Operation Deep Strike

by Rahul Badami

  “Sir,” his subordinate entered the office, “there are a couple of visitors who say they have an appointment with you. Shall I let them in?”

  Mohammed Tahir looked at the clock. It was ten-fifty am. The appointment was scheduled for eleven am. He was pleased with his visitors' punctuality. He had wondered about the visitors that Ijaz would be sending. He wasn't sure who they were or what they wanted but Ijaz had desired to give them a free reign in the facility. And since he was the head of the facility, all his subordinates would follow orders without questioning him.

  “Have they been cleared by security?”

  “Yes sir.”

  “Good, give me five minutes and then send them in.”

  The subordinate left. Tahir got up from his leather chair and walked over to the window. It showed a panoramic view of the area. Snow had fallen yesterday and the mountains glistened like fluorescence in the morning light. The clear blue sky offered a dazzling contrast to the snowy mountains. It was going to be a good day after all.

  Tahir looked at mountains that shielded his facility from three sides. He felt reassured by the natural cover that the mountains provided. No one can breach us from three sides and the southern bridge is impregnable. He felt like the king of a small kingdom.

  He thought about his wife and son and the path he had taken since their deaths. Would they approve? He shrugged. He had lost his faith with the loss of his family. He didn't believe there was an after-world where he would be judged by a higher being.

  It's all here and now. Whatever I have to do, I have to do it now; there is no tomorrow.

  In fact, Tahir had stopped thinking of tomorrow. He didn't see any future for himself.

  “It's good we decided not to bring our guns in here.” Baldev whispered to Armaan.

  Armaan nodded silently and looked around. They were sitting in the ante-room of the facility. They had just been frisked by the guards who checked if they carried any weapons.

  It had been a point of a big debate when they had discussed their infiltration strategy into the facility. Roshan and Hitesh hadn't understood why Armaan would risk his life going unarmed into hostile territory. Now they would understand why, he told himself. They had kept the secure comm channel active so that Roshan and Hitesh could listen into their conversation. The guards hadn't discovered their miniature communications earpiece and now they used subtle words to describe the facility to Roshan and Hitesh.

  “This ante-room is small compared to the lobby outside.” Baldev said to Armaan in a low voice.

  Armaan nodded. Their conversation was not for themselves but for their colleagues so that they could understand the layout and personnel inside the facility. If anyone overheard them, they wouldn't find anything unusual. He continued their charade. “Yes, those ten security guards in the lobby looked bored doing guard duty all the time. It’s as if they don't expect anything to happen in here.”

  “I would be happy if we get to see more of the facility. We need to complete our inspection so hopefully we won’t be delayed for long.”

  They didn't have to wait for long. An officer entered the ante-room. Armaan looked at his uniform and deemed him to be a Major. Probably one of Tahir's next-in-command. The Major gestured at a door in the far end.

  “You can go in now, gentleman.”

  They stood up, thanked the officer and proceeded to the door. As they entered the door, Tahir looked up and greeted them.

  “Good morning, gentlemen.”

  Armaan took a close look at the Israeli's agent. He was huge. At around seven feet in height, his body was muscular with not a shred of fat. His persona filled the room such that you could ignore everything in the surroundings when he was in the room.

  “It’s indeed a pleasant morning, Colonel.”

  Tahir gestured to the chair in front of him and they sat down. An attendant came in with three cups of coffee. After he had left and there were only the three of them in the room, Tahir finally spoke.

  “I would like to get straight to the point. Ijaz Ibrahim told me that you need my help. Tell me what you want?”

  Armaan looked at Baldev for a moment, Baldev nodded and then Armaan spoke. “I need to inspect the Babur-3 missiles which are stored in this facility.”

  “Why do you want to do that?”

  “It's best that you don't know. You won’t get into trouble if anything happens.”

  “Listen, mister,” Tahir spoke in a low voice stressing the word 'mister', “you couldn't have entered this facility if I hadn't given you permission. If I am putting my neck on the line here, I need to know what it is I am risking it for.”

  Armaan said nothing, and Tahir continued, “Don't you think I know that you are up to no good when I am told to give you access to the facility? So why hide? If you don't answer, you can leave.”

  Armaan replied, “We are going to program kill switches in the Babur-3 missiles.”

  Tahir looked at them with keen eyes, but didn’t comment. Armaan felt as if tumblers were rotating in Tahir’s brain, figuring out the various implications of what he had just revealed.

  Armaan waited for a few beats and then asked, “So, are you going to help us?”

  “The missiles are stored four floors below the ground.” Tahir replied. “I will show you the way.”

  Chapter 33

  They walked along a wide corridor. Tahir led the way and Armaan and Baldev followed him. At the end was a door. Tahir swiped his ID on a sensor at the side of the door. The sensor turned green and the door opened revealing a wide hall filled with rows upon rows of cubicles, not unlike a corporate office. It seemed to take almost half the floor.

  “This is Level 1, Research and Development. This is where our team tests existing missiles and develops designs for new ones. We use an advanced VR system to create ballistic solutions and test the results. There is a lab there.” He pointed to a double-door at the far end of the cubicles. “That’s where we create simulations on a micro-level. It gives us great insights as we look forward to create more indigenous missiles. The missile technology has come a long way since the Kettering Bug.”

  “The Kettering Bug?” Armaan wondered what Tahir was talking about.

  “Oh, you don't know? That was the world's first cruise missile. In 1918, almost at the end of the First World War, a scientist by the name of Kettering conceived an idea wherein a bomb would be made to fly and crash into enemy territory. Though we like to call it a cruise missile, technically it was an aerial torpedo powered by an unmanned conventional biplane.”

  “The Kettering Bug must have been quite a hit at that time. No pun intended.” Baldev chuckled.

  “It never saw active service. The war ended a month after it was manufactured. But it did pave the way for innovations in long-range alternatives to artillery.”

  Tahir kept walking and made his way to a lift. “Let me show you Level 2.”

  They went inside the lift. Armaan noted that the button indicators of the lift were in inverted order, starting with 1 at the top and 6 at the end.

  “These are the six levels of our facility,” Tahir answered his questioning look. “Two floors are above the ground and four floors are underneath.”

  The lift dinged a sharp bell and the doors opened. “On Level 2, we manufacture the nose cone and the cylindrical main body of the missiles.” Tahir pointed out to two technicians standing close to them. “We have multiple stations as you can see across the floor. Half of them are for creating the nose cones and the other half for creating the rocket bodies.” The arena in front of them was filled with dozens of stations positioned at regular intervals. The station was equipped with an LCD screen and a long horizontal platform that held the nose cone between two ends. One of the technicians was rotating the nose cone and the other technician was checking the information on the flat panel screen.

  “Missile engineering is a very delicate science and the manufacturing tolerances are in fractions of a micron.” He pointed at the technician ro
tating the nose cone. “It is rotated to check if the nose cone circumference is precisely symmetric or not. At the speed of eight hundred kmph, even a difference of a few microns can cause disastrous results in the missile’s aerodynamics.”

  Mohammed Tahir pointed further ahead to another station where the cylindrical rocket body was spinning on its axis. “Each part must fit precisely with the other. It is a shame that we work on this so hard, yet a missile's productive lifespan is a handful of minutes. Imagine all these weeks and months we spend manufacturing it, only for the missile to work just once, and that too for a few minutes. It’s a real shame if you ask me.”

  Tahir guided them through a stairway and they walked down one level. “This is Level 3 where the missiles are assembled together. All missiles from the Ghauri to the Babur are made here.” He walked over to one of the assembly stations where five technicians were assembling the various pieces of the missiles together.

  “A typical missile has various parts that need to be fitted together.” He pointed at the components. “A standard missile has the booster rocket at the end, followed by the turbofan jet engines that connect to the fuel chamber. The front end contains the communications and navigation system. The Babur-3 uses the GLONASS, the Russian version of GPS, though we are looking to replace it with BeiDou GPS from our Chinese friends. Even if the GPS is blocked during wartime, it contains a Terrain Contour Matching technology, which can allow its onboard sensor to map the topology of the ground it is flying over and compare it with the onboard master map so that it can confirm its going on the right route without the aid of GPS. The body is titanium metal and the insides are made of composite to reduce its radar signature. At the top, we install the warhead. Let me show you that.”

  They walked down another level.

  “This is Level 5. Here we install the warhead and complete the fuelling.” The floor consisted of multiple large pipes that criss-crossed along the floors and walls of the level. Contrary to the previous levels, the stations here were devoid of manpower. The missiles were automatically loaded from a docking station onto the fuelling platform where they were fuelled by nozzles guided through levers. Once the fuelling was completed, the nozzle retracted and then the missile moved across the floor on a mobile carriage to another platform where the top door was unscrewed, a warhead was inserted and fixed inside the missile, and the cover was screwed tightly again.

  Only a couple of technicians were monitoring this level. Armaan watched as the missile carrying carriage moved to one corner where the floor was open at the ground level. The missile was slowly lowered down and it vanished out of sight.

  “Once the missiles are fuelled and weaponised, they are ready for deployment to the missile launch facilities across Pakistan. Let’s go down. I want to show you the last level.”

  Tahir led them down the stairs and they entered a level where they were surrounded by missiles. Unlike the previous floors which were open and accommodating, this floor felt claustrophobic. The missiles were stored in racks that touched till the ceiling. The missiles blocked the view and it was difficult to gauge the size of the room. It could have been as large as the others. Armaan felt as if he was in a library except that the rows of stalls were filled with missiles instead of books.

  “This is the storage level. It is purposefully kept at the lowest level to protect it from bunker-busting missiles. No missile can penetrate four floors below the ground, so this is the safest place in Pakistan to be during wartime. Let me now show you what you came here for.”

  Armaan followed close behind as Tahir led them through labyrinthine passages. On both sides, they were dwarfed by columns of stacked up missiles ominous in their design.

  “Are these the Ghauri missiles?” Armaan looked at a stack of long missiles with a red cone and an olive green patched body.

  “Yes, they are. We manufacture and store all kinds of missiles in here.”

  Finally he stopped at a rack that contained multiple missiles. The missiles were painted in white with a red cone at the top.

  “Gentlemen, I present to you, the Babur-3 missiles.”

  Armaan looked at the missile and inhaled deeply. He had travelled more than a thousand kilometres with a couple of dead ends, only to now look at his objective in front of him.

  Tahir extended his hand. “It's all yours.”

  Armaan and Baldev walked ahead; there was a toolbox in one corner. Armaan rummaged through it till he found a couple of screwdrivers. He handed one to Baldev and they started unscrewing the panel that housed the communications component. Armaan knelt down and gave a twist to the sole of his boot to reveal a hidden cavity in it. He pulled out an electronic device. Baldev did the same from his boot. The device would program the kill switch on the missiles. He plugged the device into a port on the cruise missiles circuit board and waited for the device to reprogram the missile. A few seconds later an indicator beeped on the device indicating that the kill switch was installed.

  Armaan closed the panel and screwed it shut. He looked at Baldev who had already started working on another missile.

  Armaan went over another rack and worked quickly reprogramming the missiles with the new programme. Within ten minutes, they had both completed reprogramming all twenty missiles that were present.

  “Are you done?” Tahir asked.

  “Yes, we are done here.” Armaan replied.

  “Good,” Tahir whipped out a handgun and pointed it at them. “Now, it’s time to put an end to your arrogance.”

  “What!” The word escaped from Armaan's lips.

  “Surprised?” The Colonel spat. “You fools always underestimate us.”

  “But the Israeli told me you had turned.”

  Tahir smirked, “The Israeli is a blockhead. We have been spreading disinformation through him for months now. He has turned into our most valuable disinformation agent.”

  “But, you publicly accused the ISI of killing your family.”

  “Yes, I did. I am disenchanted with the ISI. It doesn't mean that I will become a willing traitor to my country. The Israeli made the same wrongful assumption that you are making. There is a lot I dislike about my country and its leaders, but I can never betray it. When the Israeli first contacted me, I reported the incident to my supervisors. They told me to bite the bait and see where it leads to. We have been feeding a lot of carefully constructed crap to the Israelis. Our supervisors are so happy with the Israeli that we are going to give him a promotion so that he can pedal even more high-level disinformation that will convince the Israelis that their best men are traitors in the pay of Iran.” Tahir made a throated laugh.

  “If you knew the Israeli was sending us, why did you let us in your facility? And why did you allow us to sabotage the missiles?”

  “The Israeli hadn't told me why you were here, but I had my doubts. When you told me you were here to sabotage the missiles, I wanted to know exactly what you were doing. We will reverse engineer the program you installed on the circuit board and will use it against you. We are going to have the final laugh.”

  “What if you are unable to undo the programming we did? That's a risky proposition.”

  “Not when you compare it to the benefits. Hacked components can be replaced; but enemy designs and counter-strategies, that is really valuable.”

  Armaan looked around. They were two of them and Tahir was alone, but the gun in his hand tipped the balance in his favour. He had smartly stepped back when pointing the gun at them. Armaan couldn't make a dash at him without being gunned down. Plus his seven-foot frame made any confrontation a dead contest.

  “I know what you are thinking. Give up your thinking. You cannot overpower me. With or without gun. But just to be clear, my gun is ready and pointed at your head. And know that I am a good shot.” He pulled his mobile to his lips and spoke. “Level Six, ninth row, come ASAP.”

  He pocketed his mobile and then smiled. “My men are coming. You have a few seconds to try something rash. The rules are simple
. Move and you die.”

  Tahir waited as if he expected Armaan and Baldev to make a move. Armaan found Baldev looking at him for guidance. He looked at Tahir’s massive bulk standing guard in the middle of the aisle blocking their way to the lift. His gun was levelled on them, his eyes alert and the finger on the trigger.

  A moment later Armaan heard the trample of boots indicating the incoming guards. His breath caught in his throat. There was no way they could escape.

  They were trapped.

  Chapter 34

  “We’ve been suckered into an entrapment.”

  Roshan watched through his scope as Baldev and Armaan walked out of the main entrance of the facility. They were easily distinguishable from the others. Their white suits were in contrast to the green khakis of the soldiers. Four guards flanked them, their guns pointed at Armaan and Baldev. A couple of minutes earlier, Roshan had been shocked when he heard Tahir calling in his guards to arrest their colleagues. He had heard every word of Tahir's conversation with Armaan and Baldev. The bile in his stomach rose up to his throat. He felt sick at Tahir's duplicity.

  Hitesh looked through his binoculars. “Why didn’t they listen? I told them to be armed before getting inside the facility.”

  “It wouldn't have made a difference. They would have been caught at the security checkpoint. Tahir already knew about us. Once we decided to enter the facility, we simply walked into his trap.”

  “What do we do now?” Hitesh asked.

  “Eagle, did you hear that?” Roshan asked on the secure frequency. They had decided to be on open communication throughout the mission. It meant that everyone on the mission team along with Homebase would get the updates in real time.

  A sombre Eagle answered them. “Yes. I heard everything. I will try to contact the General. He should have some ideas on how to get out of this predicament. Though being all alone in Pakistan, don't get your hopes too high.”