Agency Rules - Never an Easy Day at the Office by Khalid Muhammad Page B

Dawood and Kaleem protested, encouraging him to continue eating, but as the Imam ’s objections grew, the two did not want to be rude, so they took a few pieces of fruit so that the Imam would not have to stop eating. It’s not like he needs the food , Dawood thought to himself, recalling the first interaction at the Timergara bus stop. When Kaleem introduced the two of them, Dawood had to lean down to embrace him, attempting to avoid the grubbiness of his unwashed hair, not being able to reach both his arms completely around him. A missed meal or two wouldn’t do him any harm , Dawood smirked inwardly, maybe coupled with some exercise .
    Reaching for another chicken leg, the Imam called for one of his servants, “Atif-a, sheen chai rawra .” As the servant turned and made his way to the kitchen, the Imam smiled, chicken meat filling the spaces between his teeth, “Green tea will help us digest the meal.” The Imam took a couple more bites before shoving the entire chicken leg into his mouth and sucking all the meat from the bone. Dropping the bone on the plate, he slid it away and leaned back rubbing his stomach. “ Allah-hum-do-lillah .”
    Over lunch, the Imam had kept up a flow of stories about the people who had stayed in this house, both before and after his family moved in. From CIA and ISI officers to leaders of the Afghan resistance, the list of names was stellar. Each word increased his value, whether actual or perceived, in Dawood ’s mind. Imam Shahid was a high value target not only for Pakistani intelligence, but for the world community, and more importantly, was the connecting piece to getting to the leadership of the terrorist front operating in the tribal areas and urban centers.
    Kaleem, with the weight of the meal in his stomach and the comfort of the air conditioning on his back, had closed his eyes a number of times, only to pop them open again. He sat rocking back and forth, as he fought his drowsiness, until finally giving up with a big yawn. “Imam sahib,” Kaleem stammered, fighting back another yawn, “I think we should take some rest. This evening will have many guests in the house, as usual, and we should be at our best.”
    The Imam had been fighting sleep himself and Kaleem’s suggestion could not have come at a better time. “Beta, you’re right. Evenings are always very busy here with students and guests coming for my seminars.” He explained himself to Dawood. “Sleep is an excellent idea.”
    He called to another servant, motioning him close. “Please show them to the guest rooms so that they can rest. Dawood, Kaleem, please go with the boy. He will get you settled into rooms.”
    As they moved to the door, Dawood noticed that the Imam was still standing in the hall. Turning back, Dawood asked, “Imam sahib, aren’t you going to rest also?”
    “I have a cot here in this room where I will take my rest,” the Imam said, turning on a light for another section of the room. Dawood glancing over and saw the cot that the Imam was talking about. In the corner of the room was a large queen-sized bed with a plasma TV setup on the wall across from it. Hopefully our rooms have that kind of comfort. “We will reconvene at five for afternoon tea.” Dawood felt a hand on his back guiding him out of the room, and as they stepped out, he heard the TV switch on to one of the many Islamic channels that was available via satellite in Pakistan.
    A few minutes after they left the room, two figures emerged from the shadows. These men had been watching and listening to the entire exchange over lunch, gauging the participants for inclusion. They sat down at the freshly cleaned table, speaking in hushed tones about the afternoon ’s show.
    “Dawood seems like a worthy candidate.” Fazal said, reaching for a piece of fruit from the bowl in the center. As the commander of the Pakistani side of the resistance force, he had seen every type of man come into his indoctrination camps, where they