SIkander

by M. Salahuddin Khan

  After another hour or so of careful and therefore harmless conversation, it was time to perform the isha prayer and prepare for bed. Sikander and Rabia combined maghrib and isha.

  The following morning, the family regrouped with the women again donning their burkhas after separately eating breakfast. The discussion resumed about visiting Peshawar. It would have been unseemly to drag off the senior relatives on this trip without any forewarning, so Sikander agreed to have the vehicle sent in two weeks, and Saleem would bring back Abdul Latif, Razya, Noor, and Rabia, who, as Sikander learned, had been easily persuaded to stay at her mother’s place with the children and come back with them all. Although mildly annoyed at the surprise, he acquiesced reluctantly.

  “Are you going to be all right here? You don’t have a lot of clothes with you. And the children? Will they manage?” Having agreed to their stay already, Sikander held out some hope that a good reason might emerge leading everyone to see how inadvisable it would be. He really didn’t want to be without Rabia and his boys.

  “Clothes?” asked Rabia, in signature sarcasm. She spread her gloved hands and tipped her head as if examining her burkha-clad form from top to bottom. Her meaning was clear as she directed a glare at Abdul Majeed.

  Abdul Majeed shifted his posture awkwardly. He and Saleem glanced around the room to see who else might be turning to either of them to ask why all this was necessary.

  “Well, it’s settled then. Tomorrow I’ll return to Peshawar and send back the Pajero for you in about two weeks.”

  The next day, Sikander picked up Tayyab and drove back to Anarbagh. When they arrived, Zubair arranged a courtesy escort back to Torkhum, leaving Sikander to drive on to Peshawar alone.

  The two weeks went by slowly for Sikander, but he busied himself during the period. Finally, unwilling to send anyone else, he took the Pajero back himself and returned with his own family, Abdul Latif, Razya, Noor and Saleem. It was a tight squeeze, especially for Ayub and Qayyum. From then on, the vehicle was at Abdul Latif’s disposal and though technically loaned, it was in all but name, a gift. Sikander, who hardly needed to worry about the cost, procured a newer one within the week. Abdul Latif and the family could now come and go as they pleased.

  It was not long after this that wireless GSM cell phone service became available in Afghanistan and direct communication with Laghar Juy was finally possible. Though the service was far from reliable, it made planning for trips much easier, and Rabia used it to speak to her mother frequently.

  Five hundred kilometers away from Peshawar, down in Tarnak near Qandahar, Osama Bin Laden had been the target of American retaliation the prior year, and his need for badal was all consuming. Giving vent to it, Bin Laden began planning a response. Two plans emerged. The first was directed at the source of the Tomahawk missiles that had attacked the camps—namely ships in the Arabian Sea. Being ancestrally Yemeni, it had particularly angered him that the missiles had been launched from his own home territory. He appointed Abdul-Rahim al-Nashiri and Abu ‘Ali al-Harithi to flesh out this plan.

  The second plan was a dusted down redesign of one presented to him about five years earlier by Khalid Sheikh Mohammed in Pakistan. The argument had been that Khalid’s nephew Ramzi Yousef’s attempt at hitting the World Trade Center in 1993 had been ineffectual. With a different approach, those and other landmarks could be hit successfully. This would not only exact revenge for the missile attacks but also strike at American prestige. The plan called for the use of fully fueled aircraft as cruise missiles. It had been casually entertained in 1995 but not taken seriously. Now Khalid had modified it to use passenger airliners and even had a non-U.S. component, targeting Asian locations with those hijackers unable to obtain U.S. visas. Having established Khalid as the architect of the plan, Bin Laden put it into action, finding hijackers who could be relied upon to execute it, and organizing whatever flight training and logistics might be necessary. A body blow was to be delivered to the United States of America.

  Meanwhile, in May, a major flare-up of tensions between India and Pakistan arose when Pakistani-backed militias moved against the town of Kargil, just to the south of the so-called Line-of-Control in Kashmir. The advance was ostensibly by irregulars and local mujahideen seeking liberation of Kashmir from Indian rule, but was heavily backed by units of Pakistan’s regular army. The conflict lasted until August of that year, resulting in all gains made by the offensive being given up under a torrent of international condemnation against Pakistan’s allegedly brazen move. By making it appear to be an opportunistic land-grab by Pakistan for Kashmir, India managed to deflect attention away from any legitimate claim by Kashmiri separatists that might have caught the attention of the international community.

  Prime minister Nawaz Sharif was blindsided by the Kargil offensive and claimed only to learn of it from an irate Indian premier, Atal Bihari Vajpayee. Sharif was especially embarrassed in light of the Lahore Declaration of earlier that year, in which India and Pakistan had agreed to seek a peaceful resolution on Kashmir, an issue that had dogged relations between the two nuclear-armed countries since their independence from the British in 1947. Sharif’s generals had different ideas and with such policy differences laid bare, the rift between him and the army simply grew.

  Indeed, only four generals had conceived of the plan and knew about its details and one of them was a friend of Omar Khan, Sameena’s father-in-law. He had come to know Omar when they had been SSG officers. The general’s name was Pervez Musharraf and he was the Army’s Chief of Staff and Chairman of the Joint Chiefs. Sikander had met Musharraf long ago, when Sameena had invited Rabia and himself to one of Wasim’s family functions that Musharraf had also attended. Back then, Musharraf had held the rank of major general.

  In October, Now four-star General Musharraf was on a PIA flight back from Sri Lanka when Nawaz Sharif tried to remove him as Army Chief of Staff, seeking to replace him with Ziauddin Butt. Sharif ordered that the flight carrying Musharraf not be allowed to land in Karachi but divert instead to Nawab Shah, some 200 kilometers north of its scheduled destination. From the aircraft, Musharraf countermanded Karachi’s air traffic control and forced the aircraft to circle the skies above the city. While it ran dangerously low on fuel, Musharraf managed to contact senior army officers, and urged them to intervene with a coup. The urging worked, and with Nawaz Sharif summarily removed from power, the generals ordered that the airliner be allowed to land. Musharraf disembarked and assumed the position of the country’s chief executive, effectively terminating once again Pakistan’s most recent tinkering with democracy.

  After the coup, Sikander was invited to a dinner at his mother’s cousin’s home. The cousin’s name was Zainab whose son, Salman Khan, lived in Durham, North Carolina, with his French-American wife, Sabrina. Salman had established a software business in 1988, which was now prospering. A young man of thirty-three, he was slim, clean-shaven, and wore thick eyeglasses. He was on a short visit to see his mother while on his way back to the USA from a business trip to Nagoya, Japan. A naturalized American citizen, speaking English without an accent, he nonetheless enjoyed many of his native Pakistani traditions, including relaxing in a traditional shalwar and qamees. Sikander found him intriguing. He introduced himself and explained how the two were related to each other.

  “Brother Salman, how long have you lived in the USA?”

  “Mmm…a little over sixteen years, Sikander. Why?” he responded.

  “Just curious.” Sikander recalled his long-standing yearning to see America. It had increased as a result of the help given by the United States to the mujahideen, even though recent developments had dampened his feelings. “I’ve always wanted to visit that country, maybe even live there one day. Do you enjoy living there?”

  “Sabrina and I love living in North Carolina. It’s a beautiful place, especially in the spring and autumn. The people there are very friendly and it’s a welcoming place for someone with any brains, if they know how to put them to use. Act
ually, Sikander, America’s one of the few places on earth where if you can offer something of value, you’ll usually find someone who recognizes and pays for it.”

  The conversation continued as Salman elaborated with vivid descriptions of the America he had grown to appreciate, wrapping up with: “It’s also a great place to raise children. But look; before considering a move, why not visit first and see if it is the kind of place you imagine it to be?”

  Rabia’s ears pricked up at the comment about child-rearing. She tuned herself out of her ongoing conversation, giving all the appearance of listening while directing her attention to Salman and Sikander.

  “…some pretty tough immigration laws. You’ll need a green card. If you have close family, it can be done but it’s a pretty long wait. It’s easier if you have a job that requires you to work there or better still, if you invest money and set up a business, though I don’t remember how much and what all the rules are. These things can generally be worked out,” said Salman. “But you do need a good immigration lawyer to help you.”

  “Do you discuss Pakistan and Afghanistan over there?” Sikander was curious as to why the Americans had left Afghanistan to fend for itself after the Russians had left.

  “You mean among ourselves, the expatriate Pakistanis, or generally with local people?” asked Salman.

  “Either way, I suppose. It seems no one there is too concerned about what happens now that the Soviet Union is basically done.”

  “I’d say that’s about the measure of it, Sikander. I mean, that scale of assistance wasn’t out of generosity, was it? It was a matter of winning the Cold War and once that was done, Afghanistan was no longer an important part of the world. No oil. No gas. Perhaps some minerals, but really, mostly problems.”

  “Yes, I see what you’re saying. What about people there from this part of the world? What do the Pakistanis you come across in the USA think about Afghanistan?”

  “Actually, we don’t generally discuss much beyond the prospects for Pakistan now that we’re back ‘under the generals’ again.” Salman smirked. “The common joke is that the country seems to be governed from the American embassy!” he continued, adding a cynical chuckle.

  “Perhaps I’ll visit sometime soon,” Sikander said. “I’ll have to see what the visa process here in Islamabad looks like. If I have to, would it be all right to use you as a sponsor? I’ve heard everyone needs a sponsor.”

  “Sure! We’d love to have you come. We could even make a vacation out of it and go see places I have to admit even we haven’t seen yet. Bring your children, too. Sabrina and I have a little boy and girl. We could go to Disney World. That’s not too far from North Carolina. I’m sure you and the family would enjoy it.”

  Sikander smiled and tried to imagine the places Salman had mentioned. His only meaningful reference was Applecross, which was as exotic as Salman’s descriptions of America seemed to be. It was time he finally delivered on his long-standing promise to himself. He would visit America.

  Chapter 13

  Enduring Freedom

  BY THE RECKONING OF MANY, a new millennium rolled in on January 1, 2000. Along with sighs of relief at the continued operation of virtually all key software throughout the world, dispute raged over whether another a year had to pass before the third millennium could be considered to have started. Whatever the merits of that debate, Osama Bin Laden had a different conflict on his mind. On January 3, three thousand kilometers southwest of Peshawar, a guided missile destroyer, the USS The Sullivans, was moored in the harbor of Yemen’s port city of Aden.

  Named after the five Sullivan brothers who had lost their lives in World War II, the ship was a member of the mainstay Arleigh-Burke class of U.S. Navy destroyers, the launch platforms for the Navy’s Aegis weapons system and related radar. In direct retaliation for the earlier missile attacks launched from such ships on Afghan training camps, Bin Laden’s plan to attack such a destroyer while it was moored in Aden, was in place. With the USS The Sullivans stationed there, the mission was set in motion, and a small boat filled with explosives approached the ship.

  Before it reached its target, however, with its heavy burden, the boat floated too low and began to take on water from waves lapping over its bow, adding further weight and rapidly exacerbating the problem. The vessel sank, leaving the destroyer unharmed. Although he was disappointed, Bin Laden was not about to abandon his objective. He needed a bigger boat. With this amendment in mind, he had his people draw up a new plan.

  As the year wore on, Sikander and Rabia saw more of Abdul Latif, Razya, and Noor. On two occasions, even Abdul Majeed and Saleem came with them to meet their nephews and more of Sikander’s family. Saleem finally got married to Amina, according to Rabia, a regally beautiful girl from Jalalabad. Fatima, meanwhile, gave birth to daughter, Latifa, named after her grandfather. Given both the Pajero and cellphone coverage, family visits and phone calls became more frequent than ever.

  On October 12, another U.S. Aegis destroyer, the USS Cole, was moored in Aden harbor. It was there for a routine refueling that began at 10:30 a.m. Less than an hour later, a small boat approached the vessel laden with almost five hundred kilograms of high explosives. Even though it was headed straight for the Cole, rules of engagement at the time did not permit the duty watch crew to open fire on the boat. Just as the crew was lining up for lunch, an enormous explosion blew into the galley and other decks, creating a twelve-meter by twenty-meter gash. When the mayhem finally settled down, thirty-nine U.S. sailors were injured. Seventeen were dead.

  In early November, Americans went to the polls. Amid much controversy about the vote count, and following a Supreme Court ruling on the matter, George W. Bush was named America’s forty-third president, and assumed the presidency the following January, When he later received briefings on Bin Laden, he declared that he didn’t want to respond to al-Qaeda one attack at a time and was “tired of swatting flies.”

  At about the same time, Khalid Sheikh Mohammed’s plans for what was then called the “planes operation” were well underway. The year before, he had been working with Khalid al-Midhar and Nawaf al-Hazmi, two of the intended hijackers who would likely be able to get U.S. visas, together with members of a recently arrived group out of Hamburg, Germany, led by a young man called Mohammed Atta. Bin Laden selected Atta to be the overall plot execution leader and Khalid was named the planning leader. An elaborate system of communication between the two was established, with Ramzi bin al-Shibh as the primary go-between.

  It was common for al-Qaeda to use the code word “wedding” for any terrorist attack. Before long, the loose references to the “planes operation” became more officially, “The Big Wedding,” within al-Qaeda planning circles. With the key operational details worked out and teams in place, the hijackers required to pilot Boeing 757 and 767 aircraft were already in different parts of the United States obtaining training—in some cases, only refresher training—on flying airliners.

  In Afghanistan, skirmishes and heavy fighting had become a routine occurrence between members of the Northern Alliance and the forces of the Islamic Emirate of Afghanistan, the name given to the country by the Taliban. Despite the fighting, there was relative peace in much of the rural parts of Nangarhar Province.

  Although it had become a lot tougher, Sikander and Rabia still saw their extended family every other month. But in July, the Pajero, which had by now seen some rough times, became stuck in Afghanistan with a broken transmission. There was no easy way to bring it back immediately, so the families made do with the often patchy cell phone system. It was a poor consolation, and Rabia felt particularly troubled at being unable to see her mother. By September, succumbing to her scolding, Sikander promised his wife that as soon as he had a free moment he would look into the problem and see what might be done.

  In early September following several days of heavy fighting, forces of the Northern Alliance led by Ahmed Shah Massoud conceded some districts in Kapisa Province. On September 8, Massoud
moved back to Khwaja Bahauddin in Takhar Province. The next day, he granted a media interview. Despite claims of being a Moroccan-born Belgian, the reporter was in fact Tunisian and carried a stolen camera filled with explosives. The explosion killed the cameraman immediately and an injured Massoud died within the day after emergency treatment failed. The reporter was also injured, though he had doubtless expected to die. Any such expectation was met when after being captured he allegedly tried to escape and was shot and killed.

  Two days after Massoud’s death, despite reported warnings from Jordan, Italy, Israel, Pakistan, and others, as well as several alerts from within U.S. security and intelligence circles throughout 1999 to 2001, on September 11, the United States was caught by surprise.

  At about a quarter to seven in the evening of that day, while Rabia and Sofie were in the lounge playing with the boys, Sikander was at home, settling down to relax with a magazine. He had just begun reading when he heard the screeching sound of tires then a loud banging on the home’s steel gates.

  “Open up! Open up! Hurry!” came the frantic voice from outside. It was Jamil, returning home after staying late at the office. He was expected back around this time but with far less commotion. Kausar heard him and hurried to open the gate as Jamil returned to his car to drive through the opening. After parking it, he ran into the house, calling for his brother.

  Kausar followed her husband, irritated by his ignoring her as he barreled into the dwelling.

  “Sikander bhai! Sikander bhai!”

  Sikander hurried out of the lounge.