Bilder von oben nach unten:
1. 63C 15th Commercial Street, Phase II Extension, DHA, Karachi: Hier wurde der aus Hamburg geflüchtete Drahtzieher am 11. September 2002 verhaftet.
2. Walsroder Strasse 11, Hannover Langenhagen: Hier wurde Ulrike Meinhof am 15. Juni 1972 verhaftet.
3. Walsroder Strasse 91A, Hannover Langenhagen: Hier wird versucht, es irgendwie zu bearbeiten.

Die Mumbai-Attentäter, lese ich in „26/11 – Mumbai Attacked“ (Edited by Harinder Baweja, Roli Books, Delhi 2009), nannten das Gerät zärtlich „Kalashan“.

Karachi Gymkhana Club was founded in 1886 exclusively for its members.

… vor dem Sheraton Hotel in der Club Road, wo 2003 ein Selbstmordanschlag auf französische U-Boot-Spezialisten verübt wurde, bei dem 14 Menschen starben.

Chief Minister House, Dr. Ziauddin Ahmad Road

Chief Minister House, Dr. Ziauddin Ahmad Road

Indus Valley School of Art & Architecture, Besuch einer Repräsentantin des amerikanischen Konsulats

Indus Valley School of Art & Architecture, Besuch einer Repräsentantin des amerikanischen Konsulats

Bilawal House, Wohnsitz der Familie Bhutto und des Präsidenten Asif Ali Zardari, wenn er sich in Karachi aufhält

Avari Towers Hotel

Avari Towers Hotel

Pearl Continental Hotel

Pearl Continental Hotel

„I was talking to my military secretary, Major General Nadeem Taj, seated to my right, when I heard a loud, though muffled, thud behind us. As my car became airborne I immediately realized what was happening – I was staring terrorism in the face. I thought ruefully that while leaders of other countries only visit scenes of carnage later or see it on a television screen, I was personally in the midst of it. Not only that – I was the target.“ (p. 3, Pervez Musharraf, „In The Line Of Fire. A Memoir“, Free Press New York, 2006)

„We crossed the fateful bridge, which was still under repair after the bomb blast, and reached a gasoline pump on the right. In front of the pump there was an opening in the median of the two-way road for U-turns. The oncoming traffic had been blocked. There was a policeman standing at the opening. I noticed that though all the oncoming traffic was facing straight toward us, a Suzuki van was standing obliquely, as if to drive into the opening to get to my side of the road. Reflexively, I turned and looked over my right shoulder at the van, as one does when one sees something odd. Then I looked straight ahead. It all took a split second. Hardly had I turned my head back when there was a deafening bang and my car was up in the air again. All hell broke loose. There was smoke; there was debris; there were body parts and pieces of cars. Vehicles had been blown up to smithereens, human beings ripped to pieces. It turned dark, and we couldn’t see anything. It was the middle of the afternoon, but it seemed like dusk. Jan Mohammad, my admirable driver, reflexively put his foot on the brake. I took out my Glock pistol, which is always with me, and shouted to Jan Mohammad in Urdu, „Dabaa, dabaa“ – „drive, drive.“ He floored the accelerator but had gone only about 100 yards (90 meters) when we came to another gasoline pump. Again there was a horrendous bang. Again all hell broke loose. The first explosion had come from our right rear; this one came straight on from the immediate right front. Something big and very heavy hit the windshield. I don’t know what it was, but it made a big dent in the bulletproof glass – which, however, did not break. It came from such angle that any broken glass would have gotten either my driver or me. Once again my car took off. Again there were human parts, car parts, debris, smoke, and dust – and a lot of noise. Again it went dark – very dark. It seemed as if midnight had come at noon. My car’s tires had blown. We were on the rims now, but such cars are designed to go on their rims for thirty-five miles or so (fifty or sixty kilometers). Again Jan Mohammad hit the brakes, and again I shouted, „Dabaa, dabaa. Hit the accelerator. Let’s get out of here.“ The car lurched forward on its rims, making a lot of noise, like a rattletrap, and got us to Army House.“ (p. 4-5, ibid.)

Sehwan Sharif, November 2008.
Ich habe Constable Mustafa, meinen vom Tourismusbüro bestellten Bodyguard, überreden können, auf dem Hügel über der Stadt mir das Gästehaus neben dem Hubschrauberlandeplatz zu zeigen. Hier haben alle pakistanischen Staatspräsidenten übernachtet, als sie Sehwan besuchten, hatte er mir vorher erzählt.

… und jetzt bitte googeln: Höllenort mit Kindersoldaten