Once they are on Pakistani soil, they follow their instructions, proceeding on foot alongside the road. Nearly one hundred meters from the border crossing, a vehicle flashes its lights, the signal they have been told to expect. Regardless, as they hurry in the direction of the lights, they are both anxious that they might yet be arrested by Pakistani border guards, police or security forces.
The vehicle, it turns out, is a beat-up twenty-year-old Nissan SUV. They already miss the luxury of the limousine; this next part of their journey will not be as comfortable as the first.
As soon as they enter the vehicle, the driver turns to them and starts speaking to them in Farsi. They sit and act dumbfounded, then both start speaking rapidly, talking over each other, in Urdu, as if that’s their native tongue.
“Good,” the driver replies, again in Farsi. “You never know who I might really be. Anyway, you are safe so far. On the floor around your feet, you will each find a carry-on bag to take with you on the plane. Those bags have your passports, your flight tickets, hotel reservations and other important papers and information – who you work for, your reason for entering Russia, those kinds of things. Check the passport photos and make sure you each get the right bag. In the trunk, we have luggage for each of you to check in. You want to appear to be on a prolonged business trip. Any questions?
Are you kidding, thinks Hussein. My only question is, is this mission important enough to qualify me as a hero of the Islamic revolution?
“We are headed for the airport at Karachi. As soon as it gets a little lighter, we’ll find a place to stop and have breakfast.” The driver has evidently made this trip before; he assures them he knows where they will get a good breakfast.