Agency Rules - Never an Easy Day at the Office (3 page)

“Omega 1, this is Alpha 1. Hold for confirmation and authorization,” came the easily recognizable voice of Ajmal. “Repeat, hold for confirmation and authorization.”

Kamal reached the roof, set his weapon in place and settled into the perch he had created. Adjusting his sight for wind and trajectory, Kamal brought the first truck of the convoy into the crosshairs, moved to the second and finally the third. Working without a spotter, Kamal understood that the possibility for error was strong but another person on the roof could potentially expose their location. He scanned the targets and environment, looking for any hostiles that may be watching, holding his position as he waited for the go order in his ear.

“Omega 1, order confirmed. Authorization granted for lethal force,” came the voice in his ear. “Repeat, order confirmed. Authorization granted for lethal force. Confirm kill.”

In sniper training, one of the first things taught was the ability to remove the background and concentrate on the target. Phasing out the background allowed the sniper to hone in on what mattered to him, the target. Kamal
’s mind went blank to his surrounding as he settled his body into a familiar drape across the floor. Moving his scope from one to the other and then the last, Kamal weighed his options and made his decision. His finger twitched with anticipation against the trigger, as he slowed his heartbeat. Slowly adjusting his rifle sight, Kamal focused on the fuel tanks and pulled the trigger, releasing two rounds into the quiet of the night, leaving only the faint hiss as they propelled toward the target.

“Alpha 1, round away, impact in 5 seconds. 4, 3, 2, 1. Command, target 1 down,” Kamal quietly said into the comm unit, as the quiet night filled with the sound of the explosion in the first truck
’s gas tank. He had seconds to neutralize the remaining trucks before they would bug out. Turning his sight towards the third truck, Kamal adjusted his sight as the trucks attempted to reverse away from the brightly burning lead truck.
Steady, steady
, Kamal thought to himself, as his finger hugged the trigger and pulled to propel the round toward its intended target.

“Alpha 1, round away, impact in 8 seconds. Command target 3 down,” Kamal reported. “Target two attempting to bug out but trapped between initial targets.”

“Omega 1, confirm third hostile,” came another voice in his ear. “Confirm third hostile down.”

He watched the last truck of the convoy rocking back and forth, trying to find any escape route from the assault. From the corner of his sight, Kamal saw the men jumping from escort vehicles; weapons raised, looking for the direction of the assault. Like idiots, they moved closer to the last remaining truck, thinking that they were going to be able to save it. Kamal waited.
Come on… closer… closer…
don’t be afraid. Today you die.
With a smirk on his face and a snap, he let loose the final round, hurtling towards the last truck. Kamal pulled away from the rifle sight to watch as the round split the air, leaving a slight tracer behind it. He had always admired the accuracy of his work.

“Alpha 1, round away. Hostiles in the range. Command target 2 down. Confirmed 10 hostiles neutralized.” Kamal spoke emotionlessly into the comms unit. He heard several smaller explosions from below as the munitions within the trucks detonated. Flames rose up in the air in concert with short bursts of explosions from all three trucks. It had taken three single shots to take out the targets. 
Like a boxer
, Kamal thought to himself,
three punches and down for the count.

“Alpha 1, Omega 1 bugging out,” Kamal said to the voice on the other side. “Targets neutralized. Bonus ten hostiles neutralized. Munitions destroyed. It will be a safer morning in Karachi today.”

“Omega 1, well done. Return to watcher positions,” said the voice.

On the battlefield, Kamal was a legend with his Winchester and Lapua, affectionately known as his ladies. He had always taken great satisfaction in the kills that he had registered with a sickening frequency. This kill was different. It was his first urban takedown and it produced a rush of adrenaline that he could not explain. As he slowly descended the stairs to the flat, he could hear the sirens outside. He knew that every resident in the complex was now awake and watching the show, wondering if terrorists had struck again.

Miles away in the Garden district, a ringing phone interrupted the screams of pain coming from a makeshift torture chamber. Inside the chamber, a young police officer who recently been transferred to Karachi’s gang violence unit from Lahore was tied to a rickety chair and bleeding profusely. His crime was simple. He had slighted Minto in his own territory. For Minto, there was no such thing as a slight too small and this copper had dared to ask for a bribe from one of Minto’s top lieutenants and revenue generators. Hanif, a graduate of Minto’s academy of mayhem, was masterful in his ability to cause panic with small explosives. When he wasn’t creating mayhem, he ran one of the most efficient drug distribution networks in the city, able to move product to any location in any quantity and on a moment’s notice. His successes were impressive and had earned him his place within Minto’s inner circle.

Minto pulled the knife out of the police officer
’s leg, wiping the blade clean on the copper’s hair, and called for someone to bring him the phone. Minto’s place as the top Don in the city had been earned by killing all those who came before him and anyone who dared to challenge him. He was ruthless in his dispensation of justice to those who crossed him and feared by crime lords and top cops in the city alike. He was Minto sahib to them all; no one dared to call him by any other name.

By the time the phone reached Minto
’s bloody hand, the ringing had stopped. Minto glared at his victim, who made a desperate attempt to stop his groans of pain, and in the ensuing silence, the phone started to ring again. A blood-covered hand picked up the receiver.

“What?” Minto barked into the phone.

“Minto
gee
… we have… lost the trucks,” came the wavering voice of Absar. Delivering bad news to Minto was a dangerous gamble. Messengers invariably suffered a gruesome fate at his hands. “We were hit. The… the weapons are destroyed. Ten of our boys are dead and I have no idea where the shots were fired from.”

Minto froze.
Lost the trucks?
How is that possible?

“Motherfucker, what happened?” Minto yelled into the phone.
Which son of a bitch would dare target one of
my
transports?

Absar
’s scrambling and somewhat incoherent explanation raised Minto’s anger by several notches, but he got the gist of it.
Which fucking crime boss is making his move?
Minto wanted answers and wanted them now.

“Who the fuck would go after our transport? Don
’t they know that their lives would belong to me?” Minto screamed at Absar. His ruddy face turned red which, added to his dark complexion, turned it a deep maroon color. It terrified the man in chair who had already pissed himself once that night. He pissed again at the rage in Minto’s voice. “Bring me the Pathans who were supposed to supply these weapons!”

A simple reply came from the other side, drowned out by the sound of sirens, “I
’ll get it done, Minto gee.”

Minto slammed down the receiver, then took the phone and bashed it against his prisoner
’s head, beating him unconscious only to revive him again for another beating. The police officer was running on empty and Minto was doing everything possible to bring his life to a painful end. With the expertise of a butcher, Minto picked up his knife and weaved a trail into his skin, peeling away portions of flesh. When the screaming became overwhelmingly loud, Minto stuffed a dirty rag that he had been using to wipe his hands into the policeman’s mouth.

Looking down on the collapsed man, Minto grabbed a bowl of water to throw on him. “How much would you pay me to end your life right now?” He threw the full bowl of water on his face, watching pink rivulets stream off the man onto the filthy floor.

The police officer awoke screaming in pain. His only thought was,
please God, when will this end?

With one quick swipe of his seven inch Ka-Bar knife, Minto severed his victim
’s carotid artery, answering his prayers.  He signaled to the men standing in a darkened corner of the room.

“Dispose of this,” he said, pointing to the body. He grabbed his phone and snapped a picture for his collection. “Make sure to leave it somewhere for the public to enjoy,” he said as he left the small chamber. He lumbered into a room a few steps away – his ‘office
’ – and threw himself onto a
charpai
to get some sleep. Torture was exhausting.

* * *

Kamal had not slept comfortably the night before. Sohrab Goth was abuzz with activity as fire trucks came in and out of the area throughout the night. During breakfast before daybreak, Aftab gave both Kamal and Dawood a briefing into the activities observed during his watch. At some point during the night, the police had cordoned off the area, restricting access to official personnel and vehicles only. A few military convoys had come into the area, including the Corps Commander and Military Intelligence, to survey the situation and offer their assistance, but this was a police matter and the army wanted nothing to do with it.

As the sun peaked over the horizon, Kamal was back in his position in the perch, rifle positioned and watching the area below. The charred remains of the three trucks were starkly black along the narrow street. People stilled milled around and the makeshift restaurants and hotels were packed as curiosity drove people to find out what they could about last night
’s events. They kept their distance from the crime scene, but only because of the cordon. Kamal knew that if that hadn’t been there, the public would have been picking up souvenirs from the rubble.
One thing about this city, it is resilient
.

Today was hotter than ever and lying under the sun unable to move, Kamal felt the sweat sticking to his chest.
I’m going to have to dissolve this shirt with a solvent to get it off.
There were times that he envied the roles of Dawood and Aftab, sitting inside the flat with a fan running above them, taking some of the sting out of the heat.
How the fuck did I end up with this shit assignment
? With a sigh, he picked up his binoculars.
Time for some good old peeking.

Aftab was out in the market below. Dressed in a blue
shalwar kameez
, he blended into the scene, but Kamal picked him up easily. Aftab stopped at the fruit seller Kamal had watched the day before, picking up some seasonal fruit.
Get the apples
, Kamal tried to telepathically send a message to Aftab.
Damn, not the falsas
. Kamal shook his head in disgust; he hated the tart, tiny purple fruit. He thought about using his rifle to blow a hole into the bag of falsas, but that would give away his position. He thought about calling Aftab, but stopped when he saw Aftab moving towards the weapons warehouse. Kamal dropped the binoculars and moved into position behind his rifle, quickly adjusting for range and trajectory.
What the hell is he doing?
This wasn’t discussed this morning
. He watched.

Aftab slowly made his way closer to the building and struck up a conversation with the men standing outside. Aftab was from Charsadda, on the outskirts of Peshawar, and fluent in Pashto, making blending in easier. He stood for what seemed like an eternity talking to them, and then reached into his pocket to pull out a cell phone. With a wave, he moved away from the men, talking on the phone as he slowly walked back to the apartment building.

Kamal continued to track Aftab, doing his best to read Aftab’s lips. He felt a prickle of nerves along his skin. He could make out the words ‘gangs’ and an emphatic ‘what’ from Aftab, and Kamal realized that something had happened elsewhere in the sprawling city.
Had the gangs retaliated for the warehouse strike already?
Almost instantly, he felt the vibration of his phone and Kamal instinctively reached up and activated the Bluetooth device in his ear. The voice said one phrase before going dark again. “Activate secure comms.”

Chapter 3

He hadn’t had a chance to visit the tourist spots at Seaview or enjoy a hut at Sandspit, nor had he had the chance to visit a shopping mall or eat food at Barbecue Tonight – something he had really been looking forward to. No, Kamal was like a bird sitting atop buildings, taking in sights that no one wanted to admit existed in the city of lights. His six months had been spent prostrate, binoculars pressed to his eyes, watching targets in Sohrab Goth, Malir, Lyari and Orangi Town. He had grown accustomed to the sun beating down on him, baking him to a crisp. Karachi, unlike the scenic mountainous area he grew up in, was humid and hot, reaching desert temperatures at times. In the areas he’d visited, pollution and population had even blocked out the sea breeze the city was famous for. He was sure that his color had gotten two shades darker, matching the shift in his personality, as he watched the gruesome gang war escalate.

In six months, the team had neutralized over two hundred criminals involved in gang-related violence, snatched another hundred that had been interrogated for valuable information. These detainees had not been handed over to civilian courts, which were paralyzed by the fear of reprisals; they were in the safe hands of the military tribunal located within a secret prison guarded by fellow SSG commandos. History had taught the army that jails and prisons were not secure, but a prison that no one knew existed facilitated the army in intelligence gathering and swift justice.