parents and two brothers lost touch with the young man as he edged away from them, preferring to be in the company of true believers. Fazeel felt his family had become too Westernized in their thinking and their daily lives. His father was a successful businessman who owned two restaurants and a number of shops. He belonged to a golf club and had many non-Pakistani friends. All this pushed Fazeel closer to the dissatisfied crowd, who met regularly at the local mosque for political and religious discussions, berating the country and condemning the culture that surrounded them.
One of the regulars at the gatherings was Umer Qazi, a quiet, studious man who looked like a university professor with his conservative dress and manner. Sometimes he was simply there, watching and listening, his presence unobtrusive. But he did more than just observe. He took note of those young men who stood out from the crowd. The ones who exhibited more than simple group fervor. It was his task to pick out the men with real passion. With fire in their bellies.
The ones who were sincere in their beliefs.
Who would stand up to be counted when the time came.
One of those was Anwar Fazeel.
Qazi saw the potential. Realized that Fazeel, with his background in IT, was someone worth cultivating.
Umer Qazi was a recruiter, strategically placed among the dissenters to seek out ones who might prove useful. Qazi represented the cause masterminded by Colonel Jabir Rahman. He had been sent to the U.K., where many young men had been drawn into the fold. They were the easiest to recruit, with their impressionable minds, and the isolation many of them felt meant persuasion was often relatively simple. Promises of a welcome by brothers in arms, the glories of martyrdom and the delights of the afterlife were often all that was needed to draw them in. Qazi was a master of his craft. His subdued manner, his educated personality and his gentle coaxing were powerful weapons at his disposal.
When he employed them all on Anwar Fazeel, he hooked the young man quickly. He began to see him one-on-one, choosing quiet cafés where they could sit and talk for long periods. Later, as Fazeel allowed himself to be seduced by radical thinking, Qazi introduced him to other individuals who, working to plan, made Fazeel believe he was special. That his way forward was with the group. With Rahman, who wanted to steer Pakistan onto a better path, away from the influence of those who were allowing the country to become little more than an American pawn.
An arranged meeting where Fazeel was brought face-to-face, via video link, with Colonel Rahman himself was the final push that propelled the young man to the forefront of the upcoming campaign. The encounter took place in the home of a close friend of the colonel. Once the connection was made, Rahman and Fazeel were left alone. Slightly overawed by being in the great one’s presence, albeit via satellite, Fazeel felt awkward as he sat in his chair. Rahman, noticing his nervousness, spoke to him with encouragement.
“Anwar Fazeel, this is a great day for me. I am honored to be meeting you, a young man who will be instrumental in orchestrating the great crusade against our enemies. Without your skill and knowledge our plan would not come together, but with your help we will achieve our victory.”
Fazeel stared into the benevolent face of the man he worshipped.
Jabir Rahman.
The leader of the cause.
“No, sir, it is I who consider myself honored. Through you I will be able to contribute my part. Whatever you need from me, just ask.”
“Soon you will start on a journey that will bring you to Pakistan,” Rahman replied. “Have you ever been here?”
“Once, to visit with my father’s family.”
“Then you have stepped on our soil and breathed in the air of our spiritual home. This time, Anwar Fazeel, you will go on a special journey. You must prepare yourself for this. Pray for guidance. For strength. There may be a need for sacrifice. You will have to sever all contact with your family, here and there. Can you do that?”
“My relatives have given themselves over to the non-believers. They have abandoned Islam for the ways of the West, so are no longer my family.”
“Good,” Rahman said. “Now, listen to me, Anwar. Tomorrow is the start of the weekend. Qazi will take you to see what you will be working with. You must familiarize yourself with all the data. Learn everything about it. But there must be no talking about it outside of the group. You understand?”
“Of course, sir.”
“If anything leaks out, then our plan will be compromised. I cannot stress how important it is that nothing—nothing—gets out.”
“When will I leave for Pakistan?”
“Very soon—a pleasant flight that will allow you study time. When you arrive, I want you to fully understand the equipment, so that when we deploy there will be no hesitation.”
“It will be done, sir.”
“Qazi chose well. You are to be an important part of our plan. I have every faith in you, Anwar Fazeel. We may not see each other again until you reach Pakistan. Until then, may Allah smile upon you.”
When the conversation ended, Fazeel was joined by Qazi again.
“He is well pleased with you.” Qazi handed over a folded paper. “Can you be here at eight in the morning?”
“Of course.”
“Tell no one where you are going. No one.”
QAZI PICKED FAZEEL UP at the rendezvous spot, then pulled the silver SUV into the traffic and drove on. Fazeel knew nothing about this part of the city, but Qazi negotiated the streets with ease. Eventually they arrived at an area sign-posted Tilbury, which Fazeel vaguely knew was a seaport and container base. He spotted cranes and warehouses edging the river, truck depots and sprawling storage yards.
Qazi eventually stopped at a pair of manned gates, leaning out to speak to a security guard and show him a pass. The gates opened and Qazi drove to the dock, which had a number of seagoing freighters moored alongside. Being a weekend, there were few people about.
Again Qazi seemed to know exactly where he was going. He rolled along the line of warehouses and stopped outside one that bore the name Saeeda Hussein Import-Export.
The warehouse was large. The main doors were closed, but Qazi took Fazeel to a side door, tapped in a code at the small panel and led him inside. The interior was full of crates, and racks holding smaller items. Their footsteps echoed on the concrete floor as they approached a row of offices along the far wall.
“Good to see you, brothers,” Qazi said to the two men occupying the first office.
They returned the greeting, then turned their attention to Fazeel. “Is this the one chosen?”
“Indeed. This is Anwar Fazeel. Anwar, this is Ahmad and Shiran. They will guard and protect you. When you leave for Pakistan, they will go with you.”
Fazeel inclined his head. “I am happy to meet you, brothers.”
Ahmad laughed as he noticed the way Fazeel was looking around the office. “He is so eager to see his new toy. Come, Anwar, let us introduce you.”
He was ushered through a connecting
