June 15, 2000 Ministry of Interior, Islamabad 10:00 Hours
The conference room was filled with smoke and tension. On one side sat the Generals of the ISI, guardians of the "Strategic Depth" doctrine. On the other side sat Dr. Shoaib Suddle and the new civilian team from the National Database Registration Authority (NADRA).
I threw a file on the table. It landed with a heavy thud.
"Three million," I said. "That is the estimated number of Afghan refugees living in Pakistan. Do we have their names? No. Do we have their fingerprints? No. Do we know where they live? No."
I looked at General Mahmood.
"We are hosting a phantom nation within our nation. They are ghosts. And ghosts can smuggle heroin, ghosts can carry bombs, and ghosts can disappear."
The Strategic Shift
"Sir," General Mahmood argued, his voice guarded. "These are our brothers. They fled the Soviet war. If we crack down on them, the Taliban will see it as a betrayal. Mullah Omar uses these camps for... recruitment."
"That is exactly the problem, Mahmood!" I snapped. "I am not running a recruitment center for the Taliban. I am running a State."
I walked to the whiteboard.
"For twenty years, we have treated them like cattle. We keep them in camps, we deny them jobs, we deny them dignity. So what do they do? They pick up a Kalashnikov because it's the only job offer they get."
I picked up a marker.
"We are changing the policy. Today."
The Offer: The Alien Registration Card (ARC)
"We are going to launch a massive registration drive," I announced. "Every Afghan in Pakistan will be given a choice."
I wrote OPTION A on the board.
"Return Home: We will provide cash assistance and transport for those who want to go back to Afghanistan."
I wrote OPTION B.
"The Pakistan Card: For those who stay, they must register. We will take their biometrics. In exchange, we give them rights. The right to open a bank account. The right to buy a SIM card. The right to work legally."
The room went silent. Giving legal rights to Afghans was unheard of. The Generals looked horrified.
"Sir," the Interior Secretary stammered. " Citizenship rights? The demographic balance..."
"I didn't say Citizenship," I corrected. "I said Rights. If they want to treat Pakistan as their home, Pakistan will treat them like dignified guests. But if they want to treat Pakistan as a hideout..."
My voice turned cold.
"...then we will treat them like invaders."
The Combing Operation
I turned to Shoaib Suddle.
"Doctor, this is where you come in. The 'Registration Drive' is the cover. The real mission is the Audit."
Suddle nodded, his pen hovering over his notebook.
"Most Afghans are simple people," I said, channeling my inner humanist. "They sell fruits, they drive trucks, they dig roads. They are hardworking. I want them on my side."
"But," I pointed a finger at Mahmood. "Hidden among them are the smugglers. The gun-runners. The drug lords who fund the Taliban. They thrive on anonymity."
"Suddle," I ordered. "When you go into the camps to register them, you will filter them. The man selling naan gets a card. The man sitting on a pile of cash with no job? You pick him up."
"A combing operation, Sir?" Suddle asked.
"A surgical combing operation," I emphasized. "Don't harass the poor. But find me the wolves hiding in the sheep's clothing. I want the weapon stockpiles found. I want the heroin routes mapped."
The Logic
"Sir," Mahmood warned. "The drug mafia pays the bills for many... powerful groups. If Suddle starts kicking down doors in Peshawar..."
"Let him kick," I said, leaning back. "September is coming, Mahmood. The world is changing. I need to clean my house before the Americans decide to burn it down."
Mahmood didn't understand the reference to "September," assuming I meant the next harvest or a diplomatic cycle. He didn't know I was looking at a calendar that ended in 2001.
The Implementation June 20, 2000 Kacha Garhi Refugee Camp, Peshawar
The vans arrived at dawn. But they weren't police vans with sirens. They were NADRA vans with cameras and computers.
Loudspeakers announced the new policy in Pashto.
"Brothers! The State of Pakistan offers you a face. Register today. Get a card. Work with honor. No police officer will harass a card-holder."
At first, there was fear. Then, a few brave souls stepped forward—a cobbler, a tea seller. They gave their fingerprints. They received a laminated slip.
Then, Suddle's team moved in.
While the civilians lined up for cards, the Special Branch identified the "Ghost Houses"—the compounds with satellite phones and luxury SUVs parked in the mud.
"Raid them," Suddle ordered.
The police struck. Instead of a messy, blind crackdown, it was precise. They ignored the refugees and hit the godowns.
The Haul
By evening, the reports flooded my desk in Islamabad.
Registered: 15,000 Afghans (First Day).
Seized: 400 AK-47s, 50kg of Heroin, and satellite comms equipment from three "Safe Houses."
Arrested: 12 mid-level Taliban commanders and 4 major drug smugglers.
The Reaction
I watched the news. The footage showed an old Afghan man crying, holding his new ID card, kissing it. For the first time in twenty years, he wasn't illegal. He existed.
"We won them over," I whispered. "The people are with us."
Then the secure phone rang. It was the Red Line.
"Mullah Omar is on the line," the operator said, voice shaking. "He is... unhappy."
I picked up the phone.
"General," the voice from Kandahar was heavy and distorted. "You are arresting my guests. You are counting my warriors."
"I am counting my residents, Amir-ul-Momineen," I replied smoothly. "And I am arresting criminals who give a bad name to your noble cause. Surely, you don't support heroin smugglers?"
There was a silence on the other end. Mullah Omar couldn't openly support drug lords, even if they funded him.
"Be careful, Musharraf," the voice hissed. "Do not count what you cannot control."
The line went dead.
I put the phone down.
"I can control it," I said to the empty room. "I have the data now."
I looked at the register. 15,000 names. 15,000 fingerprints.
Aditya Kaul smiled.
Let the Americans come looking for terrorists next year. I will simply open my database and say: 'Here is the address. Go get him.'
Strategic Depth is dead. Strategic Data is the future.