Petrus Ibaka's injury in an accident no longer seemed like a coincidence. There was someone who, after harming Petrus Ibaka, was now incapacitating him completely. The first thought that came to Salar while standing there was the safety of Imama and his children.

From a phone booth, he tried once again to reach his home number and Imama's number in Congo. The result was the same; his mind was going blank. He also tried to contact Imama via email and social messaging on his phone, but there was no response to any email or message. Salar began calling everyone in his office staff one by one, like a madman, using the numbers he had at the time. 

Not a single number was reachable. Finally, he called Sikandar Usman in Pakistan, and when he heard his voice on the phone, he couldn't believe he was finally managing to talk to someone. Sikandar Usman could also tell from his voice that he was distressed. Salar briefly informed him, without going into details, that he had lost his travel documents and was therefore unable to catch a flight back immediately and was also unable to contact Imama.

 He asked Sikandar to call Imama from Pakistan, and if he couldn't reach him, then to contact the Pakistani Embassy in Kinshasa through his acquaintances at the Foreign Office and immediately instruct them to collect all documents from the locker at the embassy.

Sikandar Usman was deeply concerned. "What has happened that you need to do all this? Salar, is everything okay?"

"Dad! Just do what I'm telling you right now. I'll explain the details later," he said, irritated.

"I'll call you back in a little while to check. Don't call me, nor leave any messages on my phone," he insisted.

Salar's father, Sikandar Usman, was understandably alarmed by these instructions.

Salar had ended the call. He couldn't tell his father that his situation was deteriorating rapidly. Sitting on a bench a few feet away with the phone in hand, he had involuntarily berated himself. He shouldn't have left his family in Congo, and under these circumstances... the meeting could have gone to hell... what was the point of showing such diligence... Now, it was evening, and from morning until now, he had not received any calls or text messages on his phone. 

This was impossible unless his phone was being monitored or its signals were being controlled. The phone signals were showing optimal conditions, but Salar was convinced that his phone and its communications were being controlled, and he couldn't understand why. If they wanted to harm him, they could have done so without all these maneuvers, just like they had attacked Petrus. And if they wanted to remove him from the bank, they could have done it themselves; so why all this? There was a shiver in his spine. He suddenly realized that they wanted to make him feel that he was being monitored. 

He could be harmed, and he was being informed of what kind of harm, and this was not something the World Bank could do, not just the World Bank. The CIA was checking on him. He didn't know if the small beads of sweat were because his body was cooling down or heating up, but Salar had taken a bath in cold water for a while. His mind was empty at that moment. His angels would never have imagined that he could be involved in a situation where the CIA was on his trail.

 Now, he realized that the project was not just a World Bank desire but an American one, and they would go to any lengths to see it through. He sat there like a statue for hours. He was supposed to stay in Washington for three days and return on the third day, but now, with his travel documents missing, he was sure he couldn't return immediately. At least not until he showed some flexibility on these demands.

After a long time, he called Sikandar Usman again, who informed him that Imama and the children were not at home. The house was locked, and there was no staff or guard to provide any information about them. The embassy officials had contacted the Congolese Ministry of Interior about this, but whatever information about his family was available could not be immediately obtained. It would take some time.

 What he heard on the phone was enough to make his body shiver. Imama and his children couldn't have gone anywhere. They were supposed to be there, with the guards provided by the bank. How was it possible that they had left despite the house being locked? 

"I am trying to arrange for my visa through the embassy, and I will go there to see the whole matter myself." Sikandar Usman tried to reassure him.

"Try to get there immediately. Inform the American Embassy about their disappearance... you are an American national. Your children will be searched for by the embassy with more diligence than ours." Sikandar Usman showed him a path, and it was the right one, but he couldn't tell his father that he was currently entangled with the American government.

"Everything will be fine, Salar, don't worry. It's not dark enough in Congo for your family to disappear like this." Sikandar Usman, if he had stayed in Congo, might never have said this. He might have understood that his son, who was associated with the American national and the World Bank, couldn't have had anything bad happen to him or his family. Salar had nothing to say in response, absolutely nothing. 

Today, he was not just figuratively but dumbstruck, and when he couldn't speak, his heart wished to scream hoarsely. Without saying anything further to Sikandar Usman, he hung up and left the phone booth.

It only took him five minutes to return to the hotel from the phone booth, but those five minutes felt like five thousand years to Salar. The country and city were full of his friends and relatives. He could have made a phone call and gathered a crowd, but no crowd could solve his problem, his trial, which was a calamity hanging over his head, even more so over his family. He couldn't control himself in the hotel room. He screamed uncontrollably. He locked the door of the soundproof room with double-glazed windows on the seventh floor of the hotel from the inside and continued to scream like a madman. 

Just like he had screamed years ago from a tree on the Margalla Hills on a night. The same helplessness he had felt then was what he felt today and with even more intensity. Whatever had happened then had happened to him alone. Whatever was happening today was happening to his wife and young children, and imagining the suffering they might be enduring was like a cross hanging over him. If there was a mistake, it was his; what fault was there in his family? He would have accepted being harmed like Petrus Ibaka, lying in that condition on the bed, but what fault was there in Imama, Jibreel, Anaya, and the baby who had not yet even come into the world? The people who wanted to shatter his nerves were succeeding in doing so. If they wanted to bring him to his knees, he had fallen.

 If they wanted to see him face down, he was lying face down. The night was very heavy on Salar. He didn't know how often he had left the hotel to go to the phone booth. He would call Sikandar Usman, asking for any news about Imama and his children, and then return in the same way. He hadn't slept a moment that whole night. The faces of Imama, Jibreel, and Inaya continued to swirl in his mind.

The next morning, he arrived at the World Bank headquarters well before office hours began. Alexander Rafael observed Salar Sikandar with great calm as he entered his office. This was not the same Salar who had come here the previous day. One day and one night had worn him down like a mountain of dirt.

"I need to see the President," was the first thing Salar said upon arrival. Rafael was not expecting this request. He had thought that Salar would say he was ready to comply with all their conditions, but he was saying something else entirely.

"Meeting the President is very difficult; at least not within this month. And why is there a need for this meeting now? If you need to repeat everything you said here yesterday, I have already conveyed it to the President," Rafael spoke in the same tone he had used in the boardroom the previous day. 

For a moment, Salar didn't know how to respond. He didn't want to cry in the World Bank headquarters, but at that moment, he felt like he would burst into tears at any second, and the last thing he wanted to do was that very thing.

"My family has been missing in Kinshasa since yesterday. My wife, my son, my daughter..." he started, keeping his tone controlled as he looked into Rafael's eyes.

"Oh, I'm very sorry. You should immediately return to Congo so that you can get help from the police to recover your family. In the current conditions in Congo, very few missing persons are found safe, but still..." Rafael spoke as if he were reading from a newspaper. There was no sign of sympathy or concern for Salar's predicament in his tone, face, or eyes. Salar interrupted him.

"My passport and all my documents are lost. Everything disappeared from the hotel room yesterday... and now I can't return to Kinshasa tomorrow. I need the headquarters' help to get my passport and other documents immediately."

After listening silently, Rafael responded in a very cold manner. "Under these circumstances, the World Bank cannot issue a letter for a new passport because you are resigning today. I think you should apply for a passport through normal procedures and then go to Congo as a visitor. If you were a World Bank employee, we would go to any lengths for your family, but now their protection is no longer our organization's responsibility. 

It would be more appropriate for you to contact the American Embassy in Kinshasa and seek help for your family or perhaps the Pakistani Embassy since you are originally from Pakistan..." Rafael asked in a detached manner as if he had just remembered that Salar held dual citizenship.

Salar absorbed Rafael's dismissive statement like a bitter pill. World Bank employees were issued blue passports, and to obtain one, he needed a letter from the headquarters or for the World Bank to apply for the passport on his behalf.

 However, Rafael's outright refusal only increased Salar's mental turmoil. He had never felt such intense hatred toward a Western organization as he did that day sitting in the World Bank headquarters.

He had devoted the best years and abilities of his life to the West. To the United Nations and now to the World Bank... he had always come to this headquarters with a special status, but today they were treating him as if he were a beggar—an idle, worthless man who had nothing left to offer the World Bank. 

They only wanted his integrity, sincerity, and conscience, which were necessary for the advancement of their institution and civilization. Humanity was nothing in the face of this materialistic jungle that the West called progress, and in the desire to achieve this progress, he too had struggled all his life.

There are moments of change in a person's life. Big changes. All it takes is a single moment to free a person from many chains. At thirty-six, Salar experienced such a moment for the second time in his life. The first time was on the Margalla hills when he had been gripped by the fear of death and had broken from the life he had been leading. 

Today, for the second time, it was the fear of death for Imama and his children and the humiliation and contempt he faced from his seniors at the World Bank that led him to make a decision he had been hesitant to make until now.

Fear, when it becomes overwhelming, consumes all other fears. This was exactly what happened to Salar Sikandar that day. Sitting there, he decided that he would make the World Bank a larger organization in the next ten years. He would overturn the financial system that the West controlled. He had spent his entire life acquiring Western education and being an advocate of the West, but he could not bear the West's contempt. 

Humiliation often leads people to seek revenge. Salar Sikandar experienced this type of humiliation for the first time in his professional life, to the extent of degradation and contempt—whatever words could be used to describe this feeling, he felt them all. Despite being a highly efficient and capable component of Western machinery, he had become just a part that was discarded once its term and necessity were over.

He had always thought otherwise. He had become a mere component of his skills, expertise, and work. He had considered himself important, even crucial. This belief turned out to be an illusion.

"Do you want to discuss any other issues?" Alexander Rafael asked, apparently indifferent.

"No," Salar said, getting up without saying anything more. Rafael was left stunned. He had expected to see Salar pleading for his family's lives, begging for World Bank approval and assistance to get his passport, and eventually resigning under those terms and conditions or continuing the project in Congo. But Salar Sikandar, despite everything, got up and left.

Rafael felt that his mental equilibrium had been disrupted. As Salar walked out of the headquarters building, he too felt as if his mental balance had been thrown off. Otherwise, he couldn't have been so heartless and indifferent as to walk away without doing anything for Imama and the children. 

He had gone there to compromise, to save his wife and children's lives, to agree to their terms, but Rafael's words and attitude seemed to have completely overturned Salar Sikandar's mind.

"I will not beg anyone here for my family's life. Even if I were to beg, I would not do it in front of any of them. Honor and humiliation are both in Allah's hands. Allah has always honored me. Whenever humiliation has been my fate, it has been due to my own decisions, and my own choices. Today, I will still ask Allah for honor.

Suppose Allah chooses to give me humiliation instead. In that case, I will accept that humiliation given by Allah, but I will not accept humiliation from anyone else in this world, nor will I bow down or compromise—at least not after all this."

He had entered like a dune and emerged like a raging fire. That was the moment he had staked the lives of Imama and his children. "Imama, Jibreel, Inaya—these blessings were given to me by Allah. I have never received them from any human, so why should I beg humans for them?"

He was stubborn, but he had never thought in his life that there would come a time when he would be willing to sacrifice Imama and his children's lives to his stubbornness. The trap laid to ensnare Salar had failed, and those who had set the trap had no idea how the situation was about to turn. They wanted to defeat him, but he wanted to give them a checkmate. And surely, Allah is the best planner. 

That day brought great news for the World Bank. Petrus Ibaka had died in a coma. Salar Sikandar had heard the news on TV after returning to the hotel from the bank. It was another shock for him, but it wasn't unexpected. After seeing Petrus Ibaka's condition, it was clear that a recovery was impossible. Yet that night was the darkest for the World Bank.

Petrus Ibaka had faced the death of the World Bank before he died. Standing in front of the Time Warner Center, located in New York's largest media district, Midtown Manhattan, Petrus Ibaka's eyes were shining with tears of joy. He was about to meet one of America's most prominent journalists, Anderson Cooper, in CNN's studios as part of his program 360. 

Anderson Cooper was scheduled to do a program on the Congo's rainforests in two weeks. After gathering basic information about Petrus Ibaka's interviews and his campaign for the pygmies' survival from English and European media, Cooper contacted him through a member of his team. Ibaka had no idea that this call from Anderson Cooper had already decided his fate between life and death. The delay was only slight, but anxiety and confusion had spread among those monitoring him, who had to decide what to do once Ibaka suddenly appeared on CNN's radar.

There was also concern that if Cooper decided to do the program on Ibaka and the Pygmies, how many more journalists and small news channels might be preparing similar programs? The smaller news channels and journalists, whom Ibaka had spent hours with in Washington, were already on the list of those monitoring Ibaka. They had already been briefed about the project and received guidance from the State Department about how negative coverage of this project could harm American interests... and controlling these smaller channels and news journalists was easier. Controlling the global popularity and reach of major institutions like CNN was not difficult if they prioritized American interests over everything, but it was challenging to control their worldwide influence and reach.

If Cooper had not intended to present the program before Ibaka, the only solution for the CIA would have been to ensure that Ibaka never reached him at any cost. However, Cooper was contacting Ibaka at a stage when he and his team were already heavily involved in the issue and preparing to travel to Congo. The challenge of quickly dealing with Ibaka and Cooper's meeting had created a dilemma for the CIA, which intensified when Ibaka, immediately after receiving the call, set off from Washington to New York.

 By the time their next course of action could be finalized, Ibaka had already arrived at the Time Warner Center. After a heated two-hour session with Anderson Cooper, Ibaka's enthusiasm had increased even more as he left the CNN studios.

About Cooper's project, Salar Sikandar was one of the additional people to be contacted, and his name was high on the list. The CIA was aware of this. That day, Salar Sikandar was arriving in Washington at night while traveling, unaware that misfortune was waiting for him there. After leaving the building, Ibaka had texted Salar, overwhelmed with happiness, on his way to Central Park.

 He wanted to inform him that he had gained access to CNN and had even met a few members of Cooper's team at the CNN studios in Washington, and Ibaka was on cloud nine. The text was very long. It contained much more, and Petrus's enthusiasm was undiminished. He had sent this lengthy text by email. At that time, Salar Sikandar was on his flight, and by the time he landed in Washington a few hours later, all his contacts had been under surveillance. Petrus Ibaka's last email to Salar Sikandar had been received after his death. 

However, the decision-makers about Ibaka's life and death had already received it several hours before Salar Sikandar's plane had landed.

For some people, one person's life becomes another's death, and another's death becomes someone else's life. The decision about Ibaka's death suddenly changed the CIA's strategy to kill Salar Sikandar immediately. Otherwise, Salar Sikandar would have faced a probable death after negotiations at the bank's headquarters if he refused and failed to resolve the matter. 

The unexpected meeting between Anderson Cooper and Ibaka had left the CIA perplexed. They could not kill both Ibaka and Salar together. They might have considered killing them if, by chance, they were not both in America at the same time, and that too in two nearby cities. They could not take the risk of discovering a natural link between Ibaka's and Salar's deaths if an investigation were to begin.

A decision was made to merely intimidate Salar for now, and the CIA had no idea that they had chosen the wrong strategy and the wrong person. Petrus Ibaka was stopped a few hours later in a narrow, historical street in a Brooklyn neighborhood