by Mukul Deva
All this ran through his mind as Deopa settled himself down into a comfortable crouch behind the window and watched with unwavering attention. He did not speak to or disturb Dhankar who was lying on the bed in the centre of the room; rest was their ultimate weapon and they would both need it.
‘We know for a fact that the man is in Karachi. He has been regularly sighted in his home and was last seen there just a few hours back,’ the Intelligence Officer had told them during the briefing. ‘It is also an established fact that he follows a pretty fixed routine.’ Despite all this, Deopa and Dhankar had no way of knowing if the target would emerge at all that morning or how long they would need to hold fort in the house; a million unforeseen factors could come into play.
‘If he does not emerge from the house before nightfall you are to implement Plan B just before first light and then get the hell out of the area,’ Anbu had said. ‘You will ensure that you pull out latest by the next morning, no matter what happens. Otherwise the extrication is going to get really tough.’
‘Plan B is way too uncertain,’ Dhankar had voiced the concern that had been in Deopa’s mind too. ‘It is too loud and messy and there is simply no guarantee that the target will be taken out.’
‘I understand,’ Anbu’s voice had been very firm. ‘But if there is no choice then that is what we will have to live with. In the worst case, it will at least deliver a loud and clear message to the Pakistanis and the terror groups hiding there that we can get at them anytime, when and wherever we wish. Anyway, let’s not discuss this further. Those are the orders and that is precisely what you will do.’
Even if either man had been the worrying kind they had no time or reason for worry up until then since fortune rode squarely with them. God was with the good guys that morning in Karachi.
Dawn was breaking over the posh Clifton Area of Karachi when the target emerged. Even at that early hour he was wearing his trademark dark glasses with a white tracksuit as he stepped out onto the terrace and started to jog, stopping after every round and taking deep breaths.
Deopa scanned the face carefully and compared it with the photo lying beside him. The photograph was from the same file that had been handed over to Interpol, yet again, the day after the Delhi blasts. It was the same one that had been handed to the Pakistan government, along with the pictures of the nineteen others wanted for terrorist and criminal activities in India. As always, Pakistan had denied any knowledge of their whereabouts.
Despite the uncertain early morning light, there was no doubt in Deopa’s mind that the person jogging on the terrace in front of him was the man behind the March 1993 bombings that had caused horrific death and destruction in Mumbai.
Deopa tracked him through his binoculars as he took his first round, just to ensure he had made no error. When he was sure he nudged Dhankar awake. ‘Up, buddy boy,’ he hissed. ‘The target is out. The hunting season is open.’
Dhankar rose instantly and scooped up the scoped sniper rifle that had already been assembled and kept ready beside him.
The American manufactured 7.62 mm bolt-action M600 sniping rifle is a weapon that any gunsmith would be proud to wield. In the hands of an expert it is a superb killing tool. Dhankar was beyond all doubts an expert. Although he personally favoured the Russian Dragunov rifles he was more than adept with the weapon in his hand. Moving to the window he took up position. There was no glint off the sniper scope since the rising sun was coming up behind them. Dhankar ranged in on the target with minimal motion.
Through the sniper scope the soon-to-be-dead man’s head loomed large and clear. Dhankar could even make out the small twisted birthmark on his right temple. It offered an irresistible and automatic aiming mark.
Dhankar steadied his hand. His breath stilled for a fraction of a second as he gently took up the slack and squeezed the trigger. He felt the recoil of the spring as the weapon discharged. The M600 uses a subsonic cartridge to reduce the noise. There was a muted bark as the weapon fired. It was not very loud, but in the quiet of the morning it rang out with unmistakable clarity. The rifle’s muzzle brake hider reduced the muzzle flash and recoil. There was no giveaway flash as the tiny lead projectile shot out from the chamber of the weapon and spun its way through the long barrel. The rifling in the barrel gave the bullet the spin required by it to maintain the desired trajectory as it cut its way cleanly towards the target.
No second shot was required. The bullet whistled through the air and entered the head of the man just above the birthmark. It drilled effortlessly through the skull and ploughed through the soft brain tissues before it exited at the other end with explosive force, spraying flecks of bone and gore into the air. Life left the terror merchant as his body jerked back sharply and crumpled to the floor.
The instant that Dhankar saw the bullet strike he abandoned the rifle and slid away from the window. ‘Let’s go.’
They were already out of the room when one of the terrace guards in the bungalow across the road raced up to the fallen man and began to shout.
‘What’s happening up there?’ The other guards near the gate abandoned positions and ran to the terrace as the echoes of the rifle shot lingered hauntingly and then died out in the early morning air. Immediately weapons were drawn and the cold metallic snicks of them being cocked filled the air. Blood was starting to stain the collars of the white tracksuit when Dhankar and Deopa exited from the rear door of the house across the street and strode away, casually peeling off the thin latex gloves they had been wearing. Moving at a steady pace it took them barely five minutes to cross through the rear by lanes and exit the area.
The two commandos had just cleared the Clifton Area when luck ran out.
Deopa was leading the way when they took the turn out of the small alley between the rows of mansions. He almost banged into a policeman who had stopped at the street corner to light a cigarette. The man was facing the wall of the building overlooking the road and using it to shelter the matchstick from the wind. There were two more policemen a few feet behind him. Neither Deopa nor Dhankar knew that they were the beat constables of that area on a routine patrol.
‘Shit!’ Seeing cop uniforms Deopa’s highly conditioned reflexes automatically swung into battle drill. He reacted on instinct, without any conscious thought or plan. His hand swept out the commando knife and drove it hard in a straight, forward thrust into the policeman’s heart. The policeman was dead even before he realized what had happened.
The two policemen to the rear watched open-mouthed as their comrade fell with a harsh yell. The speed of the assault numbed their senses and stunned them for a moment. Despite the shock they recovered creditably fast and reacted with the speed that had become a basic survival criterion in Karachi, a major hub on the narco-terror trail where guns ruled the day. Luckily only one of them carried a firearm. He pulled it out and began firing as Deopa withdrew the knife from the dead cop’s chest and Dhankar, coming up a few feet behind, went for his pistol.
The first shot fired by the cop spewed chunks of brick and cement out of the building. The second took Deopa plumb in the chest. Deopa threw the knife at almost the same instant as the cop fired the second time. Luckily the knife had left his hand a split second before the bullet hit Deopa. That is why the knife still flew true. It covered the short distance between the two men and buried itself into the base of the cop’s throat. Deopa and the cop hit the ground simultaneously as Dhankar cut down the third cop with a clean shot to the head.
The immediate threat was over but the flurry of shots had attracted unwanted attention. Luckily there were not too many people about at this early hour. Also, luckily for them, the gun-hardened people of Karachi knew that gunfire in the street meant they needed to be inside their own homes minding their own business.
Dhankar was not sure how much time he had, but he knew there would be a only small respite before the shit hit the fan. Even as he moved swiftly to take a look at Deopa he knew that their original escape plan had to be shelved.
There was no way in hell that Deopa would make it out that way…not with a bullet lodged in his chest.
He was plotting the next move when a battered Honda car swept around the corner. Dhankar knew that this was not the time to wait for anything fancy. He ran onto the road and pulled over the Honda at gunpoint. Hauling out the terrorized man from the driver’s seat he clubbed him hard on the head. The man crumpled to the road, unconscious. Dhankar raced back and helped the semi-conscious Deopa to his feet. He half pulled, half pushed him onto the rear seat of the car. The bleeding had already thickened and Dhankar knew he would have to do something about it soon, but right now it was imperative to get away from this place. It would be crawling with cops very soon.
About ten minutes and almost as many kilometres away, Dhankar slowed the car and began to plan his next move. He knew the wound was bad and Deopa would not make it if it wasn’t tended to soon. Dead or alive, Dhankar knew he had to get him home; the Indian Army did not leave its dead or wounded behind. And seeing as they had been together a long time now, he would much rather be taking his friend home alive. I am sure Deopa would subscribe to the same school of thought. Despite the circumstances he grinned grimly at the thought.
Dhankar was still weighing his options when providence stepped in and made the decision for him. He had been slowing down to take the turn ahead when he saw a familiar little red cross painted on the nameplate of the house across the street. He drove straight for the house and brought the car to a halt at the gate. Leaving the engine running he jumped out, opened the gate and drove the Honda into the driveway before he jumped out and closed the gate again. There was already another car parked inside so it was a really tight fit, but he managed. Turning off the car engine he turned to Deopa who was semi-conscious and moaning in pain. ‘I’m going to get hold of a doctor.’
Getting out he crossed over to the door marked CLINIC and rang the bell. The sleepy man in his late thirties who answered the door looked wealthy and successful.
‘Are you the doctor?’
The man nodded. He was about to say something when Dhankar, pushed for time as he was, pulled out the automatic from his waistband and jabbed it into his soft stomach. ‘I need your help. You will come quietly and do what I say or I will kill you…I do not wish to do so, so don’t compel me…’ Dhankar’s tone was all the more menacing because he kept it low and matter-of-fact.
The blood fled from the doctor’s face and he swayed slightly. For a moment Dhankar thought he would faint. He steeled himself to reach out and steady him but the wide-eyed doctor managed to keep his balance. He nodded at Dhankar who immediately nudged him towards the Honda. ‘Come with me. Your patient is in the backseat.’
The doctor took one look at Deopa lying on the rear seat and whispered, ‘That’s a gunshot wound! He’s hurt bad…too much blood loss. I don’t know if I can help him.’
Dhankar gave him a cold, hard look. ‘Get this straight, doc, if he dies, you die. Get him inside and dress the wound.’
The doctor had a small examination room next to the consultation chamber of his private clinic. They had put Deopa on the table when Dhankar asked him, ‘Who else is at home?’
‘Only my wife and two small children.’ The doctor gave him a panic-stricken look. ‘Please don’t harm them. Please.’ He was literally begging. ‘They never come down to this part of the house when I have patients. Please don’t do anything to them.’
Dhankar pointed to Deopa, ‘Take good care of him, doc…’ He left the rest unsaid.
The doctor worked like a madman for almost an hour while Dhankar stood in the half open doorway and kept an eye on him and the passage outside. No one passed that way and no other patient came to the clinic at that early hour.
However, every so often Dhankar heard a police siren sweeping past. The worry of this threat nagged him constantly. He knew they were not far enough away from either the Clifton Area or the spot where he had seized the Honda. By now the police would be scouring the streets for the Honda with two men in it. Even so there was nothing much he could do to hurry the doctor along. The stress in his head escalated with every passing moment.
Precisely what the doctor did he had no clue, but Dhankar was happy to see Deopa’s breathing become less ragged and a bit of colour return to his face after his administrations. The doctor stood back and gave him an anxious look. ‘I have done all that I could. The bullet is still inside. You need to get him to a hospital soon or he will not…’ The doctor stopped abruptly, shocked by what he had been about to say.
‘I hope not, doc…for your sake.’ There was no pity on Dhankar’s face; he could afford neither the emotion nor the time. ‘You’re coming with me, doctor. Get your bag.’ He motioned roughly with the pistol as the doctor opened his mouth to protest. ‘Is that the intercom?’ Dhankar pointed at the instrument on the doctor’s table.
‘Yes.’
‘Call your wife and tell her that you have been called out for an emergency. Tell her you will be back soon, but she should not worry if you get late.’
‘But…’
‘Do it, doc…’ Dhankar’s tone was harsh. ‘For their sake.’
That shut up the doctor immediately. He picked up the intercom and spoke to his wife. Dhankar watched him carefully. ‘What? No! You don’t need to come down. No!’ He threw a panicked look at Dhankar who was watching him closely. ‘Don’t worry I have to rush off now. I will eat something there. Bye.’ He slammed the phone down hurriedly and picked up his bag. All at once he was in a hurry to get out of the house. He was worried his wife would come down; the doctor did not even wish to think about that possibility. ‘Let’s go.’
‘We will take your car,’ Dhankar said as they carried the barely conscious Deopa out again and put him on the rear seat of the doctor’s car. They used a couple of cushions to prop him up. A large shawl covered the bandages, but there was no way they could stand up to a close scrutiny if the cops stopped the car.
There were some tense moments as Dhankar got the doctor to manoeuvre the Honda to one side and then drive his car out on to the road.
‘Don’t try anything clever, pal. Just remember your family is still inside the house. Even if you run for help I will ensure they die before anyone gets here.’
The doctor nodded grimly. ‘I won’t.’
Dhankar waited impatiently as the doctor backed the Honda onto the road. Luckily no police car drove past and he swiftly closed the gate and got into the doctor’s car. ‘Use side lanes only and get us out of the town. Head for the coast. Take us to Gulamullah or Thatta.’ Dhankar named two fishing villages on the coast about ninety kilometres south-east of Karachi.
Both of them were in the direction of the closest Indo–Pakistan border. It was for exactly such an eventuality that Deopa and he had studied the villages and terrain along the coastline on the flight down from Chandigarh the previous day. Thank God for contingency planning.
‘Look, doc, I don’t need to keep reminding you, okay? I can get to the coast on my own also…so don’t pull any numbers on me. I would hate to kill you, but I will do it without a thought if you try anything.’
‘Don’t worry, please. I will not do anything,’ the man pleaded. ‘I’m just a doctor.’
Sure you are, boy. That’s the only reason you are here. I need you to keep Deopa alive. Dhankar didn’t reply. They rode in silence as the doctor navigated the car towards the suburbs. Dhankar could feel the stress coiled inside the man.
‘Who are you?’ the doctor asked finally. ‘Are you going to release me?’ He paused to catch his breath. ‘Please don’t kill me. I have nothing to do with this. I promise you I will keep my mouth shut.’
‘You get us where we have to go and I will release you,’ Dhankar hardened his voice and motioned to him to keep driving. ‘But I promise you that if you try anything you will die. Just stay off the main roads and get me to either one of the two villages.’
It was late afternoon by the time they managed to cross the town
and head out for Gulamullah. The track they were driving on was barely discernible and badly cratered. It ran through patches of cultivation; the doctor had a tough time navigating the car through it.
By now the stress and fatigue was getting to Dhankar. His sleep and food deprived body was on edge, his mind on the verge of playing tricks on him. He could see the doctor starting to get increasingly restless and edgy. The bugger is going to try something sooner or later, his gut told him. He forced himself to stay alert.
‘What is that?’ Dhankar pointed to a cluster of rooftops that suddenly emerged in the distance as they turned a corner.
‘That should be Gullamullah…in fact I am quite sure it is.’
‘Good going, doc.’
‘You are going to let me go?’ the doctor asked with a sideways glance. ‘Aren’t you?’
‘You need to have faith, doc.’
They were barely a kilometre from the village. Hardly four hundred metres away was the narrow but metalled road that led to the village. They could even hear the occasional vehicle go past although the road was not clearly visible through the cultivation all around. Just then the car engine began to sputter. ‘Shit!’ Dhankar muttered under his breath as the engine missed and then just died out.
There was a shocked silence as the two men watched the cloud of dust settle down around them. Deopa’s harsh breathing and an intermittent clicking and hissing from the engine were the only sounds that punctuated the silence.
Dhankar shook his head and collected himself. ‘Come on, doc, out of the car,’ he gestured with the pistol.
The minute the car doors opened, they heard the familiar and, at this point, dreaded sound of human voices in the distance. Dhankar steeled himself and studied the landscape carefully. The doctor had his head cocked to one side in an oddly canine fashion. ‘Isn’t that the sea?’ he pointed in the distance. ‘Can you hear it?’
Dhankar listened harder. Sure enough it was. He could hear the muted roar of ocean water breaking against the shore. He felt a sudden lightening of his senses and a wave of relief. The sea beckoned to him like a long lost lover. Water was his element. Now he knew that he would be able to get both of them home.