The Jihadi warrior had directed the 26/11 attack from the control room and issued instructions to the attackers, giving them step-by-step directions. He had asked his men to destroy the plasma televisions and computers in the Taj Mahal Hotel, and to shoot the Jewish couple in the Chabad house, giving precise instructions all the time. He’d also asked his men to tie the Improvised Explosive Devices (IED) to the bodies of the dead Jews. This sadistic planner of the 26/11 attacks who had thought of the most nefarious ways in which to target Indians, was now unable to think, leave alone stand, straight.
Brijesh closed the door to the cubicle and walked out of the loo. The guard was standing in the corner, puffing on a cigarette and watching the match. He didn’t notice a smiling Brijesh slipping past him.
Brijesh tried to speak into the earphone but realized that in the struggle with Mir, it must have got damaged; Vikrant could not hear him. It was vital that he inform Vikrant and Kang that the deed was done, before Mir’s dead body was discovered and a manhunt was launched in the stadium. As temporary staff, Vikrant and Brijesh would be among the first suspects.
Desperate moments call for desperate measures. Brijesh pulled out his cellphone and made to dial Vikrant’s number, waiting till the crowd had something to cheer for. A call for a Mexican Wave was enough to keep the dwindling crowd entertained.
When Vikrant answered, all he could hear was the sound of breathing, no words.
Brijesh was thinking ahead to what was next for the team. First off, the SIM cards had to be destroyed, after a couple of red herring calls to Israel. The second thing to do was to get the hell out of Edgbaston, to get to Birmingham’s international airport and fly back to Mumbai via Dubai. It seemed simple enough. As long as no one did anything stupid.
13
Meanwhile, on the other side of the world, Nawaz Sharif had been in power for nearly three months and well entrenched in Pakistani politics. His resounding victory was bad news for the ISI and army, because the latter had been responsible for overthrowing him in 1999 and the former had done nothing to stop the coup. Sharif took his oath on 5 June 2013 and made two major announcements: a move towards improving ties with India and the prosecution of former president General Pervez Musharraf.
While his intentions against a former army chief caused anxiety in army quarters, the intended friendship caused a major setback for the ISI’s director, Zaheerul Islam, and made Arif Afridi sick to the pit of his stomach. Not that it would necessarily make things any more difficult for cross-border action; it was the idea of the head of state wanting to make friends with the enemy that was nauseating.
Soon after assuming office, Sharif held a meeting with the army top brass and the senior-most ISI hawks. The army and intelligence bigwigs had already strategized before the meeting and had decided to keep the brief simple for the PM: you focus on politics and we concentrate on our powerplays.
After that fairly simple bureaucratic procedure, Afridi went back to his plans. He was scheduled to meet Major John Hu Wang in Singapore. They had decided that they would always meet at neutral locations to avoid any suspicion, and if at all they had to meet in their respective countries, they became part of the visiting diplomatic delegations. During a warm and friendly chat, Wang and Afridi agreed to send more men into India for reconnaissance purposes. While Wang wanted to use the borders of Ladakh, Afridi suggested that they enter through the northeastern borders of Nepal or through 24 Parganas in West Bengal. It was a well chalked-out plan which optimized their chances of catching India off-guard.
Afridi was very pleased with the result of the meeting as he arrived at Changi International Airport. His dream of hitting back at India and causing it to implode from within seemed to be coming to fruition one piece at a time. Pakistan would go on to dominate India, he had long convinced himself. India would be chastened for splitting Pakistan into two and the world powers would prevail upon India to return Kashmir. Old mistakes could be rectified.
His thoughts were interrupted rudely by the vibration of his cell phone on the car’s dashboard. He looked at the phone and saw that the number began with ‘+44’.
He answered the phone curtly, ‘Yes.’
But the caller surprised him. ‘Sir, Wajid Mir was found dead in the stadium toilet. Preliminary reports have ruled out foul play and suggested he had a heart attack.’ Afridi could not believe that a man with Wajid’s fitness levels could die of a heart attack. Where had his guards been? Hadn’t someone tried to resuscitate him? Why had he not been rushed to the hospital?
‘Sir, he was declared dead on arrival.’
Afridi was fuming. This clearly carried the stench of an Indian conspiracy. He refused to believe that it was a natural or coincidental death. Wajid Mir had been killed. Cleverly, but killed nonetheless. Just how had they caused the heart attack? Had his food or drink been spiked? Had they used some sort of tazer? How were these Indians managing to eliminate important assets? First Umavi, now Mir.
Afridi reached his headquarters and immediately sought a meeting with the director.
Once inside the cabin, he began at once. ‘Sir, they’ve bumped off Wajid Mir.’
Zaheer was one of the shrewdest of chiefs the ISI had. The man had no personal life, no children, no vices and no political affiliations. Despite his unflinching and uncompromising dedication to his work, he was pragmatic in his approach to the future annihilation of India.
Zaheer removed his glasses, leaned back in his leather chair and looked at Afridi.
‘Arif, we are not the official protectors of these people. They don’t consult us before flying off to such places. We are not even given enough time to conduct a recce and find out if it’s safe to travel.’
‘Sir, we should not allow any of them to leave the country without our clearance.’
‘I’ll ensure the message reaches their handlers.’ Zaheer seemed to be relieved that Afridi had backed down. After all, how many of these people could the ISI babysit? There was also the question of plausible deniability. How would the ISI continue to play its favourite card if they had their fingers in so many pies?
As Afridi pushed his chair aside and rose to take his leave, he said to Zaheer, ‘There is one more thing … I need your approval to launch an offensive against the Indians. We need to go after them before they inflict any more damage. Arif, I thought you had some big operations coming up in Kashmir and Assam.’
‘Sir, those are already in the works and they will keep progressing while I focus on this investigation.’
‘Arif, I think your expertise is needed in Kashmir, this can be handled by any army Major.’
‘Sir, with due respect, no one can do this with as much precision and focus as I can. I have an added motivation to succeed,’ Afridi said, his voice cold.
‘Careful, Arif. Your emotions could blind you someday,’ warned Zaheer. There was no reasoning with a man so emotionally invested in something. ‘Let me think about it. Give me the report on Kashmir and Assam and I’ll see what I can do. For now, this meeting is over.’
Zaheer opened a file. Afridi saluted, turned and stormed out of the office. The director had asked him to make a report, but he’d said nothing about not probing the deaths and establishing the Indian hand in the killings. He could easily do both. As he walked down the corridor away from the director’s office, he reached for his cell phone again and called one of his many go-to guys in the UK.
‘The bodyguard. Has he been debriefed?’ As it turned out, the bodyguard had been having a smoke and watching the match, until a patron who had entered the toilet rushed out in a panic.
‘That incompetent oaf,’ snarled Afridi. ‘Get me CCTV footage of that toilet from the moment Wajid entered, right to the point when he was carried out.’ He hung up.
14
Aberdeen Street, Hong Kong
The stench of alcohol filled the room where a hazy cloud of smoke swirled, but none of that bothered the half-American-half-Australian Jacob Aiden, as he read through the
ten-page document. By now, he was used to the cramped room and besides, it was a small price to pay for his ‘offences’. According to him, and a growing support base across the world, he was no villain; he was a revolutionary. He was responsible for a new awakening in the world. There were people who cursed him and people who thanked him and protested for his freedom. Jacob Aiden, once stereotypical teen hacker, had grown into a full-blown pain in the ass for governments worldwide.
He had started an explosive website, www.stoolpigeon.com in 2008, but the government paid no heed to it and considered it to be just another bombastic attempt by yet another hacker. But the tables had turned, and how. A year ago, Aiden had played whistleblower as he always did, with his tiny team of six – with one difference. This time, it was big. Aiden revealed, through documents he had obtained ‘anonymously’, that a Chinese spy of the MSS had been shot dead by a CIA agent whilst on an operation. The spy had been off the radar and the MSS (Ministry of State Security) had had no idea as to where he was, until the documents exposing the great American cover-up popped up randomly one evening on the whistleblower’s site.
There was a huge media frenzy, which led to Jacob Aiden escaping America and seeking asylum in China. The MSS then set him up in Hong Kong, in a safe house at Taishan, a coastal city in the Southern Guangdong province. Plots to assassinate the forty-two-year-old whistleblower had been hatched by various governments ever since. But nobody knew his exact location, save for the top officials of the MSS.
Aiden got up from his couch and opened the window, letting the stale smell out. He ran his fingers through his long peroxide blond hair and scratched his three-day-old stubble. He hadn’t bathed for a couple of days and his body odour had begun to irritate him. He squinted at the documents in his hand and re-read them. Then turned and picked up the phone, which lay next to an unfinished bowl of pork noodles. He looked at the phone for a while. How do I play this? This is a potential gold mine. He dialled a number he had memorized. It rang for a while before it was answered.
‘Squealer here,’ Aiden said. ‘Are we secure?’
‘What the fuck, man. It’s three in the morning!’
‘This is important stuff, Nianzu. It can’t wait.’
‘Well, what is it about?’
‘A document I printed out, from an anonymous Star-Spangled source in the agency.’
‘I’ll see you in the morning. At eight. The usual place.’
Aiden placed the phone back on the receiver. He walked hurriedly to the bathroom, stripped, stood under the shower and turned it on. The warm water fell on him softly. He closed his eyes. This is my chance to get back at America. This is truly unbelievable. The hypocrisy of that country is unbelievable. This time it will be different. This time I won’t expose them publicly.
He stepped out of the shower, dripping. He ran his hand through his thin blond hair and moved it away from his face. Looking in the mirror, he shrugged and decided against shaving off his beard.
He dried himself, pulled out a pair of boxer shorts from his drawer and put them on. Then he pulled out a pair of rugged jeans and a plain black Armani T-shirt. He put them on, then pulled out an Armani jacket, dropping it on the couch. He opened the small refrigerator, took a can of beer and sat on the edge of the bed with the document again.
He had to understand the repercussions of this fully. There were two distinct choices in dealing with the piece of information he had in his hands. Some righteous CIA agent had silently leaked it to his partner, Rob Jackson, who was naturally startled by the singular piece of information the document conveyed. If it had contained any other kind of information, Rob would have probably uploaded it on their website. But he was wary of its volatile nature. He had to clear it with Aiden before uploading it. This little bit of intelligence could tear down the relations between the United States and rest of the world.
Aiden’s first choice was to leak the information on his website, like he had done on numerous occasions, and then sit back with a bowl of popcorn and watch the world crumble. The second was one he had never tried before. He would send the document to none other than the government of the country that the United States was fucking over. What they did with it was their choice.
The Forest Bird Café, Hong Kong
8 a.m.
Jacob Aiden sat at his little table within the cosy confines of the Forest Bird Café. He had ordered himself a strong espresso. It was now two minutes past eight. His friend from the MSS and ‘baby-sitter’ Nianzu Cheng hadn’t arrived yet. Over the past year, Aiden and Cheng had grown pretty close. Cheng admired Aiden’s work, but he had been told to keep a strict watch over him and not let him rock the boat too much.
There was an agreement between the MSS and Aiden, that he would have to pass along any document that he wished to upload. In return, they would give him refuge in Hong Kong and deny his existence in the country. Besides, since Hong Kong itself wasn’t under the jurisdiction of China, they would be able to control him more easily. Aiden willingly complied, and he hadn’t leaked any documents in a while. But today, he was about to break the jinx, he thought, as he watched Nianzu Chen open the café’s glass door and walk in briskly.
‘You’re late, Nianzu.’
‘I hadn’t heard from you in a while, Aiden. I liked those days.’
‘I got this document from Rob last evening.’Aiden handed it over to Nianzu.
Nianzu looked at it, leaned back in his chair and read it quietly, taking the time to let each word register. He mouthed the words softly to himself, reading every sentence twice. With every word he read, Aiden’s heart raced faster. Nianzu folded the document and handed it back to Aiden silently.
After a few seconds, he summed it up with one word: ‘Bastards!’
‘Exactly,’ Aiden said. ‘I’m not going to sit on this document, Nianzu.’
‘How sure are you about this?’
‘A CIA operative sent it to Rob,’ he said. ‘He revealed his identity as well. But that I’m not going to tell you. In fact, Rob hasn’t even told me. He destroyed any evidence of the name after reading it.’
‘So, it’s authentic?’
‘Every bit of it,’ Aiden replied.
‘How do you want to handle it? You know the repercussions, right?’
‘Of course,’ Aiden said. They paused briefly, as the waiter served them coffee. Aiden nodded at him, then continued.
‘I don’t want to put this up in the public domain, though.’
‘What do you want to do then?’
‘I need your help, Nianzu. You know I could leak this to the press. But that’s pretty much the same as putting it up on my website.’
‘So, what is it you want to do?’
‘It’s also risky, you know. If I leak this, it’ll be traced back to me for sure. And that will make them want me dead even more.’
‘Again, so what do you want to do?’
‘Send it to the Indian government,’ Aiden said quietly.
Nianzu closed his eyes and leaned back. It sounded preposterous. But … it would still be less damaging than allowing the information to go public. It might ease relations between India and China. Besides, if we are lucky enough, we can even palm off Aiden to the Indians, in exchange. He’ll be their headache then.
‘I know a man at RAW,’ Nianzu said. ‘But the Indian agency is a joke. They’ll do nothing about it. I’m pretty sure of that. Also, I don’t want to give it away so cheaply.’
‘What do you intend to do?’
Cheng smiled. ‘I intend to trade you to them for the information. India is a nice place to live, Aiden.’
‘You’re a bastard, you know.’
‘I know,’ he said. ‘But I’m saving your ass as well. You’ve been here for over a year. And the last time I checked, the Americans knew you were in Hong Kong.’
Aiden was silent for a while. He knew it was true. If they figured out his exact location in Hong Kong, he would be a sitting duck for the Americans in no time.
/> ‘I think you should try and speak to them first, before jumping to any conclusions.’ Aiden said, handing over a pen drive.
‘There is a folder on this,’ he continued. ‘We can upload it anonymously on a peer-to-peer sharing site. The document is stored along with a decoy, a little known Swedish art film.’
‘Pornography?’
‘Just as a decoy. It’s good to know we share the same taste in art, though.’ They laughed softly.
‘All you have to do, Nianzu, is give me the permission to upload this file. And then tip off the Indian agencies. What they do with it is where the fun lies.’
Nianzu handed the pen drive back to Aiden.
‘I’ll let you know when you can upload it.’
A-Team Base, New Delhi
So far, it had been just another day in the tech chamber for Ray. He scratched his curly hair as he sat, downing yet another cup of coffee. He was reviewing the modus operandi of the team’s future executions. So far, so good. What worried him was the way they planned to take Bradley out. It would be getting into a highly secure Chicago cell which was no joke, even if the assassins were of the calibre of Brijesh and Vikrant.
It was nearing two in the afternoon and Ray hadn’t had his lunch yet. He looked at the numerous computer screens and switched off the one right in front of him. He then slid his chair closer to the one on the left. The screen flashed the notification of an email and his eyes narrowed in curiosity. This system was meant only for very important messages. It was also the system that had a highly secure connection and sent and received encrypted messages from various intelligence agencies around the world. Ray clicked on the email.
‘We have something that might interest you, and of course benefit you. We have the actual location of DB. Reply with a “yes” if you’re interested. I’ll give you 12 hours – a friend from the MSS.’
Mumbai Avengers Page 12