Calling Sehmat Read online

  Sehmat recognized the bag as the one that Sarfraz had handed over to Anjali in her presence. ‘Has Anjali been arrested? Has she spilled the beans? Is Sarfraz safe?’ Sehmat had no idea but realized that the Pakistani intelligence network had probably uncovered the entire operation. Many lives were at risk and she needed to act, and act fast. However, her judgement was clouded. She recalled what Mir had repeatedly impressed upon her during her short training. As if by magic, the words began to ricochet in her mind. ‘Whenever you suspect that your cover is exposed, assume it is so and act accordingly.’

  Was it time for her to leave? She could not tell, but somewhere deep inside, she knew that sooner rather than later she would have to seriously consider her escape route. After sacrificing her first love, Sehmat had just begun to settle down. Iqbal wasn’t the most brilliant of men, nor was he the sharpest. In fact, he depended completely on Sehmat’s advice even for his daily affairs. But he loved her deeply and gave her all the space she needed. Now, because of her actions, the entire family was on the verge of collapse. Somewhere deep within, she was ashamed of what she had done. Tears escaped her eyes as she recalled Abdul’s face. The sound of his crackling bones under the truck wheels made her sick.

  In the privacy of her bathroom, she wept bitterly, giving vent to her pent-up emotions, and then wiped her face dry. Later she and Iqbal had lunch together in their bedroom, letting the General catch up on his sleep. She then helped Munira pack her bags and escorted her till the gate. On her advice, Munira had decided to spend a few days with her parents at Rawalpindi. An hour later, both Iqbal and Sehmat sat down with General Sayeed. They consoled each other and prayed again. Sayeed tried his best to put up a brave front, but Sehmat knew that he was heartbroken.

  She deliberately did not mention the secret file that was delivered in the afternoon. Some issues should be best left forgotten, owing to unforeseen developments at home, she told herself.

  Soon, the General also left. Despite wearing his uniform, he was far from battle-ready. The stars on his shoulders weighed heavily on him.

  After seeing him off at the gate, Sehmat walked back to the house. As she climbed the short steps to the living room, she noticed a convoy of vehicles slowly moving towards the haveli. Instead of stopping at the gate, the vehicles moved past and slowed down as they reached the backyard. A large army truck, fitted with numerous antennae, pulled over while the other vehicles drove well past the haveli before coming to a halt.

  Sehmat immediately sensed trouble and rushed to the bathroom. She locked the door behind her, stepped on to the bathtub and peeped through the exhaust outlet. There were three men with dogs on long leashes, inspecting minutely the footprints and leftovers outside the haveli. There were a few civilians too who were busy unloading various kinds of equipment from the vehicles. A young officer, dressed in a crisp uniform, was sitting in the jeep, holding a walkie-talkie close to his ears.

  Carefully stepping down, Sehmat pulled the flush, washed her hands and opened the door, only to be startled by Iqbal standing outside.

  ‘What, Iqbal? If you were in a rush, you could have knocked.’

  ‘No, err, actually, I err,’ Iqbal fumbled repeatedly but could not complete his sentence.

  ‘What? Is something wrong? You are behaving strangely. Can I be of any assistance?’

  ‘Err, no. Actually, I want to use the bathroom urgently. If you’ll please excuse me?’

  Sehmat stepped aside, allowing him to enter the bathroom. The sheepish grin on his face told Sehmat everything she wanted to know. She looked around. Her heart was beating at a fast pace. She knew that her game was up. Her mind was now working on her escape route, if at all it was still open. She picked up Iqbal’s wallet from the writing table and hurriedly went through the contents. While stuffing the currency notes back, she noticed a small paper between the crisp notes. She pulled it out and read its contents. The seriousness on her face gave way to a strange expression and then she broke into a thin, ruthless smile. She placed the wallet back on the table and waited.

  Minutes later, the bathroom door opened. A dishevelled Iqbal stood at the door, his face and hair wet. His eyes suddenly filled with shock and horror. Facing him was Sehmat, holding his revolver in her hand, its muzzle pointing towards his forehead.

  16

  ‘Tell me everything you know. And don’t involve emotions or use them as blackmail. I am here to do a job for my country. And I will not let anyone come in the way. Not even you.’ Sehmat’s voice was cold and devoid of feelings.

  Shaken beyond words, Iqbal stared at the stranger in front of him. Her threat was real and he began to visualize his own corpse on the floor.

  Instructed by Sehmat and numb with shock, he dragged himself towards the chair and sat down. Sehmat tied his hands behind him with neckties and stood in front, still holding the gun. Only this time, it was half-cocked. Iqbal was still in a state of stupor. He loved her hopelessly. Despite her changed status, from his wife to an agent, he still could not bring himself to feel otherwise. He was not only in love with the woman who was betraying his country, he had come to depend on her for his very existence.

  His mind was searching for a way through which Sehmat could redeem her actions. With a desperate look of appeal in his sorrowful eyes, he pleaded with her and tried to persuade her. But Sehmat was resolute in her mission. Her eyes had a look of fanaticism for her country. And she wasn’t afraid to die.

  He tried another tactic. ‘You cannot get away, Sehmat. They have taken Munira for interrogation but very soon they will be questioning you. Abba Huzoor has also been told not to leave the station. In fact, he has stepped out to give these guys a safe passage. And my plight is that despite all these developments, I still cannot see you in their hands. Why did you do this?’

  Shattered, both emotionally and mentally, Iqbal’s eyes were wet and filled to the brim with unshed tears. His voice was heavy and his heart was pounding against his ribs, burdened by the knowledge of the lurking danger ahead. His face was shrouded with fear of the consequences of being married to a spy. The very thought of getting court-martialled made him weak in his knees. Sehmat knew too many secrets. Perhaps more than he could ever imagine. She had access to all sensitive files which were meant for the topmost of the ISI hierarchy and the polity. If court-martialled, the minimum punishment would be death. And the feeling of the ultimate punishment had already begun to sink in.

  Unwilling to accept the harsh truth staring him in his face, he was still desperate to save Sehmat from the hands of the ISI. If only he could make her disappear, he wished. But the counter web spun by the Pakistani intelligence was too intricate for Sehmat to escape. After brainstorming and not finding a way out, he blurted, ‘Please shoot me, Sehmat. And then kill yourself. At least that way we’ll be together.’

  Sehmat wasn’t listening. It was clear to her that Abdul’s closeness to Mehboob had made Munira the prime suspect. In any other case, she too would have been in their custody by now. Perhaps the ISI was in a dilemma on how to take two members of the high-profile family for questioning and had decided to focus on Munira first. She was also sure that soon the military police would come knocking at her door. Reaching for the phone, she snatched the receiver off the cradle. After flipping through the army directory for a few seconds, she dialled the most important number in the cantonment. A brief pause later, a smart and well-trained operator came on the line.

  ‘Good morning, this is General Imtiaz Khan’s residence.’ The voice was cultured and the operator spoke in refined English.

  ‘My name is Sehmat Sayeed. I am Anwar Khan’s teacher. I want to speak to Mrs Imtiaz Khan. This is an emergency.’

  ‘Please hold the line while I connect you, Madam,’ responded the operator in a clipped tone. Having connected her before, the operator knew that Sehmat’s call would be taken. A short while later a thin, sharp voice came over the earpiece. ‘Hello, Sehmat. How are you? Hope everything is all right?’ Mrs Suraiya Khan sounded happy to
hear her voice. She was oblivious to the latest developments at the Sayeeds’.

  ‘I am fine, Madam, but I want your help urgently. Can I come and meet you right now?’ Sehmat was extremely polite, not wanting to convey her nervousness.

  ‘I hope all is well? You sound disturbed.’

  ‘Yes, Madam. Iqbal and I have discovered some things which we feel are of enormous significance. I have to share them with you immediately. Any delay could mean disaster for our family.’

  There was an uneasy pause at the other end of the line. Sehmat could sense that the older woman was weighing the pros and cons of what Sehmat had said. She wondered if the wife of the second in command in army would take the bait. She also knew that talking to the first lady in the station would help her buy precious time from the military police who would be listening to every word being said.

  ‘Where are you right now?’ Sehmat could barely hear her voice.

  ‘At home, Madam.’

  ‘Okay, you may come right away. Do you have any transport?’

  ‘Err, no, Madam. Abba Huzoor has already left. But I think I’ll be able to manage.’

  ‘Please wait, I’ll send a car across to get you. It will reach you in a short while.’ Saying this, Suraiya put the phone down. Sehmat was thinking quickly, planning her next manoeuvre.

  General Imtiaz Khan’s bungalow wasn’t far from the Sayeeds’ haveli, and Sehmat knew that there were standby cars parked outside. But she also knew that travelling in Imtiaz Khan’s official car would provide her with the much-needed insurance against the ISI hawks. Twenty minutes later, Sehmat and Iqbal were sitting in a flag car. While leaving, Sehmat noticed more cars and trucks emerging from behind the barricade and driving towards the rear entrance of the bungalow. The noose was beginning to tighten. Would she be arrested on her return, she wondered.

  ‘So far, so good,’ she muttered as she sat in the rear seat and rested her head on a cushion. Iqbal was tenser than ever. He had no clue about the role he was to play in the ongoing proceedings. Going to the residence of the senior-most Army General without being called was a contravention of military orders. He looked at Sehmat pleadingly, his eyes filled with questions and fear, but he did not say anything.

  ‘It’s simple, Iqbal,’ Sehmat began as soon as the attendant closed the door of the car. The driver walked towards his seat, giving her a few precious moments. ‘You did not have any knowledge about the whole matter. Whatever I say to Mrs Khan would be the gospel truth for you as well. Remain silent and speak only when spoken to. Restrict yourself only to what you will hear me say. To start with, it was Abdul, right from day one. The rest is history. And remember, I will not hesitate to take extreme steps if I am forced to.’ After finishing her short, well-rehearsed brief, she paused to see her husband’s reaction. Iqbal understood the meaning of her threat. He had seen her putting the gleaming colt in her handbag.

  Minutes later, Sehmat was sitting across from Mrs Khan, confidently explaining Abdul’s possible involvement in the suspected espionage at the Sayeeds’ residence. She forcefully stressed the threat to Munira’s safety and repeatedly urged Mrs Khan to intervene.

  ‘She has just lost her husband, Madam. She should at least be allowed to mourn in peace,’ she pleaded, leaving strains of emotion floating in the air.

  Mrs Suraiya Khan was a seasoned lady. She knew army regulations as much as she understood her limitations. Sehmat’s request was beyond her powers even though she could connect to and sympathize with Munira’s plight. Besides, she was unsure of whom to speak to regarding this unusual request. On the other hand, Sehmat’s initiative at her grandson’s school concert was weighing on her mind. She also had an inflated ego that would suffer a steep fall if she failed to exert her clout as the wife of the most powerful army officer in the country. Prompted by Sehmat, she decided to take up the matter in her capacity as the vice chairperson of the Army Officers’ Wives Welfare Association.

  She picked up the receiver, dialled a number and asked for Lieutenant General Izaz Mirza, the chief of ISI. Mirza quickly came on the line and exchanged polite courtesies. He owed his present appointment to the closeness he enjoyed with the Khans. There was some hesitation in Mrs Khan’s voice in the beginning, but as the discussion proceeded, she took complete control.

  ‘Mirza Sahib, I would like to bring to your attention a possible case of high-handedness shown by the army personnel. I have been given to understand that General Sayeed’s elder daughter-in-law has been picked up by the military police on some issues related to espionage. It is indeed a very serious charge but I would appreciate if you could personally look into it and ensure adequate safety for the lady. As you would be aware, her husband died of a heart attack just two days ago. I am sure we can be more humane in our approach, even if there is a genuine case against her. May I request you to see that she is treated well and sent home as soon as possible?’

  She spoke without offering a break to the General. Then she promptly hung up, leaving the not-so-amused General holding the receiver in his hand. Her message was clear and, even in his position of authority, Lieutenant General Mirza knew that he could not afford to antagonize the wife of the most powerful man in the Pakistani army. Besides, General Imtiaz Khan was also closely related to the Army Chief and he himself had benefited from their relationship. He knew about the Sayeeds’ espionage episode and had personally signed the order papers for investigation.

  Munira’s arrest had not been easy either. Her father was a retired Lieutenant General, and she too carried sufficient clout. It was only after his deputy, General Sayeed, agreed to the line of action that the ISI moved further. Having already questioned Munira to a certain extent, the ISI chief decided to put the issue on the back-burner for the time being.

  Sehmat spent the next half hour in a more relaxed state of mind. Having achieved her short-term goal, she quickly drifted to other subjects, easing the tension that had built up in the room. It became evident to Iqbal that both women had enormous admiration for each other. Soon Anwar became the subject of their discussion, with Sehmat outlining his hidden qualities such as determination and a sense of focus. Mrs Khan appeared pleased and in turn complimented Sehmat on her creative teaching style.

  Sitting in the corner as a mute spectator, a scared Iqbal wondered about the extent to which his wife had made inroads into the first family. The ease with which Sehmat wielded influence, even in matters concerning national security, shocked him. But in all this destruction, he could see a way out for Sehmat. He observed that Mrs Khan could not even begin to see the web that was being spun by her. Yet, he was also hoping that Sehmat would be able to pull off the plan that she had in mind. He loved her and she mattered to him, even if she was an enemy agent.

  Iqbal accepted the teacup that was offered to him by a uniformed butler. He was about to take the first sip when he heard Sehmat seeking Mrs Khan’s permission to take Anwar to their haveli for a short while. Shocked, he nearly spilled the tea. The far-reaching consequences of Sehmat’s request were clear to him in the very first instant.

  ‘We are extremely depressed, Madam,’ he heard his wife say. ‘I too am in the family way and my doctor has categorically told me to exercise caution. Anwar’s presence would cheer me up a great deal,’ Sehmat continued carefully, without a hint of desperation in her voice.

  Iqbal wished to scream, ‘No!’, but could not muster enough courage. Mrs Khan, on the other hand, appeared pleased by Sehmat’s request, happy that her grandson would be able to spend quality time with his favourite teacher. Anwar too was very fond of her. When asked, he jumped at the idea of spending a few hours with his teacher at her residence. Ten minutes later, they left in the same car. Sehmat now had a willing hostage in her custody, just in case.

  By the time they reached home, Munira had arrived and locked herself in her room. The soldiers at the haveli too were hastily loading their equipment into the waiting trucks, while the fleet of inspection vehicles had begun to pull away. The dogs w
ere no longer sniffing around the haveli and the truck with surveillance equipment had downed its shutters. It was clear that Suraiya’s words had worked. However, Sehmat was still extremely uncomfortable. She wasn’t entirely sure of how Iqbal would react and therefore kept him within pistol range at all times.

  17

  As the sky dusked, a flag car approached the newly erected barrier in the cantonment. The driver rolled down his windowpane and brought the car to a halt. The security guards saluted in unison before one of them stepped up to take an identification check.

  ‘Major General Bashir Ahmad Sahib,’ indicated the driver while flashing his ID card. The young soldier had barely taken a look at the card when a crisp, husky voice from the back seat threw him off guard. ‘Which road will take us to General Sayeed’s residence?’ it asked. Springing to attention, the guard hurriedly returned the card to the driver and pointed in the direction of the haveli.

  The guard was well aware of the reason behind the sudden spurt in high-profile visits to that part of the cantonment. Since the tragedy, excessive VIP movement had kept them on their toes. The guard stepped back smartly and continued pointing in the direction of the house with his right hand while the other three stood to rigid attention.

  ‘First turn left, then turn right and again first turn left, Sir. It’s the last bungalow, Sir.’

  ‘Thanks.’ The driver changed gears and stepped on the gas pedal almost immediately.

  Mir, who was sitting in the back seat, readjusted his peak cap and pressed a tiny button beneath the armrest. This was a signal for the commando who was hiding in the boot and holding an automatic rifle. Despite lying crouched in the cramped space and sweating profusely, his face reflected signs of relief.