by AJAY
"What type of calls?"
"It seems the Pakistanis are using some autodialing software, which picks up telephone numbers from the database of online yellow pages, connects to the caller, speaks about some market products and then goes dead."
"Six months back, we had some information about an attack on a few Mumbai hotels and other sensitive locations."
"We know your Signal Intelligence agency intercepted a few calls originating from Pakistan, but nothing specific came out of it. They keep talking about one impending attack or another with the intention of hoodwinking us. Their Cellcrypt software with its unique code is also ahead of our snooping system."
Siddhartha Rana, the Joint Director of IB and the youngest participant in the high power group interjected, "Sir, let's not waste any more time and start intercepting calls originating from the terrorists to their handlers in Pakistan."
The Police Commissioner of Mumbai nodded and connected his line to the electronic intelligence room of the Mumbai Anti Terrorist Squad (ATS). He asked the technician to record the conversation between the six hatchet men and their handlers in Pakistan. The technician right away tapped all calls originating from or terminating at the towers of Cuffe Parade, Colaba and Nariman Point. A few minutes later, he pointed out to the Police Commissioner that most of the calls originating from Pakistan were made using Chinese cell phones, which did not have any IMEI numbers. Hence, the caller's identity could not be established. Though he could intercept calls of Thuraya Satellite and Blackberry phones, he was unable to record the voice data of the phones since the data exchange among the phones was highly secured. The Police Commissioner immediately spoke to the Home Minister in Delhi. The Minister promised to talk to the Attorney General of the USA and to seek the help of the FBI to start decrypting the phone conversations.
Siddhartha turned to the Police Commissioner, "Sir, that still may not be enough. We need to tap and audit trail all phone calls from the area under attack."
"We have only one mobile passive interception van, equipped with 32-channel listening devices. Therefore, we can send it to one spot only."
"Please have it moved to the Trident Hotel. I'll try to work out something at other locations."
The meeting continued for a few more minutes and was adjourned when the Police Commissioner left for Cama Hospital to oversee operations there. Disconcerting reports kept pouring in from Cama Hospital and CST Railway Terminus. Two terrorists had gunned down the Chief of the ATS, Hemant Karkare, one of its finest officers and two senior police officers Vijay Salaskar and Ashok Kamte.
Siddhartha left Police Headquarters for the Taj Mahal Hotel. He instructed his officer to get different cell phone companies to provide a gateway to the backbone network of the Intelligence Bureau.
Siddhartha was horror struck when he saw the menacing black fumes rising from the domes of the Taj Mahal Hotel. It sickened him to the core almost as if he was watching smoke rise up from the funeral pyre of the heart of India's culture. It was an attack that had charred something into much deeper than just the edifice. Suddenly, he was jolted out of his trance by the uninterrupted gunshots and intermittent grenade explosions inside the hotel. One valiant fire fighter had climbed the ladder set against the window of a room and was struggling to douse out the soaring inferno. NSG Commandos were frantically trying to go inside from the side entrance but had to retreat many times in order to dodge the indiscriminate firing of bullets by the terrorists. Some brave ones entered from the guest room windows, facing impending death.
The soothing dim light of moon and the tranquil waves of the Arabian Sea were in complete contrast with the mayhem created by a few jihadists.
Siddhartha Rana powered on his laptop and clicked on the Spycell Phone tapping software. Thousands of call records filled his screen. Most of the calls were domestic and a few were to USA, UK and various other countries. He clicked on the menu and filtered calls originating or terminating at: Pakistan, Jordan, Yemen, Somalia, Saudi Arabia, and a few other Islamic countries. Soon, he had all the phone numbers and the ids of the owners, who were active in the vicinity of the attack.
Amongst what seemed like debris in the form of numbers, one call caught his attention. When he checked the call data record, he was surprised to find that a caller from Pakistan was trying to call Juhi Shergill, an Indian, using a US cell number. He fed the number into his software. Relationship trees and clusters of phone calls of the suspected numbers sprang up on the screen.
The American number was not getting through because of congested networks. Siddhartha racked his brain as the US number appeared to be quite familiar. He checked the email, "The cell phone number of Imran Shah Malik's son Aban Malik is +1…"
Through his software, Siddhartha Rana assigned a gateway through a dedicated spectrum and pinged a fake call to the phone of Juhi Shergill. As soon as he did that, a bug got embedded in the target phone electronically.
Siddhartha's laptop beeped and started to record the conversation between Juhi and Aban.
"I've been trying to reach you since I saw you coming out from Taj Mahal Hotel in a television live feed. Are you all right?"
"Yes, darling. It all started when I was dining with a member of the European delegation on the rooftop at Souk restaurant. In the din, we got down to the first floor, where a hotel staff directed us to the room from where we made our exit. It's pretty horrible over here."
"I can understand. Did you talk to your father?"
"Yeah, he told me to come back to DC. He has already spoken with the MD of Air India. I'll be boarding tomorrow."
"I'll be boarding PIA too."
"When do you reach JFK?"
"Around afternoon."
"Good. I will be there two hours before that. I'll wait for you in the Air India Maharaja Lounge."
"But that's on the departure concourse of Terminal-4."
"Well, that's where my father has arranged for me to be."
"How could I forget that my mademoiselle, the daughter of an Ambassador, is a virtual princess!"Aban teased.
"See you, sugar."Juhi hung up.
"Aban, the son of Imran Shah Malik, the retired Chief of ISI…"Siddhartha's mind was abuzz with rapid thoughts that flooded him as the facts began to come together. "Juhi, the daughter of the Indian Ambassador to USA! "
"Everything seems to be rather knotty!"
Photo Studio
One day after the Mumbai attacks, a man named Shalim Amār Khan approached Advanced Photo Studio and Digital Color Lab, near Subzi Mandi. He asked the owner to quote his price for video recording and capturing still pictures of the entire area: the topography of mountains, the catchment areas of the rivers, the contour map of the lake and snapshots of T1 to T4 shafts of the Great Dam.
The wary owner was skeptical, but when the visitor told him that he wanted to deliver the pictures to a film producer in Mumbai, the studio owner was excited. He quoted a price of fifty thousand rupees and asked for four days' time to get everything ready. The visitor specified that he would require high definition video and ultra-high resolution still-images burnt into DVDs. Shalim Amār also made it very clear that he would copyright the contents to protect the exclusive rights of the film producer and so the photographer should not keep any copies of the footage. The owner sensed that something was not right. He therefore, enhanced his charges to one lakh rupees.
After Shalim Amār Khan left the studio, the owner stuffed the money into a secret cavity to escape the probing eyes of the regular visitors of the revenue department and the police. He picked up his camera and camcorder and left his shop. The dam was not very far off.
Meanwhile, Shalim Amār Khan drove his car to the CCR Tower to meet the Mela Officer. He asked him for video footage of the Ardh Kumbh of 2004. The officer directed him to the Media Centre. The media officer proudly handed him all available video footage and made an earnest request to include his name in the credit roll of the documentary film.
Shalim then drove along the Uppe
r Ganges Canal Expressway. The next destination was the holy city of Mathura. Shalim stopped at a street in Aligarh, where a Sufi singer and his flute maestro mesmerized a small audience. Shalim chose a corner and sat quietly on the ground, occasionally voicing his appreciation. In silence, feeling both happy as well as numb, Shalim slowly got up and opened the door of his car. The driver steered the car to the Grand Trunk Road, where a signpost read -- Kanpur.
During the long and winding drive, Shalim enjoyed delicious Punjabi food at the roadside dhabas. Golas, made of shredded ice, topped with multicoloured sweet syrups reminded him of home. He could smell the Balochistani scent in tandoori food on the roadside dhaba, which was no different from the aroma of the Dilli Biryani of Lahore. The freshwater fish that he bought from the markets of Karachi tasted no different from the mustard rohu that he had relished in Kolkata many years ago.
Many times, during that journey, he regretted that the two countries could not live peacefully. But everything changed, as painful memories that had lasted with Shalim for many years came back, "Why did the Hindustānis cut Pakistan into two pieces?"
Finally, Shalim reached the place from where he had started. He drove to the Digital Colour Lab one more time, collected the cassettes, memory disks and DVDs and returned to Jolly Grant Airport. The late night connecting flight from Delhi to Mumbai was running behind schedule. So, as soon as he boarded a Jet Airways flight, its deep leather couch was enough to cuddle him into a dreamless slumber.
Next morning, Shalim Amār Khan met the owner of Crest Telefilms Entertainment Ltd in Filmistan, Mumbai. He handed over the script and media contents to the owner and instructed him to leave one soundtrack blank. This, he said, would be mixed afterwards. He paid up an upfront amount of fifty thousand dollars after the owner promised to get everything ready within six months.
During a long solitary walk in the bylanes of Linking Road and S.V. Road, Shalim Amār Khan stopped at a few places. From Andheri to Bandra, he paused to appreciate the humble Jarimari Temple as well as the ostentatious Bohra Mosques. Within a distance of a few thousand yards, the imposing St. Peter's Church stood close to the unpretentious Sri Guru Singh Sabha Gurudwara.
"Which one is more true -- unity in diversity of culture or diversity in unity of religion?"Shalim wondered and checked into the luxurious Orchid Hotel, near the domestic Airport.
There was no direct flight from Mumbai to any city in Pakistan. Therefore, his natural choice was to reach Lahore via Dubai.
Tired, he hit the bed and slept like a log.
FBI at JFK
Suite 241, Building 75 at JFK International Airport, New York is a busy office of the FBI Resident Agency. Special Agent Robert McLean received hundreds of requests from all over the globe every day. An untiring man and ever willing to oblige, he had earned rave reviews from intelligence agencies around the world. His penchant for anonymity had made his task easier.
Robert Mclean stood glued to the television, absorbing every detail of the Mumbai attack. His uncanny ability to analyse a complex situation was set in motion. He firmly believed that learning the tricks, tacks and tactics from one's opponent and using the same stratagems, plot and strategies against the opponent was a truly successful way of conducting a counter-terrorist operation. His mantra was to turn the tables on the perpetrators through the perpetrators themselves.
The same afternoon, Robert McLean got a call from Siddhartha Rana. In the past, both of them had coordinated to solve transnational crimes. Siddhartha Rana gave him the telephone number of Aban Shah Malik and asked Robert McLean to get Aban's complete profile from the FBI database and also do a background check at Cornell. "Aban is travelling by the PIA flight from Lahore tomorrow and will be landing at Terminal-4,"said Siddhartha.
"Don't worry, Sid. My agent will tail him and try to find if he has something interesting up his sleeve."Robert McLean was prompt as usual.
"That won't be easy. He will be meeting the daughter of the Indian Ambassador. If she accompanies him, you need to watch out for diplomatic protocol."
"Our airports officers frisk even cabinet ministers, if it's a question of our national security. The children of diplomats hardly enjoy any privilege."
"Try to keep things as low key as possible. It would be good if it's an undercover operation."
"Wait a minute, Sid. For an undercover operation, I'll need a formal official request from your government."
"I'm stuck in Mumbai and so it won't be possible for me to go to Delhi and get formalities done."
"I understand, but I can't be of much assistance. We cannot carry out any undercover operation unless we have sufficient reasons to justify it. If our congressional representatives and senators, so much as sense something, they will simply go public and attack us. In addition, all the hard work of a dedicated officer will go up in smoke since these politicians will earn free brownie points. Moreover, the media has been hounding American agencies after the Guantanamo Bay exposé. I'm sorry, Sid. I can't act on a mere oral request."
"Even if a Pakistani has something interesting in his MacBook, Bob?"Siddhartha put a bug in Robert McLean's ear while he went on to explain everything he knew.
"Got it!", said Robert succinctly. The operation was on.
Crematorium
The Additional Inspector General of CISF was put on the pyre at Antim Niwas, a crematorium in Noida. A few days later, his wife went to Block No. 13 in CGO Complex at Lodhi Road, New Delhi to call on the Director General of CISF and tell him everything her husband had told her just before he had been shot dead.
When she had left, the DG was lost in thought. "How could the AIG know about the Pakistani Project Karachi?"However, the DG could not make out anything of the phrase 'Tupac-II'. For him it was 'To Pak To', with no meaning at all.
Another problem was the incomplete name of an Indian Agent, whose name started with Sun… which could have been anything; first name: Sunand, Sunay, Sunder, Sunil, Suneet, Sundri, Suneeti, Sunita… or last name: Sundaray, Sunitha… He tried his best to untangle the threads, but was at his wits' end because he did not even know whether the person was male or female. 'The Indian agent of the Pakistani Jihadists is Sun…" kept ringing in his ears. When he could not make any more headway, he rang up the Director of IB and told him everything he knew.
The Laptop
Air India Flight AI 101 landed at Terminal T-4 of JFK in the afternoon. A tired, but radiant Juhi completed the formalities at the Customs and Border Protection special desk, which dealt with the diplomatic Red Passport.
Juhi then walked towards a retail shop 'New York Fashion'. She picked up a pair of dazzling Zegna Centennial limited edition cufflinks for Aban and proceeded to the Maharaja Lounge. There, she sank into the sofa and sipped hot coffee as she waited.
Pakistan International Airlines Flight No PK 711 landed two hours later. US Custom and Border Protection cleared Aban. When he crossed the Homeland Security barrier, an FBI officer flashed his identity card at him and whisked him into the lounge, where Agent Robert Mclean was waiting in anticipation.
Robert McLean politely asked Aban to boot his MacBook. Aban obeyed the order. The operating system booted and asked for the username and password before logging-in. Aban entered the username Imran Shah Malik and stopped dead.
"Enter the password."Robert demanded.
"I don't know it."
"Why?"
"Only my father knows it."
"Whose MacBook is this?"
"Mine."
"How does your father have knowledge of the password of your MacBook while you claim you are unaware?"
Aban tried to clarify, but Robert McLean was unwilling to listen. The last thing that Robert McLean was willing to do was to trust a young Pakistani, carrying a MacBook, unable to feed in his own password. He asked Aban to follow him to his office. Aban requested Robert McLean to allow him to make a call before he left. Robert McLean took a deep breath and nodded. Aban called Juhi.
Juhi was perplexed by the
sudden turn of events. She quickly explained the situation to her lawyer, who advised her to be patient and bide her time until the FBI divulged exactly what they wanted. When Juhi reached the FBI Residency Office, she found Aban signing some papers and handing them over to an agent. She expressed her desire to meet the Agent, but the officer stopped her and instructed her to wait in the adjoining chamber.
Robert started interrogating Aban, "Where did you purchase this MacBook?"
"From eBay."
"When?"
"A year back."
"Where do you go to college?"
"Cornell School of Civil and Environmental Engineering."
"Graduate or undergraduate?"
"Graduate."
"What's your area of specialization?"
"Environmental and Water Resources Systems Engineering."
"Something to do with city water supply."
"A bit more than that. My research papers are about the environmental impact of big dams."Aban sighed heavily.
"When are you submitting your research paper?"
"Before Christmas."
"Is your work complete?"
"No."
"How much of your research work is still to be finished?"
Aban brooded for a while, "More than half."
"Is this vacation time in your school?"
"No."
"Why did you go to Lahore?"
"My mother wanted me to visit her."
"Why?"
"She said she was feeling lonely."