Six Suspects (31 page)

'Yeah. Isn't he the guy who is supposed to have blown up
those towers down in New York City?'

'Correct.'

'And wasn't the President going to smoke him out of some
place called Kabool?'

'You mean Afghanistan. Quite right, except we're the ones
who've won the war. Your countries are burning with terror and
fear and panic, and we are still going strong. Abu Teknikal, tell this
infidel how much reward his President has put on my head.'

'A full fifteen million dollars!' announced Teknikal.

Fifteen million my ass
, I thought. If bullshit were music, this guy
would have a brass band!

'So what do you guys do?'

'We are fighting for a revolution – the creation of an Islamic
Caliphate, the Nizam-i-Islami,' Abu Khaled said. 'Our kingdom
will be governed by Sharia law, based upon the Holy Koran and
the Sunnah. We are responding to the calls of Allah and his
Prophet for jihad in the cause of Allah.'

'And who exactly is Mr Allah?'
Khaled hit me across my face. 'Don't ever talk about our God
like that.'

I rubbed my cheek. 'So what do you folks want from me?'

'We need you to tell that evil Bush to convert all Americans to
Islam. He should abolish your usurious banks. He must jail all
those homosexual swine. He needs to stop women from degrading
themselves by appearing in filthy magazines. He needs to
preserve the environment. He needs to—'

'I get your drift, Mr Khaled. And I can tell you, I'll do my
darndest to get the President to agree to your demands. But I can't
do this sitting here in bumfuck Egypt.'

Khaled stepped forward and slapped me twice this time.

'What's that for?'

'One for interrupting me and the other for abusing my
country.'

'But what will you folks do with me?'

'We'll still use you for ransom,' said Khaled. 'You may not be
a billionaire, but you are still American. Teknikal, draft a press
release for CNN. We will send it out tomorrow with a video. Let's
teach Mr George Bush a lesson he won't forget.'

I turned to Teknikal. 'Listen, Teknikal. I'm of no use to you
guys. The President won't listen to me. Why don't you let me go?
I promise you, I won't tell a soul about you folks. It'll remain
between you and me and the fencepost.'

'No. Now listen carefully, Mr Page.' He stared at me with eyes
shining like light bulbs. 'We are the Army of Martyrdom. We are
prepared to die. And we are also prepared to kill.' He traced his
fingers over my neck. 'So don't entertain any thoughts of
escaping.'

I knew at that moment that Teknikal was as dangerous as Abu
Khaled. They were like two peas in a pod. Still I couldn't resist
asking him, 'But I thought you liked America.'

'I do,' he answered. 'I just hate Americans.'

That shut me up.

By evening the hideout had become darker than a cow's belly and
I was so hungry my belly button was getting awful acquainted
with my backbone. One of the boys lit a lantern. In its yellow
glow I had my first good look at the other occupants of the
foxhole. The youths were named Altaf, Rashid, Sikandar and
Munir. They were slim and lanky and aged between sixteen
and twenty-two. Altaf told me he was from Naupura in Kashmir,
while the other three were from Gujranwala in Pakistan. To me
they seemed just like the boys at the call centre, fresh-faced and
eager, except they dealt in guns and grenades instead of computers
and phones.

The foxhole was warm, but sleeping in it was very uncomfortable.
Since space was so limited, you had to sleep in just one
position. This time I was sandwiched between Sikandar and
Munir, which was a relief, coz I would have had difficulty looking
Teknikal in the eye after what he'd done to me.

They took me to the meadow outside the next day, put a black
blindfold over my eyes, made me kneel and told me to fold my
hands. 'Now beg for your life, pig,' Abu Khaled barked, as Teknikal
trained a video camera on me.

'I've been kidnapped by these Al Qaeda dudes. Creek's rising
and I'm up to my ass in alligators! Mom, get me outta here,' I
said and was rewarded with a kick in my backside.

'This video is going to your president, not to your mother,
cretin,' Khaled yelled at me.

I stayed in the foxhole for close to fifty days. It was as boring as
watching paint dry. I relished any opportunity of going out into
the open – hearing birds chirping every morning and watching the
mist rise slowly towards the clouds made me forget for a moment
that I was a hostage. But they always had a man to watch over me,
even when I was taking a shit.

The food they gave me was pretty horrible, just plain
roti
,
dhal
,
rice and vegetables cooked by one of the boys. The one saving
grace was the clabber milk, which was finger-lickin' good.
Sometimes Omar would get a cow or buffalo from one of the
shepherds and then we would have a feast.

Every day, Teknikal and Omar would train the four young
recruits on using guns and ammo. After the evening prayer, Abu
Khaled would give a lecture, sitting under the trees.

'God compensates the martyr for sacrificing his life for his
land,' he would say, stroking his beard. 'If you become a martyr,
God will give you seventy-two virgins, eighty thousand servants
and everlasting happiness.'

'I am ready to become a martyr for Allah,' Sikandar shouted.
'I will make my body a bomb that will cause havoc among the
infidels.'

Rashid was not to be outdone. 'I will blast the bodies of these
sons of pigs and monkeys and cause them more pain than they
have ever known.'

Listening to these young boys talking about killing themselves
made my hair stand on end, but Abu Khaled nodded approvingly.
'Your pictures will be posted in schools and mosques,' he said.
'The moment you lose your life, your next life will start in heaven
– a life that you have waited so long for. A life of everlasting
happiness. May the virgins give you pleasure.'

'Allahu Akbar,' the rest of the class shouted in response. 'God
is Great.'

Only Omar didn't look too happy. 'I too, want to die as a
martyr, but the
zimmedar
has chosen Sikandar and Rashid for the
job.'

'What job?'

'I cannot talk about it.'

'But why do you want to kill yourself ?'

'So I can get seventy-two virgins in heaven. As a martyr I will
also be able to recommend seventy relatives for heaven.'

'But how do you know that there
is
a heaven?'

'That is what the wise men have always told us.'

'But have the wise men been to heaven themselves?'

'No, because first you have to die.'

'Well, I wouldn't take that chance. I'm not so sure that heaven
is such a rocking place.'

'But they say Las Vegas is. A cousin told me that you can get
more than seventy-two girls at the Chicken Ranch in Nevada.
Have you ever been to Las Vegas?' he asked eagerly.

I'd not stepped within a thousand miles of Vegas, but I wanted
to spite him. 'Yes, I have,' I said. 'I've also been to the Chicken
Ranch. They even have special-offer days with discounts. You can
get six girls for the price of two.'

Omar's face became a turd of misery and mine broke into a
grin.

Teknikal didn't show much interest either in virgins or Vegas.

'How the hell did you get mixed up with a guy like Abu
Khaled?' I asked him one day when he seemed to be in a good
mood.

'I used to be an honours student at the College of Electrical
and Mechanical Engineering in Pindi, Mr Page,' he replied. 'But
your country took away my father. He is in detention in
Guantanamo Bay. He is not a terrorist. But America has made me
one.'

I had no reply to that.

As the days passed, my worry grew, because Teknikal told me
there was still no response from the President. No newspaper had
reported me missing. No TV channel had announced my capture.
I had just disappeared off the face of the earth.

This upset Abu Khaled quite a lot. 'What kind of government
do you have?' he shouted at me. 'They don't even care about you.
Forget about responding to our threats, they have not even
acknowledged our message. But come 21 February we will show
the world what we are capable of.'

'Why?' I asked. 'What's so special about 21 February?'

'It is a major Hindu festival. And it is also the day when we
launch our most spectacular attack against the infidels.'

'What will you do?'

'You will find out soon enough.'

I thought long and hard about their plan, but couldn't figure out
what they were up to. It was Sikandar who eventually tipped me
off. A week before 21 February I saw him trying on a big leather
belt, just like the type the WWF wrestlers win in championship
fights.

'Hey, that's cool,' I said. 'Where did you get it from?'

'Abu Teknikal made it for me,' said Sikandar.

'Wow! So is there going to be a RAW title match?' I asked, all
excited. 'Is Randy Orton coming?'

Sikandar didn't have a clue who Randy Orton was, so I
decided to teach him a few moves. Snatching the belt from him
I draped it around my waist. As I was about to clip the buckle,
Sikandar pulled it off me. 'You fool,' he screamed. 'You would
have killed us all.'

'Killed you all? How?' I asked, mystified.

'Because this is not a belt, idiot. It is an IED, an Improvised
Explosive Device,' Teknikal chipped in. 'Enough to kill fifty
people, the moment the detonator – which is this buckle – is
pressed.'

In a flash I understood the job Sikandar and Rashid had been
entrusted with. They would wear the belts, go into town and challenge
the Indians to a tag team fight. Then the heels would press
the button and blast themselves and God knows how many other
innocent people to smithereens.

That night, as Sikandar lay in bed next to me, I leaned towards
him. 'Do you like killing people?'

'I don't kill people, the bomb does,' he replied in a flat voice.

'But you are the one who will be pressing the switch.'

'I am a soldier and this is a war. Soldiers need to kill other
people. Otherwise they kill you.'

'Don't you have a family? A mother? Have you thought what
will happen to her when she finds out you're gone?'

'I left my mother's house a long time ago.'

'Have you forgotten it completely?'

'I remember it had square windows through which sunlight
used to stream in. A small doorway opened out on to the street. A
narrow staircase led to a room with a photo of my grandfather.
That's all I remember.'

These were Sikandar's memories of his lost home and in a few
days they would be buried with him. I shuddered when I looked
into his eyes. They were frozen. I wondered if his heart was as cold
as his eyes.

I couldn't sleep that night. There were wars going on in this
world about which I knew nothing. People were dying, kids still
wet behind the ears were getting ready to blow themselves up and
I didn't even know what they were fighting for. It was as scary as
it was real.

Sikandar and Rashid left the foxhole the next day with
plenty of provisions. It seemed they were going on a very long
journey. 'Now we just wait,' said Khaled and rubbed his hands.

21 February came and my kidnappers sat glued to the satellite
phone. Around midday came the news they had been waiting
for. Sikandar and Rashid had blown themselves up and thirty
infidels.

There was a massive feast that evening. A whole cow was carved
up by Munir and Altaf. I didn't eat a morsel. I couldn't, after
having seen into Sikandar's eyes. That night, the foxhole seemed
colder than hell.

We abandoned the hideout immediately after Abu Khaled's
four o'clock prayer. Teknikal explained the reason for the sudden
move. 'The army will conduct a cordon-and-search operation
before sunrise. We need to leave right now.'

Khaled, Teknikal, Omar and I struck out towards the north
side of the escarpment. Munir and Altaf were left behind to wipe
out all trace of the hideout. Teknikal had the satellite phone.
Khaled and Omar carried AK-47s.

It was a difficult journey. We crossed mountains so steep you
could look up the chimney to see the cows come home. But
gradually the route flattened out and the mountains lost their
sharp ridges. By late evening we reached a quiet valley. An empty
wood-framed house was our abode for the night. Omar was sent
out to get some provisions and didn't return. Teknikal and Khaled
spent a restless night wondering if he had been caught by the
army. 'You shouldn't have sent Omar,' I told Abu Khaled. 'He's so
stupid, he'd foul up a two-car funeral.'

Omar finally returned at dawn, drunk as a billy goat. He
swayed into the house and vomited all over the bed.

It took him a couple of hours to sober up. 'I've done it, Larry,'
he grinned. 'I'm a real man now.'

Unfortunately for him, Abu Khaled overheard him. There was
the mother of all rows between Omar and the
zimmedar
. Teknikal
told me later that Omar had had sex with a shepherd girl who was
barely thirteen, and would now be punished with thirty days of
roza
. That meant no food for him from morning till evening.
Trouble was, for some reason Khaled figured I was in cahoots with
Omar. So my food and drink was cut off as well.

The next day we began another journey, easily the most dangerous
journey of my life, crossing from Indian Kashmir into Pakistani
Kashmir. We travelled only by night and hid during the day.
Teknikal guided us, wearing night-vision goggles. We followed
him blindly across mountains and meadows, hills and trenches,
freezing rivers and slick snow. We had to evade Indian mines,
tracer flares and Indian border patrols. Mercifully, they had equipped
me with Wellington boots, a waterproof jacket and even
some woollen cloth to wrap around my calves as protection from
frostbite.