal laughed silently, giving the guard another hard kick to the head. Just for good measure, you son of a bitch.
He entered the warehouse corridor, looking for the other guards. Spotting one about fifty feet down, he straightened his shoulders and called to him, “Did he come through here?”
The guard was surprised by the question. He hadn’t heard or seen anything. He strolled over to Kamal to find out what his colleague was talking about. “What?”
Kamal waited till he was close enough, and casually raised his arm, as if to indicate towards the door. Gun in hand, he brought his arm down in a vicious swipe to the guard’s head, knocking him out cold. He fell hard into the wall from the blow and as he slid down, his gun clattered to the ground noisily. The commotion alerted another guard who came rushing around the corner, sidearm in hand. Seeing his compatriot laid out on the ground, with a fellow soldier standing over him, he slowed down.
“What happened to Ayaz?”
“I don’t know! I came in looking for the guy that knocked Sheraz out and found him like this,” Kamal said, quietly pulling his sidearm from the holster.
“We should warn Faheem that we have a guest,” the soldier said, turning to warn his superior. Kamal waited for him to get a safe distance away and fired two rounds into his back, dropping him to the ground like a wound
ed deer. The guard tried to roll himself over to fire back at Kamal, but the round had damaged his spine badly, leaving him face down on the floor. Kamal went over and fired another round into his head, and almost like a second thought, changed his sidearm with the guard’s.
Kamal moved a few yards down the corridor when another soldier jumped from behind a crate hitting him with the butt of his AK-47, stunning him. What the fuck? Kamal thought, reaching up to find blood coming from just above his eye. “What’s your problem soldier? Don’t you recognize your own?” he said, glaring at the attacker. The guard hesitated for a moment but something must have alerted him, because he drew his weapon back again. Kamal used all his body weight to jam the weapon and soldier against the wall; he could feel his eye swelling up already, and he preferred not to expend any more energy than he had to.
“Are you fucking stupid?” Kamal growled at the guard. “Don’t you realize that we’re under attack? And you’re wasting your energy on me?” He could feel the soldier relax, and calmly jabbed his elbow into the man’s face. The guard dropped his gun, stunned understanding creeping into his eyes. Kamal swung the AK-47 onto his own shoulder, and stuck his sidearm into the man’s ribs. Slipping in behind him, Kamal guided him down the corridor to the doorway faintly lit by the bulb that hung above it. He whispered, “Now, let’s find Faheem.”
“He’ll kill you,” the guard muttered. “And the little traitor that he’s captured. You won’t leave here alive.”
Traitor? Kaleem? Kamal used the butt of his sidearm to punish the side of the guard’s face, silencing him. He fired at the bulb, watching it shatter into thousands of pieces and the corridor descend into darkness. A small sliver of light showed him where the door was — where Kaleem was, he assumed, along with Faheem.
“Faheem!” Kamal yelled down the corridor. “Surrender and I’ll spare you and your men.”
“Spare us?” hollered Faheem laughing loudly at Kamal’s comment. “There is an entire FC team coming. It will be you that will need to be spared, Dawood!”
As he reached the doorframe, he stopped to prop up the guard that he had taken hostage and shoved him into the frame. The body drew Faheem’s fire, falling backward and collapsing from the impact of the rounds. As the dust settled, Kamal slipped in the door, finding a dark corner for himself in the small room. A single bulb hung from the ceiling, creating a small pool of light on the ground, but he couldn’t see Faheem or Kaleem.
“Ayaz! Sheraz! Waqar!” Faheem hollered in the empty hall, trying to determine who had been struck by the rounds and if Dawood was still alive. “Nizam, go check the corridor!”
Kamal heard heavy footsteps echoing through the hall, as Nizam ran right past him to determine the situation outside. He heard the footsteps stop, sliding from one side to the other as Nizam explored the area outside the little room. Kamal held his position in the darkness waiting to see if Faheem would emerge from the shadows.
“Commander, all three in the corridor are down,” Nizam reported back, still standing in the doorway. “I don’t see Dawood.”
“Ay khair bachiya,” Faheem called out. “Don’t you understand that you’re outnumbered? You won’t escape alive. It would be better if you just stepped out of your hiding place and surrendered to us.” Faheem pushed a chair out of the darkness, “I won’t kill him if you come out now!”
Kaleem! Kamal couldn’t tell if the boy was still alive. He was slumped down in the chair, motionless, covered in blood and his head hung low to his chest. “Come out now!” Faheem yelled.
Kamal closed his eyes at the shout, tracking the voice’s general direction and just listened. There was a small shuffle, and Kamal fired twice into the shadow, hearing one bullet hit a wall. But the second found its mark, causing Faheem yelp like a wounded dog. Kamal dropped flat on the ground and crawled quickly along the wall as Faheem and Nizam both opened fire in the direction of the first shots. The bullets ricocheted off the concrete floor or drove into the wall. Crouching behind what felt like a stack of cut boards, Kamal felt a burning sensation moving up his thigh. He reached down, finding the hole in his pants and warm blood coating his fingers. Shit! I’m hit. Caught in the crossfire, he shrugged it off, using his sniper skills to block out the radiating pain.
Faheem stepped out of the shadows and ducked behind Kaleem’s chair, rotating it to provide cover as he moved. “Dawood! You stupid son of a bitch, you have no way out. We have the only exit covered! Make this easier on yourself.”
Kamal had been very lucky that Brigadier Imtiaz had not fully believed Faheem’s intelligence report on them. The Brigadier has sought confirmation from Military Intelligence and the ISI, who had done their best to call him off the trail. They had told Imtiaz that the ISI had someone inside and any stupidity on his part would compromise the deep cover operation. The Brigadier could not be faulted. He saw a promotion and medal in his future. How could he have known that his target was the deep cover ISI operative himself? Talk about bad luck.
Kamal knew that the Brigadier was en route to the warehouse along with reinforcements. He had to stave off the attack until they arrived and he could reveal his identity to him. He had gone to ground almost two weeks ago when a visitor passed a message through a trusted source. “You’re blown,” was all that he was told. The three words that any deep cover operative fears more than anything else, especially in hostile territory.
Kamal heard sliding footsteps to his left. Realizing that Nizam was just steps away from discovering him, he slowly climbed to his feet and waited for another footstep. With uncanny precision, he landed his pistol firmly on Nizam’s head, causing him to stumble backward. Nizam growled with anger at being taken by surprise and hit, flaying wildly, looking to grab his attacker. He was a big man with long arms, and with Kamal’s range of motion compromised by the bullet in his leg, Nizam managed to connect with his attacker. He grabbed hold of Kamal’s shirt and jerked him forward, landing a head-butt against his already closed and swollen eyelid.
Kamal stumbled backward, blood flowing freely from the cut above his eye again. Where is Faheem? He struggled to keep the other man in his periphery, but ended up paying dearly for his momentary distraction, as Nizam landed a kick to the bloody thigh, further hobbling him. Is that… he thought as he dove away from Nizam, dodging the flare that was thrown in his direction. Faheem obviously wanted to shed light on his attacker so they could better target him. Nizam took full advantage of the extra illumination and rushed at Kamal, prone on the floor, hoping to land his boot to the side of his head. Kamal read the move and instinctively rolled away, simultaneously grabbing Nizam’s leg and tumbling him to the ground.
Kamal, doing his best to control the pain that was rushing through his body, raised himself to his feet and landed two strong kicks to Nizam’s head with his good leg. Nizam’s head bounced off the concrete floor each time and he lay motionless. For good measure, Kamal took his sidearm and fired two shots into Nizam’s head.
Faheem had taken cover at the shots. Kamal turned himself around, looking for any signs of where Faheem had taken cover, but was unable to pinpoint where he might be. Draw him out of the shadows, Kamal thought as he hobbled over to Kaleem’s body.
“Kaleem, Kaleem!” Kamal yelled, slapping him across the face. He paused for a second to reach down to check for a pulse. Faint, but he is alive. Kamal lifted Kaleem over his shoulder, wincing from the pain in his torso from by the repeated blows. “I’ll get us out of here,” he said to his friend, “just hang on.” He moved towards the door, knowing there was only one escape route, which would most likely end with confrontation with either Faheem or the Brigadier and his reinforcements. He could tell the Brigadier who he was, but not Faheem. That information would end up in Bajaur.
Reaching the door, Kamal poked his head out to see if anyone was in the corridor. He saw a shadow move in the corridor and quickly pulled back into the hall. Glancing around, he found a dark corner where he could put Kaleem, while he dealt with the shadow in the co
rridor. Setting him down, Kamal heard a noise in the hall behind him. He sat motionless, protected from sight by the darkness that engulfed the area around him, surveying the area for clues to the direction of the sound. He had been struggling with dark spots in his eyes since the goon struck his head, but he was sure that he saw something move to his right.
“You might as well come out,” a voice hollered. “We have you surrounded.”
Kamal quietly moved from his location to one closer to the voice, and called out, “Who the fuck is we?”
“We are the Frontier Constabulary,” said the voice, giving Kamal a better indication of where the person was standing in the darkness. “Come out now, Dawood! Or we open fire!”
Open fire? Is he kidding? He has no idea where I am. Kamal called out again, slowly moving closer to the voice, “Open fire. You will only kill your own.”
“Do you think this is a negotiation?” the voice yelled. “Show yourself.”
“If you are FC, you’re a ranking officer,” Kamal called back. “Protocol demands that you identify yourself.”
Suddenly, the tone of the voice changed. That the intruder was familiar with the keyword protocol followed by the military for hostage situations made him realize that he was dealing with someone who either is or was military.
“Name and rank, solider!” the voice called out, booming through the warehouse.
“Fuck you and your name and rank!” Kamal answered, moving again in the darkness behind the Brigadier. “You know who I am. Tell me who the fuck you are!”
The silence was deafening as Brigadier Imtiaz contemplated his next move. Is my luck really this shitty? Did I authorize the capture and interrogation of an ISI operative based on faulty intelligence? His mind spun in different directions, contemplating the fallout from this hurried decision that had been backed only by his over-ambitious ego.
“Men, lower your…” the voice shouted out. His sentence was stopped midstream, as Kamal snatched his sidearm and placed its cool barrel against his temple.
Agency Rules - Never an Easy Day at the Office Page 16
