The Prisoner

by Omar Shahid Hamid

  That was the thing with Colonel Tarkeen. In complete contrast to Maqsood Mahr, who was blunt to the point of rudeness with his subordinates, Tarkeen would always kill you with kindness no matter what your rank. Getting up to receive you, making you feel important, going to inordinate lengths to put you at ease. All the better to strike you when your guard was down.

  “How is Maqsood? Going crazy about us meeting Akbar, I expect.”

  “He is worried, sir. He seems to be under a lot of pressure.”

  “Well, he should be. This investigation is now monitored at the very highest level. The Americans are looking into it as well. And quite frankly, his work so far has just not been up to the mark. No one is satisfied. And as for pressure, well, all of us are under pressure. The president is under pressure. Our friend Maqsood doesn’t have a problem with pressure when he’s running any one of his numerous money-making schemes. We ignore his little ‘projects’ because we want him around for times like these. When results have to be delivered. I’m afraid poor Maqsood has completely misread the situation. He started treating this case like any other. He never understood the gravity of it. And he overestimated his own usefulness. Now, there may be serious consequences for him.”

  Constantine hadn’t realized that things had gone so far. If Tarkeen was speaking this way, then very soon, worrying about Akbar would be the least of Maqsood Mahr’s problems. The way the intelligence boys worked, they would crawl over him with a microscope, if they felt he hadn’t been cooperative with them. The thought of the mighty Maqsood Mahr having to face the full wrath of the Agencies gave Constantine a warm, tingly feeling inside.

  “Did you tell him about the information Akbar gave?”

  “No, sir. I didn’t think it was appropriate for me to say anything about that to anyone else.”

  “Good, Constantine, good. That’s why I’ve always liked you. Always the soul of discretion. I don’t want him finding out and fucking anything up just because he’s concerned about his own position. If he tries to cause trouble for you, just tell me and I’ll sort him out.”

  “Sir, if you don’t mind my asking, how come your people are looking into this matter? Aren’t these jihadi-related matters usually dealt with by your sister agency, the Kaaley Gate wallahs?”

  “Yes, usually this is their portfolio, but this case has been specially turned over to us. You see, Constantine, the very fact that the case was transferred to us signifies the seriousness of it. Do you know at what level a decision like that is made? No less than the president himself and the intelligence chiefs. That’s what Maqsood never understood.”

  “But why, sir? What’s so special about this man? I mean I know he’s an American, but still, Americans have been kidnapped in the past. It’s not a new phenomenon.”

  “You’re right, it’s not, but the timing couldn’t have been worse. And I suspect that the kidnappers deliberately planned it that way. This journalist, Jon Friedland, had been covering the fighting in the tribal areas, as you must know by now. What you probably don’t know is that he was ejected from the tribal areas ten days ago, on the instructions of our sister agency.”

  “But why was he thrown out, sir?”

  “Apparently, they weren’t happy with what he had been reporting. He had some very good contacts, and he gave widespread coverage to some of the excesses committed there—villages that were accidentally bombed, civilians killed by government forces, things like that. Didn’t really go along with what was given in the official press pack. In his recent articles, he had portrayed the tribals as some sort of romantic freedom fighters. Our sister agency’s local representatives decided that he was being too critical of the government. So they sent in a confidential memo saying that his presence was compromising national security and had him expelled. That’s how he was in Karachi. He had decided to visit some old friends before heading back to the United States. The family he was staying with, their son had gone to college with him in America.”

  “So who knew he was coming to Karachi?”

  “No one. It was only when he got kidnapped that these facts came out. It became very embarrassing for the government, because the Kaaley Gate wallahs hadn’t even told their number one in Islamabad. The whole thing had been handled at a local level. When the Americans found out, they were naturally very concerned. And very upset with our sister agency. There are still some doubts about their role in that previous American kidnapping. The American secretary of state made a specific request to the president that they shouldn’t have anything to do with the investigation. She also made it clear to the president that the Americans expect the government to make all possible efforts to recover this man. Their president was supposed to come to Pakistan on a state visit in the New Year. That trip has been put on hold, depending on how this case ends up. That’s why this matter was passed on to us. Their whole organization is under a cloud.”

  “Sir, do you think that they had anything to do with it?”

  “That’s an interesting question, Constantine. What do you think?”

  Constantine paused and thought about it for a moment. “They would be very silly to orchestrate his kidnapping so soon after they had him ejected from the tribal areas. That would have been rather obvious. Fingers would be pointed towards them. Besides, I would think that their interest in him would be over once they had him removed. They know what the stakes are. My instinct says that they are not involved. They wouldn’t be that stupid, would they?”

  “Yes, I am inclined to agree with your assessment. That’s what our enquiries have also found. So far. Not to say that it couldn’t be one of the discarded skeletons from their closet. I know the kind of horror shows that they have patronized in the past. At this moment, I think that is their main fear in this matter: that the remotest link could be found between them and the kidnappers, without their having even been aware of it. If a random jihadi, who had worked with an operative of theirs years ago, is found to be behind this kidnapping, it would just consolidate everyone’s suspicions. That would then become very problematic for them. However, as I said at the start, all of this couldn’t have come at a worse time, and now with the release of that video on the Internet, we are racing against the clock. We have very few days left and today, for the first time, we got a break thanks to Akbar’s information.”

  “Did you manage to verify Akbar’s information? He had mentioned a source whom you know, who would be able to confirm it.”

  “Yes, it checked out. The source is a bookie Akbar had introduced me to years ago. It is not just him who verified the information. One of our own sources, whom we have been squeezing very hard, came up with the same today. So it’s legitimate. How do you think Akbar came by the information?”

  “To be honest, sir, I myself was completely astounded that he had information. I didn’t think Akbar could be of any help in any matter, leave alone this one. He must still have some network of informers hidden somewhere that no one else in the jail knows about.”

  “I didn’t expect it either. I had just sent Rommel on a hunch. But now, this has given us our first glimmer of hope in trying to solve this case. Constantine, I need your help in this. You have to convince him that helping us will be good for him too. It has to be you, because Rommel is too new to be able to handle any of this. Of course he will be there formally, but you have to take the lead. I would come, but from the report I got, Akbar is still a little upset with me.”

  “Well sir, he believes that you abandoned him and contributed to his downfall.”

  “I didn’t abandon him, Constantine. You know how it works. Yes, he worked with me when I was with the Kaaley Gate wallahs. And yes, he worked with the people here at Bleak House as well. But my boss back then wasn’t happy with him because he was doing more work for the people in this office. So when the encounter episode occurred, we just withdrew our support. As it was, everybody in your department was out to get him. You know how Akbar is—very good at what he does but rude, headstrong. No one l
ikes that. Plus, Maqsood had all your bosses in his pocket. And of course, the United Front leadership had just been waiting for a chance for something to go wrong so they could nail him and settle old scores. It was a perfect storm for him. It was they, along with Maqsood, who initiated the entire investigation. Akbar had become radioactive by then. I don’t think any of us are naïve enough to still believe in childish concepts like loyalty, Constantine.”

  Constantine sipped his coffee and shrugged his shoulders. “That’s the way he feels, sir. He’s very bitter. Understandably. What about an incentive for him? I don’t think you can get him to cooperate without offering some benefit to him.”

  “Well, now that is a different matter. It all depends on how good his information is. If he really does have something, then we can negotiate. At this moment, everything is under discussion. But we must get him to the bargaining table first. And that’s where you have to play your part. You know him, Constantine, you see him in the prison every day. Apart from that, you two go back a long way, don’t you? I recall that the two of you served together several times.”

  “Yes, sir. We were first posted together as probationary officers at Preedy Police Station. We had the same mentor. After that, Akbar started working more in the special investigation units, while I kept shuttling from one police station to another. Then, when the troubles with the United Front began, he was posted as station house officer of Orangi and I was posted with him as his deputy.”

  “Yes, I remember that. Isn’t that where you got wounded?”

  “Yes, sir. Akbar saved my life.”

  “That was around the time I first met you. You traced that case and arrested the terrorist, what was his name, something Tension?”

  “Ateeq Tension, sir. That was the case that got me my promotion to inspector.”

  “Of course. Ateeq Tension. Yes, all of them had these aliases which they used to attach to their names. Aslam Dada, Khurrum Klashinkov, Adnan Sexy. Some of them were hilarious. I remember when you arrested him, Akbar came to complain about you and said that Tension was such a dangerous criminal that you should have killed him when you caught him. Perhaps he was right. But this is exactly what I mean, Constantine. The two of you have such a long history together. You know him, you know what to say to him. You must speak to him often now.”

  “Actually, sir, since I took over as superintendent of the prison, today was the first day I went to see him. You see sir, I . . . it didn’t feel right for me to meet him in these conditions. We had been so close, been through so much together, I didn’t want to meet him in the role of his jailer. I mean, I kept tabs on him through my wardens and ensured that he was comfortable, but I didn’t look in on him myself. And as for him, by the time I came to the prison, he had already retreated into himself. He didn’t try to contact me. He didn’t want anything from anybody.”

  “But he still has a bond with you, Constantine. You are the only hope we have. We need your help. I need your help. He knows something. I can’t figure out how, but he does. You must help Rommel to draw him out. I know you’re not comfortable working with us anymore. And I know that you came to the prison to hide. But fate has brought us together again. It is very fortunate that you are in a position to help us. Don’t worry about anything else—Maqsood, the UF, your superiors. This case is the only thing that matters. None of them will create any problems for you, I guarantee it. And I won’t forget what you do for us.”

  “What do you wish me to do, sir?”

  “We are working on a couple of other leads with the FBI investigators today. I will send Rommel again tomorrow morning. He will have the power to negotiate on my behalf. Akbar’s immediate release, reinstatement—everything is on the agenda if his information is accurate. Use the time between now and then to communicate with him. Get him into a more helpful frame of mind. Make him realize that this could be his last chance at redemption.”

  “Very well sir, I will try my best.”

  “That’s why I have faith in you, Constantine. Thank you.”

  And with that, the meeting concluded.

  7

  December 1998

  The cold hurt his arm. He had been noticing it for the past two weeks, whenever the cool winds came in from Quetta and made the temperature drop. But luckily, that, and the tingly feeling he sometimes felt where the bullet was still lodged in his leg, seemed to be the only long-term effects of Constantine’s injuries. When Akbar had taken him to the hospital on the night of the attack on the Hajji Camp, the doctors had not thought he would survive because he had lost so much blood. They had dug three bullets out of his leg and four more from his arms and stomach. It was a miracle that his vital organs had been spared.

  He was surprised that his recovery had been fairly quick. The doctors praised his iron constitution and attributed it to his physical fitness. He had almost fully recovered now. Initially, when he returned to Orangi, Akbar kept finding excuses to keep him in the station instead of sending him out on patrol. Though they never spoke about it, Constantine knew it was because Akbar felt guilty about the raid, for not having heeded his warnings. He felt responsible for what had happened at the Hajji Camp. That was all fine, but Constantine needed to go out again for his own sake. Otherwise the men would think he had lost his nerve. So he had taken the opportunity of Akbar’s absence today. For a couple of weeks now, they had been working on catching a group of UF arsonists. Whenever the party gave a strike call, these boys would set fire to vehicles on the main road. That would ensure that everyone else stayed at home, and the strike would be successful. Now Constantine had good information on them, and so he had planned and led a raiding party personally to arrest the men.

  It was good to be back out on the streets. Constantine had once again felt the rush of adrenaline when he entered the suspect’s house. The thrill of being so close to danger. And finally, when he caught the boys, the unadulterated joy of the hunter who had secured his prey. The house that they raided had been close to the Hajji Camp. It was Constantine’s first time back here since the night of the raid. He had passed the camp on the way to and from the raid, but a lot had changed in this neighborhood since that night. The once impregnable ward office was a shell of its former self. The building itself now lay empty. Akbar’s raid had been bold and unexpected, and it made an impression on the ward boys. They had abandoned their headquarters. The big party banners that had adorned the building and the walls had all been torn down. The iron gates and barricades that the ward boys had erected had been smashed open, and children were now playing cricket in the yard where prisoners used to be chained. A solitary police constable sat lazily in the ward boss’s office, reading the newspaper and occasionally berating the children.

  As Constantine drove back into the station compound, changes were evident there as well. For a change, the station was bustling with activity. A steady flow of visitors had started coming in to report their daily complaints. Akbar’s workmen had now started work on a gun turret on top of the station gate. Alongside the wall, there was a line of shackled prisoners stretching from the duty officer’s room right round the corner. Most of them were UF activists waiting to be taken to court. Since there were so many mouths to feed in the station, Akbar had gotten a local caterer to set up an open-air kitchen in the yard. A man stood there now over a huge vat of biryani, doling out the rice in plastic bags to the prisoners and their guards alike.

  Constantine dragged the young boy he had just arrested by the collar and shoved him into Akbar’s office. The boy, barely eighteen or nineteen, was shivering with fear. Akbar sat at his desk, in deep conversation with a smartly dressed, slightly balding man, and seemed surprised to see him enter.

  “Consendine, where have you been?”

  “I got some information about the arsonist boys, so I decided to take a party to pick them up. You didn’t expect to keep me confined here forever, did you? Here, I got you a present.” Constantine whipped the blindfold off his suspect and gave him a thump on the
back of his neck. “Meet Wajahat, a.k.a. Wajju Bhai. Used to be the tea boy at the ward office. Then he decided to get into more serious things. He’s the one who came up with the idea to burn cars on the road to make the wardia strikes more effective.”

  A sly smile crept across Akbar’s face as he sized the boy up. “Kyun re, bhenchod. You think you’re a real smartass, don’t you? Think your fucking party will protect you now? Do you know who I am?”

  The boy, who was by now shaking violently, started to cry. “Yes, sahib. You are Akbar Khan, SHO of Orangi.”

  “Yes. And you know what I do to little cockroaches like you, don’t you?” Akbar crooked his two fingers in the shape of a gun. “Tuk-tuk. Where are your ward bosses now?”

  The boy nodded his head in some trepidation. “They are all dead or have run away from the area.”

  “Then are you more intelligent than them that you decided to remain behind to fuck around in my area? Do you know what a headache I’ve had because of your car burnings, madarchod?” Akbar picked up the pistol that had been lying on his desk and pointed it menacingly at the boy.

  “Sahib, please, sahib, please. I am my mother’s only son. I got involved in all of this by mistake, sahib. I didn’t want to burn any cars, the party made me do it. They would tell us to steal cars the night before a strike and set them on fire in the early morning. Please, sahib, don’t kill me. I’ll do anything you say. I’ll help you out in any way I can.”

  “Saala bharwa, I think I’ll sort you out along with that other bastard I’ve just caught.” Akbar rose from his chair and went into the little chamber that served as his retiring room. He came out holding a prisoner whose arms and legs were shackled, and whose head was covered with a dirty sackcloth. In all this time Constantine had observed that the distinguished, balding gentleman had listened to the conversation with interest. Being ever cautious, he didn’t like the way Akbar had spoken so freely in front of a stranger. He looked at him inquisitively until Akbar caught his eye.