Operation Deep Strike

by Rahul Badami

  “When did he arrive here?” the inspector asked.

  “Just a few minutes ago, sir.” the officer said.

  Mehdi walked out of the room, and gestured to the sentries. “Lock the door and keep a close eye on them.”

  As soon as the inspector left, Baldev kneeled next to Armaan. “You all right, buddy?”

  Armaan looked into his eyes and smiled. “Just another day at the office.” He then turned to Hitesh. “I know what you are thinking. There is nothing to apologize to me. You stayed mum like you were supposed to. My life isn't in your hands or that inspector’s. It’s in my hands.”

  Hitesh nodded solemnly. “Thank you.”

  Armaan continued. “I don't think it’s a coincidence the ISI Director is here. The ISI must have heard about our capture; they may want to take custody of us.”

  Baldev looked around at the cell, “That's sad. I was just starting to enjoy the hospitality of this wonderful suite.”

  Armaan said, “Things are sad indeed. Our comms, weapons and other assets have been confiscated. We have no way of contacting HQ to let them know of our situation. Our hands and feet are bound making our movement very restrictive. We are surrounded by at least thirty armed personnel of the Counter-Terrorism Department making our escape impossible. And finally, it looks likely that we will be taken to an unknown ISI facility where we will be slowly tortured to death and all the classified information in our heads will be extracted.”

  “An apt summary of our misfortunes.” Baldev made a wry chuckle.

  “Like I said, just another day at the office.”

  Chapter 17

  Sohail Akthar, Divisional Director of the Inter-Services Intelligence, took a deep breath forcing his mind on the air that slowly entered and exited from his lungs. He repeated the exercise four more times ignoring the hub of activity that surrounded him in the Hyderabad branch of the Counter Terrorism Department. He had been cruising at forty thousand feet on his private plane en route to Sargodha when a notification had popped up on his mobile screen. One of the advantages of being an ISI top dog was that one had their eyes and ears everywhere. The message informed that a group of four suspected spies were caught by the CTD on the outskirts of Hyderabad.

  It didn’t take long for Sohail to come to the conclusion that these were the same spies he was in search of. He had immediately ordered his plane to be rerouted to Hyderabad. He then asked his assistant to ready a transport when he reached the Hyderabad airport; his destination being the CTD office in Hyderabad.

  Now as he waited in the foyer of the CTD office, the dull ache in his chest had receded. It had been replaced by quiet optimism. If he played his cards well, this could be the biggest moment of his career. He would be known as the person who caught four spies red-handed. The only problem was that of jurisdiction, and that was the reason he had wanted to be the first person on-site in Hyderabad before the news spread like wildfire.

  Sohail wanted custody of the spies.

  “Director Akthar, welcome to our office.” He heard a voice address him.

  Sohail rose up and shook the hands of the inspector. “Inspector Mehdi, it’s a pleasure.”

  “How may I help you, sir?” Mehdi came straight to the point.

  “I have come here to take custody of the spies. My men will transport them in secure vans to our ISI facility. Thank you for apprehending them. They were on our watch-list for some time. We will take it up from here.”

  Sohail saw Mehdi's brow darken. He was expecting the reaction. The captured spies were the CTD's achievement and now the ISI would take them. The Inspector's next words were predictable. “Director sir, this was a routine counter-terrorism mission. We successfully executed it and captured the terrorists. I am not sure what role the ISI would have in a counter-terrorism exercise. As terrorists, the prisoners are under the jurisdiction of the CTD.”

  Sohail glared at Mehdi, “Inspector, the terrorists are not Pakistani nationals. They are foreign terrorists, and as such come under the purview of the ISI.”

  Mehdi was quick to refute his point. “I don't think that it has been established that they are anything but Pakistanis. Our team is still interrogating them. Our department has captured them, and we will follow the standard protocols for bringing these terrorists to justice. If and when we need your help, we will let you know. I wish you a good day, sir.”

  But Sohail was not one to be easily brushed aside. He leaned in close against Mehdi's face and growled in a low voice. “Do you know who I am and the power I command?”

  Mehdi didn't flinch. “Yes sir, I do. I know your time is important and I do not wish to waste your time. If it’s determined that they are foreign nationals, you'll be the first to know.”

  Inspector Mehdi left without a backward glance at the ISI Director. Sohail watched him leave as he seethed with rage.

  The impudent upstart. What does he think of himself? I will show him.

  Sohail pulled out his mobile and tapped a number.

  Gorbat arrived three hours later at the CTD office in Hyderabad. The long drive had made him cranky and irritated. He had fought sleepiness and exhaustion while driving Bugti's car and the slow moving traffic had frustrated him. He adjusted his collar and smoothed the wrinkles on his uniform. Satisfied, he entered Mehdi's office. Mehdi stood up as he came in and the men shook hands.

  “Have the Indians revealed anything so far?”

  Mehdi looked down at the floor. “I am afraid there has been a complication.”

  “Complication? What complication?”

  Mehdi looked back at Gorbat. “The Divisional Director of the ISI got wind of the capture of the spies. He personally came here to escort the spies. I refused citing that there is no evidence that they are foreign nationals. He then called my boss, and then my boss gave me a dressing down. An hour later, the four terrorists that you refer to as Indians were taken away in one of ISI's security vans.”

  “What?”

  “Yes. We did the hard work of capturing them, and the ISI simply walked all over us. They will now also take credit for apprehending them, and portray them on national media like a World Cup trophy.”

  Gorbat felt the room closing around on him. This wasn't what he had expected when he had first started on the hunt. He had followed the scent from the Makran coastline to Karachi and then to Hyderabad. He had always felt like he was one step behind the culprits but Mehdi’s words completely deflated him. Now the ISI had swooped in like an eagle, and the prey that was rightfully his had been seized from him.

  It was something that he had seen multiple times in his fifteen year career. Opportunistic colleagues and superiors would claim his victories as their own, but he had never complained thinking that others also deserved their moment in the light. But over the years, the pattern became all too clear. When he would ask for reciprocal help, there was none to be found.

  It was a difficult career for a person of integrity like him. He had never accepted a bribe in his life. He used to ignore colleagues around him who did, thinking that they had a financial need that justified taking money for providing services. He had steadfastly remained incorruptible hoping that his work would speak for itself. But he had seen junior after junior surpassing him; people who would shamelessly lick their supervisor's boot as well as pay money to get promoted. Gorbat was rarely promoted, but whenever there was an unsolvable case, everyone remembered him.

  The motto of their department was 'Serve and Protect' and Gorbat had served and protected the common Pakistani people all these years without any expectation. To the extent that today was his son's birthday, and yet, instead of spending time with his family, he had spent the day in a wild-goose chase through half of Pakistan.

  He hadn't slept in forty-eight hours hoping that this would be the chance to prove himself. After the capture of the spies, his supervisors would see fit to give him a much deserved promotion. But instead he had failed.

  Gorbat sunk his head in his hands, full of despair.
>
  Armaan's entire focus was riveted on his hands bound behind his back.

  The bumpy road was making things difficult for him. They were imprisoned in the rear of a security van travelling to an unknown destination.

  Armaan discreetly looked around. Hitesh and Roshan were sitting on either side of him. They were quiet, lost in their own thoughts. Baldev sat on the other end of Roshan. He wondered if Baldev had the same idea as he did.

  Two guards sat opposite them, machine guns in their hands staring at them intently. Armaan tried to put up a nonchalant face, while his fingers worked furiously behind his back out of the guards' line of sight. In any case, the light in the container-type van was dim. Two small windows protected by a tightly meshed net were the only source of light. It was a steel enclosure. No one could get in or out without the keys. And the guards in front of him didn't have the keys. They were there just to make sure that Armaan and his team didn't do anything unexpected.

  And the unexpected was exactly what Armaan had in mind.

  Armaan looked at Baldev; he knew Baldev had also been trained in picking handcuffs. It was a skill that their trainers had made sure they regularly practiced. They would be handcuffed, and then told to escape. Armaan had a record of unlocking his handcuffs in under a minute using a miniature pin.

  Concealed on the web of his hand, between his thumb and index finger was a strip of ultra-thin silicon layer that was indistinguishable from his skin. The silicon layer was around an inch in length and stuck to his skin with a special adhesive. The only function of the silicon layer was to conceal and camouflage an inch long pin made of high tensile steel.

  Armaan probed with his fingers and found the silicon layer and gently peeled it to expose the pin underneath. He removed the pin and then positioned it against the keyhole of the handcuff concentrating hard as he felt the levers of the lock push against the pin.

  The van lurched violently as they passed over a pothole and the pin nearly slipped from his fingers. Sweat started to form at his hairline. Armaan took a deep breath as he commanded himself not to panic.

  During his practice runs he would work calmly and quickly knowing that it was a test. But now, seated in a semi-dark moving van with two gun-wielding hostiles staring coldly at him, it was hard work. Armaan kept repeating to himself that he was doing a mechanical task that didn't require his nerves to be so high-strung, but the ISI soldiers in front of him were making it hard for him.

  Armaan looked at his colleagues, they were staring in space. Hitesh was looking down at the floor and Baldev was looking at the rectangular mesh window. Armaan picked the polished black boots of the soldier in front of him and stared at it while he worked furiously behind his back. The pin slipped off the levers a couple of times, but he forced his mind to keep it fixed on the texture of the lever. He kept twisting and probing with the pin till with a silent jerk, he felt the handcuff unlock.

  Now what?

  He assessed his chances. There were two policemen armed and with their weapons pointed at him. He was unarmed.

  Chances of survival? Single digits.

  He needed a better option.

  Armaan caught Baldev's glance. Baldev pointed his eyes at his rear. Armaan's gaze must have been questioning, because Baldev again flitted a quick gesture with his eyes towards his back. Armaan's eyes widened. Did he interpret Baldev's gesture correctly? Was he saying that just like him, Baldev had also removed his cuffs?

  Armaan gave an imperceptible nod to Baldev indicating that his hands were also free. He then looked at the guards; they hadn't caught on to their silent conversation. Things were looking much better than they had a minute ago.

  Chances of survival? Fifty percent.

  Now the only thing left was to pull back the curtains.

  It was showtime.

  “Officer!” Armaan's voice had a surprised tone.

  Both soldiers turned their gaze to him. Hitesh and Roshan sat straight, curiosity registered in their faces. The soldier next to him tightened the grip on his gun. “Yes?”

  “My handcuff has come off. See this.” Armaan slowly brought the open handcuff forward using his left hand; his right hand still behind his back. “You will need to handcuff me again.”

  He dangled the open handcuff right under the nose of the soldier. Now both soldiers were staring at him and their guns were pointed at him.

  Just the way he'd expected.

  A blur of motion passed from the side of his eyes as Baldev rushed at the soldier opposite him and gave him a well-directed punch that knocked him out cold before he had a chance to respond.

  But the soldier opposite Baldev had a split-second longer time as he took in the scene of his comrade falling, and instinctively realized that things were getting out of hand. He moved his gun away from Armaan, and swung it towards the apparently more imminent threat of Baldev.

  It was a mistake.

  Now!

  Armaan rushed forward at the soldier; his fists clenched and turned into battering rams. He swung them with lightning speed, the blow catching the soldier’s jaw. The shot misfired and Armaan landed another blow behind his ear that pummelled him senseless.

  Armaan looked at their handiwork. Both soldiers were unconscious, slumped down on the floor. He took the handgun and the machine-gun from one of the soldiers and gestured Baldev to do the same. He then walked over behind Hitesh and Roshan and fired two shots freeing their handcuffs. Then he did the same with the manacles tied to the feet. They were now free.

  One of the soldier’s radio squawked, “Number Seven, report status.” The caller waited for an answer; when none came, he repeated the message.

  Roshan picked up the radio to answer it, but Armaan stopped him. “They will immediately know it’s not one of their men. They must have heard the shots and hence are trying to check if everything is all right.”

  A moment later, the second soldier’s radio crackled to life, again asking for a status update.

  “This doesn't look good.” Roshan said. “They are now sure their men have been overpowered.”

  “They already know.” Baldev peered through the mesh windows. “The van is stopping.”

  Chapter 18

  As Armaan listened, he felt the wheels under him crunch to a stop, followed by the sound of the engine turning off. A sharp command was heard, followed by the sound of running boots. Armaan had tagged the number of soldiers in Hyderabad before entering the van. Two in the rear with the prisoners, two in the van's cockpit, and four in the accompanying jeep. Eight in all.

  Two down, six to go.

  They had two handguns and two machine guns between the four of them. But it still would not be much of a match against six armed men who assumed that their two colleagues in the van were dead, and were coming to avenge them.

  “Hitesh and Roshan, prop these two soldiers in a standing position facing the door, and stand behind them holding them upright. When the ISI goons barge in, I want them to first see their colleagues. They will be coming in from the ambient outside light and looking into the relative darkness of the van, so it would take their eyes a moment to adjust before they realize their colleagues are not standing by themselves.” He handed them both a handgun each. “Shoot at them from behind the cover of these guys.”

  As Hitesh and Roshan picked up the two men, Armaan gestured to Baldev, “You and I will be the primary firepower. We will lie prone on the floor next to our guys and fire at anything that moves outside the door. Roshan and Hitesh will be the backup. They will fire from behind these soldiers. The high and low angles of fire should make life difficult for the hostiles outside.”

  Armaan heard the metallic clink as the door was unlocked. He looked around to make sure everyone was in position. They were. Hitesh and Roshan were standing in the centre propping the unconscious soldiers with one hand and holding the handgun with the other. On either side of them, Baldev and Armaan were flat down on the floor with their machine-guns pointed at the door. When the soldiers would
open the door, they would see their colleagues and hesitate to fire at them.

  The split-second hesitation was all that Armaan needed.

  The sound came of the bolt being swung across. Anytime now, Armaan mused, as he pointed his gun at the crevice between the two doors. The door opened a couple of inches and he saw a hand materialize. But it wasn't holding a gun, but something that Armaan recognised all too well.

  “Stun grenade!” he screamed as he pulled the trigger. The ISI soldiers weren't dumb to open the door wide and risk annihilation. They would pop a non-lethal stun grenade inside the close confines of the van. The resulting flash and sound would disorient and temporarily blind them while the soldiers would advance inside and mow down the opposition. And since the soldiers had opened the door only a fraction wide, they wouldn’t see their colleagues.

  Armaan's elaborate deception was now useless.

  Armaan wasn't the only one who had discerned the threat. The other three had come to the same conclusion. If the grenade landed inside the van, they were finished. They all started shooting at the hand carrying the grenade. Spurts of blood erupted followed by a scream. The grenade fell on the ground outside the door. A moment later a blinding flash and explosion rocked the ground outside. The impact of the shockwave on Armaan and his team was significantly reduced by the nearly closed door of the van.

  “Move!” Armaan roared as he scurried up and kicked the door wide open. The blinding sunlight outside the van dazzled him, but he forced his eyelids open. They had only a few crucial moments. He levelled his gun at a soldier nearest him and pumped two rounds into his chest. The man shuddered momentarily and then stiffened in death. He looked to his right, two men were staggering from the effects of the stun grenade, both were in the process of training their guns at him. But Armaan had a split second lead over them. He swung his barrel and pulled the trigger twice. One man’s head blew up; the second got hit in the shoulder. Not good, Armaan criticized his lack of reflexes. But it saved him, as the man’s shot whizzed past his head. He pulled the trigger again and the man’s head jerked back. It sported a bullet in his temple.