by Sree Iyer
For a while, Priya was dazzled and somewhat overwhelmed by all the information. It took her more than an hour to collate the material in a presentable form. Before she went to Mike and Karan, she wrote down a few points in her notebook.
One: Was SRL engaged in extracting Ricin?
Two: If yes, was it doing it with the necessary governmental clearances?
Three: Why was the company extracting Ricin? Was it for research purposes? If not, what was the motive?
Four: What steps should be taken, other than placing the firm under drone surveillance?
Her meeting with Mike and Karan lasted four hours as the three sorted through the information and drafted their responses. It was dark outside and the staff at the IB office, barring the helpers, had left for the day. Mike was not in favour of involving too many government agencies in the affair for fear of information leakage that could compromise the project. But he could not avoid keeping a few in the loop. He called up the Drugs Controller General of India and the Director of Food Safety and Standards Authority of India, and asked them to provide information on the stated activities of SRL. He also wanted to know details of clearances, if any, that they had given to the firm. He wanted the information in less than twenty four hours.
His last call of the day was made to the NSA. As it ended, Mike wondered if the NSA was thinking along the same lines as he was.
Was Ricin going to be the next weapon used for a terror attack?
CHAPTER 26.
Re-opening an old case
The first six months of marriage had been bliss for Nafisa Bi. Her husband, Sadiq, cared for her, and so did her in-laws. When she wanted new clothes or jewellery, she got them. Soon after the wedding, the couple had spent a short but happy honeymoon at a popular hill resort of Ooty. She enrolled at a local college for her postgraduate degree and her new family wholeheartedly supported this. Nafisa believed that she could now finally close the door to her turbulent past. There were moments of anguish when she thought of her father, who had fought in the court for her return. She loved him dearly, and if only he had consented to her marriage, things would have been perfect. She had almost forgotten her earlier name, Smitha Gopalan. She was so fully Nafisa Bi now.
Malappuram is a small picturesque town in the state of Kerala and, in the local language, it means a ‘terraced place atop the hills.’ The rock-cut caves are centuries old, adding to the unparalleled beauty of the hill town. Long ago, it was strongly influenced by Jain and Buddhist traditions and had been ruled by a variety of kings — the Zamorins and the Chera empire, for instance. It had been home to noted writer and poet V C Balakrishna Panicker, but this is where the notorious Varian Kannathu Kunjahammed Haji, leader of the infamous Mappila (Moplah) revolt had lived too. The Mappila revolt involved the slaughter of several hundred Hindus, with many Hindu women raped as well, in the 1920s.
The Malappuram of today was very different from its inclusive and tolerant ancient past. It is now dominated by the country’s main minority community and various radical outfits had mushroomed in the town. As a consequence, Malappuram had been under the scanner of various central intelligence and security agencies, although the local government had largely turned a blind eye to the hotbed of dangerous activities. The Nafisa Bi incident had rocked this hilltop town with much national media attention, and attracted renewed interest of the intelligence personnel.
It was a peaceful Sunday morning. Nafisa’s in-laws were on a pilgrimage to Mecca and Sadiq had gone to the market. She was comfortably settled on a sofa, watching her favourite television show on AsiaNet. Around lunchtime, Sadiq returned, accompanied by a man who looked forty-ish. She had never seen him before. He was introduced to Nafisa as just Iqbal. Sadiq said that Iqbal was a classmate and that he now owned a car rental firm that had contacts with travel agencies across the country.
Nafisa dutifully served them lunch — a simple dish of spicy fish curry and rice — and then retreated to her room. A few days later, Iqbal visited again, this time with a laptop. Sadiq was at home. The two spent a couple of hours at the laptop and were engrossed in discussions, in a low whisper. Nafisa wondered what they were up to. The third time Iqbal came was in the evening one day. Sadiq asked her to join them for dinner. She reluctantly agreed. While at the dinner table, Sadiq received a call and sauntered into the adjoining room to take it. Iqbal began to chat casually with her and even complimented her on her looks. She was growing increasingly uncomfortable. After he left, she complained to her husband. Nafisa was shocked by his nonchalant response. Sadiq told her not to overreact.
Within a few days, Nafisa forgot about the incident. Late one evening, the doorbell rang and Iqbal was there again, once more with his laptop. Nafisa refused to leave her room, asking Sadiq to serve themselves tea or dinner, whatever they wanted. Iqbal and Sadiq spent an hour together. There was a soft knock at her bedroom door. To her immense shock, she saw Iqbal walk in. Sadiq had left the house in the meanwhile, to take a stroll outside. Iqbal pulled her towards him, and when she protested, he laughingly said, “Don’t worry. I have your husband’s permission.”
Nafisa slapped him on the face and pushed him away, threatening to raise an alarm and call the neighbours. Iqbal left the house in a huff.
Sadiq was furious when Nafisa narrated her ordeal. But he was angry with her, not with Iqbal.
“Come on. You could have been a bit more cooperative.” Sadiq said with a casual shrug.
“Cooperative?”
“Why not? Iqbal is ready to invest Rs.5 lakhs so I can upgrade my small garage. It will make a big profit then, and-”
“Have you no shame?” Nafisa’s voice trembled with her rising anger.
He slapped her hard and she fell beside the bed, stunned by the pain and shock. This was a new Sadiq she had seen for the first time.
Realising that things were getting out of hand, he softened up and apologised after a while. A shaken Nafisa went to bed and wept all night.
A few days later, Iqbal was back. He apologised profusely to Nafisa and promised that it would never happen again. Sadiq, also looking chastened, offered to prepare tea for the three. After tea, they got down to working at Iqbal’s laptop again.
Meanwhile, Nafisa had begun to feel dizzy and slumped on the bed. When she woke up the next morning, she still felt heavy and disoriented. Her body ached and burned. Slowly though, the truth dawned. She had been drugged and thereafter, raped through the night.
Sadiq was now a completely changed man. He told her curtly that this would not have happened if only she had cooperated. Strict restrictions were placed on her. If at all, she could go out only accompanied by her husband. Nafisa Bi’s life was suddenly changed, before she even realised.
Meanwhile, Iqbal started visiting more often. One day, she overheard him tell her husband that it was time for Nafisa to make a trip to Syria, where her services would be needed by their ‘brothers.’ She recalled with horror her father’s allegations in court that Sadiq was involved with Islamist terror outfits. And that women were often sent over to such outfits, where they were sexually exploited. Nafisa was an educated woman and would not take things lying down anymore.
One day, she told Sadiq that she knew of his plans and would not cooperate. He was furious and threatened her with instant triple talaq (divorce.)
“I will fight this.” She said determinedly.
“Whom will you go to? The clerics? You think Haji Pir Mohammad will entertain your plea?” He said derisively. “In case you haven’t figured out yet, the idea of luring you into this marriage was his.”
She was shocked but did not say anything.
“We need women to be of service for our soldiers who fight the war.” He pointed out dryly that since she had already burned bridges with her family, there was nowhere for her to go.
A young housemaid did the daily chores and Nafisa suspected that she too had been sexually exploited. While alone with her one day, she drew the housemaid into a conversation and it wa
s confirmed. Nafisa wrote a letter to her father and requested the housemaid to deliver it to him. The girl agreed reluctantly. The letter was an appeal for help. It sought forgiveness for all that she had done, and explained the horror she was put through every day. She also wrote that her father’s accusations against Sadiq were true, and that she wished to return to her parents’ home, and to her religion.
Nafisa’s cry broke her father’s heart. He rushed to his lawyer and showed him the letter. Both knew that they could expect no assistance from the local administration or the government, although a case could be made of rape and unlawful confinement, on the basis of the letter. The courts were the only refuge. But the due process of the law had to be followed.
Accompanied by the lawyer, Nafisa’s father went to the nearest police station and lodged a complaint, attaching a copy of her letter with the FIR. For the next 15 days, they waited for action, which never came. They then approached the Kerala High Court, which promptly issued notice to the state government to respond in three weeks’ time. It also asked the police to not only register a case based on Gopalan’s complaint but also to act on it.
Compelled to do something, the local police station in charge summoned Sadiq and Iqbal, and demanded an explanation. Both denied all allegations. But wary of the strictures the court could pass, the police registered a case under sections of the Indian Penal Code that covered rape and unlawful confinement.
There was a huge outcry among the local minority community members over the action and a procession headed by Haji Pir Mohammad was taken to the secretariat, in response to the police action. On behalf of the gathering, the Haji submitted a petition to the Chief Secretary, claiming that members of the community were being framed and that those who could not reconcile to the conversion of the woman to Islam, had been spreading falsehoods. The petition said that Nafisa may have written the letter under some domestic stress and that the leaders of the community would resolve the matter.
Meanwhile, Gopalan’s lawyer had got in touch with a central intelligence agency official who had earlier conducted an inquiry into Sadiq’s links with radical Islamists. That probe had been pushed to the back burner after the Supreme Court had held Nafisa’s conversion and marriage valid. It was time to reopen it.
CHAPTER 27.
To raid or not to raid…
Although Mike and his team had considerable information on the SRL, they decided to gather more concrete evidence before approaching the NSA. Mike was well aware of the NSA Amarnath Verma’s penchant for details. He had often dismissed requests for coercive action based on inadequate material. The demand for infra-red camera loaded drones had been successfully processed and the ‘birds’ had been hovering over the site for some time now.
And then, late one night, the drones picked up activity at the site. A trap door opened from the ground letting six persons out, who slipped into the dark of the night. The door then closed promptly and before long, it was invisible. The ground looked as flat as it was before.
The drone was fitted with heat-sensitive technology that could locate the number of people working under the ground by reading heat signatures. It relayed that there were about 12 persons — about half were working while the rest were asleep in the bunkers. But what were they up to?
In the meanwhile, Priya had figured out that the laboratory was involved in creating high-purity Ricin from the chaff of castor seeds, that she now knew grew in abundance around the area. Having ascertained the presence of people in the premises, the team quickly also located the ducts that were pumping air in and out of the lab, camouflaged by a shrub. But she still had to find out how the unit was being powered. A diesel-based generator would create too much noise and also emit fumes, which would have been visible from outside. Yet, the place looked dead externally, with no sign of fumes emanating from any chimney.
Her next step was based entirely on a hunch. She asked for the electricity bills of all farms located around the lab, and started looking at their power consumption patterns from the past two years. The search was narrowed to those which had backup diesel generators, a fact that she could cross-compare by looking at the generators sold in that area. The list was further pared down to two, and she found that one of the farms had registered an increase in power consumption by a whopping 150% in the last few months. A drone flew past the targeted farm and found a larger than required diesel-powered generator installed. Once the farm was located, she could trace out the path of wires that had snaked from the farmhouse to the lab.
Should they storm the lab or wait? It was not for them decide; the call had to be taken by the NSA. Mike suggested to Amarnath that they have a quiet word with the Power Grid Corporation of India Limited chief and request him to trim power supply to Pachamalai area by 15%. That done (the grid chairman took little to come on board), an official memo was circulated to the State Electricity Board that regular power supply was being curtailed for maintenance purposes and would be resumed soon. The area was already suffering four-hour power cuts in a day, and it had gone up to six and then eight hours, as the industries in the region had bribed the electricity department to spare them from the rolling blackouts. As a result, the locals had to face longer power cuts. A small notice was placed in English and regional language newspapers about the proposed reduction, seeking cooperation from consumers.
The Power Grid Corporation of India Limited is a state-owned electric utilities company that transmits nearly 50% of the total power generated in India on its transmission network. Barring the 2012 power fiasco - the northern region grid which provides power to nearly nine states had collapsed in the dead of night, resulting in massive outages in the region including Delhi — its track record has been impressive, with credit rating agencies giving it a big thumbs up.
Karan was pleased with Priya’s work so far and he was particularly impressed with the way she had traced the source of power supply to the lab. The information she had dug out would be crucial for nabbing the culprits at the so-called research organisation.
Karan liked people who thought out of the box. He had topped his batch while Priya had stood fifth. As a young IPS officer, he had adopted some unconventional means of policing. He would go out of his way to find an amicable resolution that was eventually acceptable to the disputing parties in a strife, which would in turn prevent the crisis from escalating, thus often preventing long court hauls.
At the same time, he was uncompromising in cases of serious offence. Tall and built tough, he often overwhelmed people around him. As a young officer posted in Uttar Pradesh, he had ruthlessly cracked down on the sand mafia, disrupting the powerful politician-bureaucrat-business nexus. He had come to the Intelligence Bureau with the reputation of a doer. And lived up to it every day. Karan was also an academician of sorts. He had a doctorate in behavioural economics — a subject that flummoxed many in the IB. Had he not joined the police force, he would have certainly taught at Harvard University, which had sounded him for a position.
Inside the laboratory, there was chaos. Rehman Khan banged the table in frustration. The outages had begun to disrupt his work. The backup generator was unable to keep up with the load of work. It would take weeks to bolster the capacity, assuming that his person in the village, Muthu, could be contacted and persuaded to coax the farm owner with the offer of additional funds to acquire a bigger generator. The lab’s work had reached a critical stage and any delay at this point would be disastrous.
Rehman was a chemical and poison expert. He was educated in England and then moved to Dubai where he once worked in a forensics facility. But that felt like another lifetime ago. Pakistan’s ISI, which had spotted him, tried to first win him over with offers of large cash. When he refused, they placed his mother and sister under house arrest in their house in Sukkur, using local agents. They threatened to kill them if he refused to comply. He was asked to relocate to the SRL lab and create the purest form of Ricin possible. He was also told to come up with the best possible mechanis
m to deliver the poison.
Rehman had two options. He could make the Ricin into a spray form, which could then be released in a contained area such as an air-conditioned room or a Metro-train compartment. If an air-spray was to be the mechanism, it was important that there be minimum circulation of air in the target areas, else it would not be as effective.
Or he could convert Ricin into a powder. Ricin powder could be mixed in water and sprayed on flowers in a bouquet and presented to a VIP, with the assumption that the fragrance of the flowers would be alluring enough to make the target touch the flowers. This was a more difficult proposition as most leaders got bouquets by the dozen, which were passed on to the nearest security person around, who might just sniff the flowers and die, instead.
Just to be sure, he was asked to prepare both the options.
Javed Bhatti, the ISI handler for the project, too was in the bunker, and scouring the newspapers for information about the sudden increase in load shedding. While he suspected more than he read in the papers, he had no way of confirming his fears as yet. He was not happy with the pace of progress but could not afford to get any more equipment to speed it up, for risk of being noticed and caught. His other frustration was with the local translator Muthu, who could only speak broken Bollywood style Hindi and not comprehend the Urdu that Javed spat at him. Be patient, he told himself. Muthu was the one who kept going out of the lab on errands and was prone to hit the bottle hard. He did not want him opening his mouth about what was happening in the lab in some TASMAC bar.