Eleventh Hour

by S. Hussain Zaidi

  ‘Okay, lads. First things first,’ Mirza said. ‘We found a green cottage around two kilometres from the site of the shootout in Sativli, belonging to one Shafiq Attarwala. He used to stay there with his family.’

  ‘Used to?’ Vikrant asked.

  ‘He’s not been seen or heard from since the day of the shootout. There’s more. We searched his house. There was a trunk in one of the bedrooms, big enough to hold AK-56 assault rifles. And ammo could have been stored anywhere.’

  Several curses were muttered before Mirza went on.

  ‘We also found a blue-painted residential building across the street from a public park in Narpoli, Bhiwandi. A guy named Anwar, a tailor by profession, used to stay with his wife and three kids on the second floor. All are missing since yesterday. The house looked like he’d packed and left in a hurry. And our teams found three airtight plastic containers strewn in his bedroom.’

  ‘Soap,’ Vikrant said morosely.

  ‘Bloody hope not,’ said Mankame.

  ‘Right,’ Mirza continued. ‘Let’s move on. You’ve all seen the document. What do you think?’

  After half a minute’s silence, Goyal spoke up. ‘Well, sir, don’t the clues seem too obvious? I mean, anyone could have found those two houses…’

  ‘Only if they had that list,’ Vikrant interrupted. ‘The real feat would have been to get the list in the first place, and it would not be given to any Tom, Dick or Hafeez.’

  ‘Plus, if I’m not wrong,’ Mankame chipped in, ‘the clues needed to be obvious, right, sir? I mean, terrorists are brutal and ruthless and all that, but how many do we know who are actually smart?’

  Mirza nodded in approval.

  ‘Why now?’ Jaiswal asked and everyone turned to him, except for Vikrant. ‘If they’ve had the cache since 1993, why wait all these years to use it? The city was much more vulnerable earlier. But after 26/11, we’ve beefed up the security like anything. We have the Force One, an NSG hub here, CCTV cameras, coastal security and even our intelligence network is better than what it used to be.’

  ‘All of which is aimed at preventing another 26/11, that is, an attack from outside, not within. Imagine if you only had to hand the list to five men and let them do their job. They even grew up in Mumbai and know the city well. You don’t even have to smuggle anyone into the city,’ Mirza countered.

  ‘Time is also a factor,’ Vikrant said and everyone turned to him. Without opening his eyes, he continued, ‘Intelligence sources had been hearing about the ’93 Cache for twenty-three years but not seeing a single sign of it. Over time, they began to think it was just a wild theory and as the years passed, they started giving it such little importance that Mirza sir didn’t even think of mentioning it to me.’

  Mankame nodded and took it up. ‘Had we not found the piece of paper, we would still be in the dark about the cache and those motherfuckers would have killed us in our sleep. We can get all the infrastructure we can afford but this complacence is what is going to end our existence one day.’

  Vikrant half-turned to his counterpart, opened one eye and acknowledged his contribution with a nod before resuming his samadhi position.

  ‘It also shows enormous patience, the patience of a hunter. And the ISI is fully capable of that,’ Mirza added.

  After a minute’s silence, Mankame spoke up again.

  ‘Sir, you said that they, as in the ISI, just needed to send five men to pick up the arms and execute the attack. What I can’t help wondering is, why these five? More so, why break them out of jail when they could have sent any of their trained operatives for the job?’ Mankame wondered.

  ‘Maybe because they already had the list when they were arrested,’ Vikrant said, now slowly easing himself into a sitting position.

  ‘I have no way to know for sure, but I arrested these fuckers,’ he went on. ‘And I interrogated them for days. They had gone to Bhopal to steal vehicles. Can you believe that? Mumbai to Bhopal, just for that? Again, enormous patience and planning. We seized seven stolen cars from them later. But not a single weapon. Not even a country-made gun or a dagger.’

  ‘So what are you saying, son?’ Mirza asked.

  ‘Well, in their interrogation, we kept asking them about weapons and they kept claiming they were innocent. In fact, had it not been for all the writings on jihad and photographs of sensitive installations we found on them, we’d have had to book them for nothing more than vehicle theft. Now it makes sense.’

  Mirza nodded slowly. ‘A list leading to the ’93 Cache. That’s a secret worth dying for,’ he said.

  ‘More than that,’ Vikrant reasoned. ‘If Shaukat Asad had the only copy of the list – and I’d like to believe that the ISI is not as stupid as to make multiple copies – it was the best insurance he had. Once the list was passed on to someone else, the ISI would simply wash their hands off him and his men, or even have them killed.’

  ‘And that,’ Mirza said, ‘is why they were broken out.’

  Mankame, Jaiswal and Goyal silently watched as protégé and mentor unravelled the threads of the web. It was as if only the two of them were in the room at the moment.

  ‘Fuck,’ Vikrant breathed. ‘That is what Asad’s uncle went to fetch from his father in Cheetah Camp … Didn’t Forensics find a pouch?’

  ‘Yup.’

  ‘We need to show it to Shakeel Khan and see if he will identify it.’

  ‘But then, boy, this means…’

  ‘This means that Asad – or someone else from that module – got hold of the list and left it at his house for safekeeping while they scoped out targets and arranged for vehicles. They were going to retrieve the list and get the arsenal in the end, because who would want to carry the list around while everything else was being put in place? But then they got busted,’ said Vikrant.

  ‘And someone reached out to them while they were in jail. Someone who told them that they only had to break out on their own and all the help they needed would be provided. Which is how they had vehicles waiting for them. And weapons. They just needed to get the list,’ Mirza replied.

  ‘But,’ Goyal interrupted, ‘they were already in Sativli, where the first location was. How did they know they had to start there?’

  Vikrant shrugged. ‘If they had had something as legendary as the ’93 Cache list, they would have read it over and over. The first item on the list is the least anyone would remember. But they would need the entire list to complete their mission. It’s not conclusive, but it fits in with basic human behaviour.’

  Everyone nodded.

  ‘Which means,’ Mirza said, looking at Vikrant, ‘they collected the weapons from Sativli, took the list from Khan, then went to Bhiwandi. They tore off the top part of the list after memorizing second location and it was supposed to have burned with the van.’

  ‘The list is being destroyed. Because it will no longer be needed,’ Vikrant said.

  There was a minute’s silence as everyone in the room digested this.

  ‘I’m telling the PMO,’ Mirza announced.

  17

  Wednesday night, cruise liner.

  Daniel went up to the door of the recreation hall and knocked on it. He had to knock thrice before it was opened by a surly-faced Somali with a cigarette dangling from his mouth.

  ‘What?’ the guard asked.

  ‘That,’ Daniel said, pointing to the cigarette.

  The other man raised an eyebrow.

  ‘Many of us are smokers,’ Daniel said calmly. ‘And it’s been hours since we last had a smoke. We’d like our cigarettes and lighters. Some of us were carrying them, but most left them in our rooms.’

  ‘I ain’t runnin’ a fuckin’ five-star hotel,’ the Somali snarled. ‘You people are hostages, in case it ain’t clear.’

  Daniel nodded.

  ‘But even hostages have their vices, and nicotine withdrawal causes some very unpleasant symptoms. I’m sure you guys want us all to be docile and obedient, and a little nicotine will go a long way in ensuri
ng that,’ he said, keeping his voice low and polite.

  The guard continued staring at Daniel for several tense moments, and right when everyone thought he was going to shoot Daniel in the face, the hijacker shut the door.

  Daniel turned around, smiling.

  ‘That went well,’ one of his fellow captives said.

  ‘Wait,’ Daniel told him as he went back to sit on the floor next to Vaishali.

  They waited for over twenty-five minutes before the door opened again and Marco sauntered in, followed by his surly-faced soldier, who was carrying a plastic bag.

  ‘Which one of you asked for cigarettes?’ Marco said pleasantly and everyone stiffened, except for Daniel, who stood up.

  ‘That’d be me, sir,’ he said.

  Daniel and Marco looked at each other for a long moment before Marco, without breaking eye contact, signalled his surly subordinate. The latter stepped forward and dropped the bag on the floor, after which he walked out of the room.

  ‘Step forward, would you, mister?’ Marco said to Daniel and both men walked towards each other, meeting halfway.

  ‘You can play union leader all day long if it helps you pass the time,’ Marco told him. ‘Just don’t forget who’s really in charge here.’

  ‘Of course not, sir,’ Daniel said, giving Marco a small smile.

  ‘We rounded up all the cigarettes we could find in the rooms,’ Marco continued.

  ‘Thanks a lot,’ Daniel responded.

  ‘Anything else? Chocolates? Ice cream?’

  ‘Could you tell us about the status of the negotiations with our government?’

  ‘Goin’ on. They have our demands and are playin’ their usual games.’

  Daniel nodded.

  ‘Thank you, sir,’ he said.

  Marco turned around and walked out, closing the door.

  Daniel waited for several seconds before saying, ‘He’s lying.’

  ‘What?’ Hakimi asked, looking sour. He had vehemently opposed Daniel’s idea of asking for cigarettes, saying that their captors should not be antagonized in any way. He had lost to the sheer number of smokers in the room.

  Coolly, Daniel walked over to the carry bag, fished out a packet of cigarettes and took one.

  ‘He’s not contacted our government,’ he said, rummaging inside the bag for a lighter.

  ‘How do you know?’ Vaishali asked.

  ‘Because I know a liar when I see one,’ Daniel said, and Hakimi scoffed.

  ‘Also,’ Daniel went on. ‘Proof of life.’

  ‘I was thinking the same thing.’ Captain Rajeshwar Sahani spoke up. All eyes turned to him.

  ‘If they had contacted our government,’ he went on, ‘the first thing they would have asked for is proof that we’re alive and unhurt. These men would have made one of us speak to someone, or taken a picture or a video or something. Negotiations wouldn’t have gone ahead unless our government had confirmation of our well-being. Also, they’re making the crew maintain contact with the head office, pretending that everything is fine.’

  Daniel gave the captain a sharp look. ‘They are?’ he asked.

  Sahani nodded. ‘I’ve been asked to stay on the course mapped out for the cruise and take all the halts as scheduled.’

  ‘Why is that significant?’ Hakimi asked, interested in spite of himself.

  ‘Because,’ Daniel said, puffing away at his cigarette, ‘if they were really pirates, they would already be talking to the DG, Shipping, by now. That would have been the first thing they would have done as soon as they had us all under control. Instead, they’re planning meals twice a day and giving us cigarettes to keep us happy.’

  ‘It’s as if they don’t want their presence found out just yet,’ Sahani added.

  ‘Planning and forethought,’ Daniel said.

  ‘So, why are they lying?’ someone asked.

  ‘My guess? They’re waiting.’

  ‘For what?’ Vaishali asked.

  ‘Orders,’ Daniel said. ‘Marco can claim to be running the show all he wants. But he’s taking orders from someone else.’

  18

  Thursday–Friday, one week later, Delhi/Mumbai.

  The news about the ’93 Cache exploded in the offices of various government establishments like a bomb, as Mirza had expected. The Prime Minister’s Office gave the clichéd politician’s response, ordering Mirza to sweep it under the carpet.

  ‘Why spread panic when we’re not even sure?’ was the official line. The veteran spy, well versed with the nature of politics, simply smiled, nodded and walked out.

  ‘That went well,’ NIA chief T. Rangaswamy, who had accompanied Mirza to the PMO, said while they were on their way back to the NIA headquarters in Delhi.

  ‘Exactly as we’d expected it to,’ Mirza responded.

  ‘Plan B?’ Rangaswamy asked.

  Plan B was to step up vigilance in Maharashtra, particularly in Mumbai, but quietly. The same day, Rangaswamy had a discreet meeting with the head of the Intelligence Bureau, in Amritsar at his behest, apprising the latter of the situation, including the PMO’s reaction. The IB chief listened without taking any notes and nodded in understanding. He was known to be a man of few words and, having worked with Mirza earlier, knew better than to doubt his inputs.

  Mirza, meanwhile, flew back to Mumbai and had a meeting with the DGP, Maharashtra, and the Mumbai police commissioner the next day. After some effort, he managed to convince both of them that there was a good chance the ’93 Cache really existed.

  ‘How do we know it’s not a smokescreen?’ DGP Paramjeet Kalra asked, and Mirza had to stop himself from snapping, ‘You think we didn’t think of that already? For fuck’s sake!’ But he was, in spite of his enviable field experience as a spy, only an IG-rank officer, while the other two were his seniors. Instead, he said, ‘I don’t think so, sir. It’s too elaborate a smokescreen to be thought up by five IM recruits, even if they’re acting for the ISI. In fact, very few in the ISI are capable of such detailed planning.’

  ‘Besides,’ Mumbai CP Virendra Sinha spoke up, ‘if this is a smokescreen, what are they actually planning? Something even bigger and more elaborate? Too improbable, sir.’

  Kalra sighed. ‘Do what you have to do, but do it quietly,’ he said.

  And with that, Maharashtra went into high-alert mode. Additional police cover was provided to sensitive installations, airports and railway stations, without making it too obvious. VIP security was stepped up. Traffic police would stop and search any suspicious-looking vehicle at all hours. Police personnel visited all the hotels and lodges within their jurisdictions and verified the credentials of recent check-ins. On-ground intelligence gathering was stepped up as well, especially in slum pockets where one could rent a room and pay in cash without any questions asked. Crime Branch officers picked up former convicts of all kinds and badgered them for fresh tip-offs. Raids were conducted at godowns, warehouses, commercial freighters and anywhere else the ’93 Cache could be hidden.

  The IB put pressure on all its sources to find out the tiniest whisper about any mysterious activity in and around Maharashtra. The internet was scanned every day and phones of suspected miscreants were intercepted to pick up any chatter. Rangaswamy was in touch with the IB chief on a daily basis. Both Mirza and he spoke to their friends in Western intelligence agencies hoping that something as big as the ’93 Cache would generate at least some buzz in the global Islamic terrorist network.

  Vikrant was officially still under suspension, only a ‘consultant’ on the Bhopal jailbreak case. He spent his days cooped up in the NIA office. But he was busy collaborating with the Maharashtra Anti-Terrorism Squad, his old posting, speaking to the ATS chief twice a day and providing his inputs on where the ATS should be looking next.

  After five days of intense effort, Rangaswamy, Mirza and Vikrant all had to agree on one thing – the five Indian Mujahideen members seemed to have vanished without a trace.

  On the evening of the seventh day, Vikrant, followed
by Goyal, Jaiswal and Mankame, entered the cabin that Mirza had taken over in the Mumbai NIA office. Vikrant sat himself on a chair in front of Mirza, who was leafing through a report, and placed a thick stack of papers on the desk.

  ‘Unless those are Google Earth printouts showing the locations of the IM Five,’ Mirza said irascibly, ‘I’m not interested.’

  Vikrant shook his head.

  ‘I think we’ve pretty much realized that this case isn’t moving forward anymore. Rather, we’re just moving in circles,’ he said.

  ‘You have a better idea?’ his mentor snapped.

  Vikrant nodded and tapped the stack of papers.

  ‘How about we go backwards?’ he asked.

  19

  Thursday morning, one week later, cruise liner.

  ‘Why did you quit the army?’ Vaishali asked, resting her head against Daniel’s shoulder.

  ‘My father,’ Daniel replied, flicking a few strands of hair off her face. ‘He was the only family I ever had, and his health had already deteriorated a lot by the time I realized that he wasn’t getting any younger. I took voluntary retirement four years ago and did all I could for him till his death.’

  Daniel and Vaishali were nestled against each other in one corner of the recreational area. Over the last seven days, the hostages had sorted themselves into groups. Families with children had gravitated towards each other, while the youngsters had formed a group of their own. Hakimi had joined a motley group of men of all ages, while Daniel and Vaishali, tired of hiding their feelings for each other after the second day, stuck to each other. Captain Sahani kept going around the space, talking to everyone and making sure they were all right. His crew members were imprisoned in the engine room. Before he was separated from them, Sahani had told them to just do what they were told and not do anything stupid.

  Daniel’s mention of his father’s death made Vaishali look up at him.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I know what it’s like.’

  Daniel nodded. ‘You told me. Your mother.’