Local time – 5:45pm, Saturday 16th June, 2011.
Islamabad, Pakistan.
Five hours after hearing the news from his father, Ahmed sat shoulder to shoulder with seven men in his small college bedroom.
‘We meet here today on the invitation of Tariq and we thank Ahmed and Tariq for making us aware of this terrible plan.’ Yasir, the only man on his feet, addressed the group like a general addressing an army. Tariq, Ahmed’s closest friend, looked around proudly, nudging Ahmed in the ribs. Ahmed still felt sick with guilt over breaking his secrecy pact. He tried not to think of his father. Yasir continued.
‘Our first business will be to induct our new members. Ahmed and Tariq, welcome to Al-Battar. You are now aware of the confidentiality required of you?’ Tariq said ‘yes’ enthusiastically, and Ahmed nodded without meeting Yasir’s eyes. Ahmed never envisioned being part of a secret society, especially of the likes of this one. Al-Battar – the Sword of the Prophet – was secret from almost all the college staff, but known amongst the students. Notorious for their hatred of America and their strong Islamic faith, its members shared the loose ideal of ridding Pakistan of American influence. It was well known that they had links with serving army officers and members of the Intelligence community. After the assassination of Bin Laden by Americans on Pakistani soil, strong rumours of the group’s opposition had resurfaced at the college.
‘As soon as Ahmed told me his father’s news today, I knew your group would help us.’ Tariq said.
‘And help you we will.’ Yasir shook Tariq’s hand, and then Ahmed’s, before he sat down and started the meeting. ‘We have an update from Imran, who spoke to his brother in a secret location an hour ago. Imran, can you please tell us what you have found?’ A shy, thin young man, perched on the edge of the bed, stood up nervously. Ahmed and Tariq had eyed him curiously until Yasir explained that Imran’s brother worked for Military Intelligence. Imran spoke carefully and slowly, as if conveying something that should never be forgotten.
‘Brothers. We are risking our lives speaking of this plan. My brother risked his by agreeing to see me. But it is clear that he, like us, is gravely concerned about our government’s ability to secure our nation.’ Imran turned to Yasir as if asking permission to continue. Yasir nodded in encouragement.
‘The plans are far further progressed than was implied by Minister Wasti. The security teams guarding the weapon storage facilities have almost completely disappeared. In their place are European spooks who have been moving trucks out of Pakistan for the last three months.’ There was a sharp intake of breath from everyone except Imran as the news sank in. Tariq couldn’t contain himself.
‘How many are gone?’
‘All of them.’ Hands flew up to faces and a silence engulfed the room. Yasir was the first to speak.
‘Imran’s brother, like us, has no information about where the warheads have gone and what compensation our nation receives for their loss.’ He emphasised the word ‘compensation’ sarcastically. ‘However, I believe you are all, like me, certain no price is worth this foolishness. I do not know how Ahmed’s father has been coerced into such treasonable action. Our nation has been weakened by the great flood, we are overwhelmed with refugees, but this is exactly when we should be standing up for our security. Not handing it to some Western power with deep pockets. I do not intend to stand by and watch this happen. The Sword of the Prophet (peace and blessings of Allah be upon him) might have been created for this very hour.’ His audience muttered their agreement.
Another man, Mohammad, spoke with eloquent anger,
‘With the world so fearful of Islam, we have become ashamed of our strength. I fear our government has lost Allah’s guidance and are acting for themselves and not for our Islamic brothers.’ Everyone nodded gravely.
Imran looked more anxious than ever, ready to say something but too nervous to start. Yasir nodded at him and he cleared his throat.
‘All hope may not be lost. My brother told me something else.’ He lowered his voice. ‘There are rumours in the intelligence services of one remaining warhead, kept in a secret location, apart from the others, in case of a situation like this.’
‘Does he know where it is?’ Ahmed asked.
‘No. He knows just the rumour. There are only a handful of officers permitted to speak of such high level intelligence.’
Yasir opened his mouth to say something, but suddenly all eyes turned to Ahmed, who interrupted Yasir by standing up. He had been quiet throughout the meeting, sullen even, as if he wasn’t quite sure he belonged there. By getting to his feet, he showed his mind was now clear.
‘This weapon will be our saviour. No one will attack us when they learn we still have power to retaliate. We need to find this warhead. Who is with us?’ A muffled cry of ‘We are!’ went up. Yasir seized Ahmed’s hands, shaking them as if the young man had just been elected President.