by Ken Hansen
I seek forgiveness from Allah, my Lord, from every sin I committed knowingly or unknowingly, secretly or openly, and I turn towards Him from the sin that I know and from the sin that I do not know. Certainly You, You are the knower of the hidden things and the Concealer of the mistakes and the Forgiver of the sins. And there is no power and no strength except from Allah, the Most High, the Most Great.
Huxley laughed. “Well, there you go, Hux. That just about wraps it up for you. Time to head out and celebrate.” He shook his head. I still haven’t got a clue, not really. He scratched his ear and looked at his phone. He pulled up the last 4 lines of the poem again. The 5th Kalimah must be what the poem referred to as the “words of Lord.” Hell, they even referred to the Lord. But what the heck was split in two? And what was the source? Maybe the docent could help.
As he turned to find a docent, he noticed a familiar figure quickly turn away from him and head across the hall. Anwari? He started walking slowly in that direction, and the man started walking more quickly away. Huxley picked up the pace, but then so did his target. He considered running, but he knew the guards might stop him and expel him for disrespecting this holy place.
The man stepped over a small red-roped barrier designed to keep tourists out of private areas. The security guard noticed and ran in front of Huxley, yelling in Arabic, “Sir, tourists are not allowed access to that part of the mosque.”
Huxley stopped and watched as the man disappeared into the labyrinth of halls on the other side of the barrier, followed by the security guard. The guard returned a few minutes later, shaking his head and telling another guard through his shoulder radio that the man had fled the building out a side door.
Huxley returned to his quest and found a docent. “Excuse me, but could you help me with a question about the Kalimah over there?”
“Certainly, sir. How can I help you?”
“I am wondering where in the Qur’an I can find the words of the Kalimah Istighfar?”
“Nowhere directly, yet everywhere indirectly. The spirit, not the precise words, come from the Qur’an.”
“Then where do they come from?”
“Where? Their source?”
“Source? Yes, exactly.” Huxley smiled broadly. “What is the source of the Kalimah Istighfar?”
The docent rubbed his chin. “Well, it is somewhat disputed, but some believe it is derived from two Hadiths.”
“Hadiths? Oh yes, those are official, non-Qur’anical collections of the words and deeds of Muhammad, right?”
“Correct. That is very good for an American who I must assume is not Islamic. Am I right? Have you nevertheless studied the Prophet?”
Huxley nodded. “Back in one comparative course in college. It has been a long time. Can you tell me which two Hadiths are the source of the Kalimah Istighfar?”
“Sahih Bukhari, Hadiths of Mohammed, Volume 9, Book 93. Oneness, Uniqueness of Allah, Hadiths numbered 485 and 534.”
“Hold on, let me make a note of those.” He pulled out his phone and began typing them into his notes. “So you said 9-93-485 and 9-93-534, right?” As he looked up and saw the docent nodding affirmatively, the numbers reached out from the page and slapped Huxley in the face. Rather than wincing in pain, he smiled. “Thank you, sir. You have been very helpful.”
993485 and 993534: yes, he was sure of it. He brought up the Najwa contacts list and looked at the entry for Maryam Huxley, and there they were: “home: 993-485-0010; mobile: 993-534-0120.” He had found the clue. Now he just needed to decipher it. He searched Google and came up with Sahih Bukhari, Volume 9, Book 93, Hadith 485:
Abu Bakr As-Siddiq said to the Prophet “O Allah’s Apostle! Teach me an invocation with which I may invoke Allah in my prayers.” The Prophet said, “Say: O Allah! I have wronged my soul very much (oppressed myself), and none forgives the sins but You; so please bestow Your Forgiveness upon me. No doubt, You are the Oft-Forgiving, Most Merciful.”
The clue seemed to be referring to the tenth word, which was “Apostle.” Strange. Then he pulled up Hadith 534:
Whenever the Prophet offered his Tahajjud prayer, he would say, “O Allah, our Lord! All the praises are for You; You are the Keeper (Establisher or the One Who looks after) of the Heavens and the Earth. All the Praises are for You; You are the Light of the Heavens and the Earth and whatever is therein. You are the Truth, and Your saying is the Truth, and Your promise is the Truth, and the meeting with You is the Truth, and Paradise is the Truth, and the Hell Fire is the Truth. O Allah! I surrender myself to You, and believe in You, and I put my trust in You (solely depend upon). And to You I complain of my opponents and with Your Evidence I argue. So please forgive the sins which I have done in the past or I will do in the future, and also those sins which I did in secret or in public, and that which You know better than I. None has the right to be worshipped but You.
Huxley counted the words to 120 and came up with “complain.” “Apostle complain”—that just didn’t seem right. He decided to count the two again and realized he must have counted a word twice on the way to 120. The clue was now “Apostle of.” That made more sense, but Apostle of what?
He had used the “source,” and that had held a simpler view. Obviously the remaining clue was more complicated. He spent a few minutes toying with a few ideas but just couldn’t get what was meant by “The main lies here all split apart in two.” He scanned the sources and the Kalimah for a word that matched, but the closest he got was “truth”—“Apostle of Truth.” Maybe. But a Google search proved unsatisfactory.
Huxley walked out of the Badshahi Mosque and into the courtyard. He looked back at the structure one more time to imprint its beauty forever on his brain, but a few seconds later, the sound of his own name made Huxley’s head jerk to his right. A moment later, his surprised look turned into a grin. “Ahmed Jinnah,” he gushed, “How are you?”
A Pakistani man with a thin face and slight, pointy beard grinned back. “I am happy to see you here, Chris. What brings you to Pakistan?”
“Just a few loose ends.”
“You still with the CIA? Still interrogating bad guys?”
“No, thank goodness. Homeland. You?”
“Yeah, I’m done with that myself. After you left, they pretty much shut us down anyway.”
“I’m not surprised,” said Huxley. “Hell, I was more surprised when they let us interrogate some of your own citizens. I figured when things turned a bit sour there, we wouldn’t get much more cooperation.”
“No comment, my friend. Hey.” Jinnah leaned close into Huxley. “I’d like to speak with you privately for a bit. Can you meet me in Lahore?”
“What about?”
“Can’t talk now. Tonight at 2100? You remember the Lahore Racing Club?
“Sure, we had a few laughs there.”
“The Lahore Central Jail is just north of there. Across the street from it is a long warehouse. Go in the door on the left rear. No eyes on you.”
“All right. That’s a pretty remote area at night. You guys aren’t into secretly nabbing any American Homeland Security investigators, are you?”
“Funny. See you then.”
“He seemed to pick it up,” Anwari said into his cell. “I was quite far away. I think he might have seen me when he turned around. I couldn’t let him find me there—too much of a coincidence. Anyway, I don’t know if he has it figured out yet, but he has all the information he needs.”
“Good. The plan continues to proceed, but you must ensure he solves the problem.”
“How? I can’t see him in Pakistan. Not now.”
“You have a little time. Figure it out. He might be looking for you. Maybe you can make it easy for him if you return to Afghanistan and ensure the Americans know you are there. He will seek you out. You can be certain of it.”
“It looks like a Pakistani friend sought him out at the mosque.”
“Really? Who?”
“I took a picture. It’s a bit grainy although you c
an still see the man pretty well. I’m texting it to you now.”
A minute later, Pardus said, “Interesting. How long did they speak?”
“Just a minute or two. It looked like they had just lucked into each other, but what are the chances?”
“I agree. Keep an eye on Huxley for the moment. Let me know if they meet again. Let’s see what he does in Pakistan. It may help us even more than I thought, but don’t make contact yourself right now.”
Chapter 39
The street was dark as Huxley ducked into the service door of the warehouse. Nice place for a trap, but Jinnah had always been one of the good guys. When he saw Jinnah sitting back in his chair at a small table, he motioned to the single intense light hanging above. “You must miss the old days. You going to work me over, now?”
Jinnah shot back, “Only if you refuse to cooperate.” The two laughed, and Huxley sat down.
“So what have you gotten yourself into that requires a secret rendezvous in such…austere surroundings?”
Jinnah’s smile turned grim. “I’ll need your word first, Hux.”
“Word on what?”
“Make that a blood oath. You want to do the cutting, or shall I?”
“That serious, huh?”
Jinnah clasped his hands together and leaned forward. “So serious that if they trace this to me I know I will be executed, but not before they cut off both testicles and feed them to me as a parting snack. I need your word that you will bury my name so deep in the recesses of your consciousness that even I couldn’t torture it out of you.”
“I don’t think you actually tortured anyone, if I recall correctly.”
“Well, act as if I had then.”
“You have my word. Now what’s up?”
“In the last year, I moved into our independent nuclear security team. With all of your government’s concerns about our ability to protect our assets, the government created an independent agency to keep an extra eye on them. I was transferred to the unit and became an analyst and investigator.”
Huxley flashed a sly smile. “Spying on your own military. So how’s that working out for you?”
“Pretty good until now. Just a few minor discrepancies now and then that I have corrected without much trouble. Despite what your press says, we really have a good crew ensuring the weapons do not fall into the wrong hands.” Jinnah’s brow wrinkled. “But now I have become worried.”
“You have my attention.”
“Are you familiar with how we safeguard our nuclear weapons from your government and the terrorists while ensuring nobody gets a quick trigger-finger on the inside?”
“Whoa, backup. You need to safeguard them from my government?”
Jinnah lowered his chin almost to his chest, giving Huxley an incredulous look. “Of course. A few years ago, your Secretary of State openly discussed that you had contingency plans for taking out our nuclear weapons if there was an emergency. Did you think we would just keep them all safe and sound where you could easily find them?”
“I got it.”
“We also worry about the extremists in this country mounting a challenge for our weapons at one of our facilities. That is what most people fear. I tend to fear our own government a bit more. You know how power tends to shift around in this place.”
“Sure.”
“Fortunately, unlike your country, we have made it difficult for any one leader to have a bad day and decide to open Pandora’s box. We don’t mate our warheads to our missiles and have them ready to launch on a moment’s notice as you Americans do. To do so here would be a bit too alluring to the terrorists and potentially a bit too tempting to whomever our current political leader is the next time India pisses him or her off.”
Huxley nodded. “I have to tell you that we Americans appreciate your diligence.”
“Thank you. But you Americans would also love to know where we have each weapon system kept, would you not?”
“Who me? I’m just a guy who is trying to stop a nuclear holocaust from happening, that’s all. Nothing personal.”
“No, but it does give my country a headache. If we cannot protect our nukes from you Americans, then you essentially own us. It would defeat the ace in the hole that has protected us from too much American intervention for the last thirty years. And we have no interest in turning that card into you.”
“Okay, so what is your solution?”
“I like that. Humor me. Pretend you do not already know what I am telling you.”
Huxley shrugged. Jinnah probably didn’t know our satellites tracked the nuclear signatures of every damn warhead they had, on the road or not. “Look, Ahmed, I’m just a lowly investigator. They don’t tell me everything about you guys, you know. But I might have heard Pakistan is putting warheads on trucks and driving them around the country. Hell, that’s even been in the newspapers.”
“Right. Well, we do not have other good solutions. Since the warheads are not mated with the missiles, we cannot deploy them quickly. But we do not wish to house them too close to the missiles or the very purpose of de-mating them will be lost. And if we keep them in a single location, your government will pretty quickly find them and then we become your neutered dog. So what is our choice?”
“You could at least run convoys of heavily armored vehicles ahead of the warheads for protection against theft by undesirables.”
Jinnah shook his head. “I assume ‘undesirables’ excludes the CIA? Look, that too would defeat our purposes, since your satellites would pick those convoys up almost instantly. And a heavily armed group of terrorists might just be willing to pick a fight with one of those convoys after they determined the prize it contains. Instead, we have gone the stealth route. The trucks appear just like other commercial delivery trucks. They are filled with a sufficient number of soldiers and weapons to prevent any normal attack. And we have backups ready if something happens. But the real security lies in our stealth.”
“OK, I have to admit this is nothing new, so I don’t think the army should feed you your own stinking balls over this so-called intel.”
“I am not finished. You are aware of recent tensions with India?”
“Of course. Why can’t you two just get along?” Huxley grinned with his lips shut. “I’m kidding. I know the history of your wars with India and your own civil wars. To me it is just another story about another part of the world mucked up by British imperialism and the political morass created when much of its vast empire was dismantled after WWII. Now that India has elected a hawk to rattle its sabers about Kashmir again, your president chooses to rattle his saber back. But you both have nuclear weapons, so who are you kidding?”
“We have unmated nuclear weapons, remember? What happens if India shoots before we can respond?”
Huxley said, “But they follow the same protocols, don’t they? So you should have plenty of time to mate up your weapons whenever they begin doing so.”
“If we had perfect intelligence, which we don’t.”
“So what does this have to do with your security? Pakistan has not begun mating warheads with missiles, have they? That would be a problem.”
“No,” Jinnah replied, “but to deal with the current state of affairs, we have adjusted our routes and some are no longer exactly random. For example, you guys already know we have M-11 missiles housed in the Kirana Hills in the Sagodha Air Base, and we have some warheads that are housed in our nuclear production facility in Khushab Nuclear Complex.” Jinnah gave Huxley a sarcastic look. “Right, you are looking at me like I’m giving you some big state secret. Nice acting job, my friend. But I know you know and I know you know I know, as they say. Anyway, even though the two facilities are only 30 miles apart by bird, they are over 70 miles apart by road due to the Jhelum River lying between them. If we were to continue running random routes out of Khushab, there would be quite a gap in time before we could mate the warheads with the missiles should an attack become imminent. Under our new procedures, we always want t
o keep a certain subset of warheads no more than ten minutes away from their missiles, so we need to keep a constant stream of trucks driving by the missile sites. It adds predictability, which I believe undermines the stealth of our mobile security program.”
Huxley had to keep his poker face. He couldn’t tell him that the CIA’s satellites had already detected the route change. He managed his best concerned expression, wrinkling his forehead, narrowing his eyes and biting his bottom lip. “I see. This is serious. I’m not sure I can do much about it myself, though. It sounds like I need to run that up to the diplomatic boys and see if they can discuss it with your government.”
“Don’t bother. Look, that is only a small part of the problem. It gets worse—much worse.”
Huxley sat up straight. “Go on.”
“Well, about two weeks ago, after one of our warhead trucks passed by Kirana Hills and headed back on the southern route to Khushab, it made an unscheduled stop under a bridge. We know this because we always monitor the movement of the trucks through a coded GPS electronic signal sent out from an electronics package on the warhead casing. As soon as the signal disappeared under the bridge and failed to reappear, our normal protocol was triggered and we scrambled an additional security force and sent it to the area. At the same time, we contacted the captain leading the warhead team to assess the situation. He claimed there was no cause for concern, since the stoppage was due to a flat tire. Nevertheless, just in case of something nefarious, like an AK-47 pointed at his head, we sent several armored vehicles and several platoons of men to the site. By the time they arrived, the truck’s front right wheel was off and being replaced by a spare without any apparent disturbance. The security team kept guard while the truck finished its repairs, and the truck and its troop returned to Khushab immediately thereafter. Upon arrival at Khushab, the warhead was returned to its high-security storage vault in the depths of the facility. So…no problem, right?”
