Shore Eye (excerpt from Chap V of my upcoming espionage Novel Kogon Plan)

Shore Eye (excerpt from Chap V of my upcoming espionage Novel Kogon Plan)

Ten days later

 

Sahel’s black Margalla climbed a long stretch of highway towards Islamabad through Rawal Dam Lake road bypassing Bani Gala, its carburettor taking deep breaths of the chilled morning air, its engine seeming to buzz with pleasure for the proper atmosphere of Lake. As it inclined steepened, Sahel clutched and jammed the gearshift from forth to third, pushing the accelerator pedal hard to the floor as if a lapse of speed might threaten his joyful mood.

He reached over and rolled down the passenger window to fill the car with the fresh flower’s fragrance spread over both sides of the highway. Then he lit a cigarette, turned up the radio and tuned some FM channel for the morning music. A pop song of Hadiqa Kiyani fairly deafened him and he pounded on the steering wheel with his open palms. A blazing jolt shot through his hands and he quickly jerked them away from the wheel. He laughed and quickly recovered this time using only his fingertips to keep away his palms wounds from the wheel. His hands were bloody, his back ached and his leg throbbed but it did not matter. For after four exhausting and humiliating Krav-Maga lessons, this morning at Shimla House, Sahel had finally beaten Jami.

It was a perfect day to begin his twenty-ninth birthday.

For over two weeks now Jami had been teaching Sahel a single technique---unarmed defence against an armed opponent. Successful execution of exercise required blinding speed and total psychological commitment. In most other martial art disciplines it would not even have been introduced to a student before his basic defensive moves were perfected. However, as with all Pakistani military techniques practicality overruled patience, formality and aesthetics. More important Jami was sure that if Sahel could successfully disarm him it would be a terrific confidence building.  

The basic concept of Krav-Maga was simple---no two brains could act and react simultaneously. There was always a lapse in milliseconds between the offensive move and defensive countermove. Therefore if you were being threatened with a loaded weapon, you could disarm your aggressor before his brain commanded an accurate pull of the trigger.

However, success demanded days of painful drill.

Sahel assignment was simply to strike Jami’s hands with one of his own before the instructor jerked the target out of range. At first Jami allowed his student to make contact a few times with the momentum of his failed attempts.  Then Sahel started to learn the technique but still needed lot of perfection which Jami taught him with the painful exercises and repeated drills to smash him onto the sand floor. It took almost a week for Sahel to make him defeated by grabbing Jami’s dummy pistol and overcome by smashing him back on the floor. Today he bested him twice and then the exercise was over.

Then they both went for swim and had a huge breakfast in the Shimla House mess.

 

An angry car horn woke Sahel from his victorious thoughts realising that he was smiling like an idiot and had driven the last ten kilometres without really seeing the road. He swung quickly to the left lane and allowed white corolla to overtake. Then he shifted again in the right lane downshifted and floored the gas pedal. He had his reflexes back.

Things were going to be different now. Sahel could feel it, knew it in his heart. Nothing had really changed for him in NSB---he was still only an interviewer and might well be until the end of his tenure. But he was changing now. For two weeks he had been working with Jamshaid and returning to HQ bettered, bruised and demoralised, yet saying only that it was going fine. He would rather die than admit defeat to Zawri and he had summoned reserves of stubborn determination that he had not needed since he was a paratrooper. Today when he reached HQ he would not declare his victory. But he knew Jami would file a bright report.

Things would be better now with Amber as well. Sahel’s black moods had begun to wear on even his wife’s patient and resilient personality. He would not wonder if their failure to conceive had been directly connected to his frayed nerves and depressive state. Now all that would change. He felt energy and shade of power that would extend into every corner of his world and whatsoever he imagined for himself would be within his reach. He burst forth into the zero point intersection. The sun made the buildings glow bone white behinds the roadside flowers plant in front of the buildings and houses. The birds in the trees were ecstatic with morning breeze and even the most impatient horn stabbing drivers could not break Sahel’s mood.   

He was tempted to speed to Islamabad Hospital, find his wife, spin her around and crush a bouquet of roses between them. It was lovely fantasy, yet he was already running late and had to pick up his files and get over to the SEC, Aabpara. His celebration with Amber would have to wait till evening. It would be doubly joyous. He would have his birthday dinner and she would have a new husband. She had told him that she was panning something extra special and that he should not be late.

He drove straight down Khiaban-e-Iqbal, for once not giving damn about the traffic, singing along with the radio as proud as king returning from conquests abroad.

He nearly bounded into the entrance hall of SpecOp. Sahib Dad looked up from the paper work on his desk and fixed Sahel a serious stare.

“ID please,” this time Sahib Dad was showing real security guts.

Sahel happily produced his card. Apparently his recent lecture about access regulations had had an effect.

“Thank you, said Sahib Dad. “Password”

“What,” Sahel leaned forward thinking he had misheard.

“Password,” Sahib Dad repeated without changing expression.

Sahel laughed. “What are you kidding? No need to exaggerate.”

“There is a perimeter alert on today.”

Sahel laughed again sure that Sahib Dad is pulling his leg, “Aye, be serious, we are in Islamabad.

“Password please,” said Sahib Dad.

Sahel shrugged, refusing to allow his mood off.  He had to think for a moment.

“Rising Sun,” He snapped his fingers as he came up with the answer.

Sahib Dad looked up at the camera and said, “It’s Sahel” and the door clicked.

Sahel entered and before anyone could speak to him he said, “Sahel Farhaj, I have got a briefcase, a sandwich for lunch and I am armed and dangerous.”

He expected the usual snappy retort from the intercom, yet the secondary just opened and he went in.

Sahel still could not exactly fly up the stairs, especially with Jami having abused his body as of late. Sajid was sitting at his desk, though he was not reading. His hands were folded on his desk top.

“Morning Bravo,” said the young man.

“To you too,” said Sahel and he made to walk by.

“ID please,” said Sajid putting up a hand.

Sahel sighed and showed him his card. “Want the password too?”

Sajid shook his head and waved Sahel through.

Zawri must have announced salary cuts, Sahel said to himself as he walked along the corridor. There seemed something strange around the building. Sahel tried to pinpoint the same, then hearing his own footsteps sound on the tiles, he knew. It was very quiet.

He stopped at the canteen and looked in. The counter girl was wiping a table, picking up empty table glasses. Only one table was occupied and the four young people conversing in low whispers were all of Dilshad’s Research Staff. They turned their heads and fell silent as Sahel appeared in the doorway.

“Morning,” Sahel maintained his bright tone. “What’s the occasion?” Dilshad rarely allowed his staff to take a break simultaneously.

Khaki the computer guy almost whispered with his spectacles. “Morning, Sahel. Dilshad left a message for you. Go right up to Zawri office.”

“Okay.” Sahel continued on down the hallway. It can only be good, he said to himself fighting to maintain his mood. Haven’t made a single mistake or opened my mouth in last two weeks. Haven’t even mentioned a closed file, not even to Dilshad? It can only be something good.

Yet all of the signals indicated the negative. He tried whistling as he walked, covering his limb very well now; still he felt like a man who has been summoned to explain his guilt.

No one was in Personnel. He dropped off his briefcase and began to walk faster. The climb to third floor was painful; the guard waved him through quickly and Sahel stopped outside Zawri’s door and took a moment to collect himself. Deep muffled voices came from inside.

Sahel opened the door and went in. The conversation quickly cooled to a silence. He looked around.

It was his first time in Zawri’s office since they move to Islamabad and the space was imposing. It was very large more than half the size of the conference room. Abdul Karim’s giant desk sat cater-corner at the northwest end near the windows. It was covered with green surge cloth delicately cut at corners under full table size 12mm glass and surface was filled with files and operation orders. Against the close wall was a long couch, a coffee table and some beautifully cushioned chairs with Victorian style legs. In one corner a glass table overflowed with the medals, shields and honours awarded from time to time personally to NSB and his Commandants. On the one side of the wall there was a polished wood board hanging with the names of the Commandants engraved on it with metallic filling. Zawri’s name was the last one. There were also some framed photographs of AK Zawri with every major politician since Benazir’s first regime. The rest of the wall was covered with huge maps, all mounted on cork and showered with coloured coded pins. There was also a small book shelf in the office with a few hard-bond books, though Colonel never interested in history. He made it.

Colonel himself was sitting on the edge of his desk, his long legs touching the floor. He sipped coffee and stared at Sahel. Dilshad was also in the room, along with Shahzad Ahmad, Major Jahanzaib from Cipher and Intercepts, Seema from Covers and a man named Farhatullah whose Sahel recognised as an officer from NSS. Qadri was also there and Sahel immediately expected him to jump from his seat and tried to shoulder him out from the room. But the Captain just sat quietly in his chair. Islamabad was silent in the room.

The way they were looking at him made Sahel’s heart pounding inside. Alarms began to sound in his head; he felt his soar palms going slick and tremble. Dilshad walked to him quickly and put his arm over his shoulders leading him to the couch.