Basu let out the cigarette smoke and crushed the cigarette in the tray, extinguishing it in the process: “Because our incompetent suck-ups in South-Block have a different play in mind. One that is loud, clear and ultimately pointless and unrewarding. And your bosses at SOCOM are going to be caught up in the mix of it for show-and-tell purposes soon enough. What I have, however, is a plan that is surgical and painful to those who carried out today’s strike on Mumbai.”
“A covert operation?” Ansari asked dryly, and Basu gave him a slight tilt of his head which could be interpreted either way. Ansari shook his head and got up from the couch and began to pace the room. After several seconds he turned to face Basu: “You never learn, do you? We barely got away with our lives carrying out the Pathfinder missions! Now you want to do it again? For what?”
“Quite simple, really,” Basu said and leaned back once again in his chair. “If we don’t do this, the bastards who pulled off the attack on Mumbai will live to strike another day. The government does not realize it, but when they do what they want to do, we will be left looking quite toothless to our neighbors who, by the way, will only be too glad to help us in our endeavor.”
Ansari stopped pacing and looked at Basu, understanding the meaning of his words. “What kind of support will I have? I can’t do this alone!”
“Oh, I don’t want you doing anything alone!” Basu replied with a smile. “I just want to know if you will lead it. Then I can make it happen for you to get your pick of men and equipment.”
“The hell!” Ansari snapped. “How are you going to arrange any of this? You don’t exactly head up SOCOM, buddy. The army does!”
“Let’s just say I am not alone in thinking the way I do about our upcoming military response to today’s attack,” Basu noted dryly. Ansari saw the fire in the man’s eyes and knew it was no bluff. The decision was clearly in his hands and if he knew Basu at all, the man probably wanted a decision in this room, right now…
“When will this take place? What’s the timeline on this?” Ansari asked after several seconds of thought. His mind was already made up. And his words let Basu know his decision without actually saying it.
“The government will probably begin the show-and-tell operations within two weeks,” Basu speculated.
“That’s not much time,” Ansari noted.
“No, it is not.” Basu conceded. “But isn’t it what you and your boys plan for, all the time?” The statement was delivered with a wicked smile. It’s response generated the same as Ansari picked up his coat and papers:
“I will get back to you.”
5
“You son of a bitch! What the hell have you done?”
General Shakril Hussein looked up from his papers as the Pakistani Prime-Minister walked into his office. The door to his office slammed shut on its own momentum as the civilian man’s large hand shoved it. Hussein said nothing as he removed his glasses and put them on the papers laying on his desk. His composure further irritated the man purportedly his superior…
“I take it you mean the attack on Mumbai?” Hussein said with a trace of condescension lacing his tone.
“Of course!” the PM shouted back, “Are you trying to get us all killed?”
“What makes you think we did it?” Hussein said as he leaned back.
“Don’t you dare play games with me!” the PM thundered. “The whole world knows it’s us! I am getting calls from every head-of-state threatening everything from sanctions to war! And for what? What the hell are you playing at over here?”
Hussein got up from his seat with a suddenness that shook the Pakistani PM, who moved a step back. Hussein rested his knuckled fist on the wooden desk and leaned forward: “I am doing my job. My job is to bring our enemies down and protect Pakistan. If I have to destroy the powerful economy of my enemies through direct action, I won’t hesitate. The Indians won’t dare attack us. Not now. Not while we have nuclear weapons. Not while their conventional forces are still recovering from their bloody war with our Chinese allies…”
“Now was not the time, Shakril!” the PM interjected.
“Now was exactly the time!” Hussein thundered back with his fist pounding the desk with a loud thud. “The Indians are militarily weak. Afghanistan is almost fallen and the Americans have finally withdrawn from the region. The Chinese did most of the work for us! They so conveniently brought themselves and the Indians to their knees, perfectly placed for a swipe of our sword to cut off the Indian head! Their military is weakened, demoralized and will be occupied with the cleanup in Mumbai for weeks. Their economy, on the other hand, will never recover from this strike. Watch how all western investment within India disappears over the next year fearing another nuclear attack from the faithful mujahedeen! Mumbai is finished. And so is India for that matter.”
As Hussein finished his tirade, the Pakistani PM stood in silence, stunned. For several seconds both men stared into the eyes of the other and silence filled the room.
“Direct action?” the PM continued. “I fear you chose the wrong words there. You might as well have said unilateral action instead. You have left no doubt today about who runs this country. I should tender my resignation for all the good it will do. At least that way I won’t be judged by history when they review why Pakistan was turned into a radioactive wasteland for the follies of its leaders!”
Hussein smirked and took his seat. The PM continued to stand, looking at the man before him.
“Don’t be overdramatic, sir,” Hussein said with a voice bristling with condescension. “Your country still needs you to help it navigate out of this fearful mess. Caused by the war on terror, of course. Besides, your grateful acceptance of the Indian peace initiatives bestows you with an air of credibility as a man of peace. Use it and we will all come out of this with our heads still attached to our bodies… except the Indians of course!” Hussein smiled as he leaned back in his chair.
“You,” the PM said, then held himself for a couple seconds as he struggled for words and attempted to contain his bursting anger. And then gave up in disgust, turning away from the desk and making for the door. At the door, he stopped and turned around:
“Quite obviously, I am not aware of the inner working of these offices, General. But there is one aspect of all this you have not considered. Your plans are based on certain assumptions. I would not like to be present when they are proven wrong. For one thing, you assume the Indians are on their knees. Over the last several decades, many of your predecessors have assumed the same, sitting behind the very same desk as you do now. And they were wrong. To the last man. For their follies we paid with half our country, Kashmir, our Northwest Frontier provinces and our economy. And contrary to their pre-war plans, India grew big and powerful. I fear that this time we will have nothing but our lives with which to pay for your mistakes. There is nothing else left.”
“You defeatism is noted, sir,” Hussein stated off-handedly. “But unless you have a point to make, I have things to do here! As you can imagine, the Indians are becoming very agitated along our western border. We will mobilize to remind them that such actions are foolish and ultimately worthless.”