A few minutes later, Kakar was ushered in by Adeela, a resigned look on his bearded face. Hasni remained seated, and gestured to the armchair left vacant by Asad.
“Some tea, Father?”
“Tea, yes. Thank you, my dear.”
Kakar sat in the chair, his hands going first to the arms before he finally placed them in his lap, mimicking Hasni’s.
“Thank you for coming to see me at short notice.”
“When the Brigadier summons, his servants respond,” Kakar said, bowing his head.
Kakar wasn’t subservient by nature. He was too well educated for that. But despite his usefulness to Hasni, he knew the man demanded respect, and he had to make out as if he knew his place. Besides, he feared him. Or rather, the power he wielded.
Hasni tapped the report lying on the desk with his forefinger. “This is evidence that the Leopards took part in the abduction of the US Secretary of State. Police evidence. This is to be expected. This is what you will say to your Taliban friends.”
“Of course, Brigadier.”
“If all goes well, the ISI will continue to support your cause. But I expect the Taliban to do their duty in return.”
“We know the whereabouts of several of their leaders in the Upper Kurram Valley. My men know who their guardians are.”
Hasni grinned.
Kakar had been on the ISI’s unofficial payroll since 2001. He resented this, but could do nothing about it. The alternative was to face almost certain death. Those Taliban leaders who’d escaped to Peshawar, but who’d refused to bend to the ISI’s will, were found bound in gutters, their throats slit. The price to be paid for sanctuary on Pakistan soil was obedience. Besides, he viewed Iran as a common enemy. In 1998, after the Taliban Sunnis massacred the inhabitants of Mazar-i Sharif, a Shia town, Iran deployed three hundred thousand troops on the border and threatened war. A nuclear Pakistan, the Taliban’s main ally, had been a major deterrent, Kakar believed.
Hasni leaned forward, arching his fingers. “I have heard that some of the Leopards responsible for this atrocity are still here in Islamabad. Your men will no doubt find them and hand them over to me tonight.”
“But, Brigadier, how can–?”
Hasni slapped Kakar hard across the face.
As his head spun Kakar had to force himself not to urinate. With his breath reduced to shallow gasps, he felt his cheek throb. Apart from making him feel humiliated, Hasni had now given him an impossible order.
The door opened and Adeela brought in a tray with china cups and a silver teapot. Kakar was relieved. He knew that if Hasni hadn’t been in his own home, well, anything could’ve happened. Then he remembered the torture-cell rumours. He resolved to provide Hasni with bodies, as long as they were Shia ones.
“Ah, tea. Excellent, my dear,” Hasni said, wiping a slither of spittle from his bottom lip.
“Shall I pour, Father?”
“Please,” Hasni said. “We don’t want tea spilt on my rugs.”
Kakar saw that Hasni had glanced over at his lap. His hands were shaking.