He looked around and saw six men in army fatigues with Heckler and Koch MP5 submachine guns. They all looked alert and capable of causing real damage. Waris estimated that several hours must have passed since he was tied up. These men had only arrived a couple of hours ago, which probably meant that it was time to either cut him down for interrogation or shift him somewhere else. But where were the others? Had they already been killed? Or were they also strung up like a Bombay Duck left out to dry? And what fate had befallen Laila and Ray? They were not field agents and did not have the training for this sort of thing. Or maybe, Waris thought to himself, he was being overly pessimistic. What if his team had actually managed to escape and was on its way to free him? The door would fly open any minute and he would see Brijesh’s familiar face.
Almost immediately, the door did indeed fly open – but the man who entered was not Brijesh. However, he did look awfully familiar. He was dressed in army uniform, but bore an unsettling resemblance to someone Waris knew. Someone Waris had seen and spoken to very recently. Then it struck him that the man standing in front of him was none other than their travelling companion and newfound friend.
He walked up to Waris, looked into his eyes and said, ‘Such a shame that a Muslim would perpetrate such senseless violence against his Muslim brethren.’
‘And you! Masquerading as a Muslim and violating every precept of Islam!’
‘What the fuck do you know about Islam?’
‘The list of your inhuman and un-Islamic acts is too long. And you cannot expect to have this conversation with me when I am hanging from the roof, Chandu,’ said Waris, emphasizing the name.
Afridi looked at his men and barked an order. ‘Untie his hands and give him a chair, but keep his legs tied.’
Then he turned towards Waris and said, ‘My name is Arif Afridi, not Chandu.’
Brijesh, Vikrant, Kang, Ray and Laila were tied to a steel handrail that ran along the wall of what looked like the inside of a warehouse. There were bloodstains on the wall and suffocating stench of urine hung in the air. The place seemed to have witnessed many painful deaths.
‘Sir, I did not even say goodbye to my wife in Kolkata. I didn’t write an email to my son in the States before coming here. Now I’ll die in this rotten place and they won’t even know where I am,’ Ray said despairingly.
‘As I see it, there is one main door and there is a back door. Most of their personnel are deployed towards the front, with only two men at the smaller exit. If we put up a fight now and engage them in such a way that we keep them from coming towards the back door, we can make a getaway,’ Vikrant said in a whisper to Kang.
‘I can buy you guys some time to exit,’ Kang said, tugging at the ropes that bound his wrists to see if he could break them.
‘It would be wonderful if you could buy us some time,’ said Vikrant wryly. ‘And what will you do if they open fire?’
‘They didn’t take away my vest. It can take some hits,’ Kang said.
‘I have my karambit knife in the heel of my left shoe. Wait for my signal, then make a move for it,’ Vikrant said.
‘As I suspected, these ropes aren’t very strong. I’ll be able to break them in no time,’ Kang said confidently.
Waris was cuffed and tied to the chair.
‘I understand you are an army man with a track record of malicious and hostile overtures towards Pakistan,’ Afridi said, as he took a seat in front of Waris.
‘I am a proud soldier of the Indian army and would like to die with my boots on,’ Waris said, looking straight into Afridi’s eyes.
‘No one needs to die here. I can get you amnesty if you are willing to use your strategic and defence knowledge to help your Muslim brothers,’ Afridi said, with an encouraging smile.
The two men looked at each other for a long moment, wordlessly.
To onlookers, it might have seemed as though Waris was contemplating taking up Afridi’s offer. But only Afridi could see the raging fire in Waris’s eyes. The lines across his brow were only deepening.
Then Waris spoke, in a calm voice that belied the anger in his eyes.
‘Even if you were to cut me into pieces and burn those pieces and then bring me back to life and repeat the whole process for all eternity, I would still not betray my country, Chandu.’
Afridi smiled sardonically.
‘Pride comes before a fall, my friend. This is the land of Islam. And anyway, what kind of Muslim are you? You betray your religion for your country!’ Afridi tried another tactic.
‘No true Muslim would wish ill on India,’ Waris said matter-of-factly.
‘What kind of fucking logic is that? Is it in the Quran or hadith?’
‘It’s in the conduct of Imam Husain, the grandson of the Holy Prophet. You need to catch up on your reading, Afridi. When he was besieged by the Muslim army, he said, “Let me go to India, a Hindu country, when not a single Muslim lived here”. This is the country to which Imam Husain preferred to migrate, giving it preference over the whole glut of Islamic states in that era,’ Waris explained.
Afridi was speechless.
‘Either you should come out and say Imam Husain was mistaken. Or say that his conduct is worth emulating for all the Muslims of the world. Respect the country where even the family of the Holy Prophet wanted to settle down, leaving their homeland,’ Waris continued.
‘Stop this nonsense, Waris,’ Afridi barked.
‘Lt Gen. Sayed Ali Waris,’ his prisoner corrected him.
The blinding brightness of flashlights in their faces briefly disoriented the team. A senior army man walked up to them and then turned towards his entourage to say, ‘Listen up, I want you to take good care of them.’
‘Janaab, I will take such good care of them that I will make surma of their bones and use it to line my eyes,’ said an officer.
‘No, Major, don’t be impatient. Wait until tomorrow’s press conference is over. These guys have caused enough damage to us by parading one young boy in front of the world – a boy who was common riff-raff. His exhibition caused a major embarrassment to Pakistan in front of the US and other countries. Now the shoe is on the other foot,’ said a senior officer with the name ‘Ayaz Ahsan’ embossed on his name tag.
‘They captured one boy. We have an entire army unit. Shouldn’t we expose India’s heinous designs? This is exactly what the world needs to know to destroy the illusion of Indians being peace-loving people. We will finally expose them for the bloodthirsty and murderous animals that they are,’ he continued authoritatively.
The thought of the impending press conference and the international embarrassment for their country as a result of a mission that was not even officially sanctioned unsettled the whole team.
‘Ji janaab,’ the major said.
‘For now, give them some food and water, but not all at once. One by one, so that they do not try and act smart,’ the leader said.
‘Janaab, are you sure about the food and water? I wanted to starve them for some time and you are being so generous to them,’ the major said.
‘I want them to look well fed and robust. I don’t want them to look pitiable. The media should not accuse us of bringing out some tired old captives,’ the senior man said.
‘You know, we plan to showcase you to the world. Half-a-dozen of you mercenaries from the Indian army were sent here, to Pakistan, to spread terror and your group included serving army men of the ranks of lieutenant general and major. You have not brought glory to your country, but eternal disgrace and condemnation, and the world will pick you apart, piece by piece,’ laughed Afridi.
The laugh sent shivers down Waris’s spine. He was numb with premonition. The team had always thought of death as failure. They had never anticipated arrest and subsequent embarrassment. He had to find a way out of this. He simply could not let his country be shamed this way.
We all are serving army men, it would take a real moron to think the Indian top brass had not sanctioned this mission, he thought. He had to think of somethi
ng immediately to keep the ISI from claiming another victory.
‘Where are the others? Are they alive?’ Waris asked calmly.
‘They are quite well and being treated like royalty. After all, we cannot afford to hurt these special guests of ours until we make them international heroes on prime-time television. They are very much here, you will be reunited tomorrow before the press conference,’ said Afridi, enjoying every second.
It dawned upon Waris that the team was better off dead than alive. If they were killed in such a way that their bodies could not be recognized, the ISI would have no evidence to back their claims. This would also give India some much needed reprieve.
To be killed in a manner that involved mutilation, he would have to provoke Afridi.
‘I know that by now you are probably remorseful about this mission and are deeply worried as you foresee the reputation of your country in tatters. You see, I am feeling bad too. I hate the idea of not being able to show mercy to my Muslim brother,’ Afridi said, breaking the silence and disrupting Waris’s chain of thoughts.
His Muslim brother had something altogether different on his mind.
Food and water were wheeled in on a cart. Surprisingly, the captors were quite hospitable. The cart held several bowls of meaty biryani made of basmati rice, platters of tender and succulent kebabs and a mound of Karachi sheermal, that delicious paratha served only at gatherings of the most affluent. The meal seemed to be a far grander affair than any of them could have predicted.
‘Pakistani hospitality is known across the world,’ the army officer said, with a smile. ‘Who wants to eat first? Only one person will be untied at a time,’ he added.
Vikrant made eye contact with Kang and whispered, ‘Are you ready? We have to act at once.’
Kang nodded and began pulling at the ropes. They were stronger than he had anticipated. For a moment, panic began to set in. If Vikrant were to give the signal and Kang failed to respond, everyone’s lives would be in danger. Significantly more danger, that is. He summoned all his strength and began struggling again.
Vikrant noticed Kang’s swollen tendons and strained expression even though he was trying his best to disguise the effort, for fear of alerting the enemy. The soldiers unfastened Ray’s hands. Unaware of Vikrant and Kang’s plans, Ray began walking towards the food cart.
Folded and concealed in his shoe heel, Vikrant’s karambit knife was meant for such just an emergency. He managed to flip it open and began cutting Kang’s ropes. Just then, Kang’s immense reserves of strength managed to make a breakthrough and the ropes began giving way.
Ray was hungry and had settled down to his meal, when he was startled by a loud war cry that emanated from behind him. He turned around in time to see Kang lifting a soldier above his head and throwing him against a wall like a gunny bag.
‘Waheguru da khalsa Waheguru di fateh!’ he shouted.
Vikrant had cut his own ropes and jumped on a couple of soldiers in front of him.
The captors were taken by surprise as Kang began crushing and pummelling them while Vikrant used his knife to slit their throats. To make things simpler, he eventually put away his knife and picked up a machine gun dropped by one of his victims.
‘Kang! Go to Brijesh and Laila, I’ll cover you,’ Vikrant said, as he unleashed a burst of fire from his MP5 machine gun.
For a man of Kang’s size, he moved with amazing agility – he rushed over and freed Brijesh and Laila.
The Indian quintet had now ducked behind a heap of debris and were exchanging fire with the soldiers on the other side.
‘Chandu, you should be more concerned about your country being a failed state, rather than devoting so much energy to India. After Afghanistan, Pakistan will be the new terror state,’ Waris taunted Afridi. ‘Filled with terrorists in Pathani suits with flowing beards and many in army uniforms.’
‘Shut up! It is the Indian army that terrorizes the weak and helpless Kashmiris,’ Afridi said, bristling.
‘The Indian army’s record is not as bad as Pakistan’s excesses in Waziristan and FATA. The Indian army does not organize training camps for terrorists and arrange to have them sent across the border,’ Waris said.
‘And how do you justify your team’s antics? Going across the world to kill people,’ said Afridi bitterly.
‘Not people, we have only killed terrorists. If we were so indiscriminate, we could have planted bombs across Pakistan and killed hundreds and maimed thousands. Our actions stem from your country’s inaction,’ Waris said.
Afridi glared at Waris, as the fury in him reached critical mass.
‘Chandu, Pakistan was a cancer. The politicians thought surgical removal would prevent malignancy from spreading across India. You guys begged for a separate nation on the basis of religion. You begged, your forefathers did, your leaders did, and now that cancer has become self-perpetuating,’ Waris explained.
‘Watch your words, you hypocritical Muslim,’ Afridi screamed.
‘Do you know the man who created Pakistan was not even a strict Muslim? He ate pork, drank wine and never observed namaaz in his lifetime. He who tried writing the destiny of millions of Muslims across the border was a member of the Khoja Jamaat from Samuel Street in Mumbai. Why is he Quaid-e-Azam and not a hypocrite?’ Waris retorted.
Afridi pulled out his revolver and made as if to kill Waris, when he heard gunshots at the lower level.
Waris laughed out loud. ‘You cannot finish them off. They will finish you instead.’
Afridi immediately ran out to issue instructions to his men.
Kang, Brijesh and Vikrant were trying to work out their next step. They knew they could not continue to sit there and exchange volley for volley.
‘Kang, all of you move towards the rear. I’ll hold them here,’ Vikrant said.
‘How can you handle them alone?’ Ray asked, worry lining his forehead.
‘Kang is a one-man army. Now move,’ Brijesh said, as he started inching towards the rear.
The first one to move was Kang. He ran towards the huge wooden door and used his boulder-like shoulder to smash it.
Flying bullets grazed Kang, injuring him in the arms and legs, but he kept running, slashing at the oncoming enemy soldiers with his kirpaan.
He spotted an army van in the distance, and turned and began frantically waving at the others. Brijesh sprayed bullets at random in an effort to give Laila and Ray cover, so they could run towards Kang.
That’s when Afridi stepped out into the first-floor corridor and saw them. When Kang noticed the man who had once brutally tortured him, he saw red. ‘You are next, you motherfucker,’ he shouted. Afridi retreated and whipped out his walkie-talkie, issuing a barrage of instructions.
Brijesh was on the move and searching for Waris, while Kang began advancing towards Afridi, focused on the prospect of settling scores with him.
‘Kang, you need to take them to the van and reach the boat. I can trust only you to take them out. Their safe exit from Pakistan is more important than your revenge,’ Brijesh said cripply.
Kang nodded reluctantly and began moving towards the van, with Laila and Ray in his wake.
As he ran up the stairs, Brijesh realized that the firing had become more sporadic. This meant that Vikrant had either killed them all or had been taken out. He ran upstairs with an MP5 gun in hand, firing at whoever crossed his path.
He entered a long corridor with several rooms on either side and realized that checking each room would take forever, and that Afridi would soon call in reinforcements. Time was of the essence.
‘Waris sir!’ he called out loudly, doing away with protocol and the rules of this engagement.
‘I’m in here,’ came the response from down the corridor.
As he charged into the room, Brijesh was met with a volley of bullets. He saw the gunman lurking behind a wall, but turned towards him and went for a headshot. Quickly untying Waris as the gunman’s body hit the ground, Brijesh saw that Waris had lost a lot
of blood.
‘We cannot die here, we cannot die in Pakistan, we should leave …’ Waris was slurring, partly due to the disorienting loss of blood and partly because he was going into shock.
‘I know, sir,’ Brijesh said, as he lifted Waris onto his shoulder and ran towards the ground floor.
‘Chalo chalo, I can see them coming,’ said Kang, as he got the van started.
Brijesh and Waris climbed into the van. At the last moment, Vikrant dashed in too, and the tyres squealed as Kang slammed the accelerator hard.
39
Post Midnight
Khayabane Ittehaad, Karachi
‘Do we know where we’re going?’ asked Vikrant from the backseat, as he mopped beads of sweat from Waris’s brow.
‘Yes,’ replied Laila quickly, as she held on to the dashboard with one hand and tried deciphering an old map she had found in the glove compartment with the other. Kang was never one for cautious driving and his penchant for cutting across lanes and driving off the road served the team well now. Also, at midnight, the roads were considerably emptier than they could have hoped for, which made his dangerous game at the wheel relatively safe.
‘So where are we going?’ asked Vikrant as they bounced around in the speeding van, while Brijesh put pressure on Waris’s wounds.
‘We are going to the harbour, Vikrant,’ Laila snapped. ‘That’s where Sky has told us to – right! You missed the turn, Kang!’
‘Don’t worry,’ he replied. ‘I’ll take the next one.’
Vikrant realized it was probably best not to try Laila’s patience at this point and decided to leave her to her own devices. True to his word, Kang took the next right turn and as luck would have it, the road happened to be a dead-end. Before anyone had a chance to panic, Kang had already begun to swing the van around and bring it back on to the main road.
‘Once you take the turn we were originally supposed to take, you need to keep going straight past three … four … four! You need to go past four traffic lights,’ said Laila, having finally decrypted the old map. Meanwhile, Waris, who was slipping in and out of consciousness, spoke audibly and clearly for the first time in a while. ‘Are we sure we aren’t being followed?’ he asked, his words slow and carefully measured.
Mumbai Avengers Page 30