Agency Rules - Never an Easy Day at the Office (18 page)

“That doesn’t do any good after they’ve been seen, Sara,” Kamal mocked. “You should have done that as soon as I came in the room. Or maybe you wanted me to know your name?”

“Why would I want you to know my name? I just met you and I
’m not really impressed with you so far.”

“Now, that
’s a lie. See how you voice went up and you looked to the left. That tells me you aren’t being completely truthful,” Kamal was enjoying himself. It had been a long time since his last interaction with an intelligent, educated woman. “Had your voice stayed at the same pitch and your eyes not moved, I might have bought it.”

Sara blushed at his comment. She had checked him out when he came in the office, but thought that she had hidden it better.

“Wow, you really do like me.” Kamal said. “I completely threw you a line with the lying, but that says that I was dead right with my observation,” pointing out the red in her cheeks.

Before Sara could answer, there was a knock at the door. The aide popped his head inside. “Sir, I
’ve spent the last ten minutes looking for you. Security told me where to find you.”

“Havildar, you told me the third door down. That is where I came.”

“Sir, I did tell you third door down. This is the fourth,” the aide answered with a smile. “Good evening, Miss Ahmed.”

“Good evening, havildar. Can you take this man out of my office?”

Kamal moved towards the door, turning back with a smile. “Thank you for the entertainment, Sara. Apologies for any misunderstanding.”

“
Just leave, Captain.”

Kamal paused at the door for a moment and just before he closed it, said “I
’m sure you have more questions and insults for me, but would you prefer that I call you on your office line or mobile for dinner later this week?”

“I wouldn
’t be interested, so don’t bother,” she said.

“See there it is again, the voice pitch and look away,” Kamal said. “I
’ll call your mobile to set the time and place. Good evening, Miss Ahmed,” he said, closing the door behind him.

It may have been a long time since he had been in ‘civilization
’, but he had not forgotten how to flirt with a woman. He pulled his cell phone from his pocket and dialed the number from Sara’s visiting card. The phone rang twice and she picked up.

“I wanted you to have my number in case you want to call me,” Kamal quietly said. “Please do save my number. It
’s Kamal Khan.”

“No Captain anymore?” she asked.

“Just Kamal for you,” he said as he hung up and walked into the conference room.

Chapter 11

The last few days in Islamabad were a whirlwind for Kamal. He made excuses to see her and spent his nights talking to her on the phone. Three days of using all his energy just to spend time with her in the controlled environments where he was allowed to be. He learned about her, telling her half-truths about himself. He could not let her in while he was still under cover, but maybe after, he kept telling himself, rationalizing his half-truths. She seemed very different from the young lady he had first encountered. The whole time he listened to her, he tried to reconcile every half-truth from his mouth with a simple “become what you must,” believing that everything could be fixed once his mission was over. Major Iftikhar’s words haunted him even outside the mission. Had he forgotten who he was?

He returned to Peshawar with gifts for his friends. Any respectable Pakistani wedding would yield two things for the brother of the bride,
mithai
and money. He was returning with both, but only the
mithai
was for his friends. His cover had to stay intact for the mission to continue. He hadn’t told anyone that he had a sister, but that wasn’t uncommon among working class Pathans. Family relations were kept quiet, even from the closest of friends. Dawood would just have to hope that held true now, since his background was not from a working class Pathan family.

* * *

Two hundred kilometers away, in the conference room at headquarters, the gang of five had gathered to discuss the intelligence that had been presented and discussed ad nauseam with their deep cover operative. The conversation had ended in a deadlock, each side trying to impose the validity of their position on the others. These men had been together, moving up the ranks of the army command, since Staff College Quetta. Each knew where the other’s bodies were buried, enhancing the trust between them. But Lt. General Qadir knew a little bit more than he let on. He called it his ‘emergency package.’

Hours, later, Lt. General Junejo swirled his whiskey, making the ice clank as it rolled around the glass. He loved watching old British comedies, a habit formed while he was at Sandhurst. As his family lay sleeping on the second floor of his colossal home, he indulged himself with a few episodes of Black Adder, one of his personal favorites. It had been a long, tiring day of meetings and arguments; he needed to relax before he tried to sleep for the night. The whiskey, he hoped, would help with that mission. He was still struggling with the events of the past week. He couldn
’t understand why his colleagues would consider such a volatile action on the basis of one intelligence operative’s information.
It was the fuse that would light the dynamite, bringing war to Pakistan
. He was lost in thought when his phone began to ring from across the room. He glanced down at his Rolex. Junejo couldn’t understand who would be calling him so late. Pushing himself off the plush leather sofa in front of the plasma, he stumbled across the room to silence the disturbance.

“
Hello?” he said, only hearing silence on the other side. “Hello. Who is this?”

“Let
’s not worry about names, General. Let’s talk about responsibilities.”

The general, even in his semi-drunken state, recognized the voice.

“I hope you are standing strong against the proposed action,” the voice said

“It will never happen on my watch,” Junejo replied, trying to shake the cobwebs from his inebriated mind. “Your orders are being followed.”

“My orders?” the voice said laughing. “I think you have misunderstood. This is about… what do they call it… a convergence of interests.”

“Interests?” Junejo replied, confused. “What do you mean interests?”

“Why such a foolish question, General?” the voice replied, anger slipping into his tone. “Do you really think that you would do this if we were not taking your interests into account?”

“I haven
’t shared any interests with you,” Junejo replied harshly.

“Ah, but you have,” the voice replied. “We shared our interest in having our friends in Bajaur protected and you shared your interest that your family be left unharmed. You see, a convergence of interests.”

Before Junejo could answer, the line went dead.

* * *

“Dawood bhai!” Kaleem yelled from across the construction site, dropping the wheelbarrow of bricks as he ran over to his friend. “Pa khair raglay!” he said, throwing his arms around him in an embrace. “Mubaraksha!” Kaleem said, releasing his friend. “How was the wedding?”

“
Khair Mubarak, Kaleem,” Dawood replied. “The wedding was excellent. I’ve brought sweets for everyone. It’s nice to be home after the heat of Lahore.” Reaching into his shopping bag, he took out a box of Lahori
burfi
for his friend and brother.

Opening the box, Kaleem quickly shoved a sweet into his mouth. Trying to catch the crumbs as they fell from the corners of his mouth, Kaleem said, “How did you know
burfi
was my favorite, brother?” as he reached into the box again.

“When you go to Lahore, is there really any other sweet to bring back for friends? It
’s their specialty,” Dawood replied with a small smile, as other members of the construction crew gathered around him clamoring for a box of sweets for themselves. Passing out the boxes, the recipients each smiled and congratulated Dawood on the wedding. The bag quickly emptied and Dawood folded it into a small square, shoving it into his
kameez
pocket. Shopping bags were always reusable as trash bags and suitcases. Kaleem took his hand and led him to the roaming
chai
vendor, wanting to talk more about the past week in Peshawar and get details of the wedding in Lahore.

“Dawood bhai, you have missed so much,” Kaleem said with a smile. “Adnan came to visit twice and was asking where you were. I told him that you were at a wedding in Lahore.”

“Why did Adnan come to visit? Is there another training that we must attend?” Dawood asked.

“No, no. He just wanted to know if we needed anything.”
Kaleem replied. “The Imam sent him to deliver supplies for us. I have your flour, sugar and tea at my home. I’ll drop them at your flat in the evening when I have the taxi.”

“Masha
’Allah! That is so kind of Imam sahib. You’re still driving the taxi?” Dawood asked surprised. “I thought you would have stopped now that you don’t have to worry about your sister’s wedding.”

“Oh bhai… the taxi provides income beyond what I earn here. I would also like to live in a place of my own like you one day.”
Kaleem replied. “Plus, I spend the evening traveling around the city at someone else’s expense.”

The two quickly finished their tea as the building owner arrived on site to check the progress. Dawood had built a close friendship with Kaleem, but the alliance with the Imam was causing concern for him. Could he be sure that Kaleem was not passing information back to the Imam on his every action? Dawood shook off the thought as he returned to hard labor after his week of comfort, knowing that his body would ache in the evening.

* * *

“He wasn
’t there,” Adnan told them with caution in his voice.

They had their concerns after the performance on the training course, but the concerns were heightened with Adnan
’s news that Dawood was nowhere to be found.

“Why does a Swati boy travel to Lahore for a family wedding?” the Mufti asked the Imam. “Would he not come to Swat?”

The Imam was also perplexed at the sudden disappearance of his star recruit. He had sent his men to Madyan after the first meeting and each had returned with a positive report that Dawood belonged to the village, some even knew him from his school days.

“I can
’t explain why he would do that,” the Imam replied. “If it was truly a family wedding, he should have come to Swat. Let me send my men to inquire of the villagers. We will know the truth.” The Sheikh shook his head in disagreement.

“Adnan, did you speak with Kaleem?” the Mufti asked.

“Kaleem was at the construction site as expected,” Adnan confirmed. “I spent two days in his flat waiting for Dawood to return.”

“Bring me the FC Commander,” the Sheikh said. “He may have some useful information.”

Adnan turned on his heel and rushed out of the room, while the three continued their discussion. The FC Commander in Bajaur was a loyalist to the Mufti, well taken care of with money and arms for his service. The Commander had also been great assistance in eliminating those who spoke up against the camp in the surrounding areas, for an extra fee, of course. What the Sheikh was going to demand this time would require more than a small donation to the ‘FC Fund’, as it was known.

“Something is not right, Imam sahib,” the Sheikh said, rising up from his seat at the head of the table. “For a new recruit to be able to perform so… so…
effortlessly… fluidly, doing something that he has not done before. It’s just not right.”

The Imam, alarmed at the implication, jumped to Kaleem
’s defense. “I have known Kaleem since he was a boy. He studied at my madrassah after his father disappeared. He would not turn on us, Sheikh sahib.”

From behind the Imam, the Sheikh put both his hands on his shoulders. “No one has said anything about your precious Kaleem, Imam sahib.” He pulled the chair next to him and sat down, turning his battle-worn eyes to the Imam
’s. “Or, maybe
you
have some doubts about your protégée, something that makes you jump to his defense so quickly.”

A bead of sweat trickled down the Iman
’s forehead, who was suddenly feeling as if the temperature in the air conditioned room had dramatically increased. He wanted to look away, but feared that may create doubt about his own allegiance with the Sheikh. “Kaleem is like a son to me. I have watched him grow from a boy to a man. I don’t doubt him.”

“Would you give your life for him?” the Sheikh asked, tightening his grip on the Imam
’s shoulder. He watched as the Imam cringed from the pain of his grip. “Would you die for him?”

The Imam was confused and frightened. He knew the Sheikh
’s reputation for blood when people violated his trust, and feared that either response would have fatal consequences for himself and Kaleem. He struggled to push his arms up, breaking the Sheikh’s hold as he said firmly, “My life is my own. Let Kaleem speak for himself.”

An evil smirk crossed the Sheikh
’s face, knowing the vociferous defense provided by the Imam was limited to words, not actions. “Imam sahib, how do you forsake someone you consider a son so easily?”