TANZEEM

by Deva, Mukul

  Book of Jeremiah

  Even though he was used to surprises at every turn since he had left Faisalabad all those months ago, Iqbal was shocked when they hit the road. There were four army jeeps parked on the shoulder, twenty-odd soldiers deployed around them. Iqbal instinctively reached for the rifle slung on his shoulder when the hand of the bodyguard by his side reached out and stayed him.

  ‘Calm down,’ he cautioned Iqbal in a low voice. ‘Stay still and keep your hands away from your weapon.’

  A man stepped out of the first jeep. He was in plain clothes but his age, dress and demeanour suggested a rank far above what was ordinarily found in the Pakistani frontline. He stepped up to the Ameer.

  ‘How are you, Colonel Imam?’

  Iqbal sensed from the Ameer’s tone that he did not like the man. They greeted each other with the cautious restraint of uncertain allies. Then the Ameer turned to his bodyguards.

  ‘There are clothes in that vehicle.’ He pointed at one of the jeeps. ‘Get rid of whatever you are wearing and put those on.’

  ‘The weapons too, Ameer,’ Imam added.

  ‘To hell with you,’ the Ameer snarled. ‘If you want our weapons you will have to take them from us.’ His aggressive tone and stance dared the man to respond. Imam stared at the Ameer for a moment, shrugged and then stood back.

  It took about five minutes for them to change out of the trademark black jihadi attire and get into the more anonymous shades of grey and white worn by the locals.

  Then they were off with the army jeeps. Iqbal had no idea where they were going but he could hear the rumble of choppers overhead. Obviously, the army did not care to move about without adequate protection in this area.

  The road improved after some time. They crossed a number of small villages, then towns and cities. The convoy either raced through them or bypassed them wherever possible.

  Several hours later, they entered a town and halted outside a pair of large black metallic gates. As they waited for the gates to be opened, Iqbal read the faded board above a shop across the road. They had reached Dera Ismail Khan.

  Situated on the banks of the Indus, at the intersection of Punjab, Baluchistan and the NWFP, DIK, though only six hours by road from Islamabad, was the gateway to South Waziristan and the last major crossroad for terrorists and smugglers before the FATA. Like Quetta and Peshawar, it was also one of the hubs where the Pakistani state machinery and terror groups meshed into one.

  The small convoy drove past the gates that had been pulled open by two armed men dressed in paramilitary fatigues. The gates clanged shut as the last vehicle entered.

  ‘Is he here?’ the Ameer asked Imam.

  ‘Of course not.’ The colonel gave an amused smile. ‘This is where we spend the night. He is going to meet us in Lahore tomorrow.’

  ‘I see. Are you also staying here for the night?’ the Ameer asked suspiciously.

  Imam nodded.

  ‘Here, in the same house?’

  ‘Yes, of course. The chopper will be here to pick us up at first light.’

  They all trooped inside.

  Iqbal’s mind was in a whirl as he lay down to sleep. Just what is going on here? By now he had seen many facets of Pakistan’s involvement with the jihad, but this one had blown him away.

  When the chopper landed in Lahore the next day, there was another set of vehicles with darkened windows waiting at the helipad. However, it was an assorted mix and none of the vehicles had any government markings. They swept the men out of the helipad and delivered them to the officers’ mess of an army unit.

  Apart from the sentries and a handful of mess staff there was no one around. It was obvious that the building had been vacated for them. Someone was going to great lengths to ensure that this meeting, whoever it was with, remained a closely guarded secret.

  ‘Here?’ the Ameer asked, as soon as they entered.

  Imam nodded. ‘He is already here. Let’s go.’ He began to lead the way and stopped abruptly when he saw the bodyguards gather around the Ameer. ‘Not them, Ameer. They will stay here,’ he said firmly.

  ‘They will be in the very next room. Get that clear.’ The Ameer strode forward in the direction Imam had been heading, swiftly overtaking him. The colonel watched as Iqbal and the others followed him, then he shrugged and picked up pace.

  Imam stopped when they reached the mess anteroom. ‘Your men can stay here. We are going into that room.’ He gestured at another door in front of them.

  The Ameer imperiously waved his bodyguards to a halt and continued towards the door, pushing it open without breaking his stride. As the door swung open, Iqbal saw a thin dark man with a sallow face sitting at the head of a long table. He had a cigarette in his hand. Flanking him on either side were two men in army uniform. Iqbal knew enough about Pakistan Army ranks and uniforms to note that both men were brigadiers.

  ‘Welcome, Jalaluddin.’ The man rose to greet him.

  Then the door swung shut and they all vanished from view, as did all sound from within.

  The bodyguards paced about anxiously.

  Iqbal would never have found out what was going on inside if not for the mess waiter who came in with a large silver tea tray. The waiter was about to set the tray down to open the door when Iqbal stepped forward and held it open for him. He waited for the waiter to enter before he allowed the door to swing shut, but he made sure he did not close it fully. It remained open just a crack, enough for a murmur of sound to filter through.

  ‘How could you allow this to happen?’ the Ameer was saying, his voice thick with anger.

  ‘Grow up, Jalaluddin. You are not new to this game. You know there is too much at stake. If the world does not see us responding to what that foolish mullah friend of yours started in Swat, how long do you think the dollars will continue to flow?’

  ‘That may be true but how could…’

  ‘In any case, some of your people, like Barader, Yunis and Kabir have outlived their utility. They have drawn too much attention to themselves. That is not acceptable in the circumstances. We kept warning them but…’

  ‘I am not talking about those fools,’ the Ameer snapped. ‘They got what they deserved.’

  ‘I thought you would feel that way.’ The other man laughed. ‘After all, who does not love to get rid of the competition?’

  ‘I don’t care about that, general sahib. I can handle the competition without your help. What worries me is that many of my trained fighters have also paid the price for your damn dollars.’

  ‘The fighters are easily replaceable, my friend. And do not forget who allowed you to recruit and train them. Right now we need the money far more than you need your fighters.’

  ‘I wonder if you would feel the same way if we were talking about your life, general sahib.’ The Ameer’s tone had a nasty edge.

  ‘Is that a threat?’ Iqbal could imagine the general leaning forward. ‘Do not get above yourself, Jalaluddin. Those blackguards of yours in the other room will not be able to save you…’

  ‘Nor will the ones who run circles around you, general sahib.’ The Ameer was not about to back away. ‘Never forget that. No one can be protected all the time. Nothing that stands in our way will survive. So don’t you dare threaten me either.’

  A long pause followed. When the conversation resumed, tempers had simmered down.

  ‘Anyway, let’s not get worked up.’ The general sounded at once angry and nervous. ‘We want you to recall your suicide bombers and stop all attacks on the security forces.’

  ‘Call back your dogs of war from the FATA and the NWFP and I will call back my fighters.’

  ‘You know that’s not going to happen. At least not right away. There is too much pressure on us. The new American president needs to show some results back home and even we…’

  ‘Why is it so important to you what they need?’

  ‘We need their money.’

  ‘Give me a break, general sahib. You think the Americans do not kno
w what you are doing with the money they give you? They need an enemy to fight, they need to give you the money as badly as you want it. How else would their weapon factories continue to make profits if they were not selling those damn things to Pakistan? The Harpoon missile and F-16 factories have you guys to thank.’

  ‘Don’t teach me politics, Jalaluddin. It’s not just the Americans, there is too much international pressure on us right now. We have to show results. The army cannot sit back and give you guys a free reign any longer, not for some time at least… until the world gets bogged down with other issues and we go back to business as usual.’

  ‘Then the suicide attacks will continue, general,’ the Ameer said flatly.

  ‘I don’t care, but lay off the security forces. Those hurt us directly. That attack on the Qasim Market mosque in Rawalpindi cost me some very valuable officers.’

  ‘Just as yours are costing me equally valuable people. We both have to do what we have to do.’

  ‘Have it your way then. As far as you are concerned, you have to stay away from the tribal areas completely until this hue and cry dies down.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘The Americans are baying for your blood, especially after the stunt your people pulled in Afghanistan. Hitting the Indian Embassy is one thing, but why did your guys have to hit the American convoy?’

  ‘Who cares what the Americans feel? They have never had the stomach to stand and fight. Despite their much-touted shock and awe since 2001, even today they barely control 30 per cent of Afghanistan. In any case, they will be gone from Afghanistan in a matter of months and we will be back in power.’

  ‘But they are there right now and they are seriously pissed off about that ambush. They want their revenge.’

  ‘Yes, that we can tell. Their drones are buzzing around like mosquitoes these days.’

  ‘Well, we have no option but to comply, otherwise the money will stop. The economy is just too fragile… we cannot allow that to happen.’

  ‘The economy or your bank balance?’ the Ameer scoffed. ‘Either way, that’s your problem, general sahib.’

  ‘It is yours too, you know.’ There was a pause and the click of a lighter. ‘Anyway, have you given any thought to what we spoke about… the peace talks?’

  ‘What about them?’

  ‘The new American president wants to talk with the good Taliban.’

  ‘What the fuck is that? Does he mean the wimpy ones? Those who are ready to sue for peace and get paid for it?’

  ‘Listen, Jalaluddin, I do not make the rules. I pass on their messages and take back your replies. I can give you some advice, though.’

  ‘You are talking to the wrong man then. I suggest you speak to the mentor.’

  ‘I already have.’

  ‘And what did he say?’

  ‘He said to keep giving them hope. If required, let some of you guys talk to them. It does no harm. They will be happy to start talks and when they are happy they pay us more. It will also take the heat off your people and give you time to marshal your forces again.’

  ‘Fine, do that. I could do with the time right now, though I am certainly not going to be part of any talks.’

  ‘Good! Meanwhile, before things get better, the FATA is going to see a lot more action in the near future. So don’t go back. We will not be able to guarantee your safety there.’

  ‘So where the hell am I supposed to go?’

  ‘Don’t worry about that. We will take care of you.’ The general gave a self-assured laugh. ‘You can stay here if you want, or you can even go and stay with the mentor in Quetta if you like.’

  ‘No! Quetta is out.’

  ‘It will be perfectly safe…’

  ‘I know that, but Quetta is out.’

  Perhaps he has been told not to go there by this mentor, Iqbal thought. The mentor must be Mullah Omar. Everyone knows he is in Quetta. Who else could it be?

  ‘And you forget we are losing time,’ the Ameer continued. ‘There is a schedule to keep. The tanzeem has to meet.’

  ‘The tanzeem?’ There was a sudden interest in the general’s voice. ‘You have identified the ameers – the leaders? You have the group in place?’

  ‘Of course. All six of them.’ The Ameer chuckled. ‘We now have one Ameer from every continent. They will take this battle forward, to its rightful conclusion.’

  ‘When did that happen? Why did you not tell us?’

  ‘I was going to, when the time was right.’

  ‘You know how critical the tanzeem is to the jihad. They will be able to restore focus and give us the impetus we need to allow the will of Allah to prevail.’ A brief lull followed and Iqbal could hear the tinkle of cup against saucer. ‘Have you thought about tasking them the way I advised you?’

  ‘I thought it over.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘And we see things differently.’ The general started to say something but the Ameer interrupted him, ‘I am not saying you are wrong but, for the moment, we have different priorities. The jihad must take priority.’

  ‘Of course it must.’ The general sounded frustrated. ‘But can’t you get one simple fact? Economic jihad is the way forward. Look at 9/11. Including airfares and training, it cost Al-Qaeda barely 500,000 dollars, approximately the cost of maintaining one American soldier in Afghanistan for one year, but the damage to the goras has been almost 500 billion dollars. The subsequent wars in Afghanistan and Iraq have already cost them close to 1 trillion dollars. And not just that, they have had over 35,000 wounded in Iraq and Afghanistan and another 300,000 psychological casualties suffering from post traumatic stress disorder. Do you know that is going to cost them another 600 billion dollars in healthcare costs? ’

  ‘Yes, yes, I know. America’s national debt is now almost 15 trillion dollars… you have told me all this before.’ It was hard to tell from the Ameer’s tone whether he genuinely disagreed or was merely dissembling, just trying to be difficult as a bargaining ploy. ‘I also know that every 9/11 or Glasgow makes them throw more millions into your kitty.’

  ‘And thus into yours, my friend,’ the general added drily. ‘It also automatically weakens the western economies.’

  ‘Yes, I know that.’

  ‘Well then, why not take the more direct route that we are proposing? We can force them to spend billions with such little effort. The American economy has already been weakened and they have a lot of domestic opposition to the growing cost of their war. And you will agree that economic stability is a major component of political stability. Both of us need to get them out of Afghanistan and this is the right time…’ The general suddenly broke off, perhaps realizing he was not making any headway. ‘I would like to be there when the tanzeem meets,’ he said instead.

  ‘Not for the first meeting. That we do alone,’ said the Ameer firmly. ‘After that, we can come to Lahore or wherever you want and you can meet them.’

  ‘Why not do it all at the same time? It is risky to have them here for too long.’

  ‘I do not tell you how to run your army, general sahib. Let me handle my people my way.’

  ‘Oh, well, let us go over it again when they come. And what has that got to do with your staying here or going back to the FATA? We can bring them here for your meeting.’

  ‘No!’ said the Ameer firmly. ‘I will not allow them to see me hiding here like a stray dog. I have to meet them in my area. They must know that we command the area and have no fear of living in it. I know exactly where I am going to meet them.’

  ‘That would be a huge risk,’ the general protested. ‘Do you know how many intelligence agencies are keeping an eye on the FATA?’

  ‘I am aware of that, but the risk will have to be taken. It is a matter of face. If we expect the tanzeem to take us seriously we have to show them we are in control of our own area. In any case, all of them began their journey there. I want them to see that nothing has changed.’

  Just then, Iqbal heard the waiter coming back and he hurriedly
moved away from the door. The voices inside faded as the waiter shut the door.

  I wonder what these bastards are planning, Iqbal wondered. It is something really big… that much is clear from the interest the general is showing in the tanzeem.

  The door suddenly swung open and one of the brigadiers who had been flanking the general marched out of the room.

  ‘Imam, get the map folder from the director’s car,’ he told the officer who had escorted them from Jandola, before returning inside.

  There was a flurry of activity and the map folder, a large leather-bound case, arrived. Imam handed it inside and shut the door again.

  Who are these six men the Ameer has selected and what is this tanzeem going to do?

  The question plagued Iqbal as he fretted in silence with the other bodyguards.

  The Ameer strode out almost an hour later, the general beside him. The Ameer tossed the leather map towards Iqbal, who was standing closest to the door.

  ‘Take it to my room,’ he said.

  ‘By the way, did you hear about the anti-jihad fatwa which that guy in London has issued?’ the general was saying.

  ‘Yes, I saw it on television,’ the Ameer replied.

  ‘We need one of your people there to take him down.’

  ‘Don’t worry, general sahib. I will speak to the ameer of that area when the tanzeem meets. That Qadri fucker will soon rot in hell.’

  They parted ways at the mess reception. ‘Allah hafiz, Jal… Ameer-ul-Momineem.’ Realizing his minions were listening, the general corrected himself mid-sentence. ‘Colonel Imam here will take care of you.’

  ‘Allah hafiz, general sahib.’

  Five minutes later, they were ensconced in three well-appointed guest rooms in the officers’ mess. The Ameer was in the main suite while the four bodyguards took rooms on either side of him, two to a room.

  Maqbool, the burly brute of a man who was sharing the room with Iqbal, hailed from the same village as the Ameer. Iqbal was sure he was a distant relative, as most of those chosen to protect the Ameer were. He knew that Rahim, the guard commander, and Sultan, the fourth bodyguard, were; they had mentioned it often enough.