May 1, 2000 A Private Hunting Lodge, Rahim Yar Khan 14:00 Hours (2:00 PM)
The desert sun was brutal, but inside the air-conditioned marquee, it was a cool twenty degrees.
This was the "Diplomacy of the Houbara Bustard." Every year, the Royals of the Gulf descended on the deserts of Pakistan to hunt the rare bird. But the hunting was just a cover. The real game was played on the plush Persian carpets inside the tents.
General Mahmood (ISI Chief) sat on a low cushion. He was the most powerful spy in the region, but today, he looked like a middle-manager being summoned by the Board of Directors.
Opposite him sat three men who represented the "Triple Alliance" that actually ran Pakistan's foreign policy.
1. The Ideologue (Saudi Arabia): Sheikh Al-Ghamdi, a senior advisor to the Royal Court. 2. The Merchant (UAE): Yousuf Al-Falasi, a key strategist for the Dubai Ports World. 3. The Handler (CIA): Bob Black.
They were not happy.
The Ideological Threat
Sheikh Al-Ghamdi spoke first. He didn't shout. He whispered, which was far more terrifying.
"General," he poured a cup of Qahwa. "We have invested billions in your Madrassas. We funded the Afghan Jihad. We built the mosques in Lahore and Peshawar."
He took a sip.
"We paid for a Fortress of Islam. A wall against the infidels."
He threw a magazine onto the carpet. It was an Indian film magazine, Filmfare, featuring a photo of Shah Rukh Khan and Pakistani actresses on stage in Lahore.
"What is this?" Al-Ghamdi asked, his eyes cold. "Cheerleaders? Concerts? Joint broadcasts with idol-worshippers?"
"It is... economic stabilization, Sheikh," Mahmood tried to defend. "The Chief Executive believes that cricket brings money."
"It brings Fitna (chaos)," Al-Ghamdi hissed. "If the youth of Pakistan are dancing to Bollywood music, who will fight in Kashmir? Who will go to Afghanistan? You are diluting the spirit of Jihad, Mahmood. We did not pay for a 'Modern Muslim State'. We paid for a Sword."
The Economic Threat
Yousuf Al-Falasi, the man from Dubai, didn't care about religion. He cared about shipping lanes.
"The Sheikh is worried about souls," Al-Falasi said, lighting a cigar. "I am worried about containers."
He unrolled a map. He pointed to Karachi and Mumbai.
"General, do you know why Jebel Ali is the busiest port in the region? Because Karachi is a war zone and Mumbai is closed to you. So, all trade goes through Dubai."
He tapped the map violently.
"But now? I hear rumors. You are opening the Wagah border? You are talking about a 'Peace Pipeline' with India? If Karachi and Mumbai connect... if the train starts running... ships will bypass Dubai. They will dock directly in Karachi."
Al-Falasi looked at Mahmood with the ruthless gaze of a businessman protecting his monopoly.
"Peace is bad for our business, General. A chaotic Pakistan is a client. A peaceful Pakistan is a competitor. We cannot allow Karachi to become the new Dubai."
The Strategic Threat
Finally, Bob Black spoke. He was the calmest of the three, but his words cut the deepest.
"The boys are right, Mahmood," Bob said, cleaning his glasses. "But my problem is different."
"We just agreed to buy your police equipment, Bob," Mahmood argued. "We are buying the Glocks."
"I know," Bob nodded. "And the Pentagon is happy with the check. But the State Department has a narrative problem."
Bob leaned in.
"General Musharraf is the 'Butcher of Kargil'. That is his brand. He is the dangerous dictator with the nuke. That is why the world listens to us when we say we need to 'manage' him."
Bob pointed to the TV screen in the corner, which was replaying the footage of Musharraf in Delhi, laughing with Vajpayee.
"But that?" Bob pointed. "That man looks like a statesman. He looks... reasonable. If he makes peace with India, if he becomes the 'Hero of South Asia', we lose our leverage."
Bob's voice dropped to a whisper.
"We need a Pakistan that is scary enough to need our protection, but not stable enough to stand alone. Musharraf is crossing the line. He is becoming too independent."
The Leash
The three men looked at General Mahmood. The message was clear. The "Triple Alliance" felt the rug moving.
"Reel him in, Mahmood," Bob ordered. "The Agra Summit is coming up. Let him go. Let him shake hands. But do not let him sign a final treaty."
"And the modernization?" Al-Ghamdi asked.
"Slow it down," Bob said. "A little cricket is fine. But don't turn Lahore into Las Vegas. And definitely don't let Karachi become a free trade zone."
Al-Falasi nodded. "Keep Karachi volatile. A few riots here and there... just to keep the insurance premiums high for the shipping companies."
The Order
General Mahmood swallowed hard. He was the ISI Chief, the master of shadows. But in this tent, he was just a servant.
He realized the terrifying truth: Pakistan's "Friends" were its jailers. They didn't want the country to fail, but they absolutely didn't want it to succeed. They wanted it in the "Goldilocks Zone" of dysfunction—dependent, radicalized, and controllable.
And Musharraf—this new, strange, cricket-loving Musharraf—was breaking the cage.
"I understand," Mahmood said quietly. "I will... advise him."
"Don't advise him," Bob stood up, putting on his sunglasses. "Control him. Or we will find a General who can."
The Drive Back
As Mahmood drove back to the airfield, his mind was racing.
He had promised to control Musharraf. But he remembered the look in the General's eyes when he sold the T20 rights. He remembered the "Police Reform" trap.
He knows, Mahmood realized with a chill. He knows they want to keep us in the cage.
Mahmood looked at his phone. He had to make a choice. Serve the Masters in the tent, or serve the Madman who was trying to break the bars.
For the first time in his career, the Spy Chief wasn't sure which side was safer.