Agency Rules - Never an Easy Day at the Office (21 page)

Faheem smiled, believing that he had gotten what he needed to. Whether the Brigadier joined or not was not the point, as long as he had authority to operate in Peshawar. He already had an abandoned warehouse for the interrogation, it was just a matter of getting Kaleem. Before joining the FC, Faheem has performed many snatch and grab operations. He had shared that information with the Brigadier, only he substituted Dawood
’s name for his own.
Semantics, only semantics, he thought to himself.

* * *

The road had been blocked for traffic since the night before. In spite of the roadblock, there were thousands thronged along the roadside from President’s House to Faisal Mosque. Everyone from regular citizens to party loyalists, had made the trek to Islamabad to be part of the funeral procession. The funeral had been delayed to allow for heads of state to arrive in Pakistan, only making the security concerns greater. With the US Secretary of State and British Foreign Minister in attendance, whoever had assassinated the Prime Minister had another opportunity to do greater damage to the nation’s reputation.

The President
’s motorcade turned off Constitution Avenue and gained speed down Jinnah Avenue, where they could see the snipers posted on top of buildings and army soldiers lined the parade route. The police had been moved to the perimeters to control the influx of people and traffic to the roads leading to Faisal Mosque. There was very little chance that anyone would get a shot at the President’s motorcade with the police and military escorts closely flanking the vehicle, but all precautions had been taken. It took all of twenty minutes for a normal citizen on a normal day to travel the nine kilometers, but the motorcade would be able to do it within four minutes with the roads cleared and sirens blazing.

Sitting in the Mercedes, President Butt reviewed the speech that he had recorded prior to leaving President
’s House, wondering if this would be his last act as President of Pakistan. The President glanced down at his vibrating phone, debating whether to pick it up or not. He didn’t want to be seen by the media stepping out of his vehicle at the funeral with a phone to his ear. So he checked to see who was calling first.
Anyone with a television can see that I am traveling to the funeral ground
, he thought to himself,
why would they call now?
The phone stopped vibrating for a moment, only to start again almost immediately. Now, visibly perturbed by the interruption, he pulled up his phone and handed it to his aide, with a simple, “Answer it and tell them we are busy.”

“
Hello,” said the aide.

“President sahib?”

“No, I’m sorry. I am his aide. He is unavailable at the moment.”

“Tell him it
’s Saeed Ghani on the phone. He will speak with me.”

“Please hold, Minister sahib.”

The aide looked at the President, as the façade of Faisal Mosque began to emerge in the front windshield, and offered him the phone. “Sir, it’s Saeed Ghani. He needs to speak with you.”

President Butt took a deep breath and told the driver to drive past the mosque
’s front entrance to the VVIP entrance on the side. Taking the phone, he barked, “What is it, Saeed? Why are you not here?”

“Mr. President, I am two cars behind you, but needed to inform you of what happened after you left the meeting,” Ghani said. “You were right. They started fighting amongst themselves within minutes of your announcement.”

“And?” the President asked, anxious to see if his plan had played out as expected.

“Jaffer Shah says that the government is collapsed. The ball looks to be in your court now,” Ghani said with a slight tone change in his voice.

“Ghani, don’t start getting excited yet,” said President Butt. “They have fourteen days to elect a new Prime Minister. Let’s see who they put forward and what they do.”

“But, Mr. President…” Ghani tried to continue.

“Ghani, not now,” cautioned the President. “Every intelligence agency in the world is listening to our calls right now. We can discuss this in detail later.” With a snap, he hung up the call.

The car jerked to a stop in front of the VVIP entrance and security leapt from their vehicles to form a human shield around the President. Quickly ushered into the mosque, he was taken to a secure room where other foreign dignitaries were already waiting. Before joining the funeral, he had to meet the dignitaries who would not be attending the funeral prayers. He entered the room to find all of the dignitaries in a receiving line awaiting him.

“Mr. Secretary, thank you for being here. I am sure the Prime Minister would be honored,” the President said, shaking hands with the David Northrup, the US Secretary of State.

“Mr. President, Pakistan has been a long term ally in South Asia. We had hoped that the President himself would travel here, but his schedule didn
’t have an opening,” Northrup said. “He will be calling you personally later.”

“Thank you, David. Foreign Minister Johnstone, thank you for coming,” the President said, moving down the line.

“Mr. President, the British government and its people all share Pakistan’s sorrow,” said Nick Johnstone, British Foreign Minister. “The Prime Minister was a close friend of Azam Shah. He has already called the family to offer his condolences. He should be calling you in a short time.”

The President moved down the line of foreign functionaries, repeatedly checking his watch as he knew that the funeral was being held up for his inclusion. His aide came alongside and whispered in his ear, “Sir, you must join the funeral now. Everyone is here and they can
’t wait any longer.”

The President nodded that he had heard, apologizing to the remaining dignitaries before moving down the stairs to the join his country in mourning the loss of its Prime Minister. The aides led him to the front of the masjid and his spot between the Chief of Army Staff and the Speaker of the National Assembly, as the Imam began the funeral prayer, broadcast across Pakistan via the PTV cameras mounted around the gallery of the masjid.

* * *

On a lonely street in Peshawar
’s University Town, a man stood outside in the dead of night looking for a way to get home. A rickshaw sped by, only to slam on his brakes and do a u-turn in the middle of the road, returning to inquire if the man needed a ride.

“Where to?” the rickshaw driver asked, killing his engine to be able to hear him better.

“I’m not going in a rickshaw,” the man told the driver, unwilling to trouble his already tired mind with the incessant tuc-tuc of the rickshaw engine.

“Oh ho, why?” the rickshaw driver asked. “It
’s the middle of the night and you are standing on a street where very few vehicles will come by. Let me take you to the main road at least,” trying to coax the man into his vehicle.

“No! Rickshaw
kei na zam
!” the man angrily replied, walking a few steps away.

The rickshaw driver pulled the handle to start his engine back up and uttered a few expletives, before hitting the gas and rushing down the road.

He continued to stand on the road waiting, checking his watch every few minutes, but there was no sign of any vehicles coming from either side. Angered that he had not taken the rickshaw driver’s advice and gone to the main road, he started walking. He hadn’t walked more than three hundred yards when a taxi came whipping around a corner almost hitting him. The man jumped out of the way, landing on his backside in the gravel. The driver realizing his error, an unlikely coincidence for a taxi driver in Pakistan, slammed on his brakes and hurried out to see if the man was ok.

“Oh my God! I didn
’t hit you, did I?” The taxi driver said panicked. “Are you hurt?”

“My God! What the hell were you doing?” the man said. “You could have killed me!”

“I’m sorry. So sorry, sahib gee,” the driver said, helping him to his feet. “Let me at least take you home. You should not be walking on this street at night,” he said, opening the back door to his taxi.

The man, who had been looking for a taxi most of the evening, was pleased that he had not only gotten what he wanted, but would also get it for free now. Climbing into the back seat of the taxi, he commented, “I live in Hayatabad Phase 1, just before the Industrial Estate begins. Will that be a problem?”

“No, no problem,” the driver commented, jumping into the driver’s seat. “I just want to make sure that you are ok. Should we stop at the hospital just to make sure?”

“No, I am fine,” said the man, checking his arms and legs for bruising. “It
’s just some scrapes and scratches. I have bandages at home.”

“
My name is Kaleem,” said the driver glancing in the rearview mirror as he pulled away. “What is yours?”

“
Faheem.”

Chapter 13

Standing in the hall of the abandoned warehouse, blood dripped from his body, leaving a trail on the grimy floor. A body was slumped in the chair in the middle of the hall with a singular light hanging above, illuminating a small radius around it. Another lay in the doorway propping the door open. The fight inside had been more than expected from the three days he spent surveying the warehouse. By his count, there should not have been more than five men both inside and out. Instead, he had found almost seven men around the facility.

They had prepared well for his arrival.

On his approach, he saw one man guarding the entrance.
There were usually two… where’s the other one?
Kamal shook off the thought and sized up his enemy, noting that he was a scrawny soldier that didn’t fill his uniform. He ducked into the shadows where he could use the darkness against the soldier, catching him by surprise. He rushed the guard, knocking him to the ground before he could set himself or draw his weapon. With a quick strike to the head, the first guard was neutralized. Before he could get up, he heard the door to the warehouse open. Jumping to his feet, Kamal saw the second guard emerge, finding Kamal hovering over his partner’s incapacitated body. The guard, surprisingly, dropped his AK-47 and rushed at Kamal, driving him into the concrete wall of the warehouse with a shoulder block. As he pulled back from Kamal, he landed two solid right crosses to his jaw stunning Kamal and giving himself time to set for the fight.

Kamal pulled himself up from one knee, gasping for air and taking the time to assess his opponent. The guard didn
’t wait for Kamal to position himself and struck again with a swift kick to his midriff, bring the taste of blood to Kamal’s mouth.
Oh, that is just unacceptable.
Kamal spat the blood onto the ground and spun around, taking the guard’s legs out with a vicious kick to his knees. As the guard hit the ground, Kamal launched himself onto him, grabbing his neck in a chokehold. The guard threw elbows behind him, and kicked helplessly in the air as Kamal increased the pressure on his throat. Within minutes, his body stopped fighting and he was down.

Kamal stood, spitting a few times to clear the blood that had filled his mouth, finally using the sleeve of his shirt to wipe the remaining away. He smirked, admiring his work.
Not as tough as he looked.

Standing over both bodies, his plan rapidly changed. Grabbing the second guard by the legs, he dragged him around the corner and pulled his uniform off. Silently and rapidly, Kamal undressed and pulled on the FC garb.
Wow, this fits well.
The guard had seemed so much larger than himself. He ripped his own shirt in half, using half to tie the guard’s hands together and the other half to seal his mouth, in case he came to and tried to warn the others. Kamal laughed silently, giving the guard another hard kick to the head.
Just for good measure, you son of a bitch.

He entered the warehouse corridor, looking for the other guards. Spotting one about fifty feet down, he straightened his shoulders and called to him, “Did he come through here?”

The guard was surprised by the question. He hadn’t heard or seen anything. He strolled over to Kamal to find out what his colleague was talking about. “What?”

Kamal waited till he was close enough, and casually raised his arm, as if to indicate towards the door. Gun in hand, he brought his arm down in a vicious swipe to the guard
’s head, knocking him out cold. He fell hard into the wall from the blow and as he slid down, his gun clattered to the ground noisily. The commotion alerted another guard who came rushing around the corner, sidearm in hand. Seeing his compatriot laid out on the ground, with a fellow soldier standing over him, he slowed down.

“What happened to Ayaz?”

“I don’t know! I came in looking for the guy that knocked Sheraz out and found him like this,” Kamal said, quietly pulling his sidearm from the holster.

“We should warn Faheem that we have a guest,” the soldier said, turning to warn his superior. Kamal waited for him to get a safe distance away and fired two rounds into his back, dropping him to the ground like a wounded deer. The guard tried to roll himself over to fire back at Kamal, but the round had damaged his spine badly, leaving him face down on the floor. Kamal went over and fired another round into his head, and almost like a second thought, changed his sidearm with the guard
’s.