One Tablespoon War

Chapter 10

'Hi, Zain, it's me,' Ahmed spoke into the receiver. 'Ahmed.'

'Oh, hi there, Ahmed,' he answered. 'Erm, why are you calling on my work phone?'

'Because you weren't answering your mobile phone, jerk,' Ahmed said flatly.

'Oh, right,' Zain said. Ahmed could hear him rummaging through papers, possibly looking for his mobile phone. 'Why did you call, anyway?'

'I need you to come to Islamabad with me, please,'

'What for?' Zain asked. 'I just came back from there, you know.'

'Yes, yes, I know,' Ahmed answered, hurriedly. 'But I need to go to the President's house, Zain. They won't let me in, man, but they will let you in.'

'Mmm,' Zain spoke after a while. 'Aren't you taking too much advantage of me, Ahmed?' Ahmed knew his friend was only joking, but it irritated him all the same. He wasn't doing all this for leisure.

'I'm sorry you feel that way,' Ahmed said, his tone heavily dripping with sarcasm. 'But there is no other option. I'm leaving tonight at eight. Join me, please, unless you would rather I break in.'

'Don't worry, man,' Zain said, wondering if he had put his friend off. 'I'll call and let them know immediately. If you want, we can even arrange for my dad's private plane to pick us up.'

'That wold be swell, Zain,' Ahmed said graciously. 'Thanks, bro.'

After cutting the call, Ahmed put his head back and sighed loudly. He mentally prepared a list of things he would need to carry with him to Islamabad. In his mind, he located the 'Top Secret' brown file lying in the topmost drawer of his lockers. There wasn't much in it, right now, but Ahmed was hoping it would be nice and fat when he came back from Islamabad. He even dared to hope that there was a bold 'SOLVED' stamped across the file, but that seemed almost a bit too much to wish for. This case wasn't going to be solved in a day.

He stood up from his chair, and started collecting papers. He didn't want to leave anything lying open on his desk for story-grabbers. He cast a look over the pile of files lying on the top right corner of his desk. Those cases weren't top priority cases, but they were cases all the same. He would have to remember to hand them to one of the other detectives on his way out. Blowing dust off a frame and picking it up, Ahmed stared at the innocent little face staring back at him.

Azlaan.

One little glance at his son's face reminded him of the innocence of childhood. God only knew how much he longed to go back into those times, when the biggest problem was nothing more than what new game to play. 

Ahmed remembered he hadn't spoken to his son in nearly a week. He must remember to call him up before boarding the plane that night.

'If I don't, God knows what rubbish Rose will feed my baby's mind,' Ahmed muttered, thinking of his ex-wife. He hadn't seen her face since that horrible day four years back, when he had finally given her up in court. Despite the fact that she had been long gone, her face still returned to haunt Ahmed. The two years he had been married to her had had a huge impact on his life. Ahmed feared that some of the scars that remained would never heal; Ahmed's fear of committment arose from that. He thought the two year torment served him right for disobeying his parents and marrying a British woman in the first place.

He glanced at his silver Cartier watch. The dial showed that it was six-thirty, which meant that he would have to leave promptly, or miss his flight. Sadly for him, Zain had been unable to arrange for his father's private plane, due to 'technical difficulties'. Ahmed knew these were nothing more than half-hopeful members of the Parliament, creating havoc in the absence of the President. He contemplated calling his son before leaving, quickly calculated the time difference: it would be one-thirty in Luton, and dialed the number. He took a few deep breaths, anticipating the horrible conversation with Rose.

'Ahmed,' a honey-sweet voice answered the phone. The very same voice that he had fallen for. 'Wait I'll call Azlaan.'

Hi, Rose. he thought. Good day to you too, Rose.

'I'm sorry, Ahmed, Azlaan isn't coming right now. He's busy building something with Legos. Azlaan, come here! Dad's on the phone!'

Ahmed thought he heard someone in a thick, British accent, say 'I don't like Dad' in the background, but he ignored it. He could have easily misheard Dad for that. Yeah, that's what he must have been saying.

'That's okay, Rosie,' he said, forgetting the discontinued use of his nickname for her in his disappointment. 'I'm going to Islamabad tonight. Will call when I'm back, then. Have a good day.'

**

A SHORT CHAPTER. SORRY GUYS! PLEASE VOTE/COMMENT!

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