- What if the world told you 'men never change'. Would you still believe in redemption?
- What if your whole life is shrouded in secrecy. Would you shed your mask for one person anyway?
- What if an avatar intrigued you. Could you fall in love with...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Zain
Irfan Khaver.
The 20-something year old son of Moeez Khaver had been identified by our CID colleagues as a person-of-interest.
"The man hasn't been in the country for a few years. He was supposedly studying in the UK." Fiza told us as we rode in an unmarked car in late evening towards a restaurant almost four hours away from Sukkur, where the man had been spotted a few times
"What made you suspect him now?" I asked her.
"He entered the country about two months ago according to Border Control, yet I couldn't locate any electronic footprint for him. No cell phones, no bank account, not even an email," she remarked, casting a sidelong glance my way. "In this era, lacking an online presence suggests you're either a recluse or concealing something. I'm inclined towards the latter."
Nestled along the desolate highway, close to the city of Nawabshah, the restaurant itself was a simple white-washed brick structure. Plastic chairs and tables dotted its front porch, while weather-worn posters advertising the menu peeled off the walls. This was not a place where one would expect a politician's son to frequent.
"Stay back," Bashir radioed the extra Rangers unit who had been trailing behind our car. Then turned towards me, "Zain, you go in with CID. Haseeb and I will stay out here and keep an eye."
"Sure," I told him, glad that for once his voice wasn't laced with disdain for me.
Yet, what the man's true intentions were would be a question I would soon find myself grappling with.
One minute I was standing in an empty restaurant, with Detective Aqil, Fiza and Raza, and the next we were ducking under tables and behind chairs. Amidst the deafening roar of gunfire and the shards of glass flying with debris clogging the air, I could make out shady silhouettes of four men, just outside the restaurant's broken windows.
"Zain, you okay?" Fiza called out. "Aqil and Raza are down."
I ignored the searing pain on the right side of my abdomen, "I'll live."
"Okay, cover me. I'm going to get Aqil and Raza behind the counter."
As bullets whizzed past, instincts kicked in and adrenaline pumped through my veins. "Got it," I yelled back, and returned fire, allowing my colleague to get her injured partners to safety.
The intense skirmish raged on, with the assailant's relentless assault showing no signs of abating. Faced with their ruthless onslaught and with the blood stain on my shirt increasing in size, I found myself in a precarious position. The large piece of glass stuck in my right side just below my ribs wasn't helping. I yanked it out, which provided just enough relief from the pain to keep going.
