Night of the Arrest

It was coal dark and the world nearby silent. The men and a woman huddled in the room at the center of darkness spoke in hushed tones of warriors whose time have come and the enemy has outwitted them. Suddenly, as they had expected, the wooden door flew open and a contingent of heavily armed coppers invaded the room and the nightmare begun.

First they ordered the inmates to lie down on the cold floor as a burly and dark officer bellowed orders to others. They ransacked places. They used the available stools to peep into cracked ceiling boards, ventilation holes and came down and searched the bathroom; returned to the living room and now begun confiscating materials. From an old, dusty bookshelf-they plucked texts on Islam, Religion, Philosophy, Middle East Politics and a book entitled Fundamentals of Winning the Holy War by a fierce and distrusted Saudi born cleric who had been forced out of his native country and now living in a secret tiny city in Switzerland or Norway. Even loyal followers of his regular blogs did not know; and the Quran among other dog-eared pamphlets and torn periodicals scrawled in Arabic. And for the first time, Abdul Sheikh managed to speak: “Please officers, we are ready to cooperate.”

“Face down and don’t raise your head up again,” an officer said.

It was one of those moments in life one wished it was a bad dream he would wake up from. The more terrible it gets, the more anxious you get thinking your mother or brother would tell you: Time is up, arise now. And that was what was going through the head of the man we introduced above as Abdul Sheikh. The other men had been rendered docile so that even a trained ear could not hear their breathing. Finally, another spoke in a low pitch tone though without raising his silvery black head to the dozen officers barking in the living room.

“I don’t understand it but something is wrong. What is the point of all this?”

“You will understand later.” The burly and dark officer replied.

“And how do we identify you. Nobody has told us who you are and- ”

“Officers. Anti-terrorism police unit.”

Still head buried to the floor, the man continued: “Then where are your police warrants,” to which an officer felt enraged and thumped the speaker with the butt of his gun. “Mongrel, you think we came from a vacuum to come and pick you up, eh?” The man lying down resumed his silence and the violent search continued. Abdul now worried about his pregnant girlfriend, Halima Salim, also commanded to lie facing the floor. They had just met recently through a friend. Less than five months and they had realized Allah wanted them to be together. She had come to love him naturally especially the way he treated her. He was a caring fiancé who did not come home late and was a teetoller since two years when he lost a close friend to neighborhood drugs. This is a girl, who had liked him for his unwavering role as a partner for marriage-come rain, come shine, maybe. They had not gone into such matters such as making vows but there was a hint she could stand by him in hard times. But this one was not a hard time, Abdul cursed. This was an eternal nightmare. Halima would never forgive him on this one.

Meanwhile, after another harrowing twenty minutes, they were ordered to stand up and face the wall. Eight men and a woman stood up with their hands up in the air as other officers continued to overturn cupboards and utensils searching for what all the men knew.

“I got a computer hardware, sir.”

“Put it in bag B. All computer related materials are to be placed in bag B only. The rest in bag A.

“Search everywhere in this room. Even inside walls and inside their mattress.”

The men followed the instructions. Immediately, another team began drilling the walls sending fine dust wafting in the room as others ripped two mattresses into shreds. From the ripped mattresses, they managed to discover four more Russian hand-made grenades of the explosive type and a rocket-propelled launcher. And from a hole inside the wall, more weapons came to the full light of the fluorescent bulb. Three Ceska pistols, two AK-47 rifles, another hard drive covered with a black polythene bag, rounds of ammunition and a dirty clutter of wrapped, now rotten receipts and electricity bills.

“Where is your laptop, Abdul,” the commanding officer asked Abdul. Long pause. Now at gun point, he asked him again to which a short, stout character said: “We don’t have anything like a laptop here except those hard drives containing our personal documents.”

“I want to see your last communication chats with those Pakistani and Somali guys, bastard.”

“We have not been communicating with anybody in those countries. Even the hard drives will reveal to you.”

“Abdul, now show us around.” The officer uttered those words like a person requesting a curator in some anthropology museum or an exhibition room. The man turned around and for the first time other officers who had never seen him physically saw him before the bright glare of the light. He was a tall man with long arms and long youthful face. His hair was sparsely grey with a bushy goatee of the same color and white-blue eyes that darted about not settling for anything. His complexion was loamy under his white silk Muslim garb accentuated with black leather open sandals that exposed his well trimmed toes. His chest was unusually flat under a broad chest that could wrap a girl in a never-to-forget hug with cupped ears that could eavesdrop on even the most coded information in a loud bar with cartoonish crescent-shaped nose. Anyone meeting him for the first time without relying on the local and international media stories could say he was an amiable figure who could not hurt a fly. And this was apparent on his face that maintained a neutral composure despite the pressure that was threatening to explode in the room. As Inspector Graham was wont to say: Abdul Sheikh- son of the elder Sheik; is one interesting fellow who is cool under pressure even when the odds are stacked against him. 

Abdul led them around in his three rooms as the burly and dark officer who is the Inspector Graham remained standing in the middle of the room guarding the seven men and the single woman, gun corked on the ready.  Outside, the night remained dead and unperturbed by the unfolding night raid. There is a mole within us, thought Abdul. How could they have caught us unawares? Who told them we had weapons in all such places and nobody talks to the police except Abu and me? Somebody has been talking loud.

“Sir, another improvised explosive made using fertilizers,” said a junior officer while lifting a bottle with pellets heading to the Inspector. “They must be assembling bombs also inside this den, sir.” “Search everywhere. There are still more dangerous weapons in this room. Abdul, show the guests around until I say stop.” “Meanwhile, the rest, on the floor.”

The Inspector without any cause for alarm dipped his gloved right fingers into a rain-proof jacket and fished a fresh stick and lit it leisurely. He always enjoyed his stick during such moments when duty called and he was the commanding officer. Tonight he was leading a special team of twelve trained in Israel and the US in combating escalating incidences of terrorism. Inspector Graham called it a calling by God to come and serve humanity in this noble capacity. Like for example, tonight, after receiving reliable and some unreliable leads concerning the whereabouts of Abdul Sheikh and his men, they had eventually found themselves here. In the depth of a night when none expected they would appear. And now here they were, giving the raid their best to emasculate the activities of a man wanted by the FBI with $25M bounty on his head. How does one live such a run-away life, always on the move like a nomad, dreading the day or night when they would come and end it all such as the unwinding fate of Abdul Sheikh tonight, wondered the Inspector? In life people could go wayward, not everyone has lucky stars but still there was a limit to it. Maybe rob banks, con people, defraud organizations and the likes but mass murder, no. How did these mongrels manage to live with the burning guilt of killing innocent lives in road side bombings, suicide bombings and hurling of explosives? They blow up planes with thousands of people including themselves to false martyrdom or bomb state functions they are against, killing innocent blood in the name of Religion. The Inspector sucked more into his stick as these loose thoughts spurned in his mind. Though it did not worry him that much. Whatever it was, his duty first was to arrest the suspects and haul them into the cells to await investigations. And he was determined to attain just that tonight.

Abdul requested an officer to let Halima take a rest because she was expectant. The officer burst into gales of uncontrollable laughter as the rest sought to know what was becoming funny under the tense condition. “Look,” the officer fingered at Abdul, “Hear him: ‘Let my girlfriend Halima take a rest. She is expectant.’” “And I want to ask him, what about the pregnant women and children you bomb every day. Do they also request you to have mercy on their families? Have you ever thought of the fathers and husbands who lose their unborn children and wives in your heartless bombing adventures?” The rest also broke into prolonged laughter until the Inspector bellowed “Enough. Back to search.” The men and a woman on the cold floor breathed steadily as more china plates and cups came crushing to the hard concrete and into deformed triangular and square-shaped pieces that flew in all directions. At one point, a white plate dotted with what looked like daffodil and lily flowers got yanked from an upper shelf in the living room landing on the silent head of Abu with a resounding thud that got everyone staring for awhile. Abu, a man known for his razor-sharp tempers that gets triggered by the least provocations, arose with red rage like a provoked lioness that has just delivered its cubs and made to pounce upon one of the officers but was stopped on time with six muscular trained arms that wrestled him fiercely back to the floor and cuffed him with his hands behind him.

            “Lock him in the bathroom. I think it will keep him safe from their flying plates,” said Inspector Grisham. “Nobody wishes your head to get destroyed this early before we get to the police station. The state needs that head, Abu.” The remaining six men lifted their heads in that stealing technique to peep at what had just assailed their friend in a raid that was now almost two hours old and still none knew when it would end. And none hoped it would end well. The black clouds had been seen. Meanwhile, Halima remained forlorn in her corner less than a meter away from the men stretched on the floor, quietly grumbling and shuffling. What Halima wondered all along is why the neighbors had not woken up to witness and raise alarm to the authorities of this raid that resembled a robbery. But they are in police uniforms. They know Abu, they know Abdul and even his father; they seem to have a familiarization but who could they be? She was steeped in a dark world of uncertainty. The temporary moment in Life when things go awry and your senses and rationality cannot counsel you right on what is happening.

An hour later, a dark blue police jeep put on board eight men and a pregnant lady enroute to an undisclosed police station for severe interrogation.