Agency Rules - Never an Easy Day at the Office (14 page)

* * *

Dawood had gotten out of practice since he moved. Getting up for Fajr namaz was no longer a habit and he had to force himself out of bed that morning. The Imam had said they would leave after breakfast, but Dawood wasn’t sure if breakfast would be after Fajr or later in the morning, so he made all his preparations. He took a shower, packed his bag and was waiting by the Prado when the Imam emerged from the house. The Imam laughed when he saw him standing there.

“Did you not sleep?” he commented, patting him on the shoulder.

“I was excited about the weekend, Imam sahib. I prepared my speech and slept for a few hours,” Dawood replied, trying to hide the exhaustion he felt from the hike the day before.

“Masha
’ Allah, Dawood,” the Imam said. “Let us offer our prayers and enjoy breakfast with the other brothers at the masjid. We can all leave together from there. Kaleem was at the masjid last night so we will meet him there.”

Dawood realized that the Imam was purposely separating the two of them.
Was it to keep them from talking to each other or something more sinister,
he wondered as he stepped onto the runner and into the backseat of the hulking Prado. The Imam’s personal guards jumped onto the sides of the vehicle as it pulled out of the gate and raced toward the masjid.

Breakfast at the masjid was nothing special. The brothers had gotten
parathas
, cream and eggs from the bazaar, preparing huge quantities of tea at the masjid itself. All the brothers were full of excitement about the weekend and shared past experiences with Dawood in rapid-fire progression.

“There is a full training range there,” one said.

“We are given AK-47s to practice on targets,” another commented.

“There are competitions between the different groups to see who has the most able fighters in hand to hand, as well as with weapons,” a third called from across the room. No matter what the weekend had in store, Dawood knew that he would have to learn to hide his skills and expertise if he wanted to make it out alive.

* * *

The drive to Bajaur with Imam Shahid was less eventful than Dawood expected. With his ominous proclamation over tea that he wanted to discuss some private matters with him, Dawood expected to be interrogated again about his activities in Peshawar and whatever the Imam had learned from Swat. Instead, he was given an overview of the weekend
’s activities and an insight into the ideology of the collective that he would be meeting. This was the first time since the conversation in his flat that he heard the name “The Sanctuary.”

“I am going to assume that you know how to use a weapon?” the Imam asked Dawood, expecting the standard Pathan reply.

“I have been hunting and our family keeps guns in the house for protection,” Dawood replied, assuming the question had something to do with the discussion at breakfast. “Why do you ask?”

“The Sanctuary is a testing ground as well as a meeting place. We use it to test the skills of new candidates, so I am interesting in knowing how familiar you are with weapons,” the Imam explained.

“I can handle a weapon, but have never shot another human being,” Dawood replied, realizing that he would need to tone down his skills and proficiency otherwise he would have some uncomfortable questions to answer.

“Yes, shooting another human being is very different than shooting an animal,” the Imam commented casually, giving Dawood the impression that he had killed before. “But the exercises are only to determine how skilled you are currently. We provide training to those that choose to join the cause.”

“I may surprise you with my skills, Imam sahib,” Dawood commented in passing, impressing upon the Imam that he had more than a basic understanding of weaponry.

The vehicles separated once they arrived in Bajaur. The Imam
’s vehicle went through the crowd of people into a compound on the side of a mountain, while the student’s bus was stopped in a parking area where they were all offloaded. It was becoming more and more evident to Dawood that he and Kaleem were being separated for a specific purpose.

The Imam and Dawood were ushered into a room and told to wait. The Imam, apparently familiar with the entire setting, sat down at the small conference table and took an apple from the bowl of fruit. Dawood noticed pictures hanging on the wall and decided to see who had been there before him. As he roamed around, looking from picture to picture, he noticed faces that he had seen in the media including al-Zawahiri and Mullah Omar. The who
’s who of past visitors was a list of eminents from the global terrorism club. No wonder it was hugging the Afghanistan border, where no one other than the army has jurisdiction.

The door to the room flew open and two men with a number of armed bodyguards flooded in to check and clear the room. Behind them entered two men who went straight to the Imam, greeted him and welcomed him to the compound. Dawood stood to the side watching the interaction and the language switch from Pashto to Arabic. They discussed the status of preparations and on-going activities in Timergara. The subject then turned to him and Kaleem. The Imam motioned to Dawood to join them. He moved over to the group and waited for him to introduce his newest find. The Imam, out of politeness, reverted to Pashto and introduced him.

“Mufti Fazal, this is the boy that I told you about,” the Imam said. “His name is Dawood Islam.”

“As-salam-a-laikum, Mufti sahib,” Dawood said stretching out his hand, but the Mufti grabbed him by the shoulders and kissed both cheeks much like a native Arab would. Dawood responded in kind. “It is an honor to meet you.”

“Wa-laikum-as-salam, Dawood,” the Mufti responded as he pulled away. “Why do you feel that it is an honor to meet me?

“I recall seeing you at the masjid during my last visit to Timergara and the students speaking with great respect of you,” Dawood rambled off, hoping that his answer was enough to deflect the question.

The Mufti smiled, honored that Dawood remembered what the students had said about him. “You also made an impression on us with your words. I was honored to be present for such a passionate speech.” He motioned to the man sitting at the head of the table, peeling a peach. “This is our friend, Sheikh Atif. He helps us select our new members,” the Mufti said.

Dawood went over to Sheikh Atif and said, “As-salam-a-laikum, Sheikh Atif.”

The Sheikh looked up from his peach and returned to peeling it. As an after thought, he said “Wa-lakum-as-salam,” almost bothered by having to engage with him. Dawood looked to the Mufti and the Imam for direction, but none came. Instead, they motioned to a seat next to the Imam.

There was an eerie silence as the men sat at the table, eating fruit from the bowl. The Mufti made some small talk while the Sheikh sat silent, rarely looking up from the task he had busied himself with.
I didn’t know that peeling and eating fruit was such a laborious task
, Dawood thought to himself. He kept looking over at the Sheikh as they ate.
Why the hell,
he wondered,
are you so familiar to me? Have we met before?

Chapter 9

The meeting disbursed without incident, at least for Dawood as he was led out of the room, leaving the three men behind. They had questioned him in detail, trying to understand his background. For Dawood, as he walked away from the room, the face of the Sheikh haunted his thoughts.
Where did he know him from?

Nestled in the lush valley between two mountains, The Sanctuary was a massive camp that was originally used as a headquarters for mujahideen crossing into and from Afghanistan during the Soviet invasion. At any one time, there would have been over two hundred thousand fighters at the camp, but to the uninformed eye, they would have seen no one. Everything that related to the compound from the medical facility and the housing units to the conference rooms, was built into an intricate maze of tunnels within the mountains. The only things visible were the house, where the meeting was held, and what looked like a deserted training facility, cleverly disguised to look that way.

As he left the house, Dawood heard the sound of automatic weapon fire in the distance, probably from the training facility. He walked towards the sound. The training grounds were full of young men, trying to follow what he recognized as a drill instructor. To one side was a standard firing range built against the front face of the mountain and on the other side, a mockup of an urban setting for guerrilla warfare training. Letting his eye wander upwards, he caught a glimpse of what seemed to be sniper perches that were used to train long-range shooters and keep watch over the roads leading into the compound. There was very little difference between The Sanctuary and any basic training facility in the military, right down to an exercise field to test the fitness of the recruits. When he had arrived at The Sanctuary, Dawood had noticed thousands of students piling out of buses, but on the grounds there seemed to be only a few hundred.
Where were the rest of them?

Suddenly, the firing stopped and cries of “
Allah hu Akbar
” erupted from the grounds. When he turned around, he saw a jeep emerging from the house with the Mufti and Sheikh standing against the roll bar. The jeep moved quickly through the facility to a tower that Dawood assumed was an observation post, while he heard the crackling of a sound system being turned on. Almost simultaneously, people started to stream down from the tunnels, down the mountains, in long endless chains, chanting along with those in the grounds.
Holy shit, how many are there?

They all streamed down to the observation post, jockeying for positions closest to the tower. The valley filled with jihadi chants as more and more flowed down from all sides, until the ground was filled and people began to take seats on the rocks in the mountains. Dawood watched a bastardization of the Saudi flag raised above the tower, a flag that symbolized what the world knew as al-Qaeda, as the two men emerged on to the balcony of the tower. The crowd below erupted with the chants of ‘Allah hu Akbar
’; the Sheikh and Mufti Fazal pumped their fists in response, igniting the crowd to a fever pitch. The scene reminded Dawood of the political rallies that he had been in as a part of VVIP protection detail.

The “As-salam-a-laikum” from the Mufti was met with a thunderous “Wa-laikum-as-salam” from the thousands gathered, echoing against the mountains in waves. “My brothers, I welcome you home,” the Mufti spoke in a short, measured tone, and the cheers and chants subsided. “We gather here to rejuvenate our spirits in the fellowship of brothers, warriors and true believers of Islam. You are the ones that will bring Islam back from the infidels in Muslim countries that have sold our lands to the kafirs. We are also honored with the presence of our brother and leader, Sheikh Atif, who has travelled from the jihad in Kashmir to be with us. Sheikh sahib, we welcome you.” The Mufti continued speaking for almost a hour, covering the successes of the group in Palestine, Kashmir, Yemen, Kazakhstan, Pakistan and Afghanistan. He cited the number of infidel fighters that had been killed in the battle to win control of Muslim lands back.
He was obviously the warm-up speaker for the Sheikh
, Dawood thought.

By the time he ended his speech, the Mufti was yelling. “You must show the Sheikh that you want to hear his inspirational words from the jihadi battlefields.” The crowd
’s chants increased in volume as the Sheikh rose from his chair and moved to the microphone, embracing the Mufti and lifting his arm as if he was a prizefighter. The crowd responded with a thunderous welcome for their warrior leader.

“Bismillah-ur-Rehman-ur-Rahim,” the Sheikh started. He raised his arms to quiet the crowd. “Masha
’ Allah. Masha’ Allah. I bring a message from your jihadi brothers that they implored upon me to deliver to you when we met. They told me that I should tell you that we are winning the war! That we are pushing the infidels from the sacred Muslim lands of Arabia, Egypt, Jordan and Iraq. That we are fighting the kafirs in Afghanistan, Palestine and Kashmir, but now, my brothers, it is your turn to fight for Pakistan. It is time to push the Western puppets from the seats of power. Only our Muslim brothers understand how Sharia should be implemented and these puppets will be judged first by our brothers.” The crowds chanted “
Pakistan ka matlab kay?
” and “
La-illah-ha-illah
,” as the Sheikh applauded from the balcony. He raised a hand again for silence.

“My brothers, I have seen the battlefields and the bodies of the kafirs as they lay dying. They beg for mercy. They beg for forgiveness. They are not as strong as our warriors who died with the words of the Holy Quran on their lips, knowing that Allah has forgiven them and given them mercy. They will be taken to
jannat
, while the infidel, the
kafir
, will only find a place in
jahanum
. Do not be fooled by what is shown on television, told to you on the radio or printed in the newspapers. These are all controlled by
yahoodi
agents to make you believe that the Great Satan is winning against us. The media will not tell the truth until the khilafat is re-established and the dajjal is returned to his place in
jahanum
.” Caught up in the words, Dawood felt his own anger rise at how the West treated Pakistan, not as a partner in the community of nations, but a nation-state that was there for their bidding. In that split second, he understood how followers were converted to the cause.