Trader immediately folded his hands. ‘Anna, don’t embarrass me. Consider it done. Tell me what it is.’
Veerappan smiled and patted his shoulder. ‘I want to get some guns. I have one friend in jail and another in town who might be able to help. I think you should meet the man in jail. His name is …’
Before Veerappan could finish, Govindan interrupted. ‘First we should find out what happened to the last consignment, no?’
Trader looked at Veerappan to gauge his reaction. But Veerappan just nodded. ‘Yes, you have a point.’
It was an eye-opener for Trader. He realized that Veerappan had become so dependent on Govindan that it was the younger man who increasingly called the shots. This was what Hidayatullah had also told us in his debriefing. Veerappan explained that he had paid ₹5 lakh to someone as an advance for a large consignment of guns, but the man had run away.
‘The bastard bore a hole in my ears,’ said Veerappan, using the local idiom for being stabbed in the back. His voice was throbbing with emotion. He was furious at being defrauded, but what hurt him even more was his helplessness to retaliate.
Trader made sympathetic noises. ‘What can I do to help?’
‘There’s a periyavar (elderly man) who lives near Trichy. He knows everything going on in the underworld. He might be able to shed some light on where that traitor went with our money,’ said Govindan.
That night, Veerappan was in a chatty mood. He conveyed to Trader that he missed his family terribly. He said that he had planned to meet his wife and daughter at a location near Ooty, but it had to be cancelled at the last minute.
It was a clear reference to Boston. When Trader told us about it, we knew he had received the information straight from the horse’s mouth. One more jigsaw piece fell into place!
Before Trader set off to meet the periyavar—christened Old Man Woz by the Phantom-comic-crazy members of the STF, Kannan and I met him at a rendezvous point in an unmarked vehicle.
Kannan produced a listening device. Trader recoiled as though stung by a real bug.
‘What’s that?’ he asked, his voice quivering.
‘It will help us listen in on everything,’ said Kannan in a soothing tone.
Trader’s sweat glands went into overdrive. I patted him on the shoulder and said, ‘For me, you’re no less than any brave policeman. Think of yourself that way.’
Trader gave a wan smile, but continued to perspire profusely. I gestured to Kannan and we stepped a little distance away.
‘Are you sure?’ I asked in a low voice. ‘What if he’s searched? They’ll kill him if they find it, provided he doesn’t die of a heart attack first. He seems really scared.’
‘Even if they don’t search him, he’s so terrified he might blurt it out himself,’ acknowledged Kannan. ‘Let’s drop it.’
We went back and told Trader that he didn’t have to take the device along. He looked visibly relieved.
Trader duly met Old Man Woz, who turned out to be blind, though extremely sharp. But the trip failed to unearth any information of interest to either Veerappan or the STF. Kannan and I were hopeful that when Trader returned from his next trip he would mention the name of the contact that Veerappan wanted him to meet in jail.
Instead, Trader returned with a bombshell. Apparently, Veerappan wanted him to meet a certain gentleman—let’s call him Mr X—who lived in a large city.
According to Veerappan, Mr X had links with certain Sri Lanka-based Tamil radicals, and could use them to procure guns. Veerappan also wanted him to pull some strings and arrange a cataract surgery.
When Trader mentioned Mr X’s name, my eyes widened in shock. Trader hadn’t heard of Mr X before, but Kannan and I had. He was a prosperous man with a reputation for being an honourable citizen. If he had a seamier side, he had masked it for years. News that he had links with both a dangerous criminal as well as anti-India elements was quite a revelation.
Kannan and I quickly hatched a plan.
It was based on the new developments—Veerappan’s keenness to meet an influential man across the straits, the deteriorating condition of his eye that had to be examined by a doctor outside the jungle and his failed attempt at acquiring guns and possibly even foot soldiers. We had to refit the pieces into a new puzzle.
Trader called up Mr X, briefly introduced himself as a friend and asked for a meeting. Mr X asked for the password, which Trader had been told by Veerappan. After confirming that Trader was indeed Veerappan’s emissary, Mr X called him to a guest house in another town.
This time we wired up Trader, with the assurance that a crack STF team would be on hand to immediately step in if something went wrong.
‘What news of Anna?’ asked Mr X, the moment Trader stepped into the room.
‘He’s well, but he needs help. Can you get him to an eye doctor and arrange for weapons from your contacts in Sri Lanka?’ asked Trader.
‘I need a few days. Tell him I will send a message through one of my men,’ said Mr X.
The moment Trader left the guest house, a team of tough-looking men in plain clothes burst in. One of them introduced himself as an STF officer.
As soon as Mr X saw them, he turned ashen. He sat down heavily upon a couch and began sweating profusely. It was a wonder that he managed to hide his underworld dealings for so long. He would have made a lousy undercover operative.
‘What are you going to do to me?’ he whimpered.
He was told he only had one hope—if he helped the STF nab Veerappan, perhaps a favourable deal could be negotiated for him.
Mr X pounced at this opportunity like a drowning man at a straw. ‘Anything. Just say it. I’ll do it. But spare me, please.’
‘Good, now listen,’ the STF officer told him. ‘After a few days, send one of your men to Veerappan. This will give credibility to your message. Tell him you have made contact with your friends in Lanka. They will be sending a man who will escort him to Trichy or Madurai to get his eye operated, after which he will be taken to Lanka. Once the arms deal is done, he will be brought back to India.’
‘Who is this man who will be the escort?’, queried Mr X.
‘Not your concern,’ the officer replied. ‘Send this message and your task is done. And no tricks. I doubt a court will be lenient if it chances upon your CV.’
Mr X’s eyes darted around the room, but he had little choice. ‘You won’t kill him, will you?’
‘We will make every possible effort to capture him alive,’ the officer assured.
Mr X buried his head in his hands and his shoulders shook. After a while, his words came out, muffled but irrevocable.
‘Fine, I’ll do it.’
A few hours later, Kannan and I were discussing our next action.
‘If we’re planting a mole, it will have to be someone not only unknown to Veerappan, but even to most of the STF. In addition, this person will have to be discreet, courageous, resourceful and a skilled marksman. Quite a tall order,’ fretted Kannan.
I wracked my brains for a suitable candidate. Then, I remembered Durai—who had been imported from Trichy to tackle Veeramani when I was Chennai Police Commissioner—and his dramatic encounter with the gangster at Marina Beach.
‘I have just the man,’ I smiled.
30
Enter Hitman
July 2004
Durai sat perfectly still, but his eyes darted constantly. Left to right, then the other way around and back again. He struggled to see through the near-total darkness of the moonless night.
‘What am I doing here?’ fretted Durai.
He had never seen a jungle in his life, at least not in such a daring role. Now he was sitting on the fringe of a forest with only Trader for company, waiting to rendezvous with Veerappan’s gang. In a few short days, he had become the pointsman of a complex, twenty-year hunt for a man who knew the terrain very well.
The weight of the responsibility pressed down on Durai and, for a moment, he felt like he was choking. He hadn’t
bargained for this when he had got a call asking him to join the STF the very next day.
An unmarked car had picked up Durai from the Sathy bus stand and had taken him to the STF firing range. There he found himself to be the sole trainee, polishing his long-honed skills against a dozen targets, mostly cardboard caricatures of Veerappan—a standard practice—under the supervision of a retired Tamil Nadu Special Police inspector, Swaminathan.
There was an array of weapons, but he focused on the 9 mm Browning and a Heckler & Koch sub-machine gun of the same calibre.
The brief training he received on jungle survival felt pathetically inadequate.
‘I can’t do this,’ he thought, panic stirring. But then he steeled himself, remembering my briefing. ‘It’s a tough and risky assignment. It’s not that we don’t have guys in the STF. But you’re unflappable. That’s why I chose you,’ I had told him.
Squatting on his haunches, he spat out sputum and blood. His wife had called me to complain that he was neglecting his health. And even though I urged him to take better care of himself, we both knew that that was impossible in the midst of such a tense operation.
Sitting next to Durai, Trader was startled. Guide emerged noiselessly from the darkness. ‘This is the one?’ he asked, pointing at Durai.
Trader nodded. ‘Yes, he’s an arms dealer. He can be useful to Anna.’
Guide stared at Durai from head to toe. Durai looked back, unflinching. After a while, Guide signalled for the men to follow him. Durai and Trader exchanged glances. Then Trader nodded, and the two men set off into the forest after their guide.
About a kilometre behind Durai, two teams of the STF followed, one led by Rajarajan, the other by me. We walked cautiously, taking care not to make any sudden noises or trip on rocks, shrubs and slippery pebbles that littered the path.
Durai dropped ‘glow sticks’ every 100 metres or so. Seen through night-vision goggles, they lit up the trail, pretty much like Hansel’s pebbles from the fairy tale ‘Hansel and Gretel’.
After a while, the sticks disappeared. Durai had obviously made contact. Our tension levels began to rise. The experienced trackers came forward and began to follow the foot trail left by Durai and the others.
Meanwhile, the three men reached a dried-up stream. Guide gestured them to wait.
Durai tapped his wrist and turned both palms upwards, as if to ask, ‘How long?’
Guide shrugged and turned away.
It turned out to be a long wait.
At around 3 a.m., Trader lost patience and knocked a small stone against a boulder thrice, at intervals of half a minute. The answer was supposed to be three firm knocks by a wooden stick on a tree. The men strained their ears to detect any sound. There was none.
Durai peered into his water bottle. All that remained was a few drops and some green leaves, which the STF believed would reduce the sloshing sound of water. There were also some biscuits, but he did not eat, as there was no water to wash down the crumbs.
As if reading his mind, Guide pointed to a puddle of yellow water nearby. Durai shuddered and turned away. Guide grinned thinly.
Minutes ticked by with agonizing slowness. Suddenly, Durai retched and threw up. He put the last few precious drops of water on a cloth and dabbed at his lips, trying to wipe away the bitter taste. Bone-deep exhaustion settled over him as the darkness faded away to be replaced by the glorious colours of dawn. Guide signalled that it was time to leave. Durai stood up, wincing. He felt as if his feet had turned to lead. He was not sure if he was frustrated or relieved that the gang had failed to appear. Guide bared his teeth in a smile. His teeth, sharp and yellow, reminded Durai of a predator. He spoke the first words in many hours. ‘Be patient. We’ll meet again.’
Over the years, the STF had got used to Veerappan’s sudden changes of plan. So it didn’t surprise us that he had not kept his appointment. He had probably watched the three men to see if there was any suspicious activity on their part. Our hunch was confirmed much later.
Durai left for Chennai the next day for the long-delayed medical examination. Within two days, Trader hinted that the gang had asked him to bring the arms dealer back to the jungle with him the following week.
Durai’s treatment was put on hold once again as he rushed back to Sathy.
On 27 July, Trader, Guide and Durai made one more foray into the forest. It was exactly one year since the encounter in Chennai that killed Veeramani. Durai took that as a good omen. The rendezvous point was between the Chinnar River and the small town of Pennagaram.
The jungle did not pose as many challenges to Durai this time, but he felt like he was being watched. They waited in the shadows of a huge tamarind tree.
Suddenly, two shadows moved. Two human beings. Reflexively, Durai’s palm caressed his gun—his inanimate buddy and reservoir of reassurance. He looked at Guide to check if he knew the men. Guide looked blank, while the two men shrank back and beat a hasty retreat, clearly unnerved by the sight of three strangers in the forest.
In that moment, Durai missed the babble of city life. ‘Anything is better than this eternal waiting,’ he thought. ‘I’d even welcome a gun battle to break this monotony.’
His wish wasn’t granted. Again, the whole night went by without contact.
Finally, Durai looked wearily towards Guide and raised his eyebrow. Guide gave a resigned nod. Durai stifled a groan and rose to his feet.
‘My day will come,’ he consoled himself as he walked away.
31
Contact, at Last
October 2004
Kannan burst into my room, ecstatic.
‘Sir, good news. The gang has reached out to Mr X again. They’ve asked him to meet their emissary at a tea shop in Dharmapuri.’
I looked up sharply. It had been over two months since Durai’s last failed attempt to meet Veerappan. The trail had gone completely cold thereafter.
In that period, Mr X proved his utility in another clandestine op. This time, we used Kannan’s father as our courier, since we didn’t want to send someone who looked even remotely like a serving STF personnel. Well into his sixties, but fit and alert, Kannan’s father, retired Indian Air Force officer Navaneetha Krishnan, did an excellent job. He collected the package, took all necessary precautions to ensure that he was not being followed and completed the mission successfully with the aplomb of a trained agent.
The news of fresh contact with Mr X ended the agonizing wait for both Kannan and me.
‘How did they get in touch?’ I asked.
‘Remember Blanket?’ asked Kannan. ‘He had agreed to become our informer if we took care of his child’s education. By a stroke of luck, the gang picked Blanket as the courier to deliver the message to Mr X. He told us. But Mr X told us without any prompting as well. So, we have the same news from two different sources and neither is aware that the other has informed us. It doesn’t get more reliable than this.’
‘It seems like they’ve decided to cut Trader out of the loop,’ I said. ‘Let’s keep an eye on Mr X in Dharmapuri. Have a few guys in plain clothes take turns to shadow him. Only one person should not be seen hanging around him for too long.’
On 16 October, Mr X turned up at the tea shop at the assigned time. He took care to avoid flaunting his wealth. A little later, Red sidled up and asked if the bench opposite him was taken. When assured that it wasn’t, Red sat down and ordered a glass of tea, ignoring Mr X all the while. After a few minutes, the tea arrived. Red took a couple of sips, and then asked Mr X to pass the sugar lying in front of him in a small bowl. Mr X passed it across.
‘You’re new to this town, aren’t you?’ said Red.
Mr X played along. ‘Yes, I’m just passing through on some work.’
To an onlooker, it appeared like two strangers were making polite conversation.
After a while, Red dropped the charade, leaned closer to Mr X and spoke in a low tone. ‘Anna is ready to come out.’
‘Where the hell has he been?’ demanded M
r X. ‘Why didn’t he meet the man I sent?’
Red shrugged. ‘You know Anna. He likes to double- and triple-check. He wanted to make sure this fellow could be trusted. He observed him from afar and he’s quite satisfied about your man’s credentials. But there was too much STF activity in the area. Things are slightly better now.’
‘And where’s that fellow who brought his message to me initially?’ Mr X enquired, referring to Trader.
‘His job is done. There’s no need for him to know anything more about Anna’s plans,’ said Red curtly. ‘Now, if you’re done with your questions, can I give you Anna’s message?’
‘Of course,’ backtracked Mr X hastily. ‘What is it?’
‘Anna will come out on 18 October. Your man should wait at the junction near Papparapatti Police Station at 10 p.m. If he doesn’t hear from us that day, he should come again on 20 October, and then on 22 October. Your man will be taken to Anna.’
Then, Red looked around to ensure that nobody was watching and took out a lottery ticket. He showed the ticket to Mr X. It was numbered 007710. He tore the ticket in half with a dramatic flourish and handed over one piece to Mr X. The numbers on it were, rather appropriately, ‘007’! He retained the other half, with the numbers ‘710’.
‘This will serve as Anna’s travel ticket. When your man meets ours, they should match the edges. Arrange for a vehicle to bring out four people.’
‘There will also be my man and possibly a driver. So, that’s six. It will have to be a large vehicle,’ said Mr X. ‘An ambulance? It can move at high speeds without arousing suspicion and cops are less likely to stop it.’
That suggestion was the result of discussions between Kannan and me. Anticipating Veerappan’s necessity for a getaway vehicle, we thought of various options, including a car, jeep and SUV. We even discussed the possibility of sticking a label like ‘Govt’ or ‘Press’ on the vehicle, or putting a political party’s flag on it, since cops tend to be wary of inspecting such vehicles. Finally, after much deliberation, we decided that an ambulance would be ideal. We code-named it Cocoon—with the fervent hope that Veerappan would be cocooned in it and unable to fly away. Mr X was then briefed that he should propose an ambulance in the event of any discussions on a possible evacuation plan. Red nodded. ‘That’s a good idea. Just make sure both the vehicle and your man are there on the assigned date and time.’
Veerappan: Chasing the Brigand Page 22