Page 374 - Leadership in the Indian Army

bodies dragged from the rubble, the hands and feet of children

discovered on rooftops or the high branch of some tree days after their
funeral She remembers too clearly the look on Mammy's own face

moments before the rocket slammed in and, much as she has tried to

forget, Babi's headless torso landing nearby, the bridge tower printed on

his T-shirt poking through thick fog and blood.
"There is going to be a funeral," Tariq is saying. "I'm sure of it.

Probably in Rawalpindi. It'll be huge."

Zalmai, who was almost asleep, is sitting up now, rubbing his eyes with
balled fists.

Two days later, they are cleaning a room when they hear a commotion.
Tariq drops the mop and hurries out. Laila tails him.

The noise is coming from the hotel lobby. There is a lounge area to the
right of the reception desk, with several chairs and two couches

upholstered in beige suede. In the corner, facing the couches, is a

television, and Sayeed, the concierge, and several guests are gathered in

front of.

Laila and Tariq work their way in.

The TV is tuned to BBC. On the screen is a building, a tower, black
smoke billowing from its top floors. Tariq says something to Sayeed and

Sayeed is in midreply when a plane appears from the corner of the

screen. It crashes into the adjacent tower, exploding into a fireball that

dwarfs any ball of fire that Laila has ever seen. A collective yelp rises
from everyone in the lobby.