In 1999, Pakistan's Chief of Army Staff, General Pervez Musharraf, staged a coup to overthrow Nawaz Sharif. The two leaders had their differences, which intensified after the Kargil War. In this excerpt from Fatima Bhutto's fictional retelling, Democracy, loosely based on the unravelling coup, Sharif rallies his troops to prevent Musharraf, who was returning from a trip to Sri Lanka, from landing in Karachi, thus setting in motion the chain of events over the next seventeen hours that led to his dismissal.
The olive Hilux raced out of the Sind Club. Jamshed flew over the speed bumps, tore through what remained of the pansies and shouted at the wilting guard to open the gates. In the front seat Brigadier Azad struggled with his trousers.
“Who made the call?”
The Chief of Army Staff was out of town; he had gone to a small island nation to engage in joint exercises.
“We’re dropping the bloody COAS?”
Major Jamshed shook his head quickly. “No, Sir, the COAS himself made the call.”
Brigadier Azad sat back in his seat and breathed deeply. They were dropping the President.
Jamshed looked out of the corner of his eye. The Brigadier had managed to squeeze his legs into his trousers. He was buttoning his khaki jacket now. The Major turned to meet his eyes.
“Must be the President, Sir,” Jamshed said, a note of worry in his voice. He was only thirty-one. He didn’t want to be mixed up in the machinations of martial law. Not yet, not so soon. His father had dragged the family from one godforsaken village to another during his years as a martial law administrator under General Zia. At first Jamshed’s father had only pretended to be pious—praying in the middle of the Officer’s Mess, learning a few Arabic phrases that sounded vaguely religious, hanging a swinging metallic Allah from his rear-view mirror—so that the dictator wouldn’t give him the chop, but he had played his hand too convincingly. Five years in Nawabshah, three in Okara, and four in Mianwalli. It had destroyed Jamshed’s childhood. He signed up for the army to be a soldier, not an administrator.
The Brigadier lifted his bottom off the seat so that his brown belt could be taken around his waist. Major Jamshed thoughtfully slowed down the car.
‘Phone call came to the barracks, highest order—COAS himself. His ADC called from the cockpit. Jinnah Airport is to be immediately surrounded and taken over from the Civil Aviation Authority.’ Jamshed looked at the watch on the dashboard. ‘We are to have our men in place by the time he lands, approximately 22.00 hours.’
Brigadier Azad tucked his jacket into his trousers. Two hours.
‘Bit tight,’ he said, looking out the window.
The 118 Brigade must already be in action in the capital. They would be moving across the city like spiders, scuttling soundlessly through the cracks and crevices until they surrounded the President’s residence and placed him under military custody. Brigadier Azad turned the radio on, hoping to find static but was hit by the unwelcoming sound of a high-pitched voice crooning a ghazal. They hadn’t shut down television and radio transmission yet.
What a mess. Who was commanding the troops with the COAS in the sky?
Brigadier Azad wondered where Sharmilla was and hoped she was not furious with him for leaving before their rendezvous in the billiards room. It would be hours before Sharmilla learnt anything of the coup. He would buy her flowers tomorrow from The Sheraton and make sure to keep the receipt tucked in the bouquet just so that she knew that he hadn’t bought them from the side of the road. Jamshed cleared his throat nervously, interrupting the Brigadier’s thoughts.
‘Bit tight, Major.’ The Brigadier repeated, concerned for the first time since Jamshed had pulled him out of the Sind Club swimming pool.
‘Well, you know what they say,’ Jamshed replied as he sped through Shahrah-e-Faisal at 140 miles an hour. ‘Nec aspera terrent.’
Prince of Wale’s own regiment. Difficulties be damned. The Brigadier smiled as he bent down in his seat and laced up his boots.
*
At 12.00 hours the Chief of Army Staff, smelling an offing in the wind, cut short his entirely pointless trip to the tropical island nation and had his Aide-de-Camp book them home on a commercial airliner.
He’s moving against you. Retiring you this afternoon. Your name is being added to the airport’s Entry Control List.
The conspiracies had been building for weeks now, but the COAS couldn’t understand why the President hadn’t sent him to a country slightly further away if he had intended to drop him while he was out of town.
By lunchtime the COAS had had quite enough sunshine and coconut water. He thanked General Rinimatunga for his hospitality and called his wife to tell her he would be home this evening.
Who knew where it all started?
The COAS was popular. The Herald had just named him ‘Most Attractive Pakistani’ and asked a number of popular film actresses and models for their thoughts on his most charming features. ‘A smile like smooth wine,’ said Sharmilla Minto, former BBC newscaster and head anchorwoman at PTV English. ‘One part military build, two parts personality, equals our most handsome public figure. And what charisma! Makes me glad I moved back from Britain!’ It wasn’t important, but all of them did mention his smile and athletic figure. Diplomats held dinners in his honour and politicians fell over themselves to seek his opinion on matters of state. It was only a question of time before the President tried to replace him with one of the less ambitious, less trendy Generals.
That was the problem with politicians. Give them five years and they thought they were untouchable.
By 18.00 hours the COAS had boarded his flight and sat in his window seat reading Time magazine. Take-off was delayed by half an hour due to the extra security checks his presence on the flight required.
Forty minutes later he had been sacked by presidential order, and replaced by Lieutenant General Ahsan Khattak who immediately set to work axing the corps commanders loyal to the COAS.
At 19.00 hours the COAS walked into the cockpit where the pilot, Captain Qurban Shah, handed him the radio. Two corps commanders had been on the sixteenth hole and hadn’t been reachable by phone. By the time General Ahsan Khattak located them and dispatched someone to present the news of their demotions, they had already gone underground. As such, they continued to serve in active duty. ‘Permission to enact Operation Line of Fire?’ The corps commanders radioed the Boeing 737 as it cruised at an altitude of 30,000 feet.
‘Permission granted,’ the COAS radioed back.
He turned to his ADC and instructed him to radio Brigadier Azad. Jinnah Airport would have to be taken immediately. Everything else had already been put in motion.
Down below, thousands of miles away, Pakistan Television began their broadcast.
An excerpt from Fatima Bhutto’s Democracy, an eSingle published by Penguin Books India and available for download on Amazon, Flipkart and Google Play.