Agency Rules - Never an Easy Day at the Office (2 page)

General Ali sat forward, turned his microphone on again. “If we were to go to the Prime Minister for approval for all our actions inside the country, we would not have most of the intelligence that we have. You need to eliminate the thought from your mind that the Pakistan Army operates under the purview of the Prime Minister or any other member of government.”

The room erupted with objections and accusations that the military was operating as a state within a state, but General Ali chuckled at the accusations, simply stating, “Why should today be any different than any other day in Pakistan?”

* * *

Five kilometers down the road from the National Assembly stood a nondescript building that housed Pakistan
’s premier spy agency. Anyone standing outside the gates would never know that this was where one of the world’s most feared intelligence services was based.

Inside, in a cold, long room furnished only with a mahogany table, twenty men had gathered for a briefing that would change their military careers.

Colonel Akbar, a veteran of the Afghanistan resistance against the Soviets and a master of guerrilla warfare, stood before his team. Colonel Akbar had trained the Mujahideen to fight the Soviets, who were better armed and better trained than the guerrillas, but unable to fight a resistance force in the mountains and streets. He had been part of the ISI’s counter-insurgency force for decades and an expert on guerrilla warfare for the agency.

“This operation has two very simple objectives,” the Colonel explained to the group. “First, we want to cut off all their supply lines, revenue sources and organizational structure. Second, we want to inflict extreme pain on those who finance and support these activities in the city. We will have one group that will be responsible for intelligence gathering and target identification. A second group will implement the go orders. A third team will clean up the aftermath of the go order, and lastly, an administrative team will document and report information up the chain of command.

“Your presence and activities will be unknown to anyone outside of the people in this room, the Corps Commander, Director General ISI and the Chief of Army Staff.” The Colonel paused to let the words sink in. “If you are not willing to follow these rules, stand up and leave the room now,” he continued. Five soldiers hesitantly stood, glanced around the room for other supporters, but finding none, they started for the door before the Colonel called out to them.

“Take those uniforms off when you leave the room. They are worn by men and you ladies don
’t fall into that category.” That single statement froze them in their tracks. Each turned to look at the Colonel, wondering if their military careers had just ended. “There is nothing here for you. I’ll be speaking with your commanding officers before the day is over. Dismissed, ladies.”

He waited for the door to close and returned to the group before him. “Anyone else? This is your only chance to walk away.”

Each man shook his head, assenting to their participation, and the Colonel knew he had his wet team. “This army is charged with defending the country from both internal and external threats. This agency is primarily responsible for intelligence and covert actions outside our borders, but there are times when both must work together to restore order.”

He picked up the glass on the table behind him. “We face an internal threat today that should have been controlled by civilian law enforcement agencies, but they have sold their souls to the devil and the devil is collecting his due.” He motioned to the men to gather round the table. He pulled a thick plastic file forward, and flipped it open, pulling out a number of maps, papers and photographs.

Over the next three hours, the Colonel broke down the covert action, identified targets, methods and required end results. Having trained the Mujahideen, he had an intimate knowledge of maneuvering within an occupied city and how to extract information from hostiles. “All means at our disposal will be used to neutralize this problem permanently and serve as a warning to anyone who dares to do it again. Ajmal, Amjad and Basit, you are Alpha team. You will serve as the on-ground eyes and ears for the operation, coordinating intelligence with our existing network. Dawood, Aftab and Kamal, Omega team, you will implement. Kamran, Moin and Riaz, Charlie team, support the implementers. You do what they tell you to do,” the Colonel barked out. “The remaining six will be operational support. You keep track of the targets neutralized and report to me. Is everyone clear on their mission?”

They all spoke, as if someone had pulled a string on their backs, simultaneously. “Yes Sir!”

“Men, this country turns to us when everyone else fails. The politicians and police have had their chance and choose to stand with the gangs.” The Colonel relaxed his stance slightly, winding up the briefing. “We cannot fail. Karachi needs us.

“Omega team, I want to speak with you three privately. The rest of you are dismissed. Be ready to travel day after tomorrow.”

Kamal, Dawood and Aftab waited for their colleagues to click their heels and clear the room before spreading out around the table. Kamal’s military career so far had been spent on battlefields with live target practice, sitting in a sniper perch yards from the action. He was precise and detached from the action in many cases, but his burning passion made him an invaluable member to any team. Taking out hostiles, accurately, quickly, and providing essential cover to his brothers-in-arms was a matter of pride for him.

This is different though
, he thought to himself.
There are no uniforms; these are civilians.
The possibility of neutralizing an innocent troubled his mind for a split second before he snapped back to attention. The Colonel was speaking.

“Gentlemen, you have one of the most important responsibilities in this operation. As implementers, your job is not only to get the targets neutralized, but also to strike such fear into the hearts of these gang leaders that they beg to surrender. These people have been allowed to terrorize Pakistanis for too long now.” the Colonel continued. “There will be hostiles on this list that you may have moral issues neutralizing, but these files should help motivate you to do your jobs.”

The Colonel fanned open several photographs and placed them before the three.

Kamal recoiled instantly. Dawood gagged slightly, and Aftab turned away.

They were confronted with photographs of burned, tortured and beaten bodies, each tagged with the names and ages of the victims. Kamal’s stomach churned as he scanned the images, and he could see Dawood and Aftab were struggling as well.
What the fuck? This is bloody nauseating.

“These people were ordinary citizens targeted because they had successful businesses, supported law enforcement or just got in the way of a gang
’s expansion,” Colonel Akbar told them. “Show them the same mercy they showed those in their hands. Ruthless is countered with ruthless. Our politicians, police and judges have shown that they are intimidated, or in league with them. We don’t have fear. We create and exploit it.”

Later, sitting in the canteen with his team members, Kamal found himself recalling the pictures in the file. Each of the pictures had been tagged with names and descriptions of the deceased, and he now had names to go with the faces of the victims. It smoothed away the split second of doubt he had experienced during the briefing, but his stomach continued to churn. Kamal knew that Dawood had actually parted with his breakfast right after the briefing.

Early next morning, the team gathered at Chaklala Air Base, scheduled to fly to Karachi on a C-130 with their required equipment. Not every military invasion requires hundreds of men and a convoy of military hardware; some are designed to move with deadly precision. This mission was silent and surgical, meant to disrupt all that the criminal mafias held sacred. Karachi would not be the same once they were done.

Chapter 2

From his perch on top of a seven-story apartment block, Kamal watched the people below move through their daily lives. There was a fruit seller in the far corner shouting to passersby, trying to draw attention to his wares. Just a few shops down was a lone waiter at a
chapli
kebab
house trying to keep up with the demands of the numerous customers screaming their orders. Small tables crowded the wide pavement at a small
chai hotel
, partly obscured by the smoke billowing from the giant
tawwa
placed prominently outside. The faint sound of music, and the raucous yell of vendors and shopkeepers floated up in snatches to where Kamal was hidden. This was the life of the Pathans in Sohrab Goth, located in the north of Karachi; it was the gateway for immigrants to the city. From here, they would set their way and start their lives in the Pakistan’s largest metropolitan center.

Kamal shifted imperceptibly in his position, careful not to disturb the rifle hidden under foliage beside him. He had found a spot with the sun behind him, to minimize glare off the scope, and he had been out there for hours.
It’s a lonely job
, Kamal thought to himself. Kamal had learned in the battlefield that his instincts were rarely wrong, but that was a battlefield. There it was clear who the enemy was, but in an urban center, enemies were never clearly marked. The decision to pull the trigger on a target was his own, and it meant Kamal had to pay closer attention to where a potential threat could come from and how it would manifest itself.

This was the tenth day of surveillance, and Kamal
’s body was stiff every evening when he descended to the flat they had rented in the building. The operational command, Major Imtiaz, wanted him close to the theatre so response to any untoward incidents could be covert, quick and decisive.

The flat was a small, dingy affair, barely 800 square feet of prime real estate in an overcrowded city. Residents kept to themselves, which was a huge advantage, but Kamal still preferred to remain in the shadows. The front door opened into a small living area and kitchenette. The room was dark when he entered—not unusual, as his colleagues were still watching the streets below through slits in the blinds.

Kamal made a small sound to attract their attention. Even though the neighboring flat was empty, they were habitually careful with their movements. In silence, Captains Dawood and Aftab joined Kamal at the counter, and they exchanged notes on their potential targets, and possible persons of interest.

By the time they were done, Kamal was afraid his bones would creak if he moved too fast. But as soon as he was free, he moved towards the back bedroom. Quickly and efficiently, he stripped off his sweat-stained clothes, and took a silent sponge bath in the tiny en suite bathroom. Barely fifteen minutes later, he lowered himself onto the bed, and finally allowed his mind to wander.

Just eleven days ago (it already felt like a lifetime), he’d gotten into a jeep with six fellow army officers, driving away from the base where he was stationed. The base shrunk behind them as they drove down a secluded road towards a series of hangers far from any signs of life. It became clear that no one was supposed to know who came in on the flight, as the C-130 was turned around and went racing past them into the air, back to Rawalpindi.

Pulling closer, Kamal noticed the dilapidated hangers with paint chipping from the exterior walls, and the light over the entrance broken. These hangers were purposely made to look this way. They were sequestered to a far off section of the air base so that they would seem inconspicuous and hide the actual purpose of their usage.

The doors of the hanger were thrown open as the jeeps pulled closer and were quickly ushered inside with the entry doors slammed behind. Inside stood a man in fatigues smoking a cigar, surrounded by a group of men, tables and bulletin boards. The only light in the entire hanger hung above the man, slightly swaying from the rush of air that entered behind the jeeps.

Major Imtiaz was a seasoned officer and the commander on the ground in Karachi. He had gained his guerrilla experience under the watchful eye of Colonel Akbar in Bajaur and Kashmir and was one of the top interrogators in the Pakistan Army. Credited with breaking Soviet soldiers and operatives during the Afghan conflict, Indian soldiers in Kashmir and many others that were only known from the intelligence gathered in foreign missions. He had been honored with the title Quizmaster.

He had delivered the team’s final briefing, updating them on the situation along with the latest intelligence on their targets. His files had included the location of the dingy apartment where the omega team was holed up.

A rough hand on his shoulder woke Kamal from his sleep, unclear and groggy.

“Kamal, get to the roof,” hissed Dawood. “We have trucks moving. They’re loaded.”

“Where
’s Aftab?” Kamal asked scanning the room.

“He
’s next door on the radio. We need Major Imtiaz’s authorization before we take any action,” replied a tense Dawood. “Get moving!”

Kamal hesitated for a moment, then stepped to the wash basin to splash cold water on his face and over his head. Turning towards the door, he grabbed his .308 Lapua and started for the stairs. Climbing quickly, he slipped the comms device into his ear, flipping it on with his thumb. He gave his call-sign,  “Omega 1. Check one, two, three. Check one, two, three. Command, do you copy?”