Local time – 5:05pm, Sunday 17th June, 2011.
Islamabad, Pakistan.
Something had shifted between Ahmed and Tariq since their time in the warehouse. Tariq now seemed wary of his friend’s frenzied mood, and his tone revealed his frustration. ‘We’ve been driving around for an hour. We have what we need. Now we go find the weapon.’ Ahmed ignored his friend’s request.
He was driving in a circuitous route around the streets of Rawalpindi, his paranoia mounting. He had given up assuring the four others in the car that he knew what he was doing, and now just focused on driving randomly around the busy peak hour streets. He was making sure they lost any tails. But there was no evidence they were being followed, and Tariq believed the longer they put off locating the weapon, the more chance they would be stopped before they completed their mission. They had already taken a huge detour, after being given the exact address of the hidden weapon by the brutalised man they had left bleeding, quite likely to death. Ahmed had insisted Imran contact his brother and organise to buy some guns. Imran was terrified by this suggestion, not wanting to endanger his brother’s life, and also being reluctant to make it quite so obvious what the group was doing. But he had been more terrified of refusing Ahmed, whose wild eyes showed he was a man on the brink.
Imran’s brother had been equally reluctant to help, but when he realised that his younger brother was asking for the firearms to protect himself, he supplied him with four hand guns, and asked as few questions as possible. He made no mention of the assassination attempt that morning. And nor did he speak of the kidnap of one of his colleagues, coincidentally the same colleague he had told his brother would be likely to know the location of a hidden nuclear weapon.
After handing over the weapons to Ahmed, Imran announced that he wouldn’t be continuing on the mission. He argued that he had done enough. Ahmed bristled and accused Imran of being a coward, but he eventually agreed to let him leave. Imran was too timid to be much more use than he had already been.
The only sound in the car was the crackly music, jumping when the tape rattled in the car stereo as Ahmed drove too fast over a bump in the road. It was loud enough to drown out the sound of a phone ringing in Salman’s pocket. The phone rang twice, before Ahmed eventually heard the vibration, and switched the radio off.
‘Whose phone is that?’ He looked around sharply at the three scared faces in the back seat. No one said a word. The phone could now be heard, shrill and insistent.
‘Whose is it?’ Ahmed’s voice rose. Salman shifted in his seat and pulled the mobile out of his pocket.
‘I told you to turn your phones off! We could be traced!’ Salman switched the phone off. Ahmed pulled the car over abruptly, making Salman wince. Ahmed’s face had gone red with anger. His breaking point had finally been reached, and the explosion of anger snapped like a steal trap.
‘What are you doing here? Do you have any idea what we’ve done? What we are doing? What the fuck do you think you’re doing here? You’re an imbecile! A child! You’re just a weak little shit. Get out. Get out of the car.’
Ahmed jumped out of the front seat, the engine still running. Salman sat on the passenger side in the back seat. His eyes were wide with fear, but he didn’t move. The man, who the day before was known around the college as the shy son of a Government Minister, was now acting like a monster. Ahmed flung open the back door and grabbed Salman’s shirt, trying to drag him from the car. Salman’s seatbelt held him in his seat, but in his rage Ahmed took little notice, and clawed more violently, tearing Salman’s shirt and scratching his arms. Mohammad, who sat in the middle seat, tried fruitlessly to push Ahmed away from Salman, but Ahmed’s response was to pummel both men with his fists. Salman managed to undo his seatbelt, but he couldn’t remove himself from the tornado in front of him. Ahmed ripped Salman from his seat, and the terrified man’s feet flailed, trying to get purchase on the ground. While he struggled, Ahmed punched him twice in the mouth, and then dropped him on the ground.
‘You’re a mole. Aren’t you! You’re going to find out where the weapon is and then give us up! You’re going to get us killed!’ Ahmed screamed.
‘What are you talking about Ahmed? I thought my phone was off. It was my girlfriend calling. I didn’t know’. Salman rocked on the ground, holding his bloodied face in pain. Ahmed kicked him in the ribs, and then stamped on his stomach. Tariq appeared by Ahmed’s side, trying to pull his friend away from the man cowering on the ground.
‘What are you doing Ahmed? You’re hurting him!’
‘He can’t be trusted!’ Ahmed screamed, oblivious to the pedestrians watching the scene.
‘You’re losing your mind! Get back in the car! We need to go!’ Ahmed wouldn’t meet Tariq’s eyes. He stopped kicking Salman, who was scrambling away from him, still struggling to get up.
‘Stay out of it Tariq.’ For a moment it looked like Ahmed was going to control his rage. He took two steps backwards. But then he reached his hand into the back of his jeans, and pulled out a gun. One of the guns supplied by Imran. Tariq put his hands out.
‘No, no Ahmed. You’ve lost your mind!’ Salman saw the gun too and started scrambling away even faster, backing up against the wall that bordered the street. Ahmed held the gun nervously; his military training hadn’t prepared him for the real thing. He wasn’t looking at Salman, but stepped awkwardly forward.
‘You’re not going to destroy our plans.’ He whined like a child. Then he squeezed the trigger. There was a sharp crack. Tariq jumped backwards, still holding up his hands, now in surrender. Pedestrians around them froze.
‘Get back in the car.’ Ahmed said calmly, jumping in himself. Tariq did as the crazed Ahmed told him. Mohammed and Yasir looked to be trying to mould themselves into the backs of their seats as Ahmed sped away, leaving Salman bleeding by the side of the road. People rushed to help him, and someone took out a mobile and called the police.