One Tablespoon War

Chapter 7

It was the morning of sixth of July, exactly three days after the President's disappearance. The havoc that Azharullah Shah's death had created was beginning to settle down, as well. Ahmed stood in front of the huge whiteboard mounted on a wall in his cabin. His hair was ruffled, as if it hadn't met a brush since days, and his face bore the prickly, unshaven look. He looked ragged by no means, however; if remotely possible, he looked even more gorgeous.

It was only when one looked closely, that the dark circles underlying his eyes could be spotted. Ahmed Jatoi had been up for a straight forty-eight hours, trying to figure out what was happening. The case was too sensitive to be discussed, but Ahmed had decided to trust his partner, Fahad Aslam. He needed help in solving these cases.

Case, he corrected in his head. He couldn't let go of the thought that everything was interlinked. Never had he been called upon for help by so many members of the same family at the same time. There was something that he was missing, and until he could put his finger on it, it was impossible to move any further along.

'Fahad?' Ahmed called, sticking his head out of the door and examining the hallway outside.

'Sir, here,' Fahad called back, coming out from behind a pillar. 'Sorry, I was working on something, what do you need me for?'

'Not out here,' Ahmed said, 'Come inside.'

He beckoned for Fahad to come in and take a seat. He seated himself behind his desk, laced his fingers together, and wrinkled his forehead. Fahad was taking in each and every expression, and wondered what he had been called in for. He was hoping it was just a case, but he was unsteady on that thought. Ahmed always took new cases in his stride; the more challenging they became, the more he enjoyed solving one. Never, in the six years Fahad had been working with him, had he seen Ahmed look this distressed. He sincerely hoped that it wasn't him causing Ahmed the trouble.

Ahmed coughed before starting, clearing his throat as if he was about to deliver a very important speech.

'There's this case,' Ahmed started, but was interrupted by Fahad.

'Oh, thank God, it's a case!' he spoke, excitedly.

'Erm, yes, Fahad, thank you for your enthusiasm,' Ahmed said, amused. 'So as I was saying, there's this case. It is a top secret one, however, and I want you to swear not to talk about this to anyone but me.'

'I swear,' Fahad said, looking serious.

'Swear upon, Shahid Afridi's six?' Ahmed said, knowing that his partner had a soft spot for Pakistani cricket.

'Playing dirty, now, are we?' Fahad joked. 'Yes, yes, I swear. Now what is it?'

'The President contacted me before he disappeared into thin air,' Ahmed said. 'He warned me about a murder, said he knew who was going to be murdered.

'Naturally, I thought he had received a death threat, and was talking about himself. The death of Shah, however, has shed a whole new light on the situation. I am now completely baffled, and I cannot figure it out on my own. I need someone else's point of view.'

'Have you thought about the fact that maybe Shah's murder was a mistake?' Fahad supplied.

'I don't think it was, to be honest,' Ahmed said. 'His murder seems too targeted to be a mistake. How else does one person die in a room of fifty, while others escape, unscathed?'

'You could be right, but then again, the President could easily have been the target too,'

'He wasn't even in the room, Fahad,' Ahmed said. 'How is he supposed to be the target?'

'I don't know, Fahad,' Ahmed said, irked. 'All I know is that the President knew about what was going to happen, and he refused to do anything about it. He let a person die.'

'I know you are bothered, Ahmed, but I think you are jumping to conclusions too soon,' Fahad chided. 'Here, give me that file. Let's have a look at this case.'

'You do that,' Ahmed sighed, handing him the brown file which lay in front of him. 'I'm going to go check this address out. It might be a lead.'

'To?' Fahad enquired.

'No idea,' Ahmed said. 'But we are private investigators, aren't we? We punch logic in the face, and come out victorious.'

Fahad smiled. Knowing his partner, he knew Ahmed probably had a shrewd idea about what he would find there. He loved working with this man.

**

'Are we meeting tonight, or not?' Maria questioned, handing Afaaq Yousuf an ultimatum. 'You know very well what I'm going to do if you postpone our meeting once more.'

'Yes, yes, my dear,' spoke the cunning voice at the end of the line. 'We shall meet today, and don't you worry about your dues.'

Dues? More like her salary. Maria thought. She liked to think of it as hard-earned money. Hell, she had probably worked harder in two days than most people did in a month. Yes, she deserved whatever this person had to give her.

**

A dark grey building hovered upon him. Ahmed stood in front of the huge iron gates, examining this gigantic piece of architecture. This was the address Ramna had given to him, where she had presumed her husband met with others to carry out illicit activities. He searched for a lock on the gate, only to be disappointed. The gates had been modified to open digitally. He searched for a digital key-pad, but found none. Either this place was absolutely deserted, or he had underestimated their intelligence. Ahmed thought that the latter was more likely.

Pulling a silver, rod-like, metal object from his pocket, Ahmed pushed it between the two gates. The gates swung open immediately. Ahmed smiled. The magnetic lock-picker had never let him down. It interfered with the alarm system as well, ensuring that any security alarm that was linked to the gate be deactivated upon contact. He pulled out hisBeretta 92 from the holster, and held it steady, while carefully making his way into the premises. His first contact was with a scurrying animal, possibly a rat. The second, was an almost head-on collision with human flesh. Ahmed had managed to duck behind a stack of cartons just in time, as two men, about six feet tall, chattered there way through the alley.

Ahmed strained his ears to listen to their conversation, all the while keeping his gun loaded, ready to shoot at the slightest hint of violence.

'So I guess we will have to ditch that plan?' A deep-throated voice asked.

'Yes, tell the others,' another wheezing voice, as if having smoked too much, responded. 'We have to lie low until the others are thrown off trail.'

'And then?'

'Then, my dear, we strike,' the wheezy voice replied, a hint of jubilancy in his voice. 'Get ready to be filthy rich.'

Ahmed pondered over what he had just heard. What was the plan? He wondered whether the President was being kept in the same building, whether he was close to rescuing his mentor, whether...

Lost in his trail of thought, Ahmed walked in head first into the pile of cartons, causing one of them to topple over and fall noisily on to the gravel below.

There was immediate shouting and Ahmed could feel flashlights pointing in his direction.

'Hey, who's there?' a menacing voice called.

However, it wasn't that which troubled Ahmed. It was the other, more familiar voice.

'What are you doing here?' the voice said, sounding angry and astonished at the same time.

Ahmed felt his heartbeat quicken. Just as his heart was threatening to burst out of his chest,  a hand on his shoulder pulled him back, and shoved him to the ground.