‘Well sir, you know how we have so many forms of communication. The most important form, however, is not what we say, but what we don’t say. Non-verbal communication, body language, whatever you want to call it.’
Waris nodded. ‘I know. I also know that you’re especially gifted in reading these signs.’
‘How can you know that, sir?’ asked Laila, surprised. ‘It’s not in my profile.’
‘There are a lot of things that aren’t on our profiles, Ms Borges. What I know comes from word-of-mouth.’
Laila shook her head. ‘I can’t imagine who could’ve told you that.’
Waris sighed. He’d made the slip, and now it was clear that he would have to give Laila some answers.Otherwise she might go digging and find out about the one man who could not be identified on any account, the man who sat in the RAW chief’s chair. ‘Who assigned you to me?’
‘The order document was unmarked, sir. Signatory classified. All I know is that someone at the top of my organization recommended me to you.’
‘You’re right. Well, Ms Borges, the same benefactor who made sure you were assigned to me also told me of your many qualities, which I was made to understand would prove invaluable in carrying out our mission. It’s the same individual who has provided us with the resources you’re using and seeing around you.’
Laila nodded. ‘I suspected as much, sir.’
Ali Waris inclined his head. ‘I know that all of you on this mission are of the highest calibre. I know that if you look really hard, you might just find out who our benefactor is. But I would like to request you not to attempt it. He has taken a massive risk in agreeing to help us, and if he is found out, it will be devastating for both him and our country. Please respect his wishes and don’t delve deeper into what needs to be kept secret. I give you my word that he is one of the biggest patriots India has ever had.’
After a long pause, during which he could see her struggling to accept his request, she nodded. ‘I understand, sir. I’ll intimate the others too.’
‘Thank you. Now, you were telling me about Bradley.’
‘Yes, sir. As you know, I’ve been hacking into the US federal system for a while now. Since my activity is completely non-attacking, I’ve been able to bypass many of their securities.
‘I isolated the prison logs and data files, and accessed the Chicago prison system. I also downloaded the interrogation recordings they have of Bradley. I’ve been studying them—’
‘Ms Borges, I must congratulate you!’ said Waris, impressed. ‘I read in your progress report that you had got into their system, but I didn’t know you’d got this far! The US cyber security system is quite difficult to break into, I’m told.’
‘It is, sir,’ said Laila, ignoring the compliment as usual. ‘But I did manage to get every video recording of Bradley I could find before their threat detection system kicked in.’
‘And—’
‘Before you ask, sir, they won’t be able to trace my signal.’
‘Good. So what’s the problem?’
Laila looked a troubled. ‘I don’t really know how to explain it. Call it a gut feeling.’
‘I’m very open to gut feelings, Ms Borges. I respect them enormously. But you’ll have to do a little more than that in such a situation.’
After a pause, she said, ‘Imagine you have a clone. An identical clone made of you when you were fifteen. Then both you and he were placed in different parts of the world, where you grew up without any contact with each other. Do you think you’d still be similar?’
Waris shook his head. ‘No. We might still look alike, but we’d be a product of our surroundings and experiences.’
‘And you’d behave differently?’
‘I suppose so.’
‘Well, that’s the feeling I’m getting. It’s almost as if someone else is posing as Bradley, and has conditioned himself to looking, behaving and doing everything like him.’
‘And he looks exactly the same?’
‘I’m telling you. It is him, just – just not him.’
‘Hmm. Most unhelpful, Ms Borges,’ said Waris, frowning. This was not looking good. Laila was the best in her area of expertise, which was all about hacking and obtaining information from any computer system in the world, as well as working in the field as tech support and background operator. She wasn’t an authority on behavioural sciences or psychology.
Then again, she was a valued NTRO analyst, which meant that she would surely have had some training in the area.
‘I’ll try and be more coherent in my analysis next time, sir.’
‘Good. You have time, we aren’t after Bradley yet. Now, have any of you found out where we can ambush our dear Wajid Mir?’
It had taken them hardly any time to pinpoint Wajid Mir, thanks to the software Ray had installed in Qandahari’s system, almost as an afterthought. They hadn’t expected much from it initially, as they knew the LeT’s highest echelons would never commit to digital memory any information that might be compromised by hackers. So it was mostly about the kind of emails Qandahari received – which couldn’t possibly amount to much since all major decisions were handled by his master Umavi – and the browsing history on Qandahari’s system, which might give them a vague idea of what was on his mind. They knew he would be cautious enough to not save his passwords anywhere on his system in a way that they could be found, but as long as his entire flow of data, both via download and upload, was being monitored, there was a distinct possibility that he would use his passwords at some time, which would immediately give them access as well. The only glitch in this plan would occur if Qandahari changed his passwords frequently, and Laila had assured them he would, given his tech-savvy nature and the paranoia of his organization.
All of this meant that the A-Team, as they had come to call themselves jokingly, had access to information which might or might not prove to be useful. As far as their mission was concerned, the entire setup on Qandahari’s system would become irrelevant once they had disposed of Umavi but, as Ray said, ‘You never know when you might need to tap into it again.’
It was Ray who had begun to refer to them as the A-Team: A for Ali Waris. Initially, as was the case with anything he said that didn’t have to do with his work, he wasn’t taken seriously at all.
‘A-Team? Really?’ was Kang’s incredulous reaction.
‘Just because Ali Waris sir bears some faint resemblance to Liam Neeson, we do not become A-Team,’ said Laila. ‘Maybe get Bradley Cooper to join us too?’
‘Why, Laila!’ said Vikrant, smiling teasingly at her. ‘I had no idea you were such a diehard Hollywood fan!’
‘Why Hollywood?’ asked Ray. ‘Actually, when I named it A-Team, I wanted to make a mathematical equation of A+RB2+VK. A for Ali, RB2 for Ray, Borges and Brijesh and VK …’
But he never got to complete the equation.
‘Oh, shut up!’ snapped Brijesh. ‘Come on, you guys, don’t get him started or he’ll bore us to bits!’
Ray looked indignant. ‘Hey, I never bore—’
‘No, no, of course not,’ said Vikrant soothingly.
‘You’re a storehouse of interesting titbits, man!’ Kang chipped in.
‘Hmph. Well, you guys should know. This is retribution! We are on a mission of vengeance, to right the wrong done to our country—’
‘Our mission is not one of vengeance, Ray.’
Ray swivelled around to see their leader standing at the door.
The army man looked at his team, sitting in a semi-circle: Kang with a newspaper in his hand, Brijesh upright in his chair, Ray and Laila with their laptops on their knees and Vikrant lounging on a sofa, balancing his karambit knife on the tip of his finger. They all snapped to attention when they saw Waris.
‘We are seeking vengeance, yes. We are punishing those who have committed crimes against us. But our mission is not just to get revenge. Fundamentally, our mission is one of justice. To bring justice to those who have been wronged.’
>
He looked at each of them in turn, frowning fiercely. Ray opened his mouth, clearly about to apologize, when the frown suddenly disappeared and a twinkle appeared in Waris’s eyes.
‘Then again,’ he smiled, ‘the A-Team seems to be quite an apt name. We are alpha in every sense of the word.’
Going by the content of the emails Qandahari was exchanging with others in the LeT, it was clear that his master’s death had caused quite a flurry. But none of the communiqués suggested that any suspicion had been aroused within the LeT’s ranks. This impression was aided by the testimonial of Umavi’s doctor. He had confirmed to the LeT that it was impossible to have known of Umavi’s allergy for hazelnuts beforehand, but that it wasn’t an uncommon allergy, and the autopsy report of Umavi’s death was conclusive – Umavi had died of a severe allergic reaction and not as a result of an assassination.
Under Waris’s direction, Ray had sent one final email to Qandahari after Umavi’s death had hit the news. Ansar-ul-Ikhwan-ul-Muslimeen had forwarded its condolences to Qandahari and the Lashkar-e-Toiba, and said that Umavi’s death had made them cautious; they were withdrawing their donation for the moment. Once the leadership of the organization had been decided and settled upon, Qandahari could contact them once again.
Qandahari’s reply held a frantic plea for the Ansar-ul-Ikhwan-ul-Muslimeen to reconsider, but it elicited no response. For now, the A-Team had closed off that avenue, and without raising any suspicions.
Meanwhile, the LeT’s loss had precipitated a chain reaction among the leaders of Lashkar. The death of one of their top comrades, even if accidental, had left them in a precarious state. Once Qandahari had briefed them on the Ansar-ul-Ikhwan-ul-Muslimeen donation, they realized that a replacement had to be found immediately. Unfortunately, at the time, Lashkar’s top brass was scattered across the globe. Flying in for a meeting to Pakistan was out of the question, as almost every security agency in the world, from the CIA to the Mossad, kept a close eye on the comings and goings in Pakistan. Therefore the meeting had to be somewhere outside.
This was all that Laila had been able to glean from monitoring Qandahari’s system.
It was frustrating for everyone. They knew that one or more of their targets would soon be meeting in one place, and it could provide them with the perfect opportunity to set up an ambush. Moreover, it was a safe bet that this would be the only time that the Lashkar leaders would be out in the open, stripped of the invulnerability of their base in Pakistan.
But Waris knew better than to yell and rant at his team. They were giving their best, and it would be foolish and probably even detrimental to their morale, if he vented his frustration on them. So he let them be, each working their own angles to try and find a way in. But nearly two weeks went by, and the opportunity eluded them. The pressure was getting to the team, tempers were becoming frayed, and their training was the only thing that kept arguments from breaking out and cracking their confidence.
The breakthrough came early in the morning on the seventeenth day after the Ansar-ul-Ikhwan-ul-Muslimeen had cut off contact with Qandahari. Laila had finished her night shift, sifting constantly through reams of data coming in on Qandahari’s system. She had been trying all night to replicate Ray’s programme and place it covertly in one of Lashkar’s internal servers by using Qandahari’s access, but had found no success so far. Vikrant saw her out to the front door, watching her retreating figure appreciatively and marvelling at the near perfect curves. Then, with a sigh, he went back to his station for the transition watch before Ray took over.
In less than two minutes, he found the opportunity.
It was an email from Ateeq, private aide to Wajid Mir, to Qandahari. The subject line was in Urdu, and it said, ‘Seratul Mustaqeem’. The righteous path of jihad.
Had it been Laila or Ray, they would have dismissed the email as mere promotional material for jihad and what they called the ‘insane ramblings of mad preachers’. But Vikrant was fluent in Urdu and interested in Islam. He was one of those who held the view that Islam in its true form was a peaceful religion, and peace was what the Quran actually taught. Because of this, he was always interested in the points of view of radicals and extremists, and would read through their preaching when he found the time. Right now, he had nothing but time on his hands.
The first part of the email was standard stuff, containing a discourse on how infidels were always mistreating Islam and that they should be killed and made to burn in hell. It was clearly Ateeq’s private, personal viewpoint, which he was sharing with Qandahari. But at the end of the email, there were a few lines that nearly stopped Vikrant’s breath for a second.
‘WM majlis daurane Mushrekeen – muqaabla Sitambar mein, zaroori intezaamaat farahaam karein (During the encounter between Christian forces in September, make necessary arrangements for the WM summit).’
Decoded the sentence read: ‘Wajid Mir to hold a meeting during Australia-England match in September, make necessary preparations.’
Vikrant rushed to inform Waris, whom he found at his computer, writing an email to his daughter.
‘Sir, it’s 3 a.m.!’ said Vikrant.
Waris turned to look at him. ‘After my wife’s death, Vibha is all I have,’ he said. ‘And she expects me to be in constant touch with her. I realized I had not written to her for a long time. But tell me why you thought it was necessary to come knocking at my door now. What is it that cannot wait till morning?’
‘Sir, I think Wajid will be in England in September!’
Waris sat up straight. ‘How the hell are you so sure?’
Vikrant explained about the chance email and Wajid’s planned meeting during the Australia-England match; the next such match would be the ODI at Edgbaston on 11 September.
‘Wajid thinks it was a clever decision to choose such a place to meet,where none of our leaders will be spotted among so many others like us; Edgbaston is a small town with a huge Asian immigrant population. It also has the second biggest stadium after Lords.’
As Vikrant concluded, Waris became pensive.
‘What is it, sir?’ Vikrant asked
‘How will you spot Wajid in a crowd of 25,000 people and kill him without getting caught?’ asked Ali Waris, abandoning his half-written email. ’Call for everyone to assemble.’
10
‘It’s got to be the match, I’m telling you!’ said Brijesh, thumping his fist on the table emphatically.
‘I agree,’ said Vikrant, steadying the swaying table. ‘It would seem like the perfect cover for them.’
‘But it’s completely out in the open!’ cried Ray. ‘From what we know of these men, they would never expose themselves to such a situation, especially one that poses such a huge security risk!’
‘I understand what you’re saying, Ray. But Brijesh sir and I have met these men. We’ve formed a good idea of what they’re like. And I’m telling you, they would want to be in a crowd where it’ll be impossible to spot them. That would give them far more security than several bodyguards standing outside hotel rooms, believe me.’
Laila was frowning at her laptop screen. ‘You might be wrong, Vikrant,’ she said.
The 42-inch plasma screen on the wall came to life as it interfaced with Laila’s computer. Wajid Mir’s face flashed on the screen on the left, while his profile and several details and personal habits scrolled upwards to the right.
‘Look at his profile. He has never come out in the open. He has not been outside Pakistan for God knows how long, so he won’t be comfortable wherever he goes. The more exposed he is, the less secure he’s bound to feel. Inside a cricket ground, he will be completely out in the open. It goes against his profile, he won’t take that risk.’
Vikrant was silent as he considered the information on the screen. Laila continued, ‘Also, think of the logistics. This is an Australia-England match, which means there will be close to 25,000 people at the ground, and that means there will be a huge security cordon there. These guys won’t be able t
o simply walk to a deserted area for a meeting, they’ll be spotted immediately.’
Brijesh shook his head. ‘Laila, do us a favour and get your head out of your ass. You’re forgetting Vikrant and I have met these people. Nothing, and I mean nothing, can match first-hand experience, certainly not your fancy gadgets and technology. I don’t care what your profiler says, they’re going to meet at the match.’
Laila stared at him for a long second, then inclined her head, her face inscrutable.
At that moment, the door opened and Kang and Waris walked in. They were both sweating, but looked refreshed and cheerful.
‘How was the exercise, sir?’ asked Vikrant.
Waris grunted as he sat down. ‘I’m an old man now, Vikrant,’ he said ruefully. ‘But it helps me stay young and fit.’
‘Wrestling with Kang will certainly keep you fit, sir,’ said Ray, still a little awed at their leader’s physical prowess.
The scientist had initially scoffed when he’d found out that Waris had decided to wrestle with Kang every other day.
‘Come on, he’s an old man now! And look at Kang here. He looks like he can take over from where Schwarzenegger left off! I bet you a hundred bucks Kang throws him in twenty seconds.’
‘You’re on, mister!’ Vikrant had said, his eyes gleaming mischievously. ‘Laila, are you in?’
‘You mean, am I excited that you barbarians are betting on pitting your testosterone against each other?’ she had offered, then sighed. ‘Fine. I bet against Ray.’
Brijesh had also bet on Waris.
Kang, who had been listening intently, leaned forward and said, ‘Count me in too.’
‘Wait a minute!’ Ray protested. ‘How can he—’
‘Sure, Kang. What’ll it be?’ Vikrant said, shushing Ray with a look.
‘I’m betting against me. The chief is in quite good shape.’
‘You mean you won’t be able to take him down in twenty seconds?’ Ray asked disbelievingly.
‘I don’t know. We’ll see.’
Mumbai Avengers Page 9