Agency Rules - Never an Easy Day at the Office (4 page)

Sadly, with any escalation of violence, there were innocent casualties from Karachi as well, as law enforcement, paramilitary and citizens became the targets in the fight to control the city.
This was war
, Kamal thought to himself as he sat reading the latest briefing in another cramped, rented apartment,
and war has never been for the faint of heart
. The only plus point of the escalation was that the remaining gang bosses were settling scores in the hope to fill the void left by the neutralized, effectively reducing Kamal and his team’s workload.

The interrogations had yielded results and volumes of intelligence were passed to the analysts sitting within the ISI command center in Karachi for verification and target selection. It had been through these renditions that many of the top gang bosses and their hideouts had been identified for surveillance, where Kamal and his team would move into action again. But today was a different. Kamal had been tapped by the command to actively participate in an interrogation.

Six months ago, Kamal would never been able to use the force and intimidation required to get information from a detainee, and had proven it in his first entry to the Chamber. He was so gentle and controlled that the detainee openly mocked him, comparing him to a child asking for ice cream. He had experienced psychological torture during his SSG training where he was taught the difference between tone and force.

“Tone is used to create fear within a subject,” his instructor taught. “Force is the realization of that fear.” A good interrogator used tone with the threat of force to gather intelligence. While effective, with tougher targets this method was questionable because the subject could pepper lies into the story. A great interrogator used force to connect a verbal demand with the real pain of non-compliance, a single trait that differentiated field interrogators gathering information from the quizmasters that were relied upon to deliver results. In simple terms, the difference between boys and men.

Today, Kamal stood on the other side of the glass as an observer while Dawood questioned Absar. But as the interview progressed, Kamal realized that Dawood wasn’t getting anything of value from Absar.

“Look, we know that you are Minto
’s number two. There is very little that we don’t know about you,” Dawood calmly said. “The best option for you is to be cooperative and you might see the light of day again.”

“Fuck you, motherfucker,” fired Absar. “
You can’t break me. You know why? You’re a bitch! That’s all you are.”

Dawood, visibly angered and aware that Kamal was watching, slammed his hand down on the table and grabbed Absar
’s throat, squeezing until his face turned a bright shade of red.

“You think I won
’t shove a hot piece of rebar up your ass to get what I want?” Dawood was menacingly quiet. “I’ll rip you the fuck open, reach inside you and pull out the information I want.”

Absar chuckled as he got his breath back. Looking deep into Dawood
’s eyes, he smiled an evil grin and beat his chest with his free hand. “Fuck you! You bitch. A gnat is scarier than you.” Absar growled back. “I can see in your eyes that you have never killed anyone. You don’t know the taste of blood.”

Kamal shook his head listening to the exchange, wondering how Dawood had been selected to be an interrogator. Skimming the files in his hand, Kamal thought about the devastation that these criminals had caused. They survived on maximizing terror and it was likely that any attack on them would yield a far greater retaliation with a significant body count. They had the one person that knew all of Minto
’s movements, and he was toying with Dawood like a cat playing with a ball of yarn, slapping every attempt at information away with an insult and a laugh.

Commando training taught Kamal that the element of surprise throws everyone from their game. In the past, he had been restricted by military rules of engagement, but these were not members of any military – they were criminals and criminals don
’t have rules of engagement. He motioned to the soldier standing guard outside the Chamber, instructing him on a change in tactics and direction that the interrogation would now take. As the soldier moved down the hall to gather the required items, Kamal moved back to the window to continue watching the show.

Moments later, gunfire broke out in the hallway. First, shots from a handgun, followed by intermittent automatic weapon fire. Inside the Chamber, Dawood stopped and instinctively reached for his handgun, forgetting that security protocols didn
’t allow weapons inside the Chamber. As the gunfire intensified, Dawood, now visibly concerned, jolted the door, trying to open it, unsuccessfully. He pounded on the door, yelling to be let out, to unlock the door, but no response came from the other side. Absar cheered up, visibly.

“We are going to fuck you, soldier boy! My men are coming for me and I will taste your blood for a change.” Absar, entertained by the turn in events, jeered at Dawood. “You are a bitch and I
’ll show you what happens to bitches!”

Dawood pressed the intercom, looking for someone to explain the situation outside the Chamber, but only gunfire and static returned from the other side.

“Is there anyone there?” screamed Dawood.

Kamal stood listening to his colleague
’s yells, unconcerned and silent, even when the gunfire rushed closer and closer.

Dawood heard voices outside the Chamber as someone shouted instructions to rig the door with explosives.
There‘s nowhere to take cover from an explosion
, Dawood thought frantically as he scanned the room, hastily moving to the wall farthest away from the door. Within seconds, an explosion ripped the door from its hinges, blowing it inwards and narrowly missing both Absar and Dawood. Through the dust and shrapnel billowing in the air, two hooded men, covered in blood, entered. One man moved to grab Dawood, but Dawood got the jump on him and crashed him to the ground with a chair to his head, shattering the chair. Before Dawood could recover, the other man had him in a chokehold and was squeezing the life from his body, with Absar screaming his approval from his chained position.

“Kill the fucker!” shouted Absar, as Dawood went limp. “Well done! Minto will be proud of your fight!” The man tossed Dawood
’s unconscious body to the ground.

Absar
’s face went from hope for his impending freedom to horror as the hooded man turned towards him and, with a hard slap, drew blood from Absar’s gaping mouth.

“You fucking traitor!” the man growled at Absar. “You have dishonored Minto.”

“Wait. No. I haven’t told them anything,” pleaded a confused Absar. This wasn’t the rescue he had been hoping for. He struggled against his chains, knowing that Minto’s retaliation would not only mean his gruesome death, but the murder of all his family members. Minto was known for his sadistic rage. Fear tripped up his tongue. “Wait… they don’t know anything…”

“
Shut up, traitor,” the man shouted, taking out his aggression with another backhand and a kidney punch for good measure. “Sir, we have him!”

In the doorway appeared another hooded man, much larger than the other two. He too was covered in blood, with a bloody machete in one hand and petrol can in the other. Wiping the machete on his chest, the man entered the room, spilling petrol at the doorway and drawing a trail to Absar.

“Tell us what you told them, Absar.” The hooded man casually poured petrol around Absar’s chair.

“I didn
’t tell them anything! I would never give them Minto!” The smell of petrol permeated Absar’s nostrils – he couldn’t place the man’s voice, which put him at a disadvantage. He knew that these would be his last minutes if he could not convince this man that he had not turned on his master.

The hooded man lifted the petrol can and emptied it over Absar. “Do you think that we don
’t know what you have done?” The man’s husky voice was soft and calm, a chilling counterpoint to the butt of the bloody machete that slammed into Absar’s stomach. Absar doubled over in pain, his mind ticking in overdrive.
This doesn’t sound like Minto’s man – he sounds too… too educated.
“Tell us now or we’ll take your head back to Minto for his trophy wall.”

Minto
’s trophy wall was unknown to anyone outside the circle. It was adorned with photographs of his victims and stuffed human appendages snatched from those that had wronged him.
How did they know about the trophy wall?
Doubt began to muddle Absar’s mind.

“We have already added your wife and parents to the trophy wall for your dishonor. If you chose not to cooperate, Minto will add your children alongside your head,”
the hooded man’s husky voice continued, still in that eerily calm tone. Absar looked up in time to see the fist slamming into his face. “Your lovely, young daughter – how old is she now? Sixteen?” The man’s face was close to Absar’s and he was almost whispering the words into Absar’s ear.

Absar
’s mind began to cloud with the images of his dead wife and parents, and he shivered at the thought of what they would do to his children. He began to doubt his own memories, wondering if something had slipped out during the many interrogations he had endured.
Had my random taunts given them clues
? Absar’s body jumped as a needle was pushed into his neck, and a blinding rush of heroin flooded his blood stream.
These
were
Minto’s men,
was his last coherent thought as the drug took hold, pushing him into a make-believe reality.

The hooded man
’s machete blade cut into Absar’s throat, only enough to draw blood, but demonstrated the absolute resolve that these men brought from Minto. The information would be extracted and Absar’s children would either be saved or all would perish. Absar’s mind raced as he thought of his daughters, whose lives would be at his mercy.
Their beauty and innocence would be gone
, he thought to himself, knowing that Minto would push them into prostitution to pay for the disloyalty of their father. There was only one way to save them; sacrifice himself.

“I told them everything,” Absar wept as he recounted the details of each hiding place and Minto
’s security protocols. The only thing that he could think of was the safety of his children, as the heroin rushed through his bloodstream and polluted his brain. He stumbled in and out of consciousness as the figures moved around the room, not giving him a fixed position to concentrate on. The questions came fast and furious, further muddling Absar’s mind, but more information bubbled forward, mixed with his tears and blood.

The men, satisfied that they had gotten all the information they could from him, moved to the doorway. Absar
’s eyes followed them as best he could.

“My children? Will they be safe?” Absar asked from the cloud of the drug. “Will Minto spare my children?” he screamed at the figure in the doorway. He had a vague impression that he was suddenly alone in the room with his tormentor.

With a pause, Kamal pulled the hood from his head and put a cigar in his mouth. “Minto never had your family,” he calmly said, pulling a matchbox from his pocket. He shook it to focus Absar’s mind on the next few seconds. He struck a match, letting the air fill with the smell of sulfur, before lighting his cigar, “but we will.”

Kamal took a deep drag and savored the flavor for a moment. Dropping the lit cigar into the puddle of petrol, he headed towards the hallway that led out of the Chamber. His work here was complete.

* * *

Minto was taken quietly and in the dead of night just a few hours after Absar was burned to a crisp in an abandoned building in an industrial area of the city. Neither Minto nor his men were ever heard of again, nor did they ever see the inside of a court of justice.

Meanwhile, Kamal’s performance in Karachi had set him firmly on a road he coveted, headed straight to the Jungle.

Chapter 4

It was two in the morning when he placed the call. He hadn’t taken into account the time difference between Pakistan and Virginia, meaning that the call would ring unanswered in an empty office. Northwright’s undercover asset had let his impatience get the better of him and the value of the information that he held would lose significance if not passed immediately. His call would have given Northwright an operational advantage because the rest of the organization would not know for days, as it worked through official channels in Pakistan. This call had to get through, he thought to himself.

Realizing his mistake, the operative dropped the call and quickly searched his mobile for Northwright
’s private cell number and hit send. A groggy, sleep-deprived Northwright stirred in his mistress’s bed as he phone rang on the table beside him. Unwillingly, he rolled away from the twenty-five-year-old plaything in his arms, trying to find his phone in the dark before his mistress woke. Late night calls were normally routed through the control center and they all knew not to call him here,
especially
here. Married for almost thirty years, this was his only escape from the covert world that he spent his life in. More importantly, Nicole, his mistress, knew nothing of what he actually did for a living. To her, he as a businessman with a bad marriage; all she really cared about were the expensive gifts and being pampered in exchange for her body.