Eleventh Hour

by S. Hussain Zaidi

‘We always do, don’t we, sir?’

  For a few minutes, neither man spoke, each silently reflecting on the eight years they had worked together.

  ‘We’ve come a long way, haven’t we?’ Vikrant said.

  ‘Boy, if you start a goodbye speech, I swear I’ll kill you myself,’ Mirza threatened.

  Vikrant chuckled and stood up.

  ‘Let’s go get the boys back,’ he said.

  Silently, they made their way up to the terrace.

  ‘How do you know they’ll be there?’ Mirza asked.

  ‘Well, Mankame needs a smoke and you won’t let us smoke inside the office,’ Vikrant replied.

  True enough, they found Mankame smoking in one corner of the terrace, with Goyal and Jaiswal talking to him. They all turned as Mirza and Vikrant approached. Mankame took one look at Vikrant and turned his head away.

  ‘Calmed down yet?’ Vikrant asked, pulling out his own pack. Mankame said nothing.

  ‘Look, I understand how you feel…’

  ‘No, you don’t,’ Mankame interrupted. ‘You saved my bloody life in Palghar back then. I’m not going to sit by and watch while you just saunter towards certain death.’

  ‘Then don’t,’ Mirza said and everyone turned to him.

  ‘Marco told the PM’s guys that we are to call him at 8 tomorrow morning. That gives us…’ Mirza paused to look at his watch, ‘nine hours. Let’s get back down and make sense of this bloody mess so that we can find a way to keep this ruffian alive.’

  Vikrant took a last drag at his cigarette before throwing it to the ground.

  They decided to take the stairs to the office and on their way down, Mirza now told them about the development from Behrambaug.

  ‘We’re just watching this auto driver for now?’ Goyal asked.

  ‘For now, yes. I’m getting constant updates. We need to see whom he makes contact with before we move in.’

  They reached the office and filed into the conference room.

  ‘All right,’ Mirza said. ‘Some days ago, when we were on the hunt for our five villains, I received an email from a friend about a commercial freighter that had passed through Somali waters and made an unscheduled stop. We take an interest in all things Somalia because of the whole piracy issue, so we keep getting these updates. Anyway, this freighter was picked up on satellites belonging to certain agencies. It had stopped for five minutes just off the coast of Somalia and then resumed its course.’

  Mirza stood up and passed printouts around the table.

  ‘After speaking to the PM, I asked for an update and got these. They are satellite images tracking the freighter from Somalia to Indian waters. The freighter stopped a hundred nautical miles away from the cruise liner’s position eleven nights ago. Easy enough for someone to get to the cruise liner using a dinghy or something,’ he said.

  ‘These are CIA satellites, aren’t they?’ Vikrant asked and Mirza nodded.

  ‘The buggers watch everyone,’ Jaiswal remarked.

  ‘So,’ Mirza continued. ‘CIA tracked the freighter as it went on its course toward Indonesia and used its ground agents to find it at the Indonesian port, based on the date of its docking. The same agents found out the details of the freighter, and guess where it is from.’

  ‘Pakistan?’ Mankame asked. Mirza smiled.

  ‘It started from the Gwadar Port in Pakistan three days before it made that stop in Somali waters.’

  ‘ISI,’ Goyal exclaimed.

  ‘Munafiq,’ Vikrant said.

  Mirza nodded at both in acknowledgment before continuing.

  ‘So, CIA’s been watching the freighter and it left Indonesia an hour after Marco first made contact. It is now steadily moving towards Lakshadweep, where the cruise liner is now docked.’

  ‘Munafiq,’ Vikrant said again.

  ‘Yes,’ Mirza said. ‘That’s what I thought.’

  ‘Umm, what?’ a bewildered Mankame said while Goyal and Jaiswal looked from mentor to protégé.

  ‘He’s got to be on that freighter,’ Vikrant said.

  29

  Monday morning, Mumbai.

  In hindsight, Vikrant had to admit that it was perfect.

  The team had worked through the night before Mirza insisted that they catch some sleep at 3 in the morning.

  ‘Whatever has happened so far is going to pale in comparison, once the curtain goes up tomorrow and whatever they have planned starts happening. We’ll need the rest,’ Mirza told them.

  They all woke up at 7.30 a.m. and waited anxiously for the clock to strike 8. On the dot, Vikrant dialled the number Marco had shown in his video, with the speakerphone on.

  ‘This is Marco,’ the deep voice on the other end said.

  ‘This is SP Vikrant Singh, NIA.’

  ‘Suspended, from what I hear,’ Marco said with a snigger.

  ‘You’d asked me to call,’ said Vikrant, unfazed.

  ‘That’s right. Now, listen carefully. I want you to bring the five men who escaped from jail earlier to the cruise liner. You’ll come straight here from Mumbai by chopper and not make any stops along the way. No bugs, no hidden weapons, no tricks. I don’t need to tell ya what I will do if you annoy me.’

  ‘We don’t have the power to agree to that,’ Mirza interjected.

  ‘Who’s this?’ Marco asked.

  ‘My name is Shahwaz Ali Mirza…’

  ‘Oh, right. You don’t ever leave your boy on his own, do you? Next time you talk out of turn, I’m gonna shoot someone here in the kneecap. Clear?’

  ‘Yes,’ Mirza muttered.

  ‘I don’t know where those five men are,’ Vikrant said.

  ‘Oh, don’t worry, buddy. They’re waitin’ for you at Taj Land’s End Hotel in Bandra,’ Marco said and the line went dead.

  The entire team made a mad dash for the door and almost fell over each other as they crowded into the lift and ran to an SUV in the parking lot. Mankame sent the vehicle shooting down Cumballa Hill towards Bandra while Mirza briefed the prime minister.

  ‘We have to go all out, sir,’ Mirza said. ‘We can’t keep this quiet any more.’

  The PM agreed and Mirza briefed Mumbai Police Commissioner Virendra Sinha and DGP Kalra, while Jaiswal briefed NIA chief T. Rangaswamy and Goyal spoke to IB and RAW. By the time the SUV crossed Dadar, the PM was speaking to the head of the National Security Guard base set up in Mumbai after the 26/11 attacks.

  Vikrant, in the meantime, sat in his seat silently, marvelling at the genius behind the plan. The police had spent days looking in all the usual places – slum pockets, cheap lodges, even abandoned buildings where the IM Five could have been lying low. Instead, the five bastards were staying at a five-star hotel in one of the plushest areas of the city, the last place anyone would think of looking for them. This had to be Munafiq’s idea, Vikrant thought. Only he would have the audacity to pull off something like this.

  Five vehicles of the NSG came roaring up to the hotel almost at the same time that Mirza and his team got there. Mirza had his ID in his hands as he walked towards one of the NSG commandos, who were quickly setting up a perimeter around the hotel.

  ‘Who’s in charge?’ Mirza asked.

  ‘Guess?’ said a voice behind him and Mirza turned to see a slim, petite woman in full commando regalia grinning at him.

  ‘Bloody hell!’ said Mirza happily as he recognized the face under the commando cap. ‘Major Shaina Verma … it IS Major now, isn’t it?’

  ‘There’s nothing you don’t know, is there, sir?’ Shaina said, smiling.

  Mirza looked towards his SUV and saw Vikrant standing near the vehicle, his face looking like it was made of stone.

  ‘Bloody hell,’ he repeated, softly this time. Shaina turned around and stiffened as she saw Vikrant.

  ‘What is he doing here?’ she hissed.

  ‘What did your seniors tell you?’

  ‘Just that we were needed here, and that you would tell us the rest of it,’ she said, under her breath.

  �
��Yeah, well, he is the rest of it,’ Mirza said, after which he brought her up to speed.

  Shaina listened with growing disbelief before saying, ‘And this is not your idea of some mock drill?’

  ‘How I wish it were, girl.’ Mirza sighed.

  Shaina took a deep breath.

  ‘Right,’ she said. ‘Let’s get this over with.’

  She marched up to Vikrant, Mirza behind her.

  ‘Mr Singh,’ she said, stiffly.

  ‘Major,’ he replied.

  ‘You ready?’

  He nodded. At that moment Shaina’s earpiece crackled and she turned to the entrance of the hotel. Mirza and Vikrant followed her lead and saw a man in a formal suit standing with his arms raised.

  ‘Everybody stay back,’ Shaina said into her walkie-talkie. She raised her MP5 sub-machine gun and slowly advanced towards the man, Mirza and Vikrant following her.

  ‘You stay here,’ she told them.

  ‘Sorry, Major,’ Vikrant said. ‘But I have a feeling that that man is standing there for me. And I’m not about to waste time.’

  Vikrant started walking towards the man.

  ‘For fuck’s sake,’ Shaina breathed, throwing a look of exasperation towards Mirza, who just shrugged.

  She beckoned Mirza to follow him and jogged up to Vikrant, falling into step ahead of him, her weapon raised.

  ‘Stay behind me,’ she hissed at Vikrant and Mirza.

  The man stood sweating till the trio reached him.

  ‘Who are you?’ Shaina demanded.

  ‘Deepak Mukherjee. I’m the manager here,’ the man replied, trembling.

  ‘What do you want?’ Shaina continued.

  ‘There are five men sitting in the lobby. One of them came up to me some ten minutes ago and told me that the hotel was going to be surrounded by the police and military. He told me to ask for Vikrant Singh when that happened.’

  Shaina stepped sideways, not taking her gun off Mukherjee, and Vikrant came forward.

  ‘I’m Vikrant,’ he said.

  ‘He said to tell you that you are to come inside alone and unarmed.’

  ‘He give a name?’ Mirza asked.

  ‘Yes … he said his name is Usman Qureshi.’

  30

  Monday morning, Mumbai.

  Those who knew Vikrant knew that he hardly ever smiled. Some put this down to the scars left behind by 26/11. While this was true, there was also another reason behind it.

  Only Mirza knew why, three years after 26/11, Vikrant had almost stopped smiling altogether.

  By then Vikrant, working closely under Mirza’s tutelage in the IB, had become well versed in spy craft and had been hounding his mentor for his first solo mission. After a lot of reluctance, Mirza had agreed, but on one condition.

  ‘I don’t need a babysitter,’ Vikrant had complained.

  ‘You’re an investigator, lad,’ Mirza had explained. ‘Not a warrior. You’ll meet Captain Verma from the NSG, who’s on deputation with us for a while, near the Wagah border tomorrow, and proceed on your mission.’

  ‘Captain Verma’ had turned out to be a petite young woman with raven-black hair and almond-shaped brown eyes. The fact that the mission was a covert one and Shaina was not in uniform brought out her beauty all the more.

  Vikrant and Shaina spent six days together, tracking an ISI agent who had come across the border posing as a truck driver bringing in cement from Pakistan. Instead of taking the truck to the wholesale market, however, the man had just parked it at a desolate spot on the highway, got into a car waiting next to it and started driving towards Amritsar.

  ‘Now?’ Shaina asked, noticing that there were almost no cars on the stretch of the highway at the time.

  ‘I don’t see why not,’ Vikrant said from the driver’s seat of their Jeep.

  Without a moment’s hesitation, Shaina drew a silenced 9mm while Vikrant stepped on the accelerator. They were almost abreast of the target’s car when Shaina pulled the trigger twice. Both bullets hit the rear right wheel and the car flew into the air.

  Braking hard, Vikrant pulled to the side of the road and they both waited for the car to hit the ground upside down before running towards it.

  Shaina stood guard while Vikrant went down on all fours and pulled the target out of the mangled remains of the car. He was trying to say something, but Vikrant wasn’t interested. He calmly reached around the man and pulled his backpack out of the car. Then he fished around in his pockets till he found his cellphone and pocketed it. Moving quickly, he whipped out a small knife and pried both the bullets out of the rear tyre.

  ‘What about the shell casings?’ Shaina asked.

  Vikrant made a dismissive gesture.

  ‘Not enough time to look for them,’ he said as they ran back to their Jeep. ‘Plus it’s getting dark and I don’t think anyone’s going to be looking for shell casings at an “accident” site.’

  ‘Smart,’ Shaina said, punching Vikrant lightly on the shoulder as she slid in next to him. They sped away and went straight to a hotel in Ludhiana, where a suite had already been booked for them.

  An hour later, a man met them in the hotel lobby and took the backpack as well as the target’s cellphone.

  ‘Lie low,’ he told them. ‘There are people looking for you.’

  They ended up spending a week at the hotel, and that week changed Vikrant’s life. They were sharing the suite, posing as a couple, and would spend their days in one of the many restaurants or bars in the hotel, or in the pool area, racking up a hefty bill for the Indian government. By their third day together, Vikrant was madly in love with Shaina, who shared his burning sense of patriotism and had seen as much evil as he had.

  They would talk for hours together about their lives, past and present, in the day, and make tender love at night, lying in each other’s arms till they fell asleep.

  Over the next two months, they saw each other as often as they could and with each passing day, Vikrant was increasingly convinced that he had finally met someone he was ready to get serious with.

  That was till the day Shaina told him that her ex-boyfriend of four years, whom she had broken up with just before she met Vikrant, had asked for one last chance to make things work, and she had agreed. Vikrant was too shocked to even respond. He had simply stood up and walked away, leaving her sitting alone in the restaurant.

  For weeks, Mirza had watched helplessly as the closest thing he had to a son slipped steadily into depression. Vikrant became a compulsive workaholic, his smoking went up almost three times and he started drinking simply so that he could sleep instead of lying awake in bed, thinking of her.

  ‘You know the funniest part, sir?’ a slurring Vikrant once said to Mirza on the phone at 4 in the morning. ‘She’s no longer with him, either. Apparently he’s an asshole of the first order and she dumped him in two weeks.’

  Shaina’s deputation with the IB had ended by then and she was transferred to another location. Vikrant eventually realized that he was destroying himself and slowly brought his life back on track after six months. But he never let himself get close to anyone again, and hardly smiled after that. Most of his jokes were dark, and his chuckles were either at Mirza’s exasperation at him or indicated something sinister.

  And now, as the chopper took off from the Pawan Hans airbase in Juhu, Vikrant made it a point not to look at Shaina, who was seated in front of him. Also in the chopper were Usman Qureshi, Mazhar Khan, Shaukat Asad, and Mustafa and Ibrahim Kadir, otherwise known as the IM Five.

  31

  Monday evening, Lakshadweep.

  It wasn’t as if Mirza hadn’t anticipated this. However, as he got off the chopper, he still found himself shaking his head at the chaos that lay ahead.

  Mirza, Goyal and Jaiswal had followed Vikrant in another chopper towards an Indian Navy aircraft carrier, which was docked 50 nautical miles from the hijacked cruise liner, just off the coast of Kavaratti. The site of the INS Dweeprakshak, the Indian Navy base on Lakshadwee
p, Kavaratti is among the bigger and more important islands in Lakshadweep.

  Mankame, against his wishes, had been asked to stay in Mumbai and work with the RAW team that was tracking the supposed autorickshaw driver. Before leaving, he had hugged Vikrant for a long minute at Pawan Hans.

  ‘I never said thank you,’ said Mankame. ‘For saving my life that day.’

  ‘Say it after I’m back,’ Vikrant replied.

  The aircraft carrier was buzzing with activity, carrying representatives from IB, RAW, the PMO and the navy. Minutes earlier, the chopper carrying Vikrant, Shaina and the IM Five had landed. The five terrorists were led to a lock-up on the lower level, while Vikrant and Shaina were huddled in a conference around a table in the Officers’ Room.

  ‘If we include the captain and his crew, there are a total of forty-eight hostages on board that cruise liner,’ an IB officer was saying as Mirza entered. They turned and acknowledged him, and he motioned to them to get on with it, taking his place around the table next to Vikrant.

  ‘There are twelve women, six teenagers and two kids under ten years, who will be our priority. We need to demand their release in exchange for the terrorists,’ the officer continued.

  ‘We’re giving in?’ Mirza asked.

  ‘We’re going to negotiate, of course,’ the PMO representative, Akhilesh Kumar Mishra, said. ‘But let’s face it. They have almost fifty of our people, and they are docked near our naval base. If they have weapons with them, say a rocket launcher or a bomb, they could hurt us really badly.’

  Mirza and Vikrant both turned around to look at the bureaucrat before exchanging looks with each other.

  ‘Let’s talk options,’ the IB officer said. ‘Say we have to storm the cruise liner. Is there a way to do it without letting the hostages come to any harm?’

  ‘We could do a blitzkrieg,’ Shaina said. ‘Shoot enough flashbang grenades through the windows to disorient everyone for a minute and slip inside. With enough flashbangs and shooters, we could pull it off. The problem is, we don’t have enough time to study the layout of the cruise liner, so we’ll have to play it by ear.’

  ‘Has anyone considered stealth?’ the RAW officer said. ‘Slip a team of marine commandoes inside somehow? Take the hijackers out one by one?’