by Rahul Badami
Venera was a keen observer and self-taught herself everything. The knowledge explosion was like drinking from a fire hose. She kept notes, ran simulations, and read bragging online posts by hackers to pick up their tactics.
Venera learned quickly. She made her first money online on a hacking forum where someone wanted a Gmail account to be hacked. She did it in minutes and got paid. The initial money deposited in her Bitcoin account helped her pay off an irate creditor determined to make her life hell. The sight of thousands of dollars worth of Bitcoins showing up in her account for doing a five-minute job inspired her to do more such activities. With each success, she got more addicted.
Every request was like a challenge crying out for her hacking skills, and she was determined to prove herself. Her hunger for money was insatiable. She needed to provide for her family, and live the good life. It was only recently that she had pulled off the biggest cyberhack of her life by penetrating the Aadhaar server. The task had been extremely challenging, but in the end it was successful. She had been stoked by its success. Her employer Zi Zontai would now reward her with at least a million dollars for the project.
Her phone buzzed as she reached the basement parking. Venera looked at the display. It was an unlisted number and she immediately knew who was calling. Warlord. She picked the phone and spoke into it for a few minutes.
A smile crossed over her face as she ended the call. Warlord wanted stuff done. She would receive money if she did this job for Warlord. He always paid her handsomely even if it was for small chores. Money was like music to Venera’s ears. Her childhood had been full of the bleak prospect of poverty. She had starved many times when her family didn’t have money to pay for food. While growing up, she had promised herself that she would never lack money. She would do this stuff, no matter what.
In fact, she would do anything for money.
CHAPTER 6
New Delhi, India
The man scratched the scar on the base of his neck.
The scar was starting to itch again. He wasn’t sure if it was the heat or the stress, but he would need to go to his doctor soon and get a prescription. It hadn’t itched for a long time. Maybe a year. In all probability, the itch seemed to be due to the heat wave plaguing Delhi since the last couple of days.
He pulled out a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped the sweat off his neck. Under his collar, the scar was hidden and many of his closest colleagues didn’t know he had a scar. He had got that scar from an incident years ago. And he never spoke about it.
The scar was just one of the many secrets he harboured. While everyone considered him a gregarious and friendly person, it was just a persona he had carefully cultivated. Only he knew the truth of who he really was.
He was a traitor to his country.
And no one had yet found it out.
The man glanced beyond the window. The day was hot and sweltering. He hated the Delhi summer. There were few clouds in the blue sky. In the distance he could see the iconic India Gate crowded with tourists. He wondered how they could bear to stand in the oppressive heat.
Only a few days more, he told himself. Then he would be able to escape from the extreme climate Delhi had to a much moderate one far away from here.
His neck prickled again. He ignored the itching on his scar and focused back on his computer. The email lay open in front of him. He read it one more time. It was time to send a message to his contact.
He picked up his phone, opened a secure messaging app and typed a single sentence.
Three Indian spies are coming to Urumqi.
He hit Send.
*
Urumqi, Xinjiang Province, China
Zi Zontai rose up from his plush leather chair in his office and walked over to the window. He ran his fingers through his greying hair. The view outside was as impressive as the inside. His home office – as he called it – was spacious. It was almost as large as three rooms in the city.
Urumqi was getting crowded and even for him, one of the richest men in the city, a spacious living quarter was impossible to find. Hence, Zontai had decided to build his own mansion just outside the city. His mansion was filled with all kinds of luxuries he could avail of. His office hosted a precious collection of various historical artefacts; an eleventh-century realistic Gongbi painting created during the Song dynasty, a seventeenth-century cloisonné enamelled basin in front of a gold-encrusted mirror, a jade vase with a green dragon on it that was once owned by Emperor Kangxi himself.
However, Zontai wasn’t interested in just the old; he liked the modern as well. His office was also equipped with a large flat screen television, a temperature-controlled wine pantry with a granite countertop, and an opulent couch where he could have his afternoon power nap.
Beyond the window, Zontai took in the magnificence of his mansion. His mansion was fortified with a stone-enclosed compound whose foundation stone was actually borrowed from The Great Wall of China. Of course, he had ordered the officials in Jiayuguan to give the stone to him. No one had stopped him. No one could dare oppose him. His authority reigned supreme even beyond Xinjiang province. He had everyone from the politicians to the businessmen in his pocket. For the rare few that challenged his ways, they soon went missing.
No one but the guards in the basement prison knew what happened to those unfortunate few.
The legend had grown. Every person that stood in Zontai’s way either capitulated or vanished. Soon there was no one willing to cross him. In fact, everyone became obsequious in his presence. It was just the way he wanted.
Zontai watched a red Volkswagen Lavida drive to the gates. The guards checked the visitor and ushered the car through. The car stopped in the parking lot and he watched a young woman with dark red hair emerge out. He smiled and walked back to his mahogany desk.
Two minutes later, there was a buzz on his phone. The security guard outside his door informed him that a young lady wanted to meet him. Zontai told him to allow the woman inside. The woman entered her office and strode the wide length to his desk. Her heels clicked rhythmically on the marble tiled floor. She stopped in front of his desk.
“Sit down, Venera.” Zontai gestured at the chair opposite him.
Venera sat down. “I have some news.”
Zontai didn’t say anything. He just waited for her to continue.
Venera leaned closer. “I’ve heard that some Indian agents are being sent to Urumqi to investigate.”
Zontai nodded calmly, “Even my sources said the same thing. Here’s what I want you to do.”
He spent the next few minutes explaining what he wanted her to do. The Indian spies were a threat but Zontai knew how to take care of them. These spies also represented an opportunity. They no doubt knew a ton of secrets about the Indian government. He would use them. He finished explaining and Venera nodded. Zontai was pleased. She needed to be told only once.
“Do you have any questions, Venera?”
“No, I’ll do it and inform you once it’s done.”
“Good, you may go now.”
“Sir, there’s one more thing I wanted to tell you.” Venera looked anxious.
“Yes?”
“Jin Wang went to Turkey to meet our sponsor.”
“What!”
Venera’s eyes widened with fear at Zontai’s outburst. She stammered, “I-I told him not to go. But he said he wanted more money for the work.”
“Stupid idiot.” Zontai growled. “I told him to lie low. I refused to give him more money and now he thinks he can go behind my back and do whatever he wants.”
“What do you want me to do?”
“Just stay put. Do nothing out of the ordinary.”
“What about Jin?”
Zontai picked up the phone. His eyes blazed. “This will be his last mistake.”
CHAPTER 7
Three hours later, Armaan was sitting in the Army hospital in Zahedan. His wound had been patched up and he had been given a painkiller. He was feeling much bette
r already. The doctors at the hospital had assured him that Nitin would be fine. He had been quite lucky. If the shrapnel had pierced through his lungs or heart, it would have been fatal.
Armaan watched Nitin lying on the hospital bed, deep in sleep after being given a sedative. Nitin was wrapped up in white bandages. But Armaan knew Nitin was a fighter. He would be up and about in half the time others would take to recover.
Armaan called his contact Sandeep Raman in the Indian consulate and explained what had happened. Sandeep was actually a R&AW agent who was officially appointed as a diplomat. Armaan had liaised with him on previous missions. Sandeep said he would be coming over immediately.
A few minutes later, his phone buzzed. It was the Iranian security commander. The consignment had been delivered to Zaranj; the Afghan team had confirmed receipt of the goods. Armaan let out a huge sigh on hearing the news. His mission was officially completed.
An hour later, Sandeep arrived. He was short, flabby, and sported a chubby genial face. No one looking at him would consider him a R&AW agent. And that was the simplicity of the deception. Unlike portrayed in movies, spies were not macho hunks racing around in fast cars. They were subtle and would slink away at the slightest sign that they would be exposed. Being a spy-in-the-guise-of-a-diplomat meant that if their activities came to light, he couldn’t be interrogated or tortured as he had diplomatic immunity. The host country would simply declare the offender a persona non grata and banish him.
It wasn’t the same situation for Armaan. He was a professional soldier and part of a special covert ops team. He had no official cover for majority of his missions. If he was caught in an extra-judicial situation, he would be disavowed by the Indian government. Armaan was fine with the arrangement. He would be as stealthy as possible if the mission deemed it. If he was to use force, he would go all guns blazing. The main objective at all times would be to accomplish the mission.
Sandeep smiled at him. “How are you doing, Armaan?”
Armaan shrugged. “Same old. It’s my colleague Nitin who needs attention. Looks like he will be out of action for a few days.”
He looked up at Nitin and saw that his eyes were open, trying to make sense of his surroundings. Armaan walked over to him.
“Nitin, you okay?”
Nitin gave a half-smile and a thumbs-up, and then promptly closed his eyes. Armaan waited a moment but it appeared that Nitin had drifted back into unconsciousness. He looked at the monitor next to his bed. All seemed to be well.
“He will be all right here,” Sandeep said, “You don’t have to worry. I’ll have one of my men take care of him. You can come with me to the consulate.”
Only after Sandeep assured him did Armaan feel guilt-free enough to leave his team member. He accompanied Sandeep to the Indian consulate. They drove through the streets of Zahedan talking about all mundane things except work. Both of them implicitly understood the need to steer clear of each other’s activities.
At the consulate, Sandeep offered him his room to shower, change and rest. Armaan showered and changed his clothes but couldn’t rest. He paced around the room.
The mission had been accomplished. Now what?
Armaan knew what he had to do. He needed to call the Director General of the Defence Intelligence Agency and report the mission details to his boss. But he had been putting it off for the last half-hour. He didn’t want to speak with the DG.
General Vishwajeet Singh was the DG of the DIA. After the covert op in Pakistan hadn’t gone as planned, General Singh had told him to go to Chabahar to escort the wheat consignment to Afghanistan.
Armaan’s nose flared with anger as he remembered Singh ordering him to go to Chabahar. The General had simply told him that he would be going to Iran. When he had asked for details, Singh had told him that he would be part of the security team and would work with Nitin to ensure the food trucks reached Afghanistan.
It was a stupid decision to send him here. This mission wasn’t worth his skills. He should have been with his team members Baldev, Roshan and Hitesh. He resented this mission. It was like a demotion for him. As someone who had worked in scores of impossible ops within and outside India, this mission was as bland as it could be. He had been separated from his team and forced to work alone.
The General was being unreasonable with him. It was obvious why. This mission was meant to be a punishment for screwing up the previous op. But Armaan didn’t agree. The mission in Pakistan had been achieved despite setbacks, but the General didn’t see it that way.
He wondered if one bad op was justified for the General to think of him as incompetent. Had the General forgotten the countless missions he had succeeded in?
Armaan shook his head in frustration. You were only as good as your last mission. But Armaan didn’t do it for name or recognition. He did the missions for honour, duty and a strong sense of patriotism. In a never-ending fight for India’s sovereignty, he would do whatever he could to protect his country. Even if it meant being assigned to a low-profile mission that could have been given to any greenhorn fresh out of training.
Armaan took a deep breath and calmed himself down. Maybe Baldev was right. Maybe he was acting unreasonable. Baldev had said that he had to rein in his attitude and become more of a team player. If anyone else had said that, Armaan would have chewed him off. But not Baldev. They were blood brothers and had worked together on countless ops. If he had said those words, it meant that there was some truth to it. During his training, it had been drilled into Armaan’s head to follow their superior’s orders unquestioningly.
Armaan looked at the desk phone. He would follow the General’s orders. Even if it were a meaningless waste of his skills. He was a disciplined soldier and he would accept whatever mission the General would give. There was no doubt the General would give him a new mission. As an operative, he knew there were no holidays in between missions. When one mission ended, the next began.
Armaan picked up the desk phone and called the General. Best to get it over with quickly. It was better not to think too much, and just follow through with whatever he would be assigned. At the end of the day, he wasn’t doing it for his boss; he was doing it for his country. The familiar mix of anxiety and excitement bubbled in his stomach as it always did at the start of a new mission. He should have gotten used to it by now, but even after countless missions he hadn’t.
The General’s voice came on the line breaking his line of thought. Armaan quickly apprised him of the terrorist attempt. Once he was done, General Singh asked, “How’s your shoulder now?”
“Much better, sir.”
“Are you up for another mission? I want you in Turkey in a few hours.”
Armaan knew it was less of a question and more of a command. And there was no refusing General Singh. He just hoped he would get a mission that was more fulfilling than escorting trucks.
“Yes, sir. What is it about?”
“There has been a major cyberattack. We believe the Chinese are behind it. Our sources have informed us that a nefarious Chinese blackhat hacker is in Istanbul. There is a good chance he could be behind this.”
“What do you want me to do?”
“Keep a track on him and find out if he is involved. There is a private airfield a few kilometres out of Zahedan. One of our planes will be there shortly. It will take you to Istanbul. You will get a detailed brief from Manohar once you reach there. Good luck.”
Singh hung up the phone. That was it. No discussions about his preferences. Barely any details about the mission. Just a place to go.
Armaan resented the way the General had given him his orders. It wasn’t that he wouldn’t do the orders. It would have been good if the General had given him more information about what needed to be done.
Armaan shrugged. Maybe he was looking at this situation all wrong. He was given a task and he would go ahead and do it. The General wanted results. He would give him the results. At least, this mission sounded better than guarding food grains. Now, it
was only a question of locating the target in Turkey. He put the General’s instructions away in one part of his mind. He had learned to compartmentalize the information so that he wouldn’t get overwhelmed with the information. Right now, his immediate priority was to reach the airfield.
An hour later, he was at the airfield. He walked over to the pilot and immediately recognised him.
“Uday! Good to see you.”
The pilot looked at him and smiled. “Mr. Agarwal, I keep running into you.”
Agarwal was one of Armaan’s many aliases. His cover was that of a Business Consultant. It was a fuzzy enough designation that covered most reasons why he was a frequent traveller and had visited multiple countries.
The pilot Uday was a DIA resource that was assigned to assist in their missions. He kept on speaking.
“I was told to pick someone up, but I didn’t know who it would be.”
“Right. We are on a tight schedule. Get me to Istanbul ASAP.”
“Sure, sir.”
They walked over to the jet plane, a luxurious Bombardier Challenger 650 capable of seating ten people. It was owned and operated by the DIA. The plane was fitted with a hidden compartment that contained weapons, state-of-the-art communications systems, SAT phones, miscellaneous suits, currencies of various nations, and every other conceivable thing they could require during a mission.
Armaan climbed over the stairs and got into the jet. He eased himself into a plush seat and looked out of the window. The afternoon sun shone brightly in the blue skies. Soon the massive engine roared beneath him and they taxied off the runway.