by Deva, Mukul
Anbu exchanged a quick glance with Khare. They'd both read the Intel file on Iqbal and knew that his father and brother were still alive. Both were in Lucknow, where his father still worked at the same school; his brother was now studying at the local university.
Just then the door swung open after a hasty knock and two khaki-clad cops walked in. Sandwiched between them was a tall well-built man in his mid-twenties with a pleasant face. Had it not been for the fact that his eyes were totally bereft of any expression, he may well have been considered handsome. His body was taut and lean. Prison life had burned away every ounce of spare fat. His face lit up with curiosity momentarily when he spied Khare, but he didn't speak.
‘We'd like to talk to him alone,’ Anbu told the jailor.
‘Are you sure?’ the man asked tentatively. ‘He is a dangerous terrorist.’
Anbu looked at him and gave a brief, impassive smile. The cops left reluctantly, their faces shining with curiosity. Anbu waited till they were gone and then gestured to Khare, who immediately took up position near the door, ensuring that the two men inside had the privacy Anbu desired.
Silence prevailed as the men appraised each other. Then Anbu held out two photographs. ‘I believe you know both these men?’
Iqbal threw a quick glance at the photos before he nodded. ‘I already told him. That one was Salim… Brigadier Murad Salim of the Pakistani ISI. He was killed in a helicopter crash in November 2005.’
‘That is what they wanted us to believe,’ Anbu replied softly. ‘He is alive and well.’
‘No!’ Iqbal's face transmitted shock and disbelief.
‘Yes, he is. So is the other man.’
There was a long silence. Iqbal blinked several times, as though fighting back tears. ‘Maybe that is why I am still alive,’ he finally whispered, more to himself than to Anbu. ‘Somewhere inside, I knew my life still had a purpose.’
‘We know that you went back to Pakistan to kill him… after you killed Fazlur Rehman,’ Anbu continued. Iqbal nodded wordlessly, still in shock at the unexpected news. ‘Would you like to take another shot at him?’ Anbu asked softly.
‘Who are you?’ Iqbal asked. ‘You're not making a fool of me, are you?’
‘There is no reason why I should,’ Anbu replied, ignoring the first question. ‘Tell me, would you like to take another shot at Salim?’
‘Yes, I would,’ Iqbal replied without hesitation.
‘You're sure?’
‘Very sure.’
‘You may not come back alive,’ Anbu said bluntly.
‘So?’ Iqbal retorted. ‘What difference would it make?’ He gestured at the bleak prison surroundings. ‘Who can call this living anyway?’
‘Sit down.’ Anbu nodded at the chair facing him. Then he introduced himself briefly and told Iqbal about the impending strike, taking care to reveal only as much as he needed to know. He gave away nothing that would hurt them in case Iqbal was taken… or double-crossed them. ‘That is why we are going to go into Pakistan and take care of him.’
‘But why me? I am sure there are others far more qualified for….’
‘We need someone who has seen him and will recognize him.’
‘I could never forget that face.’
‘That is why we need you. Salim is a very smart operative. There are no photos of him, barring this one… and this is almost useless. See, our people will do the job – you just need to confirm the identity of the man,’ Anbu replied. ‘You help us find him and I will ensure you go free.’
‘I will help you, sir.’ Iqbal gave him a dark, haunted look. ‘But not because I want to be free.’ He looked away. ‘I cannot be free.’ Anbu could feel the guilt and the anger raging inside him. ‘I will never ever be free. My prison is here.’ Iqbal tapped his forehead. His voice was barely above a whisper. ‘I am responsible for the death of my mother and my sister… and Allah knows how many more mothers, brothers and sisters. I will never be free.’
Anbu did not say a word. In any case, there was little that he could have said that would have made any difference.
You need to fight those demons yourself, young man.
Finally, Iqbal spoke. ‘I will help you… sir, but you must promise me that I will be allowed to kill that monster. Please… promise me, sir.’ He looked at Anbu beseechingly. ‘Maybe that will finally give me some peace.’
Anbu nodded. ‘Okay. Come with me.’
ATTF OPS ROOM, NEW DELHI
THE FORCE 22 OFFICERS WERE OUT IN FULL FORCE WHEN Anbu walked into the Ops Room. But the usual banter was missing.
‘Have you given them the initial brief?’ Anbu asked Sami.
‘Yes, sir. The weapons and comm gear have also been checked and loaded. We're ready to go.’
‘Good work, MS. And what about Tiwari and his team? Are they ready?’
‘Yes, they are. Katoch, Vashisht and Dhankar will go with him to coordinate with the ATTF and help hunt down Yakub Khan.’
‘Have we got a lock on him yet?’
‘Not a blip so far, sir, but the ATTF sounds confident they will get him whenever he tries to reenter Delhi.’
‘I just hope he is not in Delhi already,’ Anbu muttered under his breath. Then he pushed away the dark thought. ‘Has RAW reverted with the details of their agent?’
‘Yes, they have, sir.’ Sami referred to his scribble pad. ‘Tiwathia and Iqbal will be met by Tanaz Hassan as soon as they cross.’
‘Tanaz? That sounds like a woman's name.’
‘She is a woman, boss. RAW says she is highly motivated and an excellent operative.’
‘Good enough. And who are you sending in with Tiwathia?’
‘Myself.’ Sami gave him a level look.
Anbu met it evenly. ‘Excellent. I'm sure you guys will do a good job, MS. Just try and get back with both your ears this time,’ he said, referring to the time when Sami had come back from the mission in Pakistan with one earlobe shot away. Everyone standing around laughed, breaking the high-wire tension momentarily. Then Anbu turned to the others. ‘Guys, you are all aware of the situation and know how badly stretched we are for time.’ There were terse nods. ‘This is what we have to do and this is how we are going to do it.’ He went over the plan in detail.
Soon the briefing was over and everyone headed out to begin their assigned tasks. Sami, Tiwathia and Anbu stood together just outside the Ops Room, waiting for Iqbal.
‘Can we trust him?’ Tiwathia asked, gesturing towards Iqbal as he walked towards them. He was speaking in an undertone but Iqbal must have heard him, because his step faltered for a moment as he looked up at the three officers waiting for him.
‘Can we trust you, Iqbal?’ Anbu tossed the query to Iqbal blandly as he came closer.
‘Yes, you can, sir,’ Iqbal replied firmly, meeting and holding his gaze. ‘I swear I will not let you down.’
Anbu looked back at him for a long moment. ‘I trust him, Vikram,’ he finally said to Tiwathia, who nodded in response.
‘Thank you, sir.’ Iqbal spoke softly as Anbu turned away. His voice throbbed with barely controlled emotion. ‘I swear I will not let you down. Not this time and, if I do come back alive, not ever in the future.’
‘I know,’ Anbu replied quietly. ‘And don't worry, you'll be back. He's very good at bringing his team back intact.’ He gestured towards Sami with a brief smile. ‘Take care, guys. Keep your transponders on, and happy hunting. I'll see you when you get back.’
With a wave, he turned back to the Ops Room. At no point did Anbu betray any sign of nerves. This is the way it always is, whenever you send your command into action. Especially when you can do nothing but sit back and wait for them to return… sometimes dead, sometimes alive, and often in vain. Anbu suppressed the strong desire to turn around and watch them leave.
‘Come on buddy, let's move it.’ Tiwathia tapped Iqbal on the shoulder. It was a comradely touch. ‘We have a long way to go.’
In unspoken tandem, the three of them turned towards
the waiting vehicle and weapons. The two Special Forces professionals flanked the former terrorist as they proceeded purposefully in lockstep.
In a few hours, all three were going to sail firmly into harm's way. Each one of them knew his life depended on the men walking beside him, for it was they who would be watching his back. None of them felt any fear. The fear would come later, much later. It always did. And it would remain within them for a very long time. Long after the guns had been silenced. It would remain until it became an integral part of their existence. It was this very fear that made a warrior think and exercise caution… and thus kept him alive. After all, only fools know no fear.
However, for the present, all three men had one thought in their minds.
Salim must die.
SIMILAR CONFERENCES WERE COMING TO AN END IN SEVERAL cities all over the world. Very soon a multitude of special task forces backed by a dazzling plethora of hi-tech gadgetry would come into play.
WHILE THE HUNTERS GOT BUSY, THE HUNTED FOUGHT BACK in the simplest possible manner – by staying still. Salim, the wily campaigner, had been right when he worked out his plan based on the simple assumption that something would go wrong. That, after all, was inevitable. In battle, no plan ever remains on course for very long.
Salim knew that his lashkar could only be caught and taken down if they moved. That too was simple military logic. Anything that moves can be seen. And whatever can be seen can and will be hit.
So, for now, the killers lay dormant, biding their time. Except for those who had yet to close in on their targets. And they were moving fast and moving smart.
WASHINGTON, D.C.
ANBU WAS HEADING BACK TO THE OPS ROOM WHEN RAHIM Khan left the Hamilton Inns & Suites Hotel and caught a cab for the Ronald Regan Airport, which was barely a couple of miles away. He still had enough time for his flight, but the urge to keep moving overcame him. Maybe it was a case of nerves. Or maybe it was a keen desire to get to his target as soon as possible. Either way, it turned out to be a good thing because he clocked in before the rush built up at the check-in counters. The soldier-terrorist walked through without having to wait.
At 0715 hours, when United Airlines flight 187 took off for San Francisco, Rahim Khan, immaculately attired as a captain in the US Marines, was safely on board.
Hide in plain sight, Cheema had advised. They will be hunting for a Corporal from the artillery, if they are looking at all… a Marine should find it easy enough to get through.
And that was exactly what happened. Most people respond deferentially to a uniform. The security men clearing the flight were no exception. Neither the killer nor his cargo had any problem getting through security.
INDO-PAK BORDER, NORTHWEST OF AMRITSAR, PUNJAB
THE INFILTRATION ROUTE WAS ONE OF THE FEW GRIM reminders of the days when the ISI had supported the Khalistani militants as aggressively as they were supporting the Kashmiri terrorists now. The ISI never found out that Indian Intelligence had been aware of the route from the first day it had been activated since the people operating it at both ends had been taken and turned by them.
‘He will take you across.’ The RAW liaison officer escorting them gestured at the man skulking a few metres away, without bothering to introduce him. ‘You will cross the IB after dark and cut straight across to the Lahore-Rawalpindi highway. Tanaz will be waiting for you here.’ He tapped a spot on the map in his hand. ‘Once he hands you guys over to her, he is going to lie low until it's time for you to return. Tanaz will take you all the way to Murree and then back to the same point.’
He makes it sound so simple! Tiwathia smiled inwardly. As though we are going for a walk in the park.
In the end, it did turn out to be simple. The red and white station wagon was waiting for them, parked exactly where it was supposed to be. ‘I will be waiting for you here,’ the escort told Tiwathia, who nodded. ‘I have been told to wait for only twenty-four hours,’ he added in the same bland tone. ‘Khuda hafiz.’ Their taciturn escort handed them over to the woman draped in a black burqa who was standing by the vehicle, and then vanished into the fields around. As the three men approached, the woman waved at them.
‘Salaam waleikum! I am known as Tanaz.’ Her voice was surprisingly young and well modulated.
‘Waleikum asalaam,’ the men responded automatically.
‘I was asked to give you this.’ A slim hand emerged from beneath the burqa, holding out a sleek Motorola smart phone. ‘The GPS Navigator you need has already been loaded on it. I was told you would configure the email account yourself.’
‘Great! Thanks.’ Sami took it from her. The smart phone's screen lit up as he thumbed the Start key and began to type out a text message. For such below-the-radar missions, it is much better to use easily available commercial technology rather than a military radio set that will definitely give away the fact that something is in the offing.
A moment later, Sami hit the send key and the text message he had typed out swirled away into the ether.
NEW DELHI
‘WHERE'S THE PARTY TONIGHT?’ ANKITA LAUGHED AS SHE read Sami's text message on her mobile phone. ‘Sami and Tiwathia are through,’ she called out to Anbu and Khare, who were huddled over a map at the other end of the control room.
‘That's great,’ Anbu replied, throwing an inadvertent glance at the giant electronic battle board that straddled the longer wall of the room. Sure enough, the two large green dots representing the GPS locators carried by all Force 22 officers on every mission glowed on it. Both were on the Pakistani side of the line that marked the IB.
‘Party address is on the way,’ Ankita replied to Sami's text message. Then she turned to the computer in front of her. Glowing on the screen was the interlock of the two Thuraya phones operating from Murree. Both phones were grid-locked at the same address that had been mentioned on the passports being used by Salim and Cheema.
On the second screen beside her was the display from the feed being sent in live by Cartosat-2. The Cartosat series of satellites are the worthy successors to the 1008 kg Technology Experimental Satellite (TES) that had been launched into space by ISRO (Indian Space Research Organization) in October 2001, making it the only civilian agency in the world other than the privately owned US Ikonos to possess this technology. Fitted with high resolution one-metre cameras that had the capability to detect objects as small as one metre, the Cartosat-2 was presently beaming down a clear panoramic view of the isolated bungalow in Murree.
Damn! They're fantastic! Despite having seen such images from the Cartosat earlier, Ankita could not help admiring the crystal-clear satellite feed. She could clearly see the sloping red-tiled roof of the bungalow peeping out from the pine trees.
Breaking away from the scene on the screen before her, she began to compose an email to Sami.
‘Click on the link to download real-time map.’ Inserting the link, Ankita clicked the send mail icon.
Then she keyed in another text message from her mobile phone. ‘Check your mail. Am maintaining live watch. Will message in case of change in venue. God speed.’
With that done, she went back to keeping an eye on both Thuraya phones as well as waiting for the smurad profile to log in again.
Not that it's required. It's pretty obvious that Salim is at his operational base and likely to remain there until the mission ends. Either way…. She shrugged and went back to her vigil. It is the hunter's job to stay the course till the quarry is down.
INDO-PAK BORDER, NORTHWEST OF AMRITSAR, PUNJAB
SAMI SMILED AS HE READ ANKITA'S SUCCESSIVE MESSAGES. ‘She's good!’ he murmured to Tiwathia as he showed him the message. Then he rapidly configured his email settings on the phone. A minute later, the email from Ankita was glowing on the phone's 2.4 inch LCD screen. He scrolled to the download icon and pressed it.
A few restless minutes later, the required map had downloaded and mated with the GPS Navigator that Tanaz had pre-loaded on the phone. The tiny glowing red dot on the top right c
orner of the screen that marked their objective in Murree beckoned to them. Running down from it was a thin blue line depicting the route that eventually merged with the bright green dot in the lower corner of the screen which marked their current position near the IB.
‘We're ready to go now.’ Sami looked up at the others with a triumphant smile.
‘That's good,’ Tanaz replied. ‘But we will wait here for a while to allow the traffic on the roads to build up a bit. It will be safer. Right now the roads will be almost deserted and we will stick out like sore thumbs.’
‘Okay.’ The two commandos exchanged a glance. ‘That sounds reasonable.’
Tanaz nodded. ‘Why don't you three get some rest? I am sure you could do with some after that long walk.’ She saw the look on the faces of the two Force 22 officers. Special Forces! she told herself. They're not used to letting their guards down. ‘Don't worry, I'll keep watch while you three catch a nap.’ Stepping forward, she threw back the burqa's veil and stepped across to the station wagon parked between them.
Perhaps she was used to the effect she had on people, for a faint, slightly amused smile briefly lit up her face as she saw the jaws of the three men drop. Her finely chiselled features and flawless complexion were absurdly out of place in the present surroundings.
The Uzi machine pistol she took out from the station wagon was even more incongruous. ‘Please rest assured that I am more than capable of putting this to good use,’ she said as she cocked it expertly. The Uzi disappeared into the voluminous folds of her burqa and the veil fell back in place. ‘Don't worry, I will not let you down. I joined your RAW of my own free will….’
‘Your RAW?’ Tiwathia asked, slightly taken aback. ‘You are not an Indian?’
‘No! I'm from Pakistan.’