Pasha’s silence intrigued them. After a while, Ahmed asked the

person sitting across, “Don’t you think we need that data? Can

you give an instant answer?” Naeem, sitting opposite to Ahmed,

glanced at Pasha, “Yes, Sir. We need two weeks of time to calculate

and finalise this. If you need, we can make a report detailing the

calculations and assumptions. We can even provide suggestions to

handle logistics smoothly.”

Pasha remained silent. Rizwan finally lifted his head and looked

directly at Pasha. He spoke in a low but clear voice, choosing his

words carefully, “It shall be a six hundred megaton device.” He

looked at the paper. Ahmed could not understand what calculations

Rizwan could do in such a short period. He asked in an irritated

voice, “How can you calculate so fast? Do you know the size of

Europe?”

Rizwan answered without wavering his gaze at Pasha, “There was

a method Qadar used to calculate energy needed for India. I simply

extended it to the size of Europe.”

“Uhh... of all persons, Qadar,” Ahmed’s voice was full of contempt,

“Even the calculations might have been copied from someone. What

is the guarantee that the calculation was even correct?” Professional

jealousy was apparent, as he got the support of the others as well.

All three were eagerly waiting for an answer from Rizwan.

Rizwan smiled. “Dear friend, except Qadar, there was no other

person in Pakistan who had done such calculations. All the

warheads in our arsenal were designed by Qadar only. There

were no additions to warheads after Qadar left us. If any of you

had doubted his ability or integrity, you should have verified the

suitability of these warheads to our needs - I mean, the needs of our

army. We, including myself, had not done such cross-verification. I

don’t want to question your actions or mine. I’m simply stating the

fact that he was our best designer, notwithstanding the fact that my

father was amongst others who were senior to us. So, I suppose,

Qadar’s calculations hold true,” he finished his monologue.

Not one to be cowed down by logic, Ahmed waved his hand at

Rizwan. The other two had already taken themselves out of contest.

Pasha, smiling on the inside, was waiting for more arguments.

He thought, “These technocrats are all full of nonsense. Fighting

amongst themselves over trivia, they offer the substance to others.”

After few seconds of thought, Ahmed enquired, “May I ask you

how you got to know those calculations from Qadar? I mean, we

were also working with you, but none of us know about these

calculations or the basis on which our warheads were designed and

made or procured.”

“No,” Rizwan answered monosyllabically. This blatant rejection

offended Ahmed and his deliberately maintained composure

was disturbed. Annoyed, he said, “You know, Dr Rizwan, this is

a breach of contract with our institution. First thing tomorrow, I

am going to ask the management to get the designs verified and

enquire how you got this information.”

Now, it was Rizwan’s turn to relax. Expectedly, Pasha intervened,

“No. No, Dr Ahmed. There will not be any complaints or actions,

based on the discussion in this room. None of you are free to discuss

this out of this room. Even amongst yourselves.”

Sensing his mission accomplished, Rizwan spoke, “Ahmed, Qadar

was close to me ever since I was a child. He even helped me with

mathematics when I was in high school. We both shared a relation

that I don’t have even with my father. You all knew this. It was

but natural that he confided in me. And, if I disclose, it would be

wrong on my part. Even now, I only gave the result but not the

calculation.”

Pasha sensed the meeting or the interview or whatever it was, that

was going on in the room, was over. He stood up, indicating the

end and said, “Thanks, gentlemen. I think our discussion is over.”

He strode out of the room with his soon-to-be-dead stenographer

in tow.

All four scientists came out of the room in silence and started

walking to their cars. Ahmed came to Rizwan and asked, “See,

Rizwan. It was fully technical and nothing personal. I hope you

understand.” Rizwan tapped his shoulder, “Yes. I understand.”

Ahmed hesitated for a moment before blurting out, “May I have a

look at the calculation you have done? Just technical enthusiasm,”

he smirked shyly. Smiling, Rizwan entered his car and took out

from his pocket the paper on which he was writing. Handing it

over to Ahmed he said, “Keep it,” and drove off. Puzzled, Ahmed

opened the paper and his face turned red. There, on the paper, was

a neat sketch of Mickey Mouse eating cheese.

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