by Deva, Mukul
For a change, Cheema did not say anything. He just sat with his head cocked slightly to one side, listening intently.
‘There are also some people who use divine revelations from God as justification for racial, ethnic, or religious attacks. The Al Qaida, Hezbollah and the anti-abortionists all believe they are carrying out the will of God. Others attempt to spark a general uprising through a single, strategically placed attack designed to destroy the will of their enemies. Single-issue terrorists feel so strongly about their cause that they are willing to do almost anything to draw attention to their beliefs. Some also justify their actions by emphasizing religious duty or some kind of approaching Armageddon event. Many of them believe they are victims of political and economic oppression. They believe that because of the strength of the opposing armed forces, they have no choice but to resort to bombings and random assaults.’
A silence set in as Cheema chewed over what had been said. Salim did not speak till he was sure Cheema had dwelt on it long enough.
‘Finally, Cheema, we cannot walk away from the fact that some of them are basically failures in all other walks of life and seek personal glory and fame… and, of course, the fact that some of them are simply insane.’
‘How can one make out which one is which?’ Cheema splayed his hand outwards, perhaps thinking of the people coming to meet them soon.
‘You have to know everything about their past, especially the events and reasons that have led them to us. The key lies in the past, for we all are what we are basically because of what lies behind us.’ Salim paused briefly. ‘You need to watch them.’ He leaned forward and jabbed a finger at Cheema's eyes to emphasize the point. ‘The eyes, Cheema, the eyes… always watch the eyes. Eyes never lie. They are the windows to the soul.’
There was a long silence. Cheema seemed lost in thought. Salim watched him closely. He seemed satisfied with the way his protégé was taking it all in. Finally Salim began to speak again.
‘The fact is that no matter what the motive, terrorism simply baffles people because they cannot imagine doing such things themselves. This bafflement often leads people to assume that terrorists are either mentally deranged or products of a hostile environment, especially when they indulge in acts that are grossly anti-instinct.’
‘Anti-instinct?’
‘The drive to keep on living, Cheema,’ Salim explained. ‘Anti-instinct acts are like kids blowing themselves up or….’
‘Only those who have really suffered and those who truly believe are capable of such heroic acts,’ Cheema interrupted disdainfully.
Salim nodded. ‘That notwithstanding, the fact is that no one can ever be sure precisely what drives people who carry out such acts. Just as we will not ever know what drives the men and women who are gathering here to meet us and carry out our orders even at the cost of their lives. But, if we are to succeed in our roles, we need to try to find out… and then appeal to each individual's personal motives. That is why I suggest we go over the profiles of our lashkar and make sure nothing critical is missed out in the presentation. Come….’
The lesson was over almost as abruptly as it had begun. The two men spent the next hour going over everything with a toothcomb. The presentation was slick and put together with military precision. Salim was clearly a maestro when it came to playing with minds. He had prepared a presentation that addressed each of the visitors as specifically as if he or she were the only one it had been designed for. The two men had already thrashed out every aspect of the plan a dozen times, but both were perfectionists and could not help going over it yet again. Finally Salim was satisfied.
‘I think we should call in the Chinaman now.’
Cheema made the call and ten minutes later there was a soft knock on the door.
The man from China entered.
Phase One: The Death Dealers
MAI HU STUMBLED AND ALMOST FELL INTO THE ROOM AS HE came in.
‘Be careful,’ Cheema pointed out, ‘your shoelaces are untied. You could hurt yourself pretty badly.’
‘You sound just like my mother.’ Mai Hu gave a sheepish grin as he replied in fluent, but heavily accented English. Like many Muslims living in China, his original name, Mustafa Hussein, had been conveniently changed to the closest Chinese characters.
The short, wiry man with a toothy smile and a perennially fuzzy air looked exactly what he was: a geeky scientist. A loud floral beach shirt hung on him like a sack, bits of it tucked into the voluminous cotton Bermudas slung high on his waist. His outfit and demeanour spoke of a man who had almost never holidayed in his life and was now desperately trying to get into the act. The absent-minded air clinging to him gave him away as clearly as his clothes did. No one could be certain how much of the fuzziness was an act, because there was no doubt that Mai had a highly developed mind. His brilliance was the only reason why, against all odds, the youngest son of an Uighur merchant was today where he was.
Identified as a child prodigy by a vigilant teacher early in life, Mai had been put through the paces by the State. Every opportunity had been given to the special child to develop into a special asset to the State and he had not faltered even once. Mai grew from strength to strength and it surprised no one when he ended up as one of the leading lights of the Chinese Biological and Chemical Warfare program.
Given the State's keen awareness of Islamic militancy amongst the Uighurs, it was natural that Mai be subjected to the most intense security scrutiny. He cleared all these without any effort simply because he had nothing to hide. Mai was so deeply enamoured of his work that he had neither time nor energy for anything else. The only three things that held any appeal for him were biological weapons, chemical weapons and computers.
In fact, it is almost certain that Mai would have happily spent the rest of his life playing with test tubes and keyboards if he had not got married. It was Fatima, his wife, also an Uighur, who acquainted him with the hitherto unknown and unexplored pleasures of bedded bliss. This gave her almost total control over Mai. It also empowered and emboldened her to educate him about life beyond the laboratory. Fatima was a devout Muslim from a highly orthodox family. She had the same passion for religion that Mai had for chemistry.
‘What do you know about our people?’
‘Eh?’ was Mai's erudite reply.
‘Do you know anything about our people?’ Fatima asked patiently.
‘Of course I do,’ Mai replied absent-mindedly. ‘We are Uighurs, a Turkic Sunni Muslim people.’
‘Good.’ Fatima nodded approvingly. ‘Are you aware that we have been residing in the Xinjiang area since the eighth century?’
‘That long, eh?’
‘Yes, that long. I'm sure you're aware that Xinjiang has a very large Muslim population.’
‘Sure,’ Mai replied confidently, though he was losing interest in the conversation. ‘Hundreds of Kasakhs and Tajiks also live here.’
‘Did you also know that in 1949 the total population of Xinjiang was 4.3 million and Uighurs constituted 75.9 per cent of this?’ Fatima could be hard to shake off when she got going.
‘Really?’ Mai was as interested in this as he was in the weather.
‘Yes. By the year 2000, the total population of Xinjiang went up to 18.5 million, but now the Uighurs only constituted 45.2 per cent of it.’
‘That's most interesting.’ Mai was still only half listening. Fatima reached out and shook him. ‘Don't you want to understand why our people are being reduced to an oppressed minority?’ she asked angrily.
‘I am sure you will tell me,’ Mai replied, a little more tuned in now, possibly because she was getting worked up.
‘Because the Chinese government is busy moving Hans into the area in huge numbers. The Han population has gone up from 6.7 per cent in 1949 to 40.6 per cent in 2000. Can you imagine? And despite being a minority, the Hans are holding almost all the important official posts and have the best jobs.’
‘Really?’ The numbers had finally started getting t
hrough to Mai's scientific mind. Maybe that was why Fatima had taken the trouble to seek them out and use them. Though their marriage was young, it had not taken the astute Fatima long to understand how her husband's mind worked.
Mai's resentment at this injustice suffered by his people grew as Fatima gave him all the gory details. Even so, it took Fatima nearly two years to convert the dedicated scientist into an equally dedicated closet jihadi. That was when Salim discovered him through an East Turkestan Islamic Movement (ETIM) conduit. The recruitment process did not yield any immediate results, but then none was expected. Salim was a long-term player, fully aware of the importance of holding such an ace up his sleeve.
One never knows when such a valuable asset will come in handy.
Well, the day had finally come. And Mai was the first contact Salim had initiated.
TO PUT IT MILDLY, MAI'S BOSS HAD BEEN SHOCKED OUT OF his skin when Mai asked for a week's leave. No one could remember Mai having ever taken so much leave. Even his marriage had been a relatively rushed affair. The boss was even more shocked when he learnt that Mai was planning to spoil himself with a vacation in the Maldives. He could not imagine Mai on a beach resort. But he could hardly say no.
A couple of weeks later, Fatima and Mai were on the plane from Urumqui to Colombo via Beijing and thence onwards to the Maldives.
‘IS YOUR WIFE GOING TO JOIN US OR SHOULD WE BEGIN?’
‘No,’ Mai replied. ‘I will take notes and brief her later.’
‘Take notes?’ Cheema said agitatedly. ‘You're not supposed to take any notes. Don't you realize what would happen if…. ’
‘I'm a scientist,’ Mai cut in firmly. ‘I always take notes.’
Cheema was about to protest when Salim restrained him with a brief gesture. ‘That's okay. As long as you destroy the notes once you have briefed her.’
‘Of course I will. In any case, my notes are always in my own special shorthand. Trust me, it's a lot more efficient than any code you could think of.’
They got down to it. In the beginning, it was Mai who spoke. He gave them a complete run down on the technical aspects of the weapons they were planning to use, which Salim had asked him to look into when he had first contacted him. Both Salim and Cheema interrupted him every now and then with questions. There was a long silence when he finished. Over the next hour it was mostly Salim who spoke.
‘My God!’ Mai exclaimed when Salim finished. ‘Are you sure this will work?’
‘It will! As long as everyone carries out his assigned task, it will,’ Salim replied confidently.
‘But most of the strikes will not be able to do much damage. Not with the small amount of material that each of them can safely carry into the target area.’
‘I agree. In some cases, the actual casualty toll may not be very high,’ Salim conceded. ‘But do you realize the damage that we will be able to inflict on the kafir psyche? They will never know how much more we have of the weapons and where we will use them next. That, my dear man, is the ultimate terror.’ Salim smiled triumphantly. ‘The kafir will have no option but to be on guard at all times. He will be compelled to expend massive resources in trying to stay secure. To make it worse, even while he is doing so, the kafirs will know how futile it is, since we will always have the latitude to select the time, place and method of our next attack… and then the next one. The financial burden will cripple him just as the perennial state of fear will eventually wear down his will to fight.’
‘I see what you mean,’ Mai replied thoughtfully. ‘When you put it like that, it makes perfect sense.’
‘Exactly! Now, do you have any doubts or questions?’
‘Not really, but I would like your suggestions on how to get the material past customs and airlines security, especially now that most countries have adopted the new European Union regulations on the type and nature of liquids and aerosols that one can carry on board commercial flights.’
‘Most countries have,’ Cheema concurred, ‘but these are not really as stringent as they appear to be. In any case, you have to remember that most security checks at most airports focus on the passengers and their hand baggage, not on the stuff that one has checked in. That,’ he emphasized, jabbing the air, ‘is how we will get our material across borders.’
‘Okay!’ Mai replied, after musing over his notes for a long moment. ‘This seems good enough for me… at least for the moment. Let me give it some more thought. I will come back to you if there's anything that comes to mind. In any case, it's not as if I can't call you even later.’
‘No, you cannot,’ Salim retorted sharply. ‘That's one thing I want to emphasize very strongly. You must not call us once we move out from here… not for any reason whatsoever. Tracking and monitoring technology is too good to beat. Most such operations have been blown just because of one careless phone call. So whatever doubts you have, we clarify them right here, face to face.’
‘Fair enough,’ the man from China agreed. ‘But how do we stay in touch and coordinate once we move out from here? How do you plan to exercise command and control over the strike team if you do not allow any contact?’
‘I am coming to that.’ Salim nodded to Cheema who juggled a web page onto the laptop screen. ‘This is a matchmaking website, meetyourmatch.com. We will be using it to communicate.’ Salim paused as Mai took note of the website. ‘An identity has already been created for you. Your user name and password are….’ Salim referred to his notes and gave them to Mai who dutifully recorded them. ‘Like the others, I too have a profile created on this site under the username smurad234. You simply need to log in to your profile and then communicate with me.’ While Salim was talking, Cheema had logged in using Mai's user name and password.
‘Hey! That's neat,’ Mai said as he saw his profile float up on the laptop screen. ‘You've even put up my photo on the site. How smart is that?’
‘It's basically been done to ensure your profile blends in with other users of the site since most profiles carry photos. Your identity will appear to be more genuine and our group's messages will automatically get buried among the other messages from genuine match seekers. And of course, in case you or your laptop are taken, your accessing a matchmaking site will not appear so alarming….’
‘Why not? I'm already married.’
‘Sure you are!’ Salim grinned. ‘So what? Maybe you're looking for another wife.’
‘Right!’ Mai laughed. ‘I'm so glad you're not making these suggestions in front of my wife.’ They all laughed. ‘Anyway, that's very good thinking.’ Mai nodded approvingly.
‘That's why you must remember to write in to other people also every now and then. People who have nothing to do with our mission. It will keep things even more natural and thicken the camouflage.’
Salim watched the scientist brood over it. Then Mai grinned. ‘Yeah well, what the hell…. I must say it's very neat.’
‘Precisely!’ Salim nodded with a pleased smile. ‘It is simple, effective, and almost impossible for anyone to track down or monitor.’
‘Why?’ Mai's scientific mind could not help analysing and asking. ‘I should think it is a simple enough task for anyone to break in and track our messages. It fact, I am sure the website's system-monitors will be able to do so very easily.’
‘Of course they could,’ Salim nodded. ‘But do you realize how many millions of people communicate with each other millions of times every day? It is almost impossible for anyone to keep track of all of them… or even want to do so. So we should be quite safe as long as we avoid certain keywords that are bound to attract attention or raise flags. I am sure you will take care of that.’
‘Of course I will,’ Mai replied. ‘But what do we do if there is an emergency?’
‘You still don't call,’ Salim answered immediately. ‘Just send a text message through your mobile phone and one of us will immediately log in and check your detailed message on the site.’
‘And if one is unable to access the net?’ Mai seem
ed to be playing the Devil's advocate, or maybe he just wanted to test Salim.
‘Well, if it is absolutely critical and unavoidable, then you will just have to call. Right? But I'd rather there were no calls. See, we will be rehearsing everything in detail over the next few days. That should take care of most contingencies that are likely to arise.’
Mai remained lost in thought. ‘Neat!’ he finally said as he got up. ‘You have clearly thought things through in detail.’ He looked at Salim earnestly. ‘I'm glad. I've been slightly worried that…’ He broke off. ‘But you obviously know what you're doing. This detailed planning gives us a very fair chance of success.’
‘I am glad you approve.’ Salim smiled, genuinely pleased, and quite relieved. The Chinese scientist was a key player and Salim needed to make sure he was fully convinced. ‘And now for the final part…. The username and password for your profile on the meetyourmatch website is also applicable to an account that has been opened for you in this bank.’ He handed over a slip of paper to Mai. The details of a bank, an account number and an amount were written on it.
Mai looked at the paper and gave a low whistle. ‘That's a lot of money.’
‘You will need it. The operation should not falter for want of something as mundane as money.’
‘Like I said, you have thought of everything. When do I meet the others?’ Pocketing the slip, Mai got up to leave.
‘You will. Soon. After all, you have to brief everyone about everything – when and where they should collect the weapons from you, how they have to get them past airport security and how to use them. We will rehearse everything thoroughly.’
‘Fine! When and where are we assembling?’