Third World War Read online

  General Musa's nod to him had sealed his presidency. The attack on Mehta's residence had been Qureshi's rite of passage, just as the attack on the Indian Parliament had belonged to Najeeb Hussain.

  Not that Musa, a highly decorated infantry general, had been in favour of the continuation of civilian rule. His concern had been that men of the right metal should take over. Without Musa's support the coup would have been impossible. He commanded the loyalty of the corps commanders to whom Qureshi would cede nuclear strike control in the event of conflict.

  Out of the corner of his eye, in the shadows of the encroaching darkness, Qureshi spotted the Cherat Special Services Group installing anti-terror equipment in the garden. This was what life would be until the conflict was won. Farrah had been wise before the event to move to Lahore. Tasneem would have to stop berating him for letting her go. She was safer there.

  'Then the man I should talk with is Suri,' said Qureshi. His face was intense as he kept an eye on the men working outside, and listened to the rhythmic hum from the generator at the back of the house. 'It is right it should be Suri,' he said out loud, but really confirming it to himself. 'A military government should negotiate only with the military element of a civilian government.'

  In the short time since the three other military officers had arrived, the sun had vanished over the edge of the hills, taking with it warmth and light and leaving in its place a quickly darkening dusk and the sudden sounds of nocturnal insects.

  'As a mark of respect for this second terrible act of terrorism in such a short space of time,' said Qureshi, lacing his voice with irony, 'Pakistan will fly its national flag at half-mast on all government buildings. Our ceremonial troops will not partake in the face-to-face border rituals. They will instead go to the ceremony unarmed and will salute the Indian troops on the other side. At first light tomorrow, we will withdraw our armoured columns and artillery right along the joint border with India to create a demilitarized zone on the Pakistani side stretching at least ten kilometres. Through an unspecified agency, I have commissioned a commercial satellite to photograph the withdrawal and post the images on the Internet. This is in case the Western intelligence agencies choose not to publish their own images. The only place where India might immediately respond is with artillery on the Siachen Glacier. Pakistan will not fire back, regardless of the casualties. In the absence of Vice-President Zafar, power naturally goes to the Speaker of Parliament. That process will continue. The press can report freely. We will not comment, of course. If any member of the armed forces does, he will receive a summary court martial.'

  Qureshi paused and took some nuts from a bowl on the table. Hussain and Mohmand were silent. Musa, as always, jousted. 'We would, in effect, cede ten kilometres of territory to India. It would take months to rebuild our defences in new positions.'

  'And it would take only hours for India to destroy them wherever they were - if it so wished,' responded Qureshi, crunching the nuts noisily between his teeth. 'The day India went nuclear was the day we won the right to defend our nation by whatever means possible. I am proposing that we make our last resort our first resort. If it works, it means we can wind down our costly conventional war efforts, and rely solely on our nuclear deterrent. If India - or any other nation - puts one foot into Pakistan, it will know what will happen.'

  'My God,' said Musa. 'It is both insane and brilliant.'

  'It is not insane,' said Qureshi, shaking his head. 'It has been unspoken since the nuclear tests of 1998. We could never win against India in a conventional war.' He looked around to meet the eyes of each of the other three. 'As is known only between the four of us, I have delivered five tactical nuclear warheads to General Park Ho in North Korea. He had already shipped to us the components of the Taepodong-2 long-range nuclear-capable missile. These have now been assembled and are ready to launch at any time we need them. North Korea and Pakistan have forged an inseparable alliance. Yes, we can now take on India in a city-for-city exchange. Let us hope that will deter war. But should any other nation intervene against us, it will also be in range of our nuclear weapons. That, gentlemen, is the nature and power of our deterrence. Together, we have changed the balance of power against small nations for ever. Now,' he concluded lightly with a smile, 'all we have to do is explain it to the world.'

  'Who should explain it?' said Hussain. 'It is far more likely to be accepted from a civilian leader than from us.'

  'Musharraf was accepted,' said Mohmand. Apart from Qureshi, Mohmand had the most complex and sophisticated mind in the room. He had risen to head the Pakistani navy by being both a skilful naval commander and a careful diplomat. 'Yet Musharraf ended up being discredited.' He smiled self-effacingly. 'So my point is, that it's impossible to tell. Certainly you, Tassudaq, would have more authority, but that would not necessarily give you credibility among the western democracies.'

  'We should bring Zafar back,' said Qureshi, sprinkling nutshells on to a saucer.

  'Would he come?' said Hussain.

  Qureshi laughed quietly. 'Of course he would.'

  'Who could resist becoming the president of the most powerful Islamic nation?' agreed Musa, sarcastically. The general stood up and clapped his hands together. 'Are we decided then? If so, it seems I am to be the busiest, so perhaps I should get going and start the ball rolling.'

  Qureshi was on his feet. 'Just one other thing. Mehta, before he - well, we don't know how he is exactly - but he gave Jamie Song a hard time about China's support for Pakistan. Song gave me a hard time when I passed through Beijing. If Mehta dies, I don't think we have a problem. If he survives, we will have to hand over some men to be flown to China as a token of--' Qureshi shrugged, and it was difficult to tell how much was a show and how much was heartfelt. 'I think you all know as well as I that we have to give face to China if we are to retain the technology we need. So whatever it takes, we'll do it.'

  ****

  31*

  ****

  New York, NY, USA*

  The murmuring of low, disciplined voices faded into silence as the side door of the United Nations General Assembly Hall opened near the podium. For a moment, a cluster of people gathered at the entrance, half-exposed, half-hidden, dark-suited men, security guards, assistants with speech notes and files. Their feet shifted, heads tilting to pick up whispered conversations. The 1,743 delegates and their staff from 192 nations craned to see what was going on. This was a special emergency session called after the two terrorist attacks on India. Ambassador after ambassador, summoned in alphabetical order, had spoken about the need for dialogue and international cooperation. Then, just over an hour earlier, the Secretary-General had been notified that India wanted to speak immediately. Unbeknown to most, the leaders of China, Britain, Japan and Russia were also flying into New York. At first, the request from India had been denied, until Mehta's private secretary, Ashish Uddin, had telephoned John Kozerski, who then spoke directly to the office of the UN Secretary-General. 'India very much wants to retain the authority of the United Nations,' Uddin had said. 'For security reasons, which you will understand, we could not announce the movements. Nor do we have time to linger in New York and wait our turn. So either the announcement will be at the UN, immediately, or we will give a live address to be broadcast on both CNN and BBC.'

  Uddin had swiftly won the argument, and now the cluster of people in the wings of the assembly hall melted away, leaving two figures exposed in the doorway. One was in a wheelchair, with a medical dressing covering the left eye, and the right leg protruding out and wrapped in bandages. The second person walked with one hand on a cane, the other balancing on the handle of the wheelchair, pushing it from behind.

  To have walked it at a normal pace would have taken only a few seconds. But for Vasant Mehta and his daughter Meenakshi the journey to the podium took two minutes and seventeen seconds. Within seconds of starting out, as the two figures made their way under the huge UN emblem of an image of the world, flanked by olive wreaths as a symbo
l of peace, a murmur rippled through the historic General Assembly Hall. Father and daughter, lit up by spotlights, their images thrown on to two massive screens, looked out across the expanse of people. The murmuring dropped to a silence. The television networks cut into their normal programming and transferred to the stark image. The commentators spoke sparingly because the picture told all. In the hall, clapping began, a solitary staff member in one place, picked up on the microphones, and copied, louder and louder, until applause rose like a surging wave. As Mehta and Meenakshi reached the podium, the United Nations stood up, delegates rising to their feet like a Mexican wave, peppered with wolf-whistles, cheers, the slapping of desks and the shaking of papers.

  Vasant Mehta turned the wheelchair to face the hall. He leant down and locked the wheels. Meenakshi handed him a file from her lap. He limped on to the podium and raised his hand in appreciation, just a single hand, palm outwards, diffident and quickly. He waited for the applause to fade. He stared out, unblinking, unsmiling, until the chamber returned to absolute quiet. Only then did he drop the cane at his feet. The noise echoed in the quiet. He kicked the cane away, and the image of it sliding across the polished stage came to symbolize the anger of India.

  'None of you here will welcome what I have to say,' he began. 'I have come because my Parliament is in ruins and my house has been destroyed. My staff who protected me are dead. My daughter is in a wheelchair.' He glanced down at Meenakshi who raised her hand to him. He took it, squeezed and smiled. It had taken a lot to persuade Meenakshi to come with him.

  'She is here not as a mascot, but as evidence of what you and I and the citizens we represent are ultimately working for - the protection and the future of our children and our families. There is nothing in the world more simple to understand.'

  He paused to allow another wave of applause to break out. He let it die naturally, resting, two hands on the stand, absorbing the stabbing pain which seared through his right leg. As a stillness again took over the hall, Mehta said: 'I have failed in that simple duty. I have failed abysmally.'

  He dragged his leg forward to try to ease the pain. His face creased up. The ache he could withstand with a poker face. The sudden jabbing of torn nerve ends still took him by surprise. He gripped the stand. 'In due course, I will take the honourable path and resign. India is a democracy and we have institutional machinery which will make the transition seamless and transparent. But before I go, I will announce to this assembly my nation's new doctrine, which is being implemented to protect our people, and I will explain why we are doing it. And when that is done, perhaps the television reporters will ask the White House whether or not it believes I am an honourable man or an enemy of the United States.'

  ****

  32*

  ****

  Washington, DC, USA*

  'You can't go in, John. He's got five minutes to go,' said Jenny Rinaldi as Kozerski burst into the outer office where she sat. He pointed to the screen where the General Assembly meeting was being broadcast live. Kozerski slowed his pace. 'No,' he said, filling a paper cup from the chilled-water dispenser. 'Tell him I'm coming in. And turn that thing up and listen.'

  Kozerski drained his cup, waited for Rinaldi to start speaking through her intercom, then went straight into the Oval Office. 'I'm sorry to interrupt, sir,' he said, taking in the half-dozen senators whom West was meeting. 'But you've got to see this.' He picked up the remote, flipped on the television, and stood, arms folded, by the door. Jim West got to his feet, and concentrated, hands on his hips, in the middle of the room. One senator got up to leave, but West waved him back down.

  '. . . and you may ask, why I use such an emotive term as enemy of the United States,' Mehta was saying. West shot a perplexed look across to Kozerski.

  'I will explain.' Mehta paused to grip the stand and balance himself in a more comfortable way. The camera was close on his face, showing the creased brow, eyes blinking and watery. Kozerski stepped over to be next to West. 'He's also announced he's resigning,' he whispered.

  'Those young men who attacked my parliament and my house were terrorists,' said Mehta. 'They were a product of Pakistan. Pakistan is a strange and unfortunate product of many nations. From Saudi Arabia it imported an extreme form of Islam. China and North Korea gave it its missiles and nuclear weapons. The United States flattered, scolded but ultimately built up Pakistan to what it has become. It trained its shadowy and evil institutions; it applauded its dictators; it has been there at every stage of the journey and has made Pakistan what it is today. Every action the United States has taken regarding Pakistan has been for nothing except its own short-term national interest.

  'Those of you from smaller nations, trying to determine a way forward, will know how brutalizing it is to have the forces of the United States government lined up against you. Believe me, it is not much better if you are the world's biggest democracy.'

  The camera, picking up applause again, shifted to a wide shot as dozens of delegates clapped. It settled on the unmoving hands of the US ambassador, eyes down as if reading notes.

  'Why, you might ask, am I fingering the United States? Why not China? Why not Pakistan itself? Why not Russia? It is because--' Mehta shook his head and tapped his file. 'What can I say, without surrendering my self-control to anger? It is because in 1998 when we declared ourselves a nuclear power with underground tests, we were punished by America with sanctions designed to slow down our development. In 1999, when Pakistani troops invaded our territory in what is known as the Kargil war, President Clinton urged us to be patient. In 2001, when the United States began its War on Terror, we were asked to absorb provocations and not respond. Our Parliament was attacked back then. We had evidence of Pakistani involvement, but we did not go to war. There were other assaults, and we trusted the United States to bring Pakistan under control.

  'In 2002, when President George W. Bush announced the US's new National Security Strategy, it laid out a doctrine, and I am ashamed to say we trusted that as well. It told us that America would help all nations that needed its assistance in combating terror; that the allies of terror were the enemies of civilization; that the United States would work to bring the hope of democracy, development, free markets and free trade to every corner of the world. In order to achieve this, it stated that it had no intention of allowing any foreign power to catch up with the status America had created for itself since the fall of the Soviet Union. Never again would there be parity. There would be only one power and one set of values and all of us, including a great democracy and culture like my own, would have to live within it. And I am ashamed to say that we accepted that doctrine. I am sure each of you have stories to tell of how it has actually worked for you.'

  He stopped speaking to rearrange his notes. Unsteadily he picked up a glass of water and drank.

  'Where's he heading with this?' whispered West to Kozerski, who shrugged, keeping an eye on the UN General Assembly Hall which was completely quiet waiting for Mehta to continue.

  'With that doctrine, America took on the responsibility of keeping our nations, our institutions and our families safe. It told us that there was only one way forward and that was the American way, that either we were with the United States or we were against it, and that there was no middle way. It told us that it would not hesitate to act alone and that, if necessary, it would exercise its right of self-defence by acting pre-emptively.'

  Mehta put his hand up to his eye. The camera showed cuts and bruises still unhealed on his face. He let go of the rostrum and leant down towards Meenakshi. She handed him a laptop computer. He opened it up and slotted a plug on to the side. 'Son of a bitch,' muttered West. 'What's he doing now?'

  'Visual display of some sort,' said Kozerski softly.

  'Can you switch us to the main screens?' asked Mehta into the microphone. The camera cut from Mehta's face to the strange sight of the black and white booting of a laptop, following each step until it settled on the blurred image of a man in a hospital bed - a vide
o sequence on pause. Mehta pressed another button. 'For the benefit of the interpreters, what you are about to hear is in Arabic,' he explained. The now world-famous photograph of Meenakshi and Mehta in the middle of the assault on the Parliament building came up on the screens. 'Most of you will be familiar with this,' said Mehta. 'I am showing it to you now to explain that the terrorist my daughter is tending in this photograph is named Ammar Abu Taleb. He is from Sana in Yemen. He was trained by al-Qaida in Afghanistan in the late 1990s. His voice print is known to the US National Security Agency, who if they wish can verify at least his identity. He was interviewed at a military hospital in Delhi, where he remains now.' Mehta tapped a series of buttons on the laptop. 'I will now play a key part of the video,' he announced.

  The first scene was a wide view of the hospital room, showing the backs of two interrogators' heads. An armed guard in silhouette was at the side of the frame. Taleb himself sat up in bed. His neck was in a brace which seemed to come up over his head and cover his eyes in a blindfold, making it obvious why Mehta had challenged the NSA to make a voice identification as well. Taleb's left hand was free. His right was handcuffed to the bed frame.