Y.C. Pawar (left) and M.N. Singh (Courtesy Mid-day)
Singh sensed the strain in his superior’s voice. He said, ‘Sir, we have already worked out some facts.’ He took the file which his deputy, Ghafoor, had brought along. He and his team of officers had compiled it through the night of 12 March. ‘At the BSE, the Air-India building and the Plaza, car bombs were used. Scooter bombs must have been used in Zaveri Bazaar and Katha Bazaar. At Worli, everything points to a car bomb too. In the three hotels, guests deposited the bombs in rooms. The person who checked in at the Sea Rock gave his name as Advani.’
Ghafoor added, ‘The Worli police found an abandoned Maruti van near Siemens. The windscreens were shattered and there were two bags with seven AK-56s and some hand grenades.’
‘I think the explosions at Macchimar Colony were from hand grenades,’ Singh said.
‘What about the airport?’ Samra asked. ‘Weren’t grenades also used there?’
‘Major Jadhav of Sahar Airport confirmed that it seems likely that they were grenades, but we cannot be sure,’ Ghafoor said.
‘What else?’ Samra asked.
‘The BDDS is reassembling the chassis of the vehicles which were used in the bombings,’ said Singh. ‘They’re trying to establish the identity of the owners.’
‘We have also detained a Sri Lankan,’ said Ghafoor. ‘He was picked up trying to exchange a suspiciously large amount of foreign currency. He’s possibly involved with the LTTE. A Turkish national has also been detained.’
‘Is there anything else?’ asked Samra.
No one seemed to have anything else to add at this point.
‘Then I think I should be leaving,’ Samra said. ‘The prime minister is due to arrive any moment. Ask your men to devote themselves to the investigation. We need to crack this case as soon as possible.’
‘The officers have their orders. They’re working hard,’ answered Singh. ‘Let’s hope we make a breakthrough soon.’
‘Let the DCPs form their own special teams of investigating officers—especially Patnaik and Maria.’ Samra rose from his chair, and Ghafoor, Chakraborty and Singh took their leave.
Chavan and Pilot had reached Bombay on 12 March and examined the bombed sites the following day.
Rao reached Bombay on 13 March on a special Indian Air Force Boeing. His entourage included two union ministers, N.K.P. Salve and A.K. Antony. The plane landed at INS Kunjali, the naval base at Colaba.
Rao visited the BSE and the Air-India building, accompanied by Pawar. He also visited the St George Hospital and met some of the injured. Later, he addressed a packed press conference at the naval headquarters.
‘We must find the connection between the hands that did this and the brain that masterminded it,’ he declared. When a foreign correspondent asked whether LTTE involvement was suspected, Rao quipped, ‘We investigate. You speculate.’
Meanwhile, the IB and RAW had swung into action. They established contacts with the intelligence agencies of several foreign countries, including the Federal Bureau of Investigation (FBI) at their Washington office, Israel’s Mossad, Britain’s Scotland Yard and Military Intelligence (MI5 and MI6), and the Interpol headquarters at Lyons, France, seeking information about various terrorist organizations.
■
The city was slowly limping back to normalcy. The visits of the politicians continued on 14 March.
L.K. Advani visited Worli and Dadar. The previous day he had categorically denied in Delhi that the blasts in Bombay were a fallout of the communal riots. Both Advani and Murli Manohar Joshi laid the blame on foreign hands.
The foreign intelligence agencies were more than helpful and responded with comprehensive lists that started coming in by 14 March. The lists demonstrated these agencies’ expertise and professionalism in dealing with the problem of terrorism in their countries. They included names of men and groups in Lebanon, Pakistan, Egypt, Syria, Tunisia, Algeria, Turkey, Iran and Sri Lanka. Interpol also provided several photographs and handwriting samples. It was hoped that these would match descriptions and evidence provided by hotel staff and other eyewitnesses.
Like most others in the city, Rakesh Maria loved to spend his Sundays at home with his wife, Preeti, and son, Kunal. Especially this Sunday, after three days of running around furiously, he was hoping to spend most of the day at home. Towards evening, he planned to make rounds to Dadar police station, his office above the Matunga police station, and then to the traffic office at Worli, which had been badly neglected these past couple of days. He’d also decided to handpick some officers from the traffic division whom he’d come to know in the past few months for the team Samra had asked him to assemble. But at least he would have a leisurely lunch and a nap after that.
As lunch was announced, the phone rang. It was Inspector Shinde from the Matunga police station. He reported that a call had come in from a resident of Naigaum Cross Lane at Dadar. A suspicious-looking scooter had been parked in front of his building since Friday. Some policemen had asked around the neighbourhood, but the vehicle did not seem to belong to anybody. They suspected that it might contain explosives.
‘Cordon off the area. Inform the bomb squad. I’m on my way.’ There would be no lunch or nap for him.
When he arrived at Naigaum Cross Road, the scene was chaotic. The men from the Matunga police station could hardly hold back the crowd swarming to see the scooter. The two-wheeler was parked with its front tyre touching the narrow kerb, beyond which were some shops and a residential building under the footbridge. A few minutes later, the BDDS van arrived with sirens wailing.
Senior Inspector Chougule got out of the van and saluted Maria, who asked him to take over.
Chougule asked the policemen to move everybody at least fifty metres away from the scooter. He asked the police to evacuate the shops and the residential building. The scooter was registered in Maharashtra; the number plate read MH-04-261.
Chougule walked Zanjeer to the scooter. The dog walked around the scooter, sniffing. Suddenly, Zanjeer jerked his head towards the front of the scooter and sniffed with renewed concentration. He leaned towards the dicky and barked several times, confirming the presence of explosives.
Rakesh Maria (Courtesy Mid-day)
Chougule examined the scooter more closely. He and his team discussed how to defuse the bomb. The bomb could be rigged to go off the moment the scooter was touched. After thinking deeply, Chougule asked Maria, ‘Should we ask Major Vasant Jadhav of Sahar Airport to help us?’
‘I was thinking the same thing.’
Jadhav received the call at 3.20 p.m. and left for the site immediately. On reaching Dadar, he was briefed by Chougule. Jadhav instructed the crowd to be pushed back even further. The central police control room had flashed the message about the bomb, and alert crime reporters had begun to descend on the scene with camera crews.
Jadhav commenced work. He pulled out a hook with a thin nylon rope and carefully tucked the hook into the lock in the dicky of the scooter. He tugged gently at first and then with little bit of force. The lock came apart. Jadhav wiped sweat from his forehead and smiled at Chougule and Maria with relief. Chougule peered inside. Then, very softly, he touched the pencil detonator, which was surrounded by a mesh of thin wires. Jadhav gingerly examined the wires and identified the main one. In a few minutes, the bomb was defused.
The rest of the BDDS group got busy analysing the bomb. Chougule smelt and felt the black putty-like substance, and declared it to be RDX. There were more than fifteen kilograms of the deadly material. Jadhav extracted some 200 grams of the putty and gave it to Chougule for chemical analysis and examination at the CFSL.
Maria was curious why the bomb hadn’t gone off when the detonator was in place.
‘The bomb explodes when the striker reaches the detonator,’ Jadhav explained. ‘Here the passage for the movement of the striker was blocked by some RDX putty, which got into the detonator.’
Maria nodded at the explanation. Then he asked, ‘W
hen do you think the passage must have got blocked?’
‘It could have happened at the time of assembly, when they were fixing the connection between the RDX and detonator. Or the RDX may have melted in the heat of the sun. But probably,’ Jadhav explained in a matter-of-fact tone, ‘in this case the bomb maker was just careless.’
Jadhav accepted the responsibility of disposing of the RDX.
It was 5.05 p.m. by the time the operation was over. Maria decided to go on his rounds. On a random impulse, he decided to visit Mahim police station as well.
Samra sent a wireless message to Maria, asking for a report on the scooter. Maria called him from the Mahim police station and briefed him. Then Samra said something that surprised Maria. ‘Rakesh, I trust that you’re giving this your best shot, but I’m under the gun here. It’s been more than forty-eight hours and there’s been no breakthrough.’
‘I hear you, sir. We’re doing our best.’ As Maria hung up, his hands felt like lead. He telephoned Assistant Commisioner of Police (ACP) Bhaskar Dangle. ‘I just spoke to the CP. We have to get on with the job. Have we got anything?’
‘Nothing. The crime branch is still working on identifying the owners of the vehicles that carried the bombs through the chassis. I can tell you that we’re barking up the wrong tree with the Sri Lankan and Turkish nationals. But that’s it.’
‘Okay, right, right.’ Maria’s mind raced. ‘Check out the owner of this scooter.’
‘I’ve already put my men on it. But don’t expect much. It could be stolen.’
‘Did you follow up on the papers in the Maruti van found at Worli?’
‘Yeah.’ Maria could hear some papers shuffling on the other end of the line. ‘A Mrs Rubina Suleiman Memon, a resident of the Al-Hussaini building at Dargah Road, Mahim.’
‘Dargah Road, Mahim. Call Senior Police Inspector Maneckshaw.’
N.J. Maneckshaw was the senior police inspector of the Mahim police station. He arrived soon after being summoned.
‘Maneckshaw, do you know the Al-Hussaini building at Dargah Road?’ Maria asked.
‘It is quite close to our police station.’
‘Did some Mrs Rubina Memon ever report her Maruti van stolen?’
‘I don’t think so.’
Maneckshaw’s reply silenced Maria. He had been sure that Mrs Memon would have lodged a complaint. Then they would have to track down the car thief. After a while, Maria said, ‘If this building is nearby, then let’s pay Mrs Memon a visit.’
When Maria, Maneckshaw, Dangle and a few other officers arrived at the seven-storey building, it seemed wrapped in an uneasy calm. People stared at the police team as if they had expected them to come knocking sooner or later.
Dangle stopped an old man and asked him about the Memons. ‘Saheb, they stay here on the fifth floor. But I have not seen them for several days now.’
They went up to the fifth floor and located the flats belonging to the Memons. Both were locked. Inquiries with the neighbours revealed that most of the family had not been seen since Monday, though one of them was here until Thursday evening. His name was Mushtaq bhai, also called Tiger bhai.
Maria turned inquiringly towards Maneckshaw.
‘Sir, Tiger Memon is a smuggler with a long criminal record.’
Maria’s eyes grew round with surprise.
Further inquiries revealed that Rubina, the woman in whose name the missing car was registered, was the wife of Tiger’s elder brother, Suleiman. They also found out that Tiger Memon had been there until the time of sehri, a couple of hours before sunrise, on Friday, the day of the blasts. He had seemed very busy the previous ten or fifteen days.
When was the car stolen, before Monday, or between Monday and Thursday when only Tiger was around, Maria wondered. And why had no one in the family reported the theft to the police? Tiger had been here until Friday dawn and the car was found the same afternoon. Could the Memons be connected with the bombings?
Intense concentration and hunger made Maria’s temples throb. He decided to search the Memon residences.
The police broke the locks and entered the flats. They ransacked the immaculately appointed flats—opened drawers, jimmied cupboards, turned shelves and cupboards upside down— and their boots soiled the exquisite Iranian carpets that adorned the marble floors. A crowd of onlookers assembled outside the doors, down the staircase, and through the building compound. The informal police visit had turned into a raid.
One of the police officers found a scooter key in a drawer. He took it to Maria.
The key touched a chord in Maria’s mind. He kept turning it in his hand and looking at it from various angles. He felt as if he’d been given a jumble of letters to fit into a crossword. Despite sifting the letters around many times, he still had many to account for. ‘Dangle, why don’t you take this to the Matunga police station and try to fit it into that scooter we found today?’
‘Sir, do you think ...?’
‘I am not sure. But at worst, it will just be a wasted trip.’
Dangle immediately took off. Maria returned to searching.
Maria had developed a rapport with some of Tiger’s neighbours, not that much effort was necessary. The neighbours were more than willing to help the police. Maria was looking for information on Tiger’s network.
At one point a middle-aged, bearded man said, ‘Sahab, I think Tiger bhai has a manager.’
‘Manager? Where does he live? What’s his name?’ Maria tried not to sound too eager. He fervently prayed that the manager hadn’t left with his boss. As he spoke, the muezzin of the Makhdoom Shah dargah called azaan: ‘Allah-o-Akbar ... Allah-o-Akbar ...’
The assembled people instantly started to leave. ‘Sahab, roza ka waqt ho gaya,’ said somebody. ‘We should break our fast. Why don’t you join us?’
Maria went into one of the neighbouring houses, where there was a feast of fruit, kebabs and naans laid out. He was famished. For the first time he understood how difficult it must be for Muslims during the fifteen-hour-long fast. As he talked with the neighbours, he found out the name and whereabouts of Tiger’s manager.
As he was finishing his meal, an officer walked in. ‘Sir, Dangle sahab has come back. He wants to talk to you.’
Maria immediately rose, offered his thanks and apologies, and stepped out to meet Dangle.
‘Sir, sir, the key belongs to the scooter,’ Dangle was very excited. Maria found he was barely moved, as if he had known all along that this would happen. His mind raced ahead.
‘Well, Dangle, you have to do two things now. First, you will go and locate Asgar Mukadam, from the Nagnath building at Seven Bungalows, Andheri. Bring him here. Secondly, contact the Road Transport Office (RTO) and trace the owner of this scooter. Though I have a feeling that it belongs to one of the Memons, we need to check it out.’
Dangle left for Andheri immediately. Maria thought, I should call Preeti and tell her I will be late. But first, he had to call Samra and let him know that at last there had been a breakthrough. Samra was delighted at the news and asked Maria to keep him informed.
Maria instructed Maneckshaw to stay on at Al-Hussaini, and search the flats for more leads. He then left for the Mahim police station. There he went to the office of the senior police inspector, slumped in the cushioned chair and closed his eyes. The phone rang and Maria picked it up on the first ring.
‘Ha-lo?’ This was his characteristic way of responding. Whoever had spoken to Maria on the phone a couple of times knew right away when he answered.
‘Dangle speaking, sir.’
‘Haan, Dangle.’
‘Sir, I found Asgar Mukadam at home.’
‘Bring him to the Mahim police station.’
It was about 8.30 p.m. Maria called several of his senior officers and brought them up to date. He also called Preeti and told her that he would be home by 10.30 p.m.
Dangle came into his office, accompanied by a short, frail youth. He had a thin moustache, nondescript eyes and looked
harmless, though rather apprehensive.
‘Sir, this is Asgar Mukadam. He says he’s been Tiger Memon’s manager for a year.’
Maria offered Mukadam a seat. ‘Asgar, we want to know each and everything about Tiger Memon and your relationship with him.’
‘Sir, I don’t know much about him. I have been working at his office only for a year.’
‘A year is quite a long period to get to know somebody.’
‘I know that Tiger bhai is into smuggling. He used to deal in silver bricks. He was also into hawala business. My job was to keep accounts of his income from smuggling and hawala.’
‘What was your salary?’
‘I was paid Rs 4,000 every month’
‘How frequently did Tiger smuggle silver?’
‘In this last year, as far as I remember, he must have been involved in at least six landings.’
‘Where do you people operate?’
‘We used to work from his office at Nishanpada Road at Dongri.’
‘Used to?’
‘The office was destroyed during the communal riots in December.’
‘Then what happened?’
‘We were going to open another office. But then there was the second phase of riots, and that didn’t happen.’
‘Then how did you people work?’
‘Tiger bhai used to contact me by phone or call me through one of his men.’
‘Who else did you deal with?’
‘Tiger bhai’s younger brothers, Ayub and Yaqub.’
‘What do they do?’
‘Ayub stays in Dubai most of the time and looks after Tiger bhai’s meat export business. Yaqub is a chartered accountant.’
Maria continued to gently quiz Mukadam to find out more about Tiger Memon, but did not broach the subject of the bombings. By the time he finally moved to this subject, it was already well past midnight.
‘What do you know about the bombings?’
‘Nothing. I know nothing.’
Maria did not have to be an expert in interrogation to detect the wavering note in Mukadam’s voice.
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