Chapter 20

THE ADVISOR OF EXECUTIONS

21st of Rajab 1417

(December 3, 1996)

Tariq waited for Asif Mohammed, Advisor of Executions for the Islamic council. Tariq hosted a dinner for this very dear friend who returned from a successful tour of India, Malaysia, and Indonesia. When he arrived, Asif looked ill, but his wife was buoyant, radiant, and talkative. She and Samira sat close together, while Tariq and Asif stood stiffly with warm tea. Asif dressed in a cotton kurta and topee, while Tariq was arranged in a top heavy turban and gold kurta.

Asif pushed the FAC idea further, even though it was a social occasion. Tariq was also in the mood for business. He resisted convening the FAC, even though Asif insisted that all Islamic republics supported the ending of violence against Muslims in India.

“Islam shall have the last word in all of this. The FAC must wait. Timing is everything. I have been consulting with the Advisor of Tours. When I say the time is right, the time will be right,” announced Tariq.

“How long will you wait, my holiness?”

“Let’s give it two months or so. We must read our intelligence in the area very carefully. We obviously knew the violence wouldn’t end with a few assassinations. Our actions were only catalysts for more violence. Delhi will realize that Islam would never permit itself to be dragged through the mud. They will find that our Muslim brethren have more confidence in what I say than in their own elected officials.”

“Hmmm,” said Asif sipping his tea, “I agree with the Advisor of Information. He says there is a lot more we can do on the inside.”

“And this is your specialty,” smiled Tariq.

“We got every one of those militants, and our intelligence reports that our men are hungry for more. Really you must think of the whole spectrum. All of the advisors are ready.”

At these moments Tariq saw his advisor full of life. In the meetings Asif usually remained cold and calculating, highly respected by the other advisors. He was known as one of the bavasaab’s closest friends. Asif usually asked for work on clandestine projects. Challenges made Asif happier.

But it was Tariq who had asked a small favor of him. Asif followed orders without questioning them. As their wives chatted, Tariq guided Asif Mohammed to his study filled with books on Islam, old copies of The Arab News, and an unabridged Qu’ran on his desk. The short and sickly advisor handed over an envelope of photographs: Rashida outside the garment shop heading towards the apartment.

“So this is what she looked like?” said Tariq.

“She died of some freak accident,” replied Asif. “Allah had willed it.”

“Good. No woman tempts my son and gets away with it. The killing should not have a single stamp on it. Keep it quiet. It was an accident. An act of Allah. A quick, quiet accident.”

“Quick, easy, and routine.”

“Good. Burn these photographs.”