Savage Deadlock

Her father appeared confused, staring at the women with guns and then at his daughter. Mahmood, on the other hand, seemed to understand, even if his words were disapproving.

“So this is what you meant when you said you wanted to make a difference? To go and join a group of rebels?”

“There are rebels and there are rebels, Mahmood,” Yasmin said gently. “You said it yourself—it’s become a polarized world. If we want Pakistan to go one way rather than the other, then we have to try to make that difference ourselves.”

“But why this?” he asked her. “Why the charade? Why not just go?”

“And have people ask you questions that you cannot answer? Have them detain you and maybe do more than ask? I don’t want that to happen. What I know would push the government—and others—to take drastic actions. This way, it looks like I was taken against my will. How could you know anything if that was the case? It’s the best way I can think of to keep you and Dad safe. Now let me go, and tell anyone who comes calling about the guns. They always believe you if you’re at the point of a gun. It’s the only language they can understand...”

Chapter Two (#uf3dc4511-6f18-5751-b3e7-c1633781a7e4)

“The National Command Authority will not be happy with this, General. Fortunately, it will not be my ass in a sling when they find out. That dubious pleasure will fall to you.”

Major Usman Malik smiled, and General Tariq Sandila could see the betel stains on his teeth. In this day and age, chewing betel was a peasant throwback, and it made Sandila dislike the major even more. He looked around the sparse office, trying to focus on anything other than the disgusting sight of his superior’s teeth. Although Sandila technically outranked Malik, the General had been fast-tracked to his position, given his rank for his specialist credentials rather than military achievements. For now, Malik was in charge. They were in the old government building in Lahore, which dated back to the colonial era and was used mostly as a repository for old files that predated computerization. The civil servants who prowled its corridors seemed to be of a similar vintage, and all in all Sandila felt horribly out of place. Maybe that was why Malik had chosen this as his temporary headquarters while the investigation was underway. It would make sense. The thought of Malik in black and white like some old newsreel from the days of Nehru cheered Sandila in an oblique manner.

Emboldened, he spoke freely: “Major, the expression ‘shoot the messenger’ is a little outdated these days, surely? My superiors—your superiors—if they followed such a line would surely be more likely to blame the man heading the investigation. I’m just your leg man.”

The sly smile on Malik’s face froze and died. He and Sandila had been at loggerheads since the general had joined the team a few weeks before. Seconded because of his experience with the nuclear program and his PhD in physics, Sandila was one of the new breed of army officers who looked at technology rather than manpower. Malik had been in military intelligence all his career, and came from the days of the ruling generals, when the fact that such a small country had the eighth largest military force in the world counted for something. In Malik’s younger days, the army ruled with an iron fist, and he still expected such control.

Sandila, on the other hand, found the phrase army intelligence an oxymoron, and thought of Malik as the personification of that philosophy. An impression that had only been reinforced when he realized what had been going on: his forceful statement of such had cemented the animosity between the two men.

Malik rotated the laptop screen so that it faced Sandila. It was a purely dramatic move, as it was Sandila’s own report that the major was showing him. Malik said, “You expect me to present this? Saying that we’ve been negligent? That women—women, dammit—are behind this? Have you any idea what kind of an uproar this will cause in the government?”

Sandila shrugged. “There may well be an uproar, but the fact is that it has happened.”

“You have no proof,” Malik spluttered. “It’s all supposition.”

Sandila chose his words carefully. He spoke as though explaining something simple to a child, which was—he felt—exactly what the major was acting like.

“You asked me to investigate the disappearance of Dr. Yasmin. Obviously, I was aware of her reputation, and I had already read a couple of the papers she prepared when she was at MIT. Her reputation was second to none, and it is to her credit that she returned to our country and turned her back on what could have been a very lucrative career in America—”

“She is a woman.” Malik gestured dismissively. “There is no credit. She did only what she should.”

Sandila held his tongue and continued, trying to ignore the words of his superior. “Dr. Yasmin, in returning to her homeland, declared her desire to be part of our nuclear program and so help us not merely in the buildup of tactical armaments, but also to provide our nation with the power it needs to progress.”

“Why are you telling me this?” Malik waved an irritated hand at Sandila. “I do not care for her motives, only for the thugs who kidnapped her. Instead I get this gibberish about women and her going of her own will. This despite the evidence of her father and brother who—let me remind you—are well-respected men who have contributed heavily to the campaign coffers of our prime minister.”

“And of course that is why we should ignore the fact that they are lying,” Sandila snapped.

“Why would they lie?” Malik’s voice rose almost to a screech.

Sandila took a deep breath and looked around the room, composing himself. He wondered how many such outbursts of idiocy these buff-painted walls had absorbed over the decades. Too many, he surmised.

“They are lying to protect themselves, and also to protect Dr. Yasmin. I have been to the research institute, and I have also studied the files and the security system. There is no doubt that for some time now someone has been copying every research report and experiment. The IP address for this copying process was disguised, but unfortunately Dr. Yasmin is not the genius with computers that she is with nuclear fission. The trail leads back to both her login PC and also to her personal devices. She’s been taking copies. Why?

“Further, there were emails between herself and a woman who is known to be part of the political movement for the education and emancipation of women. This should be no surprise. After all, with her education and time spent in the West, it was inevitable that she would believe in an equality for which, it must be said, Pakistan lags behind. I examined the evidence from her father and brother and also the photographs and forensics collected in their villa.” Sandila sighed heavily. “I have to say, Major, that if that represents the level of competence usually shown by your men, then you need to seriously think about weeding some of them out.”

Malik interrupted him by banging his fist on the desk, making the laptop vibrate.

“You watch your mouth, Sandila. Do you dare to say that I do not know how to run my own department?”

Sandila looked at him stonily. “If it comes to that, then, yes, I do say that, Major. Their work is shoddy. There is no physical evidence of the kind of attack and forced entry that they say took place. There is some evidence to suggest that a group of people came to the villa and were inside...but forced their way in? I don’t think so. Possibly uninvited, but certainly not unexpected by at least one person present...I would venture that this was Dr. Yasmin. There’s no indication that there was any struggle on her removal, and indeed some of her belongings are missing in a manner that suggests she had time to pack.”

Malik was seething. “Are you suggesting that men of the caliber of her father and brother colluded in this event?”

“No. But I am suggesting that they are covering for her. I do believe that they didn’t know her plans in advance, but that they’re in a position where anything they say would suggest collusion. I’ve watched the interviews. These are not comfortable men, Major. As for those who came for Dr. Yasmin being women—well, I have no hard proof. But I can’t see her going willingly with a Taliban party, as your men implied. Come to that, I can’t see the Taliban wishing to work with a woman who presumes to take a man’s role,” he added with a wry grin.

Malik threw up his hands. “But if this stupid woman has gone of her own free will, then how can we find her without causing national outrage? At least we’ve been able to keep this under wraps until now. If we pursue her and it turns out she’s part of some ridiculous women’s group...it will be like that little girl who was taken to England. We will look stupid.”

Sandila considered the case to which Malik referred. A young girl had been shot by the Taliban for daring to demand an education for herself and other young girls. Her near-death caused an international storm and showed the regime and their reaction in a poor light. Rightly so, in the general’s view. However, in this instance he agreed with the major, if for different reasons.

“You’re right that it would cause a storm of publicity worldwide. That would be a bad thing. But my reasons for feeling that way differ from yours. There’s something I couldn’t put in the report.”

Malik kissed his teeth. “Now you have something else? All conclusions should be put in writing so that they can be circulated to the relevant offices. There is a procedure—”

“Major,” Sandila interrupted with urgency. “This information is so sensitive that it can only be shared with a few people at this stage, and by word of mouth only.”

Malik hesitated, then indicated that Sandila continue.

“As part of my investigation,” the general said in a low voice, “I was at the laboratory where Dr. Yasmin conducted practical experiments. I made an inventory of the fissionable materials there. It was, I presumed, routine. Sadly not—there was some material missing. Only a flask, but that is enough.”

“Some mistake in the initial inventory, perhaps,” Malik murmured, sweating as the import of the general’s words hit him.

Sandila shook his head. “I had hoped so, too, but I had to be sure. I got your local men to go back to the villa and sweep it with a Geiger counter. There were anomalous readings...”

“She stole it?” Malik whispered.

“She certainly had the flask with her at some point. And it damn well isn’t there now. I had your boys take the villa to pieces. The father may well complain—”

Malik brushed that aside. “He can do what he likes, the lying bastard. There can be no protection or deference for him now. No politician will cover his ass, no matter how much money he has. Do you know what this means?”

“Of course I know what it means,” the general snapped. “That’s what I’m telling you. Shazana Yasmin went of her own free will, most likely to join up with a women’s group. There is only one I know of with any real strength in numbers and a desire to fight—the Pakistan Women’s Liberation Army. If they have her, and they also have some fissionable materials, then they have one hell of a bargaining tool to get whatever they demand.”

The major swore heavily. “It’s worse than that. If they’re still in Balochistan—”

“There have been no sightings to suggest anything else—”

“Then you realize they’re surrounded by several threats? There are any number of Islamist cells, Taliban units, Baloch rebels and other guerrilla forces in those hills. Even if they aren’t looking for those bloody women, chances are they’ll fall over them. And if that happens...”

“Then you see why this has to cause uproar in the government,” Sandila said softly. “They need to get behind us and act now. Because if any of those groups find Dr. Yasmin before we do, then they get that flask....”

* * *

FOR TWO WEEKS, Shazana Yasmin had been adjusting to life as a fugitive freedom fighter—at least, that was how she saw herself. The government of her country had let her down, and she was certain that she had the opportunity to put that right.

It was just that at the moment, it didn’t quite feel that way. The Pakistan Women’s Liberation Army, the PWLA, had its camp in the foothills of the mountains that dotted the Balochistan region. The hills had always been a harsh environment, but they also afforded shelter and sanctuary to those who endured the hardships to live there. Since she was a child and her father had first retreated to this region, Yasmin had grown up on the stories of the men who had defied the British Empire for so long in this rocky terrain.

She rose and washed herself, on the thirteenth morning since her supposed capture, in the clear stream that burbled between the rocks. Once clean, she stood and stretched her aching back while breathing deeply of the clean morning air.