The Bard of Blood

by Bilal Siddiqi

  ‘What about the problem in Ladakh?’ Isha asked as Kabir drove the van to the venue.

  ‘Oh, they spoke about that right up front. Bocheng has agreed to pull back all his troops.’

  ‘And just the day before yesterday he asked the People’s Liberation Army not to back down in their fight! Well, our PM is certainly a charming man.’

  Kabir looked at her and smiled.

  ‘Not as charming as you, of course, Kabir,’ Nihar chimed in from behind. Isha threw him a questioning look. ‘What? I’m just telling Kabir what you might’ve told him anyway,’ quipped Nihar.

  They took a smooth turn and passed through a few barricades, Kabir flashing his credentials. They were allowed to park in the designated area, being an official security vehicle. Kabir parked and got off. The prime minister’s BMW was parked neatly in place, with many policemen surrounding it. An empty space was reserved for Bocheng’s Mercedes. A nice breeze blew across the space. Kabir took a step and leaned over a ledge, looking down at the calm Sabarmati river. He wished he had the time to admire the beautiful sunset.

  ‘Mr Anand, the prime minister is in the tent already. Let us know when to activate the signal jammers,’ a senior official of state intelligence whispered to Kabir. ‘The Chinese are breathing down my neck, too.’

  ‘Has Mr Bocheng left the hotel?’

  ‘Yes. He just got into his vehicle.’

  ‘Good. As soon as he’s here, activate the jammers. Run me through all the security arrangements again.’

  Kabir turned away from the river and began to walk alongside the official, who recounted all the arrangements that had been implemented. Kabir looked around to see if he could spot their two snipers holding position. He couldn’t. Perfect. The official then directed him to a spot at the opposite end of the park that lay ahead. He asked him to set up his equipment there, because that would be just beyond the jammers’ range. Kabir thanked him and walked back to Nihar and Isha.

  ‘Take your equipment to that platform there,’ Kabir said, pointing to an amphitheatre in the park. ‘We have to stay right behind the jammers. Bocheng will be here any moment and we might not have any network.’

  Nihar picked up his laptop and locked the van. Kabir called Joshi and updated him about the proceedings. They passed by a dance troupe which was rehearsing a traditional Gujarati folk dance to entertain Bocheng and his wife. An array of Gujarati dishes, prepared by the best chefs in the state and the prime minister’s personal cooks, were being trolleyed into the luxurious tent where the dinner banquet was being hosted.

  ‘Bocheng is about to get here,’ Kabir told Nihar. ‘Security is tight. Difficult to reach the PM. Just keep an eye out for anything untoward.’

  ‘Isn’t that what we have been doing all day?’ Isha replied tiredly.

  Kabir pulled a chair and sat down. He tugged at his tie and loosened his collar. Fuck this. I’m not here for a magazine shoot. He thought about his classroom back in Mumbai. He couldn’t wait to get back.

  Zhou Bocheng’s convoy was fifteen minutes away. Kabir got the jammers activated. Nihar had his laptop right inside the jammers’ radius. The sole purpose of the jammer was not to stop phone calls, but to stop something far more serious, like a remote-controlled detonation. The Chinese security personnel were busy on their phones, communicating with the personnel that accompanied Bocheng and his wife. The others were busy supervising the meals that had been laid out. The dinner, right from its preparation stage, had been under immense scrutiny, lest someone attempt to poison the fare. Nothing of that sort had happened so far. The cooks were even made to taste each dish in advance, to be doubly sure.

  Kabir began to walk back towards the designated parking area, where Bocheng’s car was about to arrive. He reached the river and leaned against the railing. Nihar and Isha stayed by the amphitheatre. Isha was speaking to Joshi, keeping him in the loop. Nihar typed away at his computer. He clicked open the signal radar, just to see if the jammers were doing their job properly. Bocheng was going to be there in ten minutes, and they could not afford any slip-up. That’s good. All the signals are being emitted and received outside the radius. Most of them are security guys making calls. He minimized the program window.

  A few Special Protection Group commandos swept the grounds with Deep Search Metal Detectors, DSMDs, highly powerful metal detectors that were located at the end of a long rod. The main stage was clear. One of the commandos walked towards the parking lot, with the DSMD, to tell Kabir all was clear. As he walked by the railing, the DSMD beeped faintly. The commando frowned to himself. He walked by the same spot again and there was nothing. But Kabir noticed the commando retrace his steps.

  ‘Is something wrong?’

  ‘The metal detector beeped as I passed that spot,’ the commando said, pointing at a bare, concrete platform. The platform was not too far away from a large swing-seat that was caparisoned with flowers and awaited the Chinese President, so he could sit there and watch the picturesque river in the company of the Indian PM, while savouring the local fare. Kabir took the DSMD from the commando and walked towards the spot again. There was no beep, no detection of any metal. Kabir looked up and shrugged. From the corner of his eye, he saw three Chinese men, part of Bocheng’s security, who he deduced were MSS men, walking urgently towards him. Behind them Nihar scurried towards him as well. Before the Chinese could speak to Kabir, Nihar pulled him aside and spoke in Hindi instead.

  ‘I was looking at the radar for any phoney signals or waves, when I found one coming into the jammer radius,’ he said, shocked.

  Isha was having a quick word with the MSS, after getting a brief from the commando with the DSMD.

  ‘So you mean to say some unidentified object is closing in on us?’

  ‘Yes,’ Nihar murmured.

  Kabir closed his eyes. And then the image of a faint, white streak in the river popped into his head—something he had earlier dismissed as some form of aquatic life swimming through the river water.

  26

  19 September 2014

  Ahmedabad, Gujarat

  ‘What if it’s a bomb?’ Isha said in a low whisper, sounding worried. Behind them, there was a sudden frenzy as Bocheng’s car turned into the street leading up to the Sabarmati Riverfront.

  ‘A submersible carrying explosives!?’ Isha continued with bated breath.

  The three Chinese men were speaking animatedly to Nihar. ‘We detected some unusual activity on the radar,’ one of them said. They had identical frowns.

  ‘Nothing to be worried about,’ Kabir replied. ‘But I’m going to check on it anyway.’

  ‘I think we should stall the President until you do that.’

  ‘You don’t have to,’ Kabir replied. ‘Unless it’s something serious—which I doubt it will be.’

  The three men had a brief discussion in Mandarin and walked away with purposeful strides.

  ‘They’re probably going to hold Bocheng back,’ Isha said.

  The Chinese President’s convoy had arrived and was about to drive through and park. Kabir turned and looked back at the river. And then he shrugged off his jacket and unbuttoned his shirt. He knew Isha could be right about a submersible explosive. Plus the DSMD had beeped. That doesn’t happen too often. What if it is some metal object under the mortar? He had never encountered such a thing in the past, but he knew of its existence.

  ‘Kabir? What are you doing?’

  ‘There’s only one way to find out,’ he said plainly. He threw his clean shirt on the ground and stood only in his vest and trousers. The veins bulged in his lean and muscular frame. The adrenalin was pumping through him.

  ‘We can’t risk it. Alert Mr Joshi. Don’t let the Chinese guys know about it. This will cause unwarranted panic if it’s not what we think it is.’

  ‘And if it is what we think it is?’

  ‘All the more reason not to tell them. See what they’re up to and let them resolve it amongst themselves. Nihar, try to convince them it’s nothing. Cook
some story up if you have to.’

  The President’s car entered through the gate. Kabir hoisted himself over the railing, turned to see if anyone else was looking and then dived into the river. He was a fairly good swimmer, though he had never liked swimming, especially when on a mission. But he had learnt to do it. Besides, it doesn’t look like I have a say in making my own decisions any more . . . The circumstances are doing it for me.

  He moved comfortably with a fluid breaststroke once he was under water. The undercurrent of the river was helping him speed up in the direction he wanted to go. Nihar watched him, leaning over the railing. He turned around to go speak to the Chinese men. Isha had walked back to the part of the promenade from where she could get cellular coverage. She updated Joshi about what had transpired. He gave her a set of instructions. She got down to executing them immediately, gathering a few senior members of security. Bocheng’s car was now through the gate. The prime minister was still in the tent, waiting for Bocheng to be escorted in.

  Kabir heard a buzz through the whoosh of the flowing river. He began to descend further underwater. It was coming from behind him. He realized he was swimming in the wrong direction. His sore back and injured shoulder began to ache. He realized he needed a shot of his painkiller immediately. Just hold on for a while. He took a deep breath and went below. He moved lower, and squinted to look through the water. He saw a streamlined object, vaguely like a mini-submarine. It had slowed down as it approached the concrete wall of the waterfront. He went back to the surface and gasped for air. It had been a while since he had done this. He shook his head violently, cleansing his irritated eyes, and took another deep breath, and dived back underwater to get closer to the object.

  He realized he needed to swim very low. Moreover, the wall of the promenade caved inwards, being almost concave in profile. He held his breath and pushed himself lower. He had to turn and swim against the undercurrent that offered a fairly strong resistance. The object was parking itself against the wall, almost attaching itself to the upper end. Kabir could feel the pressure building. His ears felt the piercing force of the water, his heart was pounding against his ribcage. His brain was beginning to feel the oxygen deprivation. His eyes burned as he opened them ever so slightly. Against every bodily impulse, he pushed himself further to get within reach of the object. He deduced that he couldn’t resist the pressure any further. He decided to take a wild swipe and grab the object. At least get a hand to it.

  He turned his body downwards and made the attempt. He managed to grasp it for a fleeting moment, but it escaped. He saw the rotor spinning furiously. He turned around to make it back to the surface to get some air. But as he turned he decided to make another attempt. This time, as he moved up, he used his legs like pincers and wrapped them around the object. With great effort, he managed to change its course. He pulled it to a higher level, before it slipped out again. Another second, and a nerve would burst. He went back up to the surface, gasping for breath. He spat out some water and began to feel a little dizzy with the sudden exertion. He felt blinded, felt his vision turn achromatic. He waited for a moment and took another deep lungful of air. This time I’m going to get that contraption back up with me.

  He pushed himself below. The object was lowering itself back to its initial level to park itself against the wall of the waterfront promenade again. Kabir lunged at it and grabbed it with both his hands. It hadn’t gone back to its original position yet, and so was higher than it was before, and a tad easier to get to. He wrestled with it as the rotor began to slash away at his skin. He saw the blood mingle with the water. He opened his mouth slightly, to bubble some breath out, and with all the strength that he could muster he overturned the object, the blunt, smooth end facing him, and pulled it up to the surface. He held the object tightly as his feet paddled recklessly to stay afloat.

  ‘Kabir, hold on!’

  He didn’t hear Isha calling out. His senses had pretty much given up on him. But he clutched the vibrating object close to him to prevent it from letting it loose. The rotor chopped at the river wildly, sending short spurts of water into the air. The object was beginning to break loose. It was too heavy to grab on to. Kabir’s teeth gnashed, his face reddened. And then he felt it being tugged away from him. He looked up clearly to see Isha pulling it out of his hand with the help of two other men on a fisherman’s boat. They scooped it up and then pulled Kabir up as well. He coughed wildly, thumping his chest and spitting out the river water he had ingested. His body shook violently as he lay in a heap in the boat, drenched to the bone. The blood from the gashes began to drip on to the wood. Isha and the other men were busy tending to the object. They had switched the motor off.

  ‘What is it?’ Kabir spluttered.

  ‘A submersible vehicle laden with explosives,’ the man replied. Isha was right. The object, around five feet in length and about a foot in diameter, now lay in the boat.

  ‘It was geo-tagged towards the promenade. So it doesn’t need a signal or remote control to direct it. It has enough liquid explosive in it to blow that entire section up!’

  Kabir looked in the direction in which the man pointed. President Zhou Bocheng had just got out of his car a few minutes earlier. Had Kabir not brought it out of the water, the bomb would’ve continued on its destructive, watery course and torn apart that part of the promenade, taking with it the Chinese President and his wife. And very soon, the country itself.

  The boat was directed to the opposite shore by the men. They got off and pulled up at the deserted promenade. The area had been kept out of bounds for the general public today. Surprisingly, only the regular guards were on duty. Kabir found it difficult to move, and had to be helped off the boat and on to his feet. They dragged the object to an enclosure, so that nobody could see what was happening. Nihar was calling Isha, but she didn’t answer. She was bent down over the object and was tinkering with it for a good two minutes, while the other two officers continued staring at it, clueless. She pointed to a steel case attached to the streamlined object. Her eyes were full of fear.

  ‘What’s the matter, Isha?’

  ‘Nothing,’ she replied unconvincingly. ‘You’re bleeding! Guys, please fix him up.’

  ‘Tell me what you found, damn it!’

  ‘The liquid explosive is encased in this thick steel case, so that the water doesn’t seep through. It was poured into it in its liquid state, so that there’s no scope for oxidation to deteriorate the compound.’

  Kabir read her worried expression. There’s something she isn’t telling me.

  ‘All three of you look concerned,’ he growled. ‘Tell me what it is!’

  ‘There’s a timer attached to it,’ Isha said tersely. ‘I tried disabling it, but there is a tricky tamper-proof anti-handling device around it. As it stood, the bomb was meant to assassinate President Bocheng! Since it was geo-tagged, a timer was meant to go off as soon as it reached the location. And unfortunately, it did reach its final docking location.’

  ‘Which means the timer must have been set off,’ Kabir said solemnly.

  Kabir’s thoughts were in a whirl. The First World War that started in June 1914 was triggered by the political assassination of Archduke Franz Ferdinand of Austria, the heir to the Austro-Hungarian throne, in Sarajevo, by a Yugoslav nationalist. Within weeks the world had been plunged into turmoil as the conflict spread. Had the bomb set off now, the Third World War would’ve effectively begun. China would’ve vowed to vanquish this country. Pakistan would’ve joined them—after having secretly ignited the fire. The Chinese wouldn’t care to find out who was responsible. The fact that Bocheng was killed on Indian soil would have been enough to set us on a collision course. But there’s a more immediate problem at hand . . . The bomb . . . It is war’s prize to take all vantage.

  ‘The anti-handling device, which is attached to a bomb to prevent it from being tampered with or disarmed, is in place. It’s very tricky to bypass this magnetic fuse, because if we move it out of place to
disarm it, which we have to, it will definitely detonate,’ another agent next to Isha said. ‘And we have less than thirty minutes before it goes off! There’s no way to work around this. A trained bomb squad may have a 10 per cent chance, but we might run out of time!’

  Kabir got back to his feet with renewed energy. He asked Isha for a phone, so that he could tell Joshi about the situation. She handed it to him reluctantly. He stepped out of the enclosure and made the call. He noticed a van pull up at the entrance. He took a step back and cut the call. A man came running out, looking through binoculars at the opposite area, where the function had begun.

  ‘What do you mean?’ the voice at the other end of the line cried. ‘Why have the celebrations not begun?’

  ‘They got to it. The bomb will probably go off anyway, but the target will remain unharmed!’

  The tall man put down his binoculars. He was completely bewildered himself. He had bided his time with the members of the press in a tent reserved for journalists and reporters, waiting to witness the assassination of Zhou Bocheng in person. He hadn’t managed to get a good view of the river, but he trusted his plan completely. He seldom made mistakes. He had orchestrated the entire thing perfectly—building the device, testing it, planting it. It was a foolproof plan. He had set the wheels in motion for the world’s biggest war yet. And now someone had thrown a spanner in the works. It’s still not too late, though. The bomb is going to go off anyway. My sniper-rifle is still in the car. I need a good vantage point, that’s it.