Agency Rules - Never an Easy Day at the Office (11 page)

* * *

Dawood and Kaleem both leaned back from the table in unison, looking like as satisfied as the cat who swallowed the canary. There were pieces of
naan
, chicken bones, leg of lamb and the skeleton of a trout strewn around the table as a reminder of the massive feast that had been prepared in their honor. The Imam sat at the head of the table, still picking meat from his second fish, with crumbs falling from the corner of his mouth.

Dawood
’s satisfaction over his successful interrogation had waned a little bit. He’d managed to tune in to the darkness and could have sworn there was someone breathing in the shadows. It took every bit of training he had not to turn and stare. Instead, he followed Kaleem’s lead and pretended to be satiated and relaxed after the sumptuous meal they had just shared.

The Imam looked around at the two, realizing that they had stopped eating, and with a chuckle slid the plate away, “I guess I should stop as well.” Both Dawood and Kaleem protested, encouraging him to continue eating, but as the Imam
’s objections grew, the two did not want to be rude, so they took a few pieces of fruit so that the Imam would not have to stop eating.
It’s not like he needs the food
, Dawood thought to himself, recalling the first interaction at the Timergara bus stop. When Kaleem introduced the two of them, Dawood had to lean down to embrace him, attempting to avoid the grubbiness of his unwashed hair, not being able to reach both his arms completely around him.
A missed meal or two wouldn’t do him any harm
, Dawood smirked inwardly,
maybe coupled with some exercise
.

Reaching for another chicken leg, the Imam called for one of his servants, “Atif-a,
sheen chai rawra
.” As the servant turned and made his way to the kitchen, the Imam smiled, chicken meat filling the spaces between his teeth, “Green tea will help us digest the meal.” The Imam took a couple more bites before shoving the entire chicken leg into his mouth and sucking all the meat from the bone. Dropping the bone on the plate, he slid it away and leaned back rubbing his stomach. “
Allah-hum-do-lillah
.”

Over lunch, the Imam had kept up a flow of stories about the people who had stayed in this house, both before and after his family moved in. From CIA and ISI officers to leaders of the Afghan resistance, the list of names was stellar. Each word increased his value, whether actual or perceived, in Dawood
’s mind. Imam Shahid was a high value target not only for Pakistani intelligence, but for the world community, and more importantly, was the connecting piece to getting to the leadership of the terrorist front operating in the tribal areas and urban centers.

Kaleem, with the weight of the meal in his stomach and the comfort of the air conditioning on his back, had closed his eyes a number of times, only to pop them open again. He sat rocking back and forth, as he fought his drowsiness, until finally giving up with a big yawn. “Imam sahib,” Kaleem stammered, fighting back another yawn, “I think we should take some rest. This evening will have many guests in the house, as usual, and we should be at our best.”

The Imam had been fighting sleep himself and Kaleem’s suggestion could not have come at a better time. “Beta, you’re right. Evenings are always very busy here with students and guests coming for my seminars.” He explained himself to Dawood. “Sleep is an excellent idea.”

He called to another servant, motioning him close. “Please show them to the guest rooms so that they can rest. Dawood, Kaleem, please go with the boy. He will get you settled into rooms.”

As they moved to the door, Dawood noticed that the Imam was still standing in the hall. Turning back, Dawood asked, “Imam sahib, aren’t you going to rest also?”

“I have a cot here in this room where I will take my rest,” the Imam said, turning on a light for another section of the room. Dawood glancing over and saw the cot that the Imam was talking about. In the corner of the room was a large queen-sized bed with a plasma TV setup on the wall across from it.
Hopefully our rooms have that kind of comfort.
“We will reconvene at five for afternoon tea.” Dawood felt a hand on his back guiding him out of the room, and as they stepped out, he heard the TV switch on to one of the many Islamic channels that was available via satellite in Pakistan.

A few minutes after they left the room, two figures emerged from the shadows. These men had been watching and listening to the entire exchange over lunch, gauging the participants for inclusion. They sat down at the freshly cleaned table, speaking in hushed tones about the afternoon
’s show.

“Dawood seems like a worthy candidate.” Fazal said, reaching for a piece of fruit from the bowl in the center. As the commander of the Pakistani side of the resistance force, he had seen every type of man come into his indoctrination camps, where they were assessed to determine how they could best serve the cause. His own experience as a battle commander during the Afghan conflict had given him great insights into the inner workings and thought processes of the men who eagerly signed up to be part of the jihad. Most of them were just looking for a place to belong, not to be a force. A few, like the Imam
’s nephew, become warriors for the cause. Not one was allowed to leave alive if they decided against being part of the resistance – that would be too great of a risk. “He shared many of our views. He will be easy to incorporate.”

“Ji, Ji,” the Imam sat down across the table. “I
’m quite impressed with Dawood’s knowledge. I think he may be useful to have around.”

Fazal
’s companion picked up the remote from the table and turned on a large plasma screen that was hidden in the darkness. “Before we induct him into the organization, what do we know about his background?”

Pictures flashed across the screen. Pictures of Dawood
’s first meeting with Kaleem at the construction site, at the masjid where they prayed together and the place in the old city where they would lunch two Fridays a month. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary in any of the pictures, the companion said, continuing to flip from one to another, until he reached a series of photos that caused him to stop. “The only thing about this man is that he’s too careful in his movements. It’s almost as if he’s aware he’s being watched and is doing what is expected. But there are a few people that interact with him at a tea house that are never seen at any other place,” he said with a hint of concern. “Someone that is this careful must have something to hide.”

Fazal laughed at the comment. “Sheikh sahib, we
’re all careful in everything that we do. Do we have something to hide?”

The Sheikh shot an angry look at Fazal. “Do you think that we have nothing to hide? If the intelligence services were to find out who we are, our freedom, if not our lives, would be gone forever. My question is, what does this man have to hide that he is so careful about his movements?”

Fazal’s anger simmered at the Sheikh’s comment. “Each one of us is hiding from someone or something. We were not the most honorable people before joining the cause, but Allah, in his grace and mercy, has given us a new mission to regain His favor and forgiveness for our past deeds.”

“Fazal! I know you
’re not that naïve. What if he is intelligence services?” the Sheikh shot back at Fazal. “Are you ready to sacrifice all the work that we have done because we were too rushed to consider all the possibilities?”

“He came with Kaleem. Kaleem has been with me since his madrassah days. Kaleem trusts Dawood enough to introduce us, and I trust Kaleem.” interjected the Imam, trying to defuse the situation between the two commanders. Fazal and the Sheikh exchanged a look.

“Imam sahib, Kaleem is weak,” the Sheikh said. Although the Imam had met the Sheikh many times in the past two decades, he had never had a one-on-one conversation with him. He always travelled with Fazal, never leaving his side. He kept mostly to himself and spoke only in Fazal’s presence, sometimes overruling his commander in decisions related to new recruits and missions. When he did, there would be a heated conversation between the two but in the end, the Sheikh’s recommendations would be followed. The Imam assumed that he had been a higher ranked commander in Afghanistan, or came with the blessings of the special guests, giving him the ability to dictate how the Pakistani resistance would function. “We can only use Kaleem for one thing, not for bringing in recruits,” the Sheikh continued, with a repulsive smirk. “Of course, if you agree.”

The Imam was never in a position to disagree with him. He wasn
’t sure of the power held by the Sheikh, so he nodded his head reluctantly. “Use him as you see fit, Sheikh sahib,” the Imam said begrudgingly. “He has been groomed all his life to be a holy warrior.”

The Sheikh
’s satellite phone began to ring. Getting up from the table, he moved away from the two men before he answered. The call only took a few seconds and was filled with single word questions from the Sheikh. When he returned to the table, he was more resolute in his demeanor.

“I will observe and interact with Dawood during his stay here. I want to know more about him before I make a decision. At the end of the weekend, we will decide.”

* * *

The evening was filled with speeches and fellowship from other members of the cause. Dawood melded in effortlessly. He has spent weeks learning the philosophies and ideologies of groups like these, and could appear as passionate about their views as one of their own. In the background, the Sheikh kept a careful watch on his movements and what raised the interest and passion in the young man
’s demeanor.
He seems too good to be true
, the Sheikh caught himself thinking many times. He noted that Dawood did everything with a measured level of caution, from how he greeted people to answering questions. It could be that he is uncomfortable in the scenario, or maybe he was trying to make sure that he didn’t offend his host; either way, the Sheikh’s concern was elevated by the caution.

Before the weekend came to a close, the Sheikh decided that he would put Dawood in the spotlight among the people who had begun to hold him in such high regard. Sending word to the Imam, the Sheikh requested that Dawood be asked to speak in the Saturday evening gathering. If he was going to be considered for inclusion, the Sheikh wanted to see him tested.

That evening, with all the guests assembled, the Imam stood before them preaching his ideology of hatred and violence on those who refused to accept the ‘true’ Islam. He urged the audience to take up arms and fight to reestablish the Khilafat that once existed. He turned and smiled at Dawood, motioning for him to join him. Dawood’s stomach turned with unease as he rose to join the Imam at the microphone.

“My brothers,” said the Imam, as Dawood joined him. “You have all met our newest friend Dawood. Now, I ask that he share his thoughts and ideas on the best way to bring Pakistan back to the fold of Islam and away from the Western
dajjals
that are trying to destroy it.” The Imam stepped back from the microphone and invited Dawood to speak.

For a split second, Dawood froze, trying to understand this move. Was it the Imam that was testing him again or was it one of the other participants that had many private interactions with him? Clearing his throat, Dawood thought quickly, recalling speeches of Taliban leaders before the end of the Soviet invasion. He started slowly, but his voice grew strong as the words spilled out, almost effortlessly. He called for the violent overthrow of the government, public floggings of anyone who resisted Islamic teachings, and violent punishments for those who had partnered with the West to keep Pakistan secular. Every word out of his mouth was calculated and designed to incite anger and action from the members of the audience. He demanded that any good and true Muslim should join the fight either as a financier or as a warrior and that the army of Pakistan should be used as Allah
’s army to destroy the Hindu state to the west for its injustices against Muslims and Kashmir.

“It is time that the warriors of Islam carry Islam forward, just as the crusaders did; with the blade of a sword on the throats of those who resist the only true religion in the world. And we shall continue until the day that the khilafat is established around the world. We can no longer limit ourselves to just the Muslim states because the infidels are not limiting themselves to their states. Our answer to their holy crusades in Palestine, Egypt, Jordan, Saudi Arabia and Pakistan must be violence because that is all they understand!” Dawood screamed into the microphone, bringing the audience to their feet with cheers of support and a chant of “Allah hu Akbar!”

At the back of the jubilant audience, the Sheikh watched Dawood as he had all weekend. Turning to Fazal and Shahid, he said, “Invite him to the Sanctuary. We’ll see there how strong his heart is for revolution.” He hoped he hadn’t just made a huge mistake. Dawood had charisma, the charisma of a leader. How could they manipulate someone like him?

Chapter 8

“Why did you go off the reservation?” the visitor asked, visibly angered that Dawood would take such a risk without agency knowledge or approval.

“Once the trip was scheduled, I had hours to prepare and Kaleem was by my side the entire time,” Dawood replied, hoping the deflect some of the anger, but it was useless. This visitor had come with specific instructions from the handlers.