Yes, of course he would pilot another mission. His lifestyle required another infusion of cash. And, in any event, it was for an old but seldom seen friend. Kumar and Jimmy had known each other since the early days of Karachi Dry Dock and Engineering, but had lost touch when Yousseff began creating various enterprises in California and British Columbia, primarily to sop up and launder the vast quantities of cash that the drug trade produced there. The need for legitimate business enterprises is why the California arm of KDDE, Pacific Western Submersibles, Inc., was created with Kumar as its CEO. PWS, as it came to be called, extended and improved the technology of its sister company, KDDE, and built ever more sophisticated miniature submarines for the military and commercial markets. While KDDE’s primary business remained the repair, refurbishing, and ultimately building of large ferries and oceangoing ships, PWS focused on minisubmarines. There was substantial overlap in the business of the two companies.
Kumar was the CEO of both companies, and to Yousseff’s chagrin, he was profoundly successful at both ventures. This created a paradox—it’s difficult to launder huge sums of excess cash through already successful companies without attracting unwanted scrutiny from various government agencies. Kumar ploughed the excess money into research and development, and PWS and KDDE products became sought after and highly successful. At the huge KDDE yards along the harbor, various experimental craft were constantly being built or developed. If some novel piece of technology was required, PWS in California would produce it, and large sums of money would be transferred from one company to another. While Pakistan doesn’t have a long stretch of ocean frontage, it’s a seafaring nation with a sophisticated Navy and Coast Guard. Occasionally the Navy sought to create unique or novel craft, and KDDE, with the decades of copious bribes that Yousseff had faithfully paid to all levels of government, would land the contract. Jimmy, with his flair for anything marine and his devil-may-care attitude about risk, was KDDE’s go-to test captain.
Kumar, now the fugitive former CEO of both companies, knew Jimmy well, and had fashioned an ingenious plot by which he, Richard, and Zak would be able to exit Pakistan, notwithstanding the microscopic scrutiny of the nation’s entire security apparatus.
They were about half a mile north of the Native Jetty traffic circle when two police cars came, seemingly out of nowhere, and began to crowd the small Ford in which they were driving. Both activated their lights and sirens. One was nudging the Ford from behind; the second was mere inches from the driver’s side.
“Shit,” cursed Richard, hitting the accelerator. “Where the hell did they come from?”
Zak looked around. “Rich, there’s more than just these two. There’s three or four of these cops. Somehow they made us. Outrun them.”
“Can’t do it, Zak. This is only a small Ford, and I think there are a couple more PCs up ahead. I think we’ve driven into a trap here.” Richard accelerated but the PC in front of him slowed and they were boxed.
Richard attempted to move inside but the PC hemming off his access did not move. There was a scraping of fenders but no give. He veered to the outside but the ground was beginning to drop away as they approached the Jinnah Flyover. He accelerated again and attempted to power through the PC blocking ahead of him but, while bumper connected with bumper, the small Ford Fusion was not able to move the heavier PC out of the way.
The driver’s side PC made a quick move toward him, with the rear passenger side connecting with the front driver-side fender, forcing the vehicle abruptly to the edge of the highway. The front passenger wheel caught a low steel barrier at the same time that Richard again depressed the gas pedal. The tire caught the barrier and pulled the Ford sharply to the road’s edge, causing it to become airborne and sending it careening off Mauripur Road. The car did a perfect 360-degree barrel roll in the process and landed on the railway tracks below. Fortunately the drop-off at that point was less than twenty feet, and the vehicle landed on all four wheels, shattering the windows and blowing all four tires. The car bounced across several sets of tracks. Both axles broke. The abused Ford Focus came to a rest beside a stationary line of boxcars.
The dust and noise settled but the sounds of sirens in the air was pervasive.
“You guys all right?” said Richard, attempting to reorient himself.
“Nothing busted,” Zak rasped. Kumar seemed fine but remained mute.
“They’re coming along Dockyard Road,” said Richard. “We’ve got to run for it.” His door was jammed shut and he exited through the blown-out window. “That way.”
In scrambling to get out of the vehicle, they found themselves directly in front of the Port Grand Promenade, a busy Karachi tourist attraction. An ancient bridge, the Napier Mole Bridge, had been shut to traffic and rebuilt as a 1,500-foot-long promenade, replete with restaurants, bars, and various tourist attractions. The bridge extended over the entire harbor, and from a distance, had the appearance of
