‘You’ll take heavy fire out there,’ she yelled.
‘There’s no other way,’ he shouted back, beginning to run towards the entrance, holding up his rifle. He saw Kang running on the opposite side, firing at three gunmen. He took cover behind a pillar that was pockmarked by bullets. Then he fired exactly one round to distract them and immediately ran out of ammunition.
This was it. Brijesh had two choices. To escape and let them kill Kang. Or to try and rescue him and get himself killed in the process. He took shelter by lying prone behind a raised flower bed. The three gunmen split up. One of them walked towards Kang, the other two towards Brijesh who looked up and saw the gunmen raising their rifles from a distance of about fifteen feet. Game over.
Suddenly, there was a loud rattle of gunshots. Brijesh thought he had been shot. He looked down at his body, wondering how he could be so numb to the pain. But he was intact; he hadn’t been shot. He looked up and saw the men collapse. Through blurry eyes, he could make out another figure rushing towards them with a rifle. Then he saw the man shoot Kang’s assailant down as well. He raised himself onto his haunches, and tried to regain his senses, staring at the man who had saved him. It was Vikrant.
Vikrant lifted Brijesh off the ground and got him to put his bloody arm around his shoulder for support. Kang pulled his other arm around his neck. They began to run towards the exit, shooting at stragglers as they exited. Waris was waiting outside in the Corolla, Laila beside him.
Brijesh collapsed when they were almost there, but Vikrant dragged him and with all his force hurled him into the car, then jumped in himself. He pulled out the remote control device from Brijesh’s back pocket and set off the bomb, without a pause. The plan was back on track.
The explosion within the premises set the ground rumbling. It was like an earthquake. Kang activated the other remote that would set off the cylinders in the truck, but nothing happened.
‘Something is wrong. The detonation cord must have fallen off,’ Vikrant gasped. ‘Sir, stop the car.’
‘You’ll get yourself killed,’ Waris said, as he began to speed away.
‘No, sir, I’ll manage,’ Vikrant insisted. ‘If they don’t explode, the operation remains incomplete.’ He jumped out of the car with his rifle and ran towards the cylinders. A few of the gunmen were emerging from inside, having survived the blast within the premises. He ran towards them and aimed for the cylinder in the middle. With one clinical shot, he hit it.
The result was deafening. The earth shook with the shockwave and there was a blinding explosion. Vikrant was thrown off his feet and Waris reversed the car wildly to reach him. Vikrant had been completely blinded and couldn’t see from where to get in.
Laila got out of the car and pulled him in. By this point, Brijesh had lost consciousness. Waris hit the accelerator with all his might and fled the scene, leaving the house of terror in ruins.
31
Lahore
The sound of police sirens was audible even after Muridke was at least a kilometre or so behind them. Navigating the narrow roads took time and it seemed that the cellular company had overridden the jamming signal, which had resulted in a distress call being sent out. The JuD HQ would soon be swarming with police and army personnel.
Brijesh was unconscious and Vikrant was still in a daze. Waris drove the Corolla as though his life depended on breaking every high-speed record there was. They had to get out now.
Kang kept a watchful eye on Waris from the passenger’s seat, while Laila kept a close watch on Vikrant and Brijesh, monitoring their condition and looking back from time to time to see if they were being pursued.
‘Will someone please check with Ray?’ asked Waris, his eyes glued to the road.
‘On it,’ said Laila, as she reached for the satellite phone.
‘Ray,’ she said, ‘the coast is ninety-nine per cent clear, but I can’t be hundred per cent sure. We can’t predict what the army and cops are going to do next.’
She listened, then continued, ‘Right, so I need you to tell me the quickest route to the nearest hospital … I know, a local hospital might be a bad idea, but we don’t have time.’
‘Ask him about hospitals in Lahore,’ said Waris, from the driver’s seat.
Laila relayed the message and waited a few seconds for Ray to respond. ‘Jinnah Hospital? How long will that take us? Right … okay, Ray, we’ll be in touch.’
She disconnected the call and leaned forward, resting her hands on the back of Waris’s seat. ‘Jinnah Hospital in Lahore is not the nearest, but it’s our best bet. Also, Ray says that while the Lahore-Islamabad Motorway is the quickest route, the Grand Trunk Road will help us stay better concealed.’
‘Hang on! You want to go to a hospital called Jinnah Hospital and not expect to be caught the second you enter?’ asked Kang incredulously.
‘It’s our best bet,’ she fired back. ‘We can make some excuse and get them the medical attention they need or we can go to some small hospital and watch them bleed to death. Or we could carry some infection back with us and die slowly and painfully.’
‘What a pleasant image,’ said Waris. ‘I agree with Laila.’
‘Thank you, sir.’
‘And that is why you and Kang will take the first flight to Karachi,’ he said with an air of finality.
‘Sir—’ protested Laila.
‘That’s final, Borges,’ said Waris. He used her last name only when he was serious.
She sulked briefly and stared glumly out of the window. ‘Besides,’ said Waris in a gentler voice, ‘I’ll be able to take care of these guys and we need to keep a low profile. I would be much happier if you were in Karachi with Ray. Poor chap, God only knows how many times he must have soiled his trousers with anxiety by now.’ She smiled, placated by this last bit. If the boss was still making jokes, things weren’t all that bad.
Kang cleared his throat and turned to face Waris.
‘If it’s all right with you, sir, having come all this way, I’d like to pay a visit to Nankana Sahib,’ he said. ‘Who knows if I’ll ever get the chance again?’
Waris mulled this over as he drove past an oncoming unit of army vehicles.
‘I see no problem with that. But you will provide regular updates.’
‘No problem.’
‘No problem indeed,’ said Waris thoughtfully, the wrinkles around his eyes seeming to deepen by the minute as he stared out at the road.
For nearly forty minutes, the Corolla bounced along the Grand Trunk Road which, like most highways in the subcontinent, was littered with potholes. Up ahead was the Ravi bridge, their gateway into Lahore.
Brijesh was stirring and Vikrant was slowly getting over his disorientation as they crossed the river and made their way into the heart of Lahore.
‘Look sharp, everyone,’ said Waris. ‘We’ll drop Kang and Laila off at a reasonably inconspicuous area and then make our way to the hospital. Kang, you will drop Laila off to the airport and then go to Nankana Sahib.’
Kang nodded, as Laila protested once more.
‘I’ll be fine, you know.’
‘All right then, for my satisfaction, you protect Kang on the way to the airport. Is that acceptable?’ asked Waris, as Laila crossed her arms and sat back in her seat.
Progress was slow through the city traffic. The eagle-eyed Waris saw an empty side lane and pulled over. Kang hopped out and walked around to the side of the vehicle to have a look at Vikrant and Brijesh. They seemed all right.
‘According to my understanding and Ray’s directions, we aren’t far from the hospital. Check with Ray once you get to the airport, Laila, and once you find a means of transport to take you to Nankana Sahib, Kang,’ said Waris.
Kang and Laila nodded.
‘I’ll check with Ray when we are relatively safe and get updates on the two of you from him. I do not wish for either of you to directly contact me unless it is a life-or-death situation. Is that clear?’
They nodded again and were
soon on their way.
Waris watched them head out on to the main road and hail a taxi. As soon as they got in, he stepped on the accelerator. ‘Now, let’s get you gentleman some medical attention,’ he said. Vikrant blinked, turned his head left and right, and stretched his arms. ‘What’s our plan, sir?’ he asked clearly, sounding quite unlike someone who had just had gas cylinders exploding in his face.
‘The plan is to make sure Brijesh gets stitched up and that you don’t have a concussion or anything. So just sit back and don’t fall asleep,’ said Waris, as he drove towards the hospital.
32
All four walls of the office were covered with various kinds of maps – physical, topographical and thematic. Despite having spent a major part of his life in Islamabad, Afridi was quite familiar with Karachi. However, Lahore and its outskirts were virtually unknown to him. Afridi belonged to the Pashtun tribe but his ancestors had spent considerable time in Lahore. He had never thought that he would one day return to the city, not for nostalgic reasons but for vengeance.
The attack on Muridke, the destruction of Markaz, was to his mind, an insult to Pakistan. The earful that he received from the director had left him seething with fury. The words were still ringing in his ears.
‘For Pakistan, the attack on Muridke is nothing less than the collapse of the World Trade Centre in New York. Those men entered our lair and we were left gawking at them like bloody spectators. Tamasha bana diya hai inhone Pakistani waqar ka,’ Zaheer had screamed at him.
Afridi had immediately flown to Lahore by a special jet. He realized that he could not control the investigation and the chase with a remote. He would have to get down and dirty and work like a field operative.
He had scoured the area to start with. The witnesses had clearly said that there were three Sikh men and one bearded man wearing a polo cap. They also mentioned an extremely good-looking girl; they felt she was possibly an actress or something.
First things first, he had to understand the Lahore landscape. Afridi had asked for maps so that he could examine the possible hideouts of the fugitives. He had to find all the nooks and corners of Lahore and its surrounding villages.
He took turns studying the topographical and thematic maps. There were a large number of Sikhs in Lahore for the Indians to lose themselves amongst. They could also have taken refuge among the tribals and some Hindus sympathetic to India. He knew that the trail of these killers would probably grow cold soon.
And he was just one man. How could he dig them out single-handedly? Lahore is one of the most densely populated cities in the world with a population of nearly a crore. To track down four men and a woman amidst the dense sea of humanity would be like hunting for a black ant on a dark night. But Afridi was determined.
He gathered his team in the office and issued instructions. All cars leaving Lahore should be thoroughly checked. All exit points should be sealed from the Walled City to the outer areas. All groups of Sikhs were to be screened, any anomaly in their documents or failure to explain their presence in the area was to be investigated. All Indian and Pakistani passports were to be examined for their authenticity.
‘In fact, anyone who fails to provide proper identification documents is to be detained and have his or her antecedents verified,’ Afridi said.
‘Set up a control room and keep giving me updates of any suspicious sightings. Ensure that the whole of Lahore is swarming with police, military, para-military and intelligence persons in civil clothes.
‘I want so many of our men on the streets of Lahore that it becomes suffocating for these Indians. No one should dare to give them refuge. I want them arrested in less then twelve hours. They should not be able to leave the city limits.’
After his men had been dismissed, Afridi began pacing up and down. Could the Indians be thinking of going towards the Wagah border? Did it seem sensible for them to imagine an escape plan across into India? What if they left through China? Or Afghanistan? This was a make or break situation. He simply could not afford to lose any more time.
It suddenly occurred to him to speak to his friend Wang. Afridi whipped out his cellphone and started to dial his friend’s number. He waited while the phone started ringing.
33
New Delhi, 13 November,
7.30 a.m.
The shrill ringing of his phone shattered Sky’s sleep. He extended his hand and picked up the cordless phone, hoping it was not a wrong number. He was still groggy and half-asleep when the caller said, ‘Good morning, sir, this is Dixit. Sorry to disturb your sleep. The prime minister has urgently called for a meeting and he wants you to be present.’
Sky was at once alert and awake. The call was not from the home secretary or the home minister. It was directly from the PMO. ‘What shall I tell him, sir?’ Dixit asked. ‘The meeting is at 8 a.m. at the PM’s residence.’
‘I’m on my way,’ Sky said.
He had not been able to sleep the whole night, and had only managed to catch an hour’s nap prior to the call. Since the previous afternoon, he had been fielding calls and talking to ministers, bureaucrats, colleagues, agency chiefs. The whole country had erupted into a tumultous outpouring of opinion. People only wanted to talk about the Muridke operation. The newspapers, the TV channels, Facebook, Twitter, it was all about Muridke.
The only other news which had received more coverage on international news channels recently had been the killing of Osama bin Laden in May 2011. The channels attributed the explosion to anything and everything. From terror groups infighting between Lashkar-e-Toiba and Jaish-e-Mohammad to the Pakistani army’s renegade groups’ initiative, even the possibility of a rebel group of Taliban asserting their supremacy in this manner.
But Pakistani channels were clear that it was a terror attack by Indian agents. The place was known to be a terror training hub, yet the Pakistani news anchors described it as a terror attack on the Jamaat-ud-Daawa office. A cleverly omitted bit was that JuD was an organization banned by the United States and the Pakistani government, and that their accounts were frozen.
The Indian media lionized the attackers. ‘A Rambo-like operation’ was what they were calling it. Soon they started showing graphics and outlining the systematic manner in which the operation had been executed. ‘They only attacked the terror training school and spared the adjoining masjid and hospital’ was the refrain of most of the news readers.
The Indian government, was relieved to know that no direct connections on its part, had been established as yet. Beyond the baseless allegations, the Pakistani media had nothing to substantiate their claims. No one had been detained or arrested.
Although Pakistani channels had begun flashing old sketches of Brijesh and Vikrant in their Muslim avatars of Nasiruddin and Mushfiq Mirza, they could not make any headway. When they claimed that the assailants could be Indians, the TV panelists, the Ministry of Home Affairs representative all clearly denied Indian involvement in the attack.
‘Ours is a democratic nation. We believe in diplomatic channels and do not resort to guerilla tactics. We will not even say that these were non-state actors’ was the sum and substance of most of the statements issued by the government spokesperson.
The Pakistanis were certain that it was the same team that had killed Haaris Saeed and his cronies in an earlier operation. Sky was the only one who knew that it was Waris and his team who had struck again. He was beginning to feel proud of his friend. But he was not happy about this sudden summons for a meeting.
Also, for a meeting at the PM’s residence, this was unusually early.
Just before stepping out, Sky carefully drafted a simple two-line resignation, placed it in an envelope and put it in his shirt pocket. There was a legend in the corridors of power that no one could match the level of Sky’s mental preparation. ‘Only Sky is the limit’ was the joke.
As Sky’s car turned towards 10 Janpath, he saw something that lifted his mood. An old couple were riding by on a scooter, which had a pole attached to
the spare tyre. A banner was attached to the top of the pole with a message saying: ‘May God be with you, Avengers.’
Sky smiled to himself.
Almost immediately after, the car drew to a halt. A motley crowd of some two hundred people carrying placards and boards in their hands were standing outside their destination. Obviously they wanted the prime minister to see them when he came out for a walk or if he was on his way to a meeting.
‘Hail Avengers’, ‘Our salute to you, oh heroes’, ‘India loves Mumbai Avengers’, the placards read.
In the portico he could see several bigwigs’ cars. Stepping into the meeting room, he saw that the defence minister, the home minister, the army and navy chiefs and the heads of IB and NSA were all present.
He was the last one to enter. He spotted a vacant chair and sat down.
The prime minister turned to him and said, ‘We have reasons to believe that these … these Avengers, are your boys and they have your blessings.’
‘Sir, Ali Waris is my friend, I will admit that, but he is a crazy guy. This rag tag team is his. I have no role to play in it. Right from team selection to planning, it is Waris’s brainchild.’
‘This could have serious repercussions. We could face international embarrassment.’
Sky realized this was the moment of truth.
‘I beg to differ. From America to Israel, whoever has punished their enemies on foreign soil has never faced any embarrassment. We should start thinking unconventionally. It’s high time. Even the public has come out in support of them.’
‘I think now that they have served their purpose. We should just liquidate them, it will be for the common good,’ suggested the home secretary.
Sky glared at him. ‘They are not paper napkins that can be used and discarded.’
The IB chief was looking at his phone; he was getting text message alerts. He looked up and said, ‘I have just received reports that people have come out openly in support of these Avengers and victory rallies have been planned in Mumbai, Delhi, Bengaluru, Kolkata, Pune, Nagpur and also other places. They say a huge turnout is expected …’
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