By Mohammed Hanif
A primary novel of the 1st order—provocative, exuberant, wickedly clever—that reimagines the conspiracies and coincidences resulting in the mysterious 1988 airplane crash that killed Pakistan’s dictator normal Zia ul-Haq.
At the heart is Ali Shigri: Pakistan Air strength pilot and Silent Drill Commander of Fury Squadron. His father, one among Zia’s colonels, devoted suicide below suspicious conditions. Ali is set to appreciate what or who driven his father to such desperation—and to avenge his death.
What he fast discovers is a snarl of occasions: american citizens in Pakistan, Soviets in Afghanistan, cash in each hand. yet Ali is still sufferer, made up our minds, a marginally world-weary (“You wish freedom and so they offer you fowl korma”), and unsurprised at discovering Zia at each flip. He mounts an difficult plot for revenge with an ever-changing group (willing and never) that incorporates his silk-underwear-and-cologne-wearing roommate; a hash-smoking American lieutenant with questionable explanations; the executive of Pakistan’s mystery police, who mistakenly believes he’s in cahoots with the CIA; a blind girl imprisoned for fornication; Uncle Starchy, the squadron’s laundryman; and, no longer least of all, a mango-besotted crow. common Zia—devout Muslim and leering admirer of non-Muslim cleavage—begins each day by means of asking his leader of safeguard: “Who’s attempting to kill me?” and the reply lies in a conspiracy attempting its damnedest to take place . . .
Intrigue and subterfuge mix with misstep and success during this darkly comedian ebook approximately love, betrayal, tyranny, family—and an international that unexpectedly resembles our personal.
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Additional info for A Case of Exploding Mangoes
You travel light," she said. " She paused for a fast mile. " she asked. He nodded. " "Were you a good cop? " "Good enough, I guess. " She paused. " It felt like an interview. For a loan, or for a job. "They downsized me out of there," he said. " She nodded. "Like a town. If the population gets smaller, the police department gets smaller, too. Something to do with appropriations. " He said nothing. "I live in a very small town," she said. "Echo, south of Pecos, like I told you. It's a lonely place.
The guy had neither injury the night before. And Reacher had no idea the guy was a cop. He just looked like some idiot in a bar. Reacher had gone there because he heard the music was good, but it wasn't, so he had backed away from the band and ended up on a bar stool watching ESPN on a muted television fixed high on a wall. The place was crowded and noisy, and he was wedged in a space with a woman on his right and the heavyweight guy with the brush-cut on his left. He got bored with the sports and turned around to watch the room.
You must think I'm crazy," she said. He turned his head and looked hard at her, top to toe. Strong slim legs, strong slim arms, the expensive dress. It was riding up on her thighs, and he could see her bra strap at her shoulder. It was snow white against the color of her skin. She had clean combed hair and trimmed painted nails. An elegant, intelligent face, tired eyes. "I'm not crazy," she said. Then she looked straight at him. Something in her face. Maybe an appeal. Or maybe hopelessness, or desperation.
A Case of Exploding Mangoes by Mohammed Hanif