ISLAMABAD, PAKISTAN
They grew up as friends. Close friends.
They were from poor neighboring families.
They had risen to power by their own efforts, by sheer determination, defying the rules of their country’s established social strata.
The young orphan Atiq Gadai had escaped the strong gravitational pull of al Qaeda in the tribal areas and received a scholarship to study physics in Islamabad. His grades eventually earned him an international scholarship to get his master’s and Ph.D. from Oxford. Over the following decade, Atiq became one of Pakistan’s finest scientists before joining the ranks of the ISI and reaching the esteemed title of senior director.
Vijay Korai’s grades had also allowed him to study at his nation’s capital before going off to Cambridge, receiving a degree in petroleum engineering followed by an MBA. He climbed the corporate ladder in the Karachi oil industry, becoming a tycoon, one of Pakistan’s wealthiest. But he never forgot his roots, sharing his riches with his country’s less fortunate. Korai built schools and hospitals, investing heavily in infrastructure. His efforts provided clean water, electricity, and affordable housing to regions long forgotten by his country’s leadership—actions that won him enormous popularity, propelling him into politics. He rose from senator in the Pakistani Parliament to becoming his country’s newest prime minister, elected into office just eight months ago.
The old friends stared at each other from across the large desk on the second floor of the executive building adjacent to the large Parliament building, and just a stone’s throw from Atiq’s ISI headquarters.
“So, it has begun,” said Korai, sitting back and frowning while looking away from the large TV screens hanging on the right wall of his office, all replaying the same story from the Bagram Airfield attack.
“It appears so,” replied Atiq, sipping Masala chai from a fine porcelain cup. “And per the plan, Ibrahim is making sure all blame is being directed to ISIS … plus I personally leaked intel into Pentagon servers to corroborate his story.”
Korai regarded his lifelong friend, mostly bald now, with an unkempt salt-and-pepper mustache and bloodshot eyes signaling a lack of sleep.
He inhaled deeply and said, “I was never in favor, you know.”
“I know,” Atiq said.
“My dream for Pakistan has always been one of peace across the land. Seeing a nuclear warhead detonated anywhere in the region is far from that vision.”
“Peace comes at a cost, Vijay. And besides, the only lives lost were those of the jihadists who delivered it … plus the infidels.”
Korai stared into the distance and said, “I’ve devoted my entire life to helping those in need. I believe that the best way to combat poverty and the extremism that is ISIS growing within our nation’s fabric, is through education, through jobs, not by arming them with nuclear weapons.”
“But you have to admit,” Atiq said, “they did pay us quite handsomely for them—money we are already using to build schools, housing, roads, train systems, even expanding that costly subway system in Karachi.”
Korai nodded. The latter project, targeted at solving the massive traffic problems in the port city, was as expensive as Pakistan’s Khushab nuclear reactor complex. But it wasn’t just about the money they had collected from the terrorist network, at least not to Korai. It was also about distracting ISIS by focusing their energy away from Pakistan. Ever since he’d assumed the position of prime minister, ISIS had been pressuring his government to take definitive action against America or face civil war.
“And besides,” Atiq added, “they were going to get their hands on nuclear weapons sooner or later, so might as well control the how, the where, the when, and the whom.”
Korai pointed an index finger at him. “But you see … the reality is that no one really controls ISIS but ISIS, at least in the long run. We may have managed to divert their attention away from our government, at least for a little while, but even then I was never sure which part of ISIS we were really dealing with. Its left hand doesn’t always know what its right hand is doing. Any belief to the contrary is just an illusion, an impossibility.”
“Well, in that case we may just be achieving the impossible, because so far Ibrahim is sticking to the plan.” He turned to face the screen. “No one is blaming Pakistan for the attack. If anything, the Americans are sending scientists from their EPA to help locate and clean up any fallout carried into Pakistan by the prevailing winds.”
“They are?” He didn’t know that.
Atiq nodded. “Cleanup crews, and their sympathies, are not what they would be sending our way if they suspected us.”
Korai also returned his attention to the television. “I pray very hard that you prove me wrong, old friend. I really do. The only way we can elevate Pakistan in the eyes of the world is through commerce and industry, and that requires education and jobs. And that can only happen in times of peace and prosperity, not with nuclear bombs going off a hundred miles from our border.”
“And peace we shall have,” Atiq reassured him. “That is the beauty of terrorism. It operates outside the purview of nations, making it a much more difficult target to retaliate against. On top of that, I have confirmation that the Internet leak has reached the highest levels in the American intelligence community, especially their Defense Intelligence Agency. And that, combined with the overt efforts of Ibrahim and his organization … I’m telling you, Pakistan will come through this unscathed. We have truly achieved the impossible, lessening the pressure that ISIS was placing on your administration by sending them off to kill Americans, and doing so without any downside from either ISIS or the Americans.”
Korai stood, walked around his desk, and stood in front of the flat-screen displays hanging side by side on the wall. To him, the answer to Pakistan’s long-term survival resided in a combination of keeping ISIS busy outside of Pakistan while finding enough money to invest in his country. He had poured most of his life’s effort into Pakistan and then convinced others to do the same, including ISIS, the wealthiest terrorist organization in the world, backed by Saudi Arabia. The decision to accept Ibrahim’s generous donation of seven hundred million euros in exchange for the nuclear weapons had not been easy. But like Atiq had pointed out, ISIS was bound to get its hands on the devices sooner or later. So, might as well control it, as well as their targets and the timeline, while also benefiting from an influx of cash to bolster his country’s financial position. All across Pakistan new construction reigned, from the Karachi subway system to superhighways and skyscrapers, and this created thousands of jobs. New roads, oil refineries, power plants, water treatment facilities, schools and universities—all the infrastructure a nation needed to elevate its society from decades of poverty.
He firmly believed that each new job represented one less candidate to be recruited by the likes of ISIS and al Qaeda, who preyed on the unemployed. If he could keep ISIS and the other terrorist organizations looking the wrong way for long enough, he just might be able to elevate Pakistan socially beyond their grip. And that included his intelligence network and his military.
Korai sighed, realizing the dangerous game he was playing. One hand secretly collaborated with terrorists to attack the very country that placed billions of dollars of financial aid in his other hand.
A tricky balancing act, he thought, finding it increasingly difficult to play both sides effectively. But what choice did he have? ISIS was deeply rooted in Pakistan, as well as in every other country in the Middle East. They were too powerful to destroy or to ignore, leaving him no choice but to join their cause.
Or at least give that impression.
And he also couldn’t ignore American interests in the area when they included such healthy financial packages to benefit his country’s infrastructure and his military—especially with hostile India next door.
Korai looked down at the scar tissue covering the tops of his own hands, though not as extensive as Atiq’s. While the Pakistani prime minister recognized his own motivation for collaborating with ISIS, he knew Atiq’s reasons were quite different, and probably much more personal, given the loss of his parents and baby sister to the Americans. Korai’s parents had been away visiting relatives the afternoon the bomb fell, as the two best friends returned from a soccer match to witness the destruction. But what Atiq would never know was that the bomb did not miss its intended target.
The house next to Atiq’s family’s—Korai’s own home—had long been used as a secret Taliban council room and weapons storage depot in their village.
Korai always knew of his father’s covert dealings with Taliban leaders—a secret that he would take to his grave.
“I know your suffering,” Korai finally said. “I was there … I pulled you back from the flames.”
Atiq looked away. “I tried, you know … tried to save them,” he finally whispered.
“I know … but they were beyond saving.”
“I still had to try … even if it was beyond my control.”
“And that’s my worry, old friend,” said Korai, still staring at the tops of his hands. “If this situation gets beyond our control … no one may be able to pull you—and me, for that matter—away from the flames.”