Agency Rules - Never an Easy Day at the Office (15 page)

From behind him, a voice asked. “What do you think?” catching Dawood by surprise. Dawood spun around to find a transformed Kaleem. On his head was a poorly wrapped black turban with a tail draped across his shoulder. Criss-crossed on his chest were fully loaded ammunition belts to match the AK-47 cradled in his arms. This Kaleem was very different than the one Dawood was accustomed to.

“What do I think about what?” Dawood asked, motioning to the get-up that Kaleem was wearing. “This or that?”

“Both,” Kaleem replied, striking a warrior pose with the rifle.

“I agree with what the Sheikh is saying. We need to free Muslims and the world from the infidels, otherwise we will be more enslaved,” he said trying to hide the physical disgust he really felt. “I don’t think that warrior gear suits you, Kaleem. It seems a little much. The turban and Kalashnikov fit well though.”

Kaleem dropped the pose, feeling slighted by his friend
’s comments. “Are you saying that I’m not a warrior? That I can’t fight in a jihad?”

“What I
’m saying is that the ammunition belt is a bit much. You are definitely a warrior, my brother. We all are.”

Kaleem smiled at the comment. “We
’ll see on the battlefield who’s more suited to be a warrior, Dawood. This is not my first time here.”

Dawood was confused. “The battlefield? What battlefield?” Had he missed something? Was this a precursor to an actual jihad?

Kaleem pointed at the firing range and guerrilla warfare course, missing the look of relief that swept across Dawood’s face. “You didn’t think that we were here just to listen to speeches, did you? We’re going to be tested against other fighters to see if we can be considered by the Mufti for jihad.” He shifted the gun in his hand. The weight of the Kalashnikov was beginning to take its toll, though he’d never admit it. He was irritated by Dawood’s popularity, had been for some time now. It was especially annoying that his beloved Imam was giving him such importance.

The Sheikh had wound up his speech and in the lull, a buzz rose from the crowd. Three men dressed like Kaleem emerged from behind the wall and moved the crowd in small batches to the firing ranges. Dawood stayed close to Kaleem, mentally changing gears from trained marksman to simple hunter. He had to forget his training, at least for now.
Just close your eyes and think of England.
He hid his grin at the treacherous thought.

The men barked at the group of men who were already crouched behind Kalashnikovs, ordering them to fire at the iron plates forty yards away. As each fired off single shots at the targets, missing them badly, the anger of the drill instructors grew, and the yelling and insults got more personal. After three more failed attempts, the men were rousted away to the exercise yard by another group of taskmasters determined to turn them into warriors. Dawood and Kaleem
’s group was called forward and ordered to take up firing positions. Kaleem, still nursing his growing resentment against Dawood, took a position next to his friend. He was hoping to see him fail miserably.

Dawood aimed at the rock of the mountain behind the target, making sure only one or two of his shots hit their mark. Kaleem glanced over with a smirk, and fired off several rounds. He got several more than Dawood, and when Dawood looked over, he found Kaleem sneering at him. It bothered him. In fact, Kaleem was beginning to bother him a great deal more than he should. As they fired their next rounds, Dawood began to find his mark more often than not, while Kaleem and the others were unable to repeat the accuracy of their first attempts. They were, like the previous group, chased off the firing range to demonstrate their physical fitness.

Kaleem didn’t have much luck on the exercise course either, sadly repeating the results of the five-kilometer hike from the day before. Dawood, along with the rest of the group, raced through the push-ups, sit-ups and wall climb without any real difficulty, though he pretended to be winded afterwards. They moved on to the guerrilla simulation while Kaleem finished his circuit.

By the time Kaleem arrived at the guerrilla warfare course, the rest of the group had already been waiting fifteen minutes. The drill instructors, impatient with the delay, yelled at Kaleem to hurry and get ready for deployment, as he had held up the group long enough. Kaleem, pissed at his own performance, felt his anger boil over at Dawood. He grabbed the training rifle and vest, running into the course, yelling back, “Let
’s see how you do here!”

Dawood stood with his group, shaking his head at Kaleem. He waited for the drill instructor to release them into the course. Instead, they were walked around to the back of the course and told to enter from there. They were also told that there were a number of ‘compatriots
’ that were stuck inside that had to be rescued unharmed. The group entered through three alleys in groupings of two, moving slowly to make sure they were not exposed to enemy fire. This was a drill that every soldier had done during basic training, and Dawood had repeated with great accuracy in SSG training. Dawood had excelled at this during training and in live operations after.

Crossing the different layers of buildings, Dawood and his team moved through the course rescuing the compatriots that had been planted at different locations. Kaleem and his hit squad had so far been unsuccessful in finding or neutralizing any compatriots or ‘enemies
’, even though they had crossed paths twice. Kaleem’s team had already lost two fighters in the exchanges of fire on the crossings. Already in a foul mood, Kaleem had left his wingman and was roaming the course looking for Dawood. He may not have been able to complete the mission, but he believed irrationally that taking out Dawood would make up for it.

Dawood moved with his wingman on his six, almost parallel to Kaleem. Kaleem found a compatriot and fired off two rounds, neutralizing him, but at the same time alerting all the other fighters of his position. Dawood and his wingman moved in from one side, while another team of fighters flanked the other, waiting for Kaleem to step out. Kaleem could see that he was cornered; he
’d left his own wingman, and was alone. He decided to make a run for safety before he was attacked and eliminated from the competition. Dropping to the ground and sliding himself through a break in the wall, he swung around behind the second team and fired off two shots, taking them out. He climbed to his feet and, using the buildings for additional cover, found a member of his team to support him. Dawood moved with his wingman around behind Kaleem without making a sound. As he moved forward, Dawood followed behind, waiting for a clean shot to take them both down. Kaleem stumbled upon another compatriot and pulled up his rifle to shoot, only to have bullets hammer into his legs and torso before he could get a shot away. Stunned, Kaleem turned to see Dawood lowering his rifle. He dropped his weapon to the ground and went running at him.

Dawood set himself for the impact, seeing Kaleem storming at him, looking for a hand-to-hand fight. Kaleem hit him at full stride, knocking him of balance, but did not bring him down. Instead, he fell to the ground from the impact, bouncing off Dawood like a rag doll. Dawood snapped back and dropped a knee into Kaleem
’s back, pulling his arm around to hold him down.

“Is this the show you want the Sheikh to see? A man that can
’t control his anger on the battlefield?” Dawood whispered in his ear. “Calm the fuck down before they kill us both!”

Kaleem struggled for a second, recognizing the futility of his actions as Dawood
’s grip tightened on him. “Fine. Fine! Now get off me. This is embarrassing.” Kaleem yelled at Dawood.

Dawood released his hold, climbed off of Kaleem and offered him his hand to help him up. After a brief hesitation, Kaleem accepted, and got to his feet, brushing off the dust.

“I’m not your enemy, Kaleem.” Dawood kept his tone mild.

“No, of course not.”
But Kaleem wasn’t looking at him.

They had an audience as they both emerged from the training course. The men were laughing at the ease with which Dawood took him down, but not everyone was laughing about Dawood
’s skills.

“We need to keep an eye on that one,” the Sheikh said to the Mufti, watching the action from a distance. “He
’s had more formal training than we know.”

* * *

Dawood begged off from speaking to the group that evening, claiming that he had been injured in Kaleem’s attack on him. He was taken for a check-up and treatment in the medical center buried inside the mountain. Dawood was surprised at the extensive facilities available at The Sanctuary. There was an operation theatre, testing and x-ray facilities inside the cave.

“Would you like to sit down?” the doctor asked, “or would you like to do this standing up?”

Dawood looked over his shoulder at the white coat and laughed, “Can they do that now?”

“The wonders of modern medicine. What we once did laying down, we can now do standing up.” the doctor replied with a smile.

The doctor didn’t look like the rest of the bearded, unwashed participants of the camp. Standing just short of six feet, he looked like someone who took care of himself. He had short black hair, just like those who served in the army with Dawood, and wore black, wireframe glasses. Unlike the rest of the participants, he was dressed in western clothing, which seemed to be a no-no in this area of the country, which left Dawood wondering how he had gotten there. Most importantly, he had a sense of humor, something he had missed since getting to Peshawar.

“What do they call you?” the doctor asked, holding a clipboard to his chest.

“What do they call me? You mean my name? It’s Dawood Islam.”

“No one here has a name, Dawood,” the doctor replied. “Everyone has an identity just in case…”

“Just in case?”

“When you
’re part of something like this, you can never be sure what might happen next,” the doctor said, looking over the rim of his glasses. He paused for a minute. “They say they do it to protect the families of those who are fighting. If it’s such an honor to be Shaheed, why are they protecting them?”

Well, he
’s not a true believer in the cause.
And for some reason, he felt safe in admitting that to Dawood.
Should I push the doctor for more information; he seems to be so willing to share?
Dawood thought long about his next move, but knew it was better to let the comment slide rather than risk getting into a conversation that might be too revealing for him.

“Well, they haven
’t given me a new name yet, so I guess we’re stuck with Dawood for now,” he replied with a smile. “Do you have a name, doctor?

“Riaz. Dr. Riaz Khan.”

“Is that what they call you?” Dawood replied with a laugh.

“It
’s what my parents called me thirty five years ago. What seems to be the problem, Dawood?”

“I was attacked during a training exercise. I have a pain in my side that makes it difficult to breathe.”

“Attacked? At a jihadi training camp? Who would have thought?” the doctor murmured. “Where exactly is the pain?”

Dawood pulled his
kameez
up and using his left hand, put his fingers between the fourth and fifth ribs, grimacing with the pain as his fingers pushed to find the exact spot. “I think it’s a pulled muscle. I get them on the construction site as well.”

The doctor replaced Dawood
’s fingers with his own, applying pressure to the place where he had identified. “So you work construction? Where?” he asked as he moved upwards from the pain to see if it extended beyond where Dawood could feel, as the grimace on Dawood’s face lessened.

“Peshawar.”

After a few seconds of massaging the area around the pain, the doctor pulled his hands back saying, “I think you might be right about the pulled muscle. I’d like to give you a muscle relaxant injection that will ease the pain for the night. I’ll also give you some medication for you to take if the pain returns.”

Motioning to the surroundings, Dawood said, “Look, no offense, but taking into account where we are, I don
’t know if I am comfortable with an injection. You could be trying to kill me.”

The doctor smirked at the implication. “Yes, Allah
’s plan for your life ends at my hands in a jihadi camp. With all the other ways that you could die here, it’s an injection from a doctor that’s going to kill you.”

Dawood realized how foolish he sounded. “I guess you
’re right, Dr. Riaz. If they wanted me dead, they could just shoot me. Plus, the pain is pretty unbearable.”

The doctor went to the locked refrigerator and pulled out a small bottle, giving it a few shakes before pushing the needle into the rubber top and pulling the medication into the chamber. He came over to Dawood and pushed on his rib cage a few times to find the location of the pain again, before jabbing the needle into his flesh and emptying the chamber. “There. That should help with the pain.”

“So how long does it take for this to kick in?” Dawood asked.

“
Take a deep breath.” Dawood inhaled the dust-riddled oxygen of the cave into his lungs.

“Wow, that was quick,” Dawood said, as he pulled his kameez back on and stood from the examination table. Moving to the door, Dawood stopped, turning around, and asked the doctor, “
One question?”