The Third World War: A Terrifying Novel of Global Conflict

37

Lazaro Campbell lay face down on the grassless earth, listening to the fading throb of the helicopter. The dim shape, flying low against the rise of the hills, blended with the darkness and became invisible. Fifty-six thousand feet in the night sky above Islamabad, high enough to observe the curvature of the earth, a Global Hawk Unmanned Aerial Vehicle, or drone as it was more popularly known, loitered, its cameras fixed on one specific target. It sent back spot images which were relayed simultaneously to the United States Central Command at MacDill Air Force Base, Florida, the National Security Agency, the National Security Advisor's offices at the White House, the Defense Secretary's office in Room 3E880 in the Pentagon and the Oval Office in the White House.

Intercepts were running through voice-identification and code-breaking computers in real time. With the new Pakistani military command speaking on secure lines, the super-computers had now been programmed to find elements within the scrambled code. Each scrambler threw up its own distinct signature, which identified the single handset being used. With that they could pinpoint the location of the speaker, a probability of who it was and with whom he or she might be talking.

Using radar waves thrown out by the telephone signal, they could distinguish the shape of the person making the call and match it to shapes in the NSA database. It did not guarantee identification, but it was used with other evidence to try to confirm that the right target was being tracked. But as of yet, not even the NSA could determine what was being said.

As Campbell, John Burrows and twelve Ghurka special forces soldiers moved over the rugged terrain towards their target, analysts at the NSA picked out the call they were looking for. It was made from just outside the Chaklala cantonment area of Rawalpindi. The signal moved at vehicle speed along the main highway between Rawalpindi and Islamabad. Just before Constitution Avenue it stopped. Thirty seconds later, the caller dialled another number, this time to Karachi. The call lasted just over a minute, long enough for one of the cameras on the Global Hawk to pick out the moving vehicle in the traffic. Once locked on, it followed it to its destination.

Another of the Global Hawk's infrared lenses sent back images as fine as 0.25 metres in resolution. They outlined the contours of Tassudaq Qureshi's house outside Islamabad and the vehicles parked in the compound. Thermal imaging picked out the special forces commandos deployed to secure the property. Ground-penetrating radar showed the layout of the rooms inside and the image of Tasneem Qureshi in an armchair, with the television on, waiting for her husband to return home.

'Campbell's moving,' muttered West to Kozerski as, in a blur, one of the Pakistani guards disappeared from the screen. His principal advisers were in their own offices. Each was holding a meeting on an issue unconnected to the crisis in India. West had ordered them all to have viable alibis in case the political fireworks began.

On the ground, Campbell held back, while Burrows led his Ghurkas to take out the six guards on duty outside Qureshi's house. Burrows had decided the method — a knife across the throat, a hand over the mouth, two men simultaneously, and knife through the radio connection. A sniper was ready with a silenced rifle should anything go wrong.

The job was over within a minute. The bodies were pulled into the undergrowth, the Ghurkas, in replica guards uniforms, took positions throughout the grounds. Burrows, also in uniform, his face and hands blackened, a dark beret on his head, waited in the shadows, as Qureshi's Mercedes turned through the gate, crunched on to the gravel and pulled up to a halt. The driver got out, walked around the side of the car and opened the back door. Qureshi stepped out with a briefcase in his left hand and threw a cigarette on to the gravel. A light cast from inside the house dimmed as Tasneem passed across it to greet her husband at the door. Qureshi breathed the fresh hillside air deeply. The driver reversed the Mercedes to a covered but unlit part of the forecourt. Behind it was a small room which was his quarters.

As the driver stepped out of the car, a pistol muzzle was put to his head, a hand clamped over his mouth and a hypodermic needle pressed into his arm. He slumped and was gently lowered to the concrete floor.

Qureshi turned to look across at the lights of Islamabad and came face to face with Lazaro Campbell, dressed in a dark linen suit and open-neck shirt, his weapon concealed.

'We don't want to have to kill your wife,' Campbell said softly, pointing to the tiny spot revealing a sniper's infra-red sights which danced across the wall of the house towards the door that Tasneem Qureshi was about to open. 'As soon as you see her, tell her that you will be with her in a minute.'

Campbell melted back, and heard the US President's voice in his earpiece. 'So far so good, Lazaro?'

'Yes, sir,' he whispered, knowing that on a clear, cloudless night like this the movement of all the figures would be picked up by the Global Hawk — even the appearance of Tasneem Qureshi at the door.

'I'm getting some air, darling,' said Qureshi. 'I'll be inside in a moment.'

'Farrah called,' said Tasneem. 'She wants to speak to you.'

For a moment, she lingered. Campbell was worried she would step out, mobile phone in hand, insisting that father speak to daughter. Burrows was under orders not to kill her. But if she did come outside, she would have to be dealt with.

Qureshi twisted round in the gravel, his feet loud on the tiny stones. 'Please, Tasneem. I need to be alone to think. Go inside.' She obeyed, quietly closing the door without another word. Qureshi looked to his left and right, confused at the stillness around him, a realization dawning on him that his guards were nowhere to be seen. He walked out of the area of light towards the darkness of the undergrowth. The sniper's spot left the house and picked out Qureshi's chest, flitting from the area of the heart to the forehead and back, making the target well aware how close he could be to death.

'Well done,' said Campbell, emerging again so Qureshi could see him.

'What do you want?' asked Qureshi brusquely. 'And who are you?'

'Before I answer that, have you alerted any other party that we are here?'

Qureshi shook his head and waved a hand towards the bushes. 'If I had, it seems I would have written my own death warrant. Now, tell me who you are.'

'I am representing the President of the United States,' said Campbell. 'He is listening to this conversation. He is watching images of us right now as we speak. You are the military ruler of Pakistan, yet you have not yet announced it.' Campbell pulled a tiny aerial out of an earpiece and handed it to Qureshi. 'Put this on. President West wants to talk to you.'

Qureshi fumbled with the unfamiliar equipment. When it was wrapped around his ear, Campbell turned it on by remote sensor. 'Mr President, Air Vice-Marshal Qureshi is now available to speak with you.' For a moment, Qureshi's mask dropped. He hesitated before he spoke, his eyes uncertain and looking towards Campbell for more confirmation.

Then he heard the voice. 'Qureshi. This is President West here. Do you know a man called Colonel Joharie Rahman?'

Immediately, Qureshi returned to his public face. 'Mr President. What a privilege to speak to you — albeit in such strange circumstances.' He looked down at the red dot hovering over his chest.

'Answer my question, Qureshi.'

'I can't recall,' said Qureshi.

Campbell took a step back. His orders were starkly simple. If Qureshi messed around, kill him. Both Campbell and Burrows were listening across the conversation. The President would speak three words in code — enough is enough — and that would be the sniper's signal to shoot.

'Rahman knows you,' said West. 'He knows the furniture in your house. The pictures on the walls. He knows you have a World Trade Center sculpture in your living room. Because he's been in your house, Qureshi. So don't fuck with me, because he's been singing like a canary about you and everything you plan to carry out.' West let it hang there. Campbell kept his eyes on Qureshi. He had been a pilot, for God's sake. He knew about risk. Qureshi had tested both the American F-16 and the French Mirage 111 for toss-bomb attacking with a one-kiloton tactical nuclear weapon — before anyone else had tried it out. Qureshi devised how to keep the aircraft in a steep dive after releasing the bomb, so as to put as much space as possible between the pilot and the bomb. Once clear, the pilot would pull the aircraft up and avoid the impact of the nuclear explosion. Only a man with rock steady-nerves could carry out such a test.

Qureshi kept his poise, but completely changed his approach. 'Yes, Mr President. I know Colonel Rahman. We planned the coup in Brunei together. You probably know that I also ordered the assassination of President Asif Latif Khan. Khan was salting money away into bank accounts in Dubai and Luxembourg. Would you like me to give you the account numbers? Or does the CIA already have them, but has chosen to ignore them, just as long as you have your puppet in place, stealing from the country in the name of democracy?'

'Were you responsible for the attack on the Indian Parliament?' pressed West.

'I haven't finished, Mr President,' said Qureshi, letting sarcasm drip off his pronounciation of the title of the world's most powerful leader. 'You lead a nation paralysed with fear which pushes weaker nations like mine towards an abyss. So this is what I say to you. If you let me take power unhindered, I will rein in these terror groups. I will bring peace between India and Pakistan. But it will be done from a position of strength and not from fear of being an enemy of the United States.'

'Were you responsible for the attack on the Indian Parliament?' repeated West.

'I was not,' answered Qureshi, maintaining his confidence. 'The group responsible for that was nurtured under the rule of Prime Minister Nawaz Sharif and President Musharraf. Both were staunch allies of your country. If you want it stopped, listen to what I have to say.'

Briefly the sniper's dot left Qureshi's chest, flitted to the gravel and returned, signalling Campbell to switch channels to the Central Command in Florida. 'Army truck approaching three miles away, heading in your direction.'

Campbell flicked the channel back to the White House. He looked slightly to his left and picked out the moving shadow of Burrows.

'To be frank, I'm a little short on rhetoric today,' said West, 'and I'm not in a mood to make deals with dictators. I need you to mothball your nuclear weapons facilities. All terrorists must be pulled in. A complete dragnet against them. You do that, and I'll do my damnedest to help you. You have my word on that. If you don't, I can't guarantee the future of your nation. Mehta will destroy you. That's your choice, Qureshi. That's why I've chosen to speak to you like this. Either Pakistan gets taken over by India, or you mothball your nuclear arsenal.'

Campbell switched over to Central Command, so he could listen to the data sent down from the Global Hawk, together with Qureshi's reply.

'… identified as one armoured personnel carrier and one troop carrier truck — maybe a company of men.'

Qureshi looked down and shuffled his feet on the gravel. In the dim light thrown off from the house, Campbell identified something uneasy in his face. He switched channels.

'There are troops on the way to your house. Did you order them in?' said West.

Qureshi looked up. His face had settled now. There was a curious stillness in it which suddenly transformed him into a threat. 'Yes, Mr President. I did.'

'… two miles, and slowing. Curves in the road. They should be with you in three to five minutes. I suggest you get the hell out of there.'

Campbell's eyes didn't leave Qureshi's. He was trying to read the man's face. First he detected smugness; then indecision. Qureshi met Campbell's stare and shrugged: he couldn't stop them if he wanted to.

'Why don't you put your policy to the United Nations, Mr President? Get a resolution passed against us,' said Qureshi with a sigh. 'I cannot and will not make a decision on the future of Pakistan in the cross-hairs of a sniper's rifle.' He brushed his hand across the red spot in disdain.

The silence around the house was broken by the throb of a helicopter engine. It swooped in and turned sharply on itself. The green glow of the pilot's night-vision goggles was relayed back to Florida, where commanders saw what he saw — a clear patch on which to bring the aircraft down.

Campbell was on dual channel now. 'Evacuate,' came the order, cutting through the President's conversation. Burrows broke cover, running fast and clear across the courtyard to the helicopter. From the undergrowth, down from the roof and out from behind the carport shelter came the Ghurkas.

Dust blown up by the rotor blades flew into their faces. A hand moved back a curtain in Qureshi's house. Campbell alerted a sniper. Tasneem would be looking at the Ghurkas, but in the dark, and with their Asian complexions and their familiar uniforms, she would not know who they were unless her husband told her. They ran across the compound to where the helicopter skids were just brushing the flat, dry landing spot. Burrows was first there, holding on to the metal, as if he was keeping the aircraft down. He counted all twelve Ghurkas in and gave a thumbs-up to the pilot. As it lifted off, just a few feet off the ground, before heading into the gloom, Burrows ran back to the house and kicked open the door. Tasneem Qureshi managed a spurt of a scream before he silenced her.

'Take them out,' said Campbell into his mouthpiece.

Far above, unseen by anyone on the ground, the Global Hawk made a graceful curve. From underneath its sail-like wings two air-to-surface missiles sped off towards the ground, leaving a silver trail through the sky. Seconds before they reached their target, they separated to hit the armoured personnel carrier and the truck with armour-piercing high explosives. A ball of fire shot up through the night, lighting up the sparseness of the area around it. Burning debris set light to scrubland and sent cattle scampering away.

Qureshi turned first to the door hanging open in his house and the sight of his wife, held by Burrows with one hand over her mouth. Then he spun back as the roar of the two explosions rippled across to him. He lowered his eyes, checking and confirming that the red dot had gone. He put his hand against the earpiece, glaring incomprehensibly at Campbell. 'You poor fool,' he muttered. 'You don't understand.'

By which time Campbell had a pistol levelled at his chest. 'Then why don't we go in so you can explain it to me?' he said calmly.

Inside the house, Tasneem sat, arms folded, in an armchair. Burrows had taped over her mouth. Three servants, the female cook, and two male housekeepers, lay prostrate on the floor with their hands tied behind their backs.

Campbell and Qureshi watched the ebbing glow of the burning military vehicles. Burrows locked the door and drew the curtains. Unlike Campbell's, Burrows's face was blacked, his dark uniform hung with weapons and ammunition. He stayed by the window, while Campbell moved to the centre of the room.

'Call the General Command at Chaklala and tell them everything is under control,' said Campbell.

Without hesitation, Qureshi drew a mobile phone from his pocket and made the call in English. As far as Campbell could tell, it was straightforward, with no hidden code. Qureshi then sat on an armchair opposite his wife. 'Tasneem, darling, they will remove the tape from your mouth. If they do not, I will not cooperate with them,' he said, looking harshly at Burrows. 'But you must not say a word. Do you understand?'

Tasneem nodded. Burrows glanced over at Campbell. 'All right,' agreed Campbell hesitantly. Burrows stepped over to her. 'You must understand, madam, if I take this off and you utter a sound, I will shoot you. Indicate that you understand.'

Tasneem, her eyes both wrathful and confused, nodded. Burrows tore the tape, screwed it into a ball and dropped it into a waste-paper basket under a bamboo table by the door.

'Is the President still listening in?' asked Qureshi.

'Do you want him to?' replied Campbell.

Qureshi took off his earpiece. 'He can listen to me. But I won't listen to him. What I have to say, I will say to you. Then, if you want to stay alive, call back your helicopter. They will send reinforcements. They will get through and they will not appreciate stumbling over the bodies of their slain colleagues.'

'How long?' said Burrows, walking across the room to the back window.

'Thirty minutes. Maybe fifteen. It's impossible to say.' A sullenness took over Qureshi's face. He had the look of a strong man in despair. A few minutes earlier, Qureshi had used the word fool, as if Campbell had no idea of what he was dealing with, as if he was meddling in something too complicated, and for a moment Campbell wondered whether Qureshi knew the workings of his own agonized brain.

'John, go check on the driver. He should be coming round,' said Campbell. With Burrows gone, he sat back in his seat, crossed his legs, and balanced his gun hand on his knee with the weapon pointed at Qureshi. 'A few hours ago, I was at a meeting in Washington between Vasant Mehta and the President,' he said. 'Mehta has thrown down an ultimatum. Your conversation with the President was cut short. So I'm going to fill you in with what was missing. The choice is that either we, the United States, take responsibility for your nuclear arsenal or Mehta is going to ask China to do it. If neither of us agrees, he will come in himself. Whether it was you, Air Vice-Marshal, whether it was Najeeb Hussain or any of the others on your junta who ordered the attack on his house, I don't know, but it has solidified Mehta's resolve to rid India of Pakistan altogether. The President wants a way out of this. He wants you to give us that responsibility. So that's your choice: the United States, the devil you know; China, a completely unknown quantity; or India, which would end any semblance of independence and be as good as a military and political defeat.'

Qureshi ran a hand through his hair, and when he spoke it was with his head turned partly away. 'There is always another way. You westerners don't realize how grave the situation in Pakistan has become and how determined we are to make sure we come through it with our culture and sovereignty intact. Every year India is more bellicose towards us. Islamic terror is firmly planted within our society. Law and order has broken down. Our economy is in acute recession. Seventy million live below the poverty line.' He turned towards Campbell and smiled out of the corner of his face, just for an instant, to show Campbell a fraction of the power he still retained. 'Do you seriously believe that either China or India wants to take us on at the precise time they are competing to become the superpower within Asia?' He shook his head in feigned disbelief. 'You might want to move in further. But we won't accept you. Not any more. India wants a guarantee that conflict will stop. I can deliver that to them. You can't.' There was a sympathetic look in his eyes, and he shrugged. Perhaps he wanted to gain Campbell's trust. Perhaps he was being patronizing. Campbell couldn't tell.

The door opened. Burrows pushed the driver inside.

'He's fine,' said Burrows, stepping inside himself and closing the door.

'You will drive us down to Islamabad, avoiding the wreckage,' said Campbell, standing up.

'To where?' said Qureshi, staying in his seat.

'The US embassy.'

'Am I your hostage?'

'No. We need to talk more, but we also need to get out of here. If you have another way, tell me.'

Qureshi got to his feet and took charge. 'Start the car and bring it round to the front door,' he said to the driver, adding to Burrows: 'Let him go. Don't worry, we do not speak in secret codes.' He moved over to Tasneem and kissed her on the forehead. 'I will be back soon. Not a word to anybody about this. Not a word.' He squeezed her hands, looked up at Burrows, then back at his wife. 'Darling, go to my room and get this man a shirt, some trousers and a pair of my sandals.' He indicated to the washroom by the door. 'You can clean up your face in there. That is, if you are coming to Islamabad with us.'

As Burrows was changing, Tasneem Qureshi gave the driver, still groggy from the tranquillizer, tea from a Thermos.

'Let's go, then,' said Burrows, emerging. Outside in the chill of the night, Qureshi hesitated before getting into the car.

'Back seat,' said Burrows, letting Campbell through and shutting the door.

'Yes, I know,' said Qureshi. 'But I was wondering why, if you didn't kill my driver, you had to kill my guards.' He shook his head. 'It seemed so unnecessary.'

Neither Burrows nor Campbell answered. Qureshi, the airman, might not have known that millisecond between the success and failure of a military operation, made more acute when trained men on both sides are in conflict. In the lull after action, there is often doubt, and perhaps Qureshi wanted to exploit it. The turn of his head towards Campbell was weary, but his eyes flared with anger as he climbed into the back seat of the Mercedes.

Tasneem pulled back the curtain to watch, and a beam of wavering light from the room fell on the bonnet. The car turned on the gravel, and took the left-hand fork outside the gate away from the main road where the troops had been stopped. The surface deteriorated and the driver shifted from automatic to a low gear. Rocks on the road scraped the underbelly of the chassis. Qureshi was in the back with Campbell, Burrows in the front with his weapon on the driver.

Far above, the cameras of the Global Hawk predator locked on to heat from the exhaust of the vehicle and sent back pictures of its journey to Islamabad. President West, with only John Kozerski in the Oval Office, watched. Like Campbell, he still had no idea whether the mission was going to be a success or a disaster.

'Tell President West that nations do not change their character, and that is why Pakistan is as it is,' said Qureshi, his head turned away, looking out of the window and the dark, shadowless land. 'Washington has always preferred working more with one-man dictatorships than the divided authority and debate that accompanies democratic decision-making. If it did not, Pakistani dictators would not have survived for so long. You must concentrate on restraining Vasant Mehta. I will bring Pakistan into line.' The road dipped and curved towards a hillside, where the headlights picked out a formation of rocks. Beside it were two boys, sleeping next to a herd of goats. Burrows raised his weapon. One boy stirred, putting his hand to his eyes, then rolled over to sleep again.

'Tell West,' said Qureshi, 'that if forced, we will not hesitate to use our nuclear arsenal to protect our national sovereignty.'

'And if China withdraws its support?' pressed Campbell.

'It is more complicated than that.'

The car bumped off the track on to a smoother road. The driver dipped the lights, waiting for three trucks to lumber past, ablaze with coloured lights and garish paintings on their side. Their wheels threw dust up to the Mercedes. Soapy water jets came up from the bonnet, and the windscreen wipers started up. Across the road, a single light bulb glowed above a stall selling drinks chilled inside a block of melting ice. As they joined the main road, Campbell knew he had all he would get. The impenetrable Qureshi wanted to do business, thought Campbell, but the reference to the dead security guards reminded him of the bad taste the mission had left in his mouth.

'I know he's heard this before,' continued Qureshi, 'all politicians have. But there are people who want to act more quickly and with less flexibility than I do.' He wound down the window. The night air was warmer. He breathed it in and turned to face Campbell. 'Tomorrow, or next week, you might find you've been talking to the wrong man.'

'I'll pass on your message,' whispered Campbell.

'Thank you.' Qureshi leant out so that the airstream hit his face. Then he closed the window. 'I think we've said all we have to say. I will get the mess around my house cleared up. You will hear nothing of it. You have met me. I trust you to tell Jim West that I am a straightforward man who has inherited a conundrum, partly of his government's making.'

His hand squeezed Campbell's shoulder, and he smiled. 'Now, without sounding bizarre, do you mind if I drop you at the Marriott Hotel, from where you can get a taxi to the embassy? The last thing I can afford to be seen doing right now is consorting with anything American.'

As the Global Hawk tracked the vehicle back, the National Security Agency intercepted two calls each from a different telephone. The first lasted five minutes and was on an open line to Qureshi's daughter, Farrah, in Lahore. The second, lasting twenty-eight seconds, was to a satellite phone in Pyongyang, North Korea. Instead of going home to his wife, Qureshi's vehicle headed for the military cantonment area of Rawalpindi just a few miles away.