Mousebite

by Ganesh Chaudhari

“I sometimes wonder what people like my father & you must feel. You have the responsibility to serve justice to a killer. You are supposed to do it for a person whom you have never seen & won’t be able to meet. And you are supposed to find who the person was, where he lived, his family, relatives, colleagues, friends & even enemies. A competent investigator would know all that there is about the victim & his personality by the time the case is solved. So will he not get emotionally attached to the victim?” She has a sharp mind. How do I answer?

  “It is hard. But it is part of the job I guess.” I observe.

  “Could be.” She pauses as the tea is served. I keep looking at her as she picks the cup.

  “So they put you on a new case?” She breaks my reverie.

  “Not yet.” I drink the tea as if it is the last cup that I would ever get. Slowly.

  She finishes in a couple of minutes. I catch up. My phone rings. It is Khan.

  “Sir.” I answer.

  “Jagtap. You will be assigned a new case tomorrow. You are not supposed to meet, follow or inquire about Anees Vilayati anymore. Consider this as a warning. You will be suspended instantly if I hear you inquiring into this matter anymore. Understood?” Whoa. What is this? But I need to play it cool.

  “Yes Sir.” I answer.

  “Is that clear enough Mr.Kumar?” Khan asks. Then I realize this being a conference call.

  “Yes. I will personally have you arrested for interfering in an NIA investigation if you don’t mend your ways.” Kumar snorts from the other line. Obviously, I don’t answer him. Khan cuts the call. So Kumar has been busy. I guess Ulhas was right about my getting under his skin.

  Bhavna is looking at me with concern.

  “Is everything alright?” When you are around this is nothing.

  “Oh yes. Usual departmental stuff.” I play it down.

  Bhavna leaves after some time. I don’t ask for another cup of tea tomorrow as hattricks have to be earned & not asked for. There is still an hour to go before I meet Kshipra’s contact. So I call him up & ask if I can come early. He agrees & but gives me a Colaba address. Looks like he is from a big money family. No wonder he gets his kicks out of this. I remember Achhu’s father mentioning Sumit Patel. I met him before going to the Wheely. But he didn’t mention having met Achhu’s father. Why would that be? I pass on this simple question to Ulhas over a phone call. Ulhas promises to dig out everything about Sumit Patel.

  18

  Messages

  He was amazed by the reactions. In a remote village of Maharashtra, people had woken up to the news of Kasab’s hanging. Right from the first light of the day & till his walk to the mosque, he had been watching them. Some had burst crackers like it was Diwali, some had given away free sweets, some were dancing to loud music near the village panchayat & some could not stop smiling as if it was the happiest day of their lives. There were people from his religion too.

  But what mesmerized him was that many of them were consciously trying to look happy. Apart from him, nobody was a spectator, everybody was celebrating. Thank god the women kept indoors in the village or he would have been forced to see them celebrating too. He had not been with them for long, but it was hard to say if all of the people celebrating were extrovert enough to give in to public celebration. And he knew the reason for that.

  Every Muslim who was an Indian had to be ready to prove his allegiance to India. Unlike other communities who didn’t have to as if it was their birthright, a Muslim in India had to be on the toes all the time. Even if it meant being called names, even if it meant being subjected to criminal scrutiny at the slightest doubt, even if it meant being riot targets, a Muslim had to prove that he was an Indian. India as a whole had not forgotten the partition of 1947. Those Muslims who had chosen to be Indians were still being asked if they really meant their decision. They were made to prove it at any point of time. So his people in this village didn’t have the option to be seen as lagging in celebration when the most famous terrorist export from Pakistan was hanged. Each of them had to go out of his way to prove in this pathetic celebration that he was happy because of it.

  He was surprised at the uncharacteristic guile shown by the Indian government in the hanging. The usual dragging about, slackness of purpose was missing in this execution.

  In the mosque too, the Imam spoke of moral conduct & the punishment for sins against humanity. He spoke of enduring hardship but not letting the righteous stance waver. He mentioned love for humanity. But the Imam’s words were not a problem for him. He had long ago learnt to let these hollow words roll off his ears. He didn’t believe in suffering without a cause & take it to be Allah’s will. His suffering had been long, deep & heart rending. He sometimes wondered how he managed to stay alive with that amount of grief. And immediately he found the answer. It was time to pass on the suffering to those who had inflicted it on him, his family & his people. He had to give back.

  As per the plan, he had met up with his contact in the village. It was a careful façade required to be put up with for a few more days. After the usual chat, he met with his team members. Both of them looked angry with the hanging. He had been psychologically breaking them for weeks now. They were just out of their teens & he was making sure that they never made it beyond. Obviously, they didn’t know what he had in mind. That was a skill that he had picked from Tabrezmamu. Never let your men know what they were doing as a whole. If every piece in the jigsaw took care of itself, the strategist was best helped. He had picked them carefully after doing a background check using his NRI cover. He had told his contact that he was looking to recruit few boys at his UAE business. The qualification was basic education, exposure to some mechanical work but the applicants had to be poor. The contact saw it as a gesture towards community upliftment which helped the cause even better. He had interviewed close to 10 young men & finalized these two. He smiled at them as they walked outside the mosque. They walked till a chai shop & went to the back. There were two wooden desks there, devoid of people.

  “This is not fair.” Ijaz, the elder one said. He was a lanky six feet tall boy with knotted arms. He wore a skull cap, a Safari shirt & a matching pant.

  “The road to shahadat is not meant to be fair or easy my friend.” He replied. He caught Mushtaq, the younger one looking at him intently. He rarely spoke. He was of a slight build & wore a maroon silk shirt that was frayed at the collar & a jeans that was tattered at the feet.

  “But they trapped him. Gave him drugs to say what they wanted him to say. Then hanged him. Now they can repeat it for anybody in our kaum. They won’t hang convicted Sikhs or Tamils for decades, but justice has to be swift if the “criminal” is a Muslim.” Ijaz was furious. He was referring to the Narco test that Kasab had been subjected to. The entire news channel community had feasted on its video chunks publically. And the Sikh & the Tamil part had been stressed on heavily by him during their training.

  “That is why we need to remind them. Remind them that we follow the path of the Prophet & if they think we are weak, the fury of Allah will be unleashed onto them through us.” He stayed calm.

  “So how do we remind them? Talk & reason with them?”Ijaz snapped. He looked around just to confirm their position at a deserted corner & ensured that Ijaz’s increased volume had not attracted any attention. Then he smiled.

  “It is a noisy world. So to make people hear us, we have to make a noise that is way louder than the usual. I will see you at my house for training.” He gave both of them a short Salaam & moved out of the shop.

  ***

  There were two messages waiting for him. The menu of his set-top-box indicated that. It was a fall back messaging system that was being used now by the masterminds in Pakistan. After the Mumbai terror attacks, they had realized that Indians will now be tracking the mobile space & the internet heavily. So they had fallen back to this passive communication system. It was simple. Once in India, the operative had to buy a set-top-box & a satellite dish of a particular brand. That brand’s
customer messaging had been hacked into by the ISI. The customer was given an id after installation. Once the set-top-box was activated, all that was required for the operative was to post the id to an online forum. The handlers in Pakistan would get the customer id & route their messages to the set-top-box. This was to be used only when the information to be shared was too sensitive or when an order was being served. There was no way the Indian intelligence setup could detect it. Once the message was read, it was erased from the server & the set-top-box. He rarely got a message on this thanks to his international SIM cards but two at a time was surely bad.

  The first one was from his Pakistani contact. He had been asked to wait till 6th December to carry out his attack. This was good as he wanted to train Ijaz & Mushtaq further. The earlier plan was to execute the attack by 25th November. 10 additional days would definitely help. They could also increase the chances of their being stopped. But he was confident that he could handle it till December 6. The next message was tricky. It was from Sumit Patel. He described that he had seen the Mumbai cop investigating Achhu’s murder at the Wheely again. He had also seen him quarrelling with the usual NIA guardian of Anees. This was getting complicated. Sumit was a problem now. He could not risk going to Mumbai to fix him too early. But if he didn’t then Sumit could fail the mission. He thought for a moment. He then picked up his cell phone and dialed the safe number that Sumit was currently using. He had to finish this call before Ijaz & Mushtaq came over.

  ***

  I am at Anirudhha’s residence. He is the expert that Kshipra referred me to. This is not much of a residence but more of a palace. Anirudhha is the son of a real estate baron in Mumbai. His family has been in this business for over 80 years. I deposited my service revolver & the other pistol at the security counter at the entrance of the house. Then I was escorted to Anirudhha’s section of the house by a housemaid dressed like a flight attendant. She asks me to wait & wants to know if she could get me anything. I decline.

  So here I am, in a reception hall that is as big as my flat, waiting for Anirudhha. It reminds me of my pending transfer. Another day has passed with no progress on that front. I will have to take a call on it soon. Just as I am about to sink into deeper thoughts on, a thin looking boy walks in. He is wearing a Mumbai Indians T-Shirt & a short. Almost as tall as me, he has earphones hanging by his neck. His narrow wrist holds a very broad watch. There is a hint of moustache above his lips, but he is a teenager.

  “Inspector Jagtap?” He asks. The voice is husky combination of a child’s & a man’s voice.

  “Yes.”

  “Hi. I am Anirudhha.” He extends his hand. I shake it.

  “Kshipradi said there is something I could help you with.” He takes up a seat beside me. I like this straight to the point approach. I am not sure how comfortable I would remain here.

  I explain Achhu’s case briefly. I keep out most of the things that could get him involved though. He listens carefully. When I describe the digital will part & the email to him, his face lights up.

  “That surely is something I can look into.” He beams. I hand him the print out of Achhu’s mail. He takes a long look at it.

  “This looks like a public key- private key combination. You give out the public key which is a code to someone & authorize only those with a private key of their own. Just like the safe deposit boxes.” He explains. I keep silent.

  “So what do you want me to do?” He asks.

  “I want you to extract all the information from this website that you can. It might give clues about why this man was murdered.” I summarize.

  “I will have to hack into his website & give it a look. Depending on the security on the website, it might take some time.” He says confidently. I rise from my seat & hand over my contact details to him.

  “Don’t email me. Call me on my cell phone & ask for a ride on the Bullet.” I tell him.

  “Ohh, this is so filmy. I made out this not being exactly legal on the phone itself. You could be under surveillance, right?” He asks.

  “Yes, and you too could be traced by the law if they find out. So if you are having second thoughts, let me know anytime.” I clarify.

  “Didn’t Kshipradi tell you? I enjoy doing this. If Kshipradi recommends you, that is all I need as assurance. And don’t worry about anybody finding about me. I don’t leave traces of my activity on the web.” He clarifies too.

  I leave him in his grand home & find my way out. I take a train to Dadar, go back to the office & pick up my Bullet. This time the drive home takes more than an hour. I am picking groceries at a shop when my cell phone rings. It is Manoj Abhyankar. I cut the call & use a landline at the grocer’s to call him back.

  “Inspector Abhyankar here.” He answers in an official tone.

  “Ajun basla nahi ka?” I ask. Literally meaning whether you are seated yet, it is a widely used phrase for asking whether you have started the drinks session yet. He knows who’s calling immediately.

  “How can I? You ask me to track something in an offhand way, which means it is urgent & are curious how come I am not drinking yet?” He has his own questions. But this means he has something on the matter.

  “Ok. Tell me what you got.”

  “That Fortuner in your case is registered to a well to do farmer in Badnapur. It is around 50 kilometers from Aurangabad. It was reported stolen on 17th November. Initial details point to the owner being a good man. I am working on it though. ” Manoj keeps it short.

  “Thanks Manoj. Now you can go & start your satsang. And keep the bill with you, this is on me.” Satsang which literally means godly company is another code for a drinking session.

  “I will do that. But tell me, why did you call me back from a non-office number? Is everything alright?” I told you he was perceptive.

  “Long story. Will tell you when we meet.” I don’t want to involve him in this.

  “Ok. Are you in a satsang already?” He barbs.

  “Not today.”

  19

  Water Tank

  Sumit Patel was in a hurry. He had been asked by his master to start for Aurangabad immediately. No reasons were given which meant that there was every reason to hurry. Sumit had been told that the job in Mumbai was being rescheduled. He was confident about the schedule till they had decided to dump Achhu on the footpath. He would have preferred disposing him into the sea or into the marshes around Mumbai. But the master had said that sea was out of question due to surveillance & the marshes may not link the investigators back to Anees. That had sealed the argument. He wanted Anees to suffer. But Inspector Jagtap had got involved in the case & Anees had been tracked earlier than expected. They had also counted on Anees buying his way out of trouble or at least the NIA putting the case in cold storage. Jagtap visiting the Wheely twice had only made him more nervous.

  Sumit Patel had lost his wife a few years back to cancer. They had tried hard but were childless. He had been thinking of adopting one prior to his wife’s death but once she was gone, it didn’t matter anymore. He was the only son to his father. He had many cousins in Mumbai who were very careful to ignore him. All of them had been helped by his father in some way or the other in setting up their businesses. So there was nobody to inform about his departure. He had packed his bag after long planning.

  He planned to leave his shop in pristine shape. A duplicate key to the shop was already given to a property agent. He was confident that the shop would get a good deal. The agent was also a member of the same Hawala ring that Sumit was part of. So getting the money anywhere in the world was going to be reliable. He had been given a forged passport by the master. Cash was never a problem for him. He had plenty on him & there were credit cards that were issued in the name on the forged passport. He checked the shop & house once more & said a silent goodbye. For the past decade, these walls were his sole reliable companions unlike the two faced people outside them. He didn’t trust his master but knew that it was a business relationship. When mutual interests are
involved, people tend to ensure their side of the deal. That was one of the lessons his father had taught him.

  ***

  Hormaz had been working for the past 12 hours. He had been standing for most of it. He had edited the long recorded discussion with Abu into shorter, relevant clips. Having taken extensive notes from the clips, he had created a mailing list for sending them to his superiors. In Abu’s case, it was a list of just 4 people. Some of the information that Abu had provided was general in nature, some of it was actionable with names & places. But the most terrifying part of the information was about the impending threats. About the small autonomous groups of people who were planning to execute acts of terrorism in India. He had given their names as he knew but it was going to take lot of work to find them. In his doubtful mind, Hormaz felt that one of these cells was ready for a big strike & that is what the warning about a pan-India attack was about. Hormaz prayed that he be wrong.

  “Why should we trust him?” The Home Secretary asked. Dressed impeccably in a gray Raymond suit, the secretary was wearing a crisp white shirt with a deep blue necktie. The way he occupied his central chair in the room was befitting of a king. Hormaz on the other hand was still dressed in his yesterday’s clothes, had not bothered to shave but had made it on time for the meeting. His boss, the National Security Advisor was also seated by the secretary. But he was almost invisible in the darkened room. He spoke only when it was necessary. His lean form was hidden in an off white shirt & a deep gray trouser. Hormaz stood by the projector screen that was close to the wall of the conference room.

  “It is hard not to Sir. He knows that the only thing that can keep him from our jails is this info. If any of this does not check out, he is done for good. With Kasab’s hanging, he needs us more than we need him.” Hormaz spoke clearly. He saw his boss nodding at the Home Secretary.

  “So what have we got?” The secretary was back to business.

  “He has given information about three autonomous cells around India who are capable of & are actively planning terrorist activities. The information includes names, probable safe houses & even bank accounts that they might be using. Our teams are verifying this & would apprehend these men if it is so.” Hormaz answered.