Who Painted My Money White

by Sree Iyer

  The Jadeja government was not really bothered by such outbursts. Instead, it believed that the more opposition parties and other organisations criticised it for supposedly targeting the minorities, the more its support would grow among the larger section of the country’s masses. This is one reason why the government had adopted an aggressive approach towards the issue. It was clear in its stand that while it would discriminate among none, it would also not appease anybody. The message was unambiguous: The days of pandering to the minority’s demands were over. And if leaders of the country’s principal minority community were determined to polarise voters, then a counter-polarisation, larger in number and impact, would occur in the ruling party’s favour.

  Away from these political equations, the Kerala High Court was preparing to deliver its verdict in a clutch of cases relating to Smitha Gopalan’s conversion and marriage. Nearly two dozen sections of the Indian Penal Code had been invoked in the course of trial, including unlawful confinement, rape and conversion by deceit. Some of the accused had serious charges of anti-national activities slapped by the NIA under the stringent Unlawful Activities (Prevention) Act. There were, of course, other cases of Love Jihad that had been initiated in other states, but they were still in the early stages. Many experts believed that the Kerala High Court verdict could impact ongoing investigations in the other cases. The High Court found merit in the charges and directed a trial court to decide on them, within six months.

  More than a year after Smitha Gopalan had approached the High Court with her plea, the trial court gave its verdict. The judge ruled her conversion to Islam as being null and void, as it had been achieved by misleading her. He struck down her marriage to Sadiq on similar grounds; he held Iqbal guilty of rape and Sadiq guilty of being complicit in the act. It pronounced Haji Pir Mohammad, the local “kingpin” of promoting terrorism through the propagation of Love Jihad. Various levels of punishment were meted out.

  Smitha couldn’t hold her tears. She had been vindicated and so were the government agencies that had worked tirelessly to secure the convictions. Eighteen months ago, she had shot into limelight for walking out of her father’s home and taking to Islam. Now, she was back in the headlines for having helped with making a headway with the Love Jihad network. At least, it amounted to opening the lid to the can of worms.

  CHAPTER 32.

  The Assassin Arrives

  Javed gave himself a quick makeover after he had fled from the SRL premises. He trimmed his hair in a military crop, dyed it black and shaved off his beard. For good measure, he applied vibhuti (sacred ash) on his forehead with a chandan mark right between the two eyebrows. His host was taken aback at the transformation. Javed looked like a devout Hindu.

  He packed all his clothes in a rucksack and made sure the suitcase carrying the canisters was always within sight. Javed asked his host to visit the market and buy checked lungis (usually worn by Muslims) along with a couple of veshtis (a sarong-style bottom wear worn by Hindu men in southern India), as well. He then washed the new clothes to make them look well-used rather than new.

  He told his host that he wanted to stay close to the shore on a fishing trawler, out of sight. He would then hop his way south to Rameswaram, another area where he could stay safe. Every time he changed boats, he changed his appearance as well — lungis instead of veshti, one time donning a cap, another time wrapping a piece of cloth round his head. He hoped to outfox the IB sleuths now hot in pursuit.

  The 160-km journey to Rameswaram took about eight hours. It was late in the evening when he landed at a spot close to Rameswaram. He was greeted by a guide who would help him get around the police check-posts. The path led through dense palm and coconut groves. They finally reached a waiting SUV, into which he flopped and closed his eyes instantly. The driver knew that he had to take his passenger due west on NH-744 and then north to Alappuzha (Alleppey).

  By the time they reached their destination, it was four in the morning. The town was still asleep as Javed knocked on the door of Imtiaz Ali’s house. A bleary-eyed Imtiaz was not expecting any visitors, and it took him a while to recognise the tall person standing at his doorstep. The man was one of the three strangers who he had hosted in his house a few months back. But what he did not know was that Javed and his two other friends were involved in the Sri Lanka terror attacks. He had himself played courier by bringing them all that they had needed to assemble the weapons that were used.

  Javed told Imtiaz sternly that he needed to stay for a few hours at his house before moving. Imtiaz hurriedly moved his two daughters out of their bedroom and ushered Javed in. The girls were not too happy with being hustled out of their room in the night and cursed the visitor under their breath in Malayalam.

  Karan had figured that Javed would show up at one of the three persons’ homes close to the shore (one of them being Imtiaz Ali) and would be able to make a quick getaway should the need arise. A plainclothes officer watching Imtiaz’s house spotted activity, and seeing the tall figure move out, alerted Karan immediately. An order was given out to apprehend Javed on the spot.

  It was a one-on-one situation. The officer was armed but Javed was a trained assassin. As the sleuth knocked on Imtiaz’s door, Javed got suspicious. He was also surprised that the Indian officials were so quick on his tail. He had no way of knowing that the IB had been tracking him through his entire journey. He looked around wildly and chanced upon an exit door at the back. He took his chance, hoping that no one would be guarding the rear entrance. And he was lucky. Imtiaz took a few minutes to open the main door, by which time, Javed had slipped away.

  After knocking a few blows on Imtiaz, the officer discovered three fire extinguisher canisters that Javed had left behind while scurrying out. This was a good development as the bomb disposal squad would be able to analyse what Javed had on him.

  Karan was infuriated, though. He had no way of knowing that there was a rear door in the house. He made it a point to raise the issue with the people who had recced the house earlier; they ought to have spotted the second exit. Meanwhile, the bomb disposal squad had disassembled the canisters and confirmed that the content in them was Ricin. The purity was about 89% — not as lethal as 99% but still dangerous enough, if an adequate quantity was inhaled.

  The NSA was updated. He had to take a call: Should Prime Minister Jadeja’s visit to Kochi be cancelled or should it go ahead as planned? To go as per plan would amount to handing over the Prime Minister on a platter to the ISI. If they cancelled his plan, it would alert the ISI that the Indian intelligence had identified the target, thus prompting it to strike elsewhere, which could be anywhere.

  If Javed was not caught before the inaugural run of the Kochi Metro, perhaps the Prime Minister could just flag off the service rather than take a ride in the Metro, as was the original plan. Of course, that would still be risky for the lives of the first set of travellers. The NSA liked to believe that Karan would pull a rabbit out of the hat and still be able to nab Javed. If not, there was a Plan B, but he did not want to think about it.

  The new railcars for the Metro train had roof-mounted ventilation units made by Lloyd’s, a reputed manufacturer. Oblivious to the danger lurking around the corner, the engineers were conducting a final test run on air-conditioners with passengers in the compartment, to test the cooling system.

  The power line for Kochi Metro ran parallel to the rails, as a third rail. Karan figured that if they made sure that nobody climbed on to the roof of a Metro car, chances of fitting a fire extinguisher in the cramped roof-mounted ventilation unit would be difficult. The more he thought about it, the more it occurred to him that perhaps Javed had a different idea. If so, what was it? How else would he be directing the poison? He recalled that a Russian journalist had died after being poked by the tip of an umbrella, which had Ricin on it. That was in the 1970s. The security detail around the Prime Minister should ensure that no one came close.

  The NSA made a note to himself that he should not let the Prime
Minister mingle with the crowds, as he usually did. He could wave at the crowds from an open car, but that was it. It would be difficult for the security agencies since Prime Minister Jadeja was a man of the masses and loved nothing more than to walk towards a crowd of people, breaking all security protocol, mingle with them and even shake hands. It was a nightmare for his security detail. Rather than exiting at the earliest in his armoured vehicle, he was known to walk towards children waiting to greet him at the Independence Day or Republic Day events. He was as fond of mingling with people as they were to have him in their midst.

  It was a Saturday morning and the road from Kochi airport to the Metro station was filled with crowds gathered hours before the Prime Minister’s arrival. There was an air of festivity with colourful flowers and garlands being readied to shower on him.

  Javed had chosen his spot carefully. During the recce, he had spotted a bend in the road and a multistoried house that afforded a good view of the main road below. He loaded his modified rifle with the needle-syringe containing Ricin instead of a bullet and settled down to a long wait. It was worth it, he said to himself. If he succeeded, there would be shockwaves not just India but the whole world. He would have done his duty to Allah.

  CHAPTER 33.

  The Innovative Assassination Bid

  Karan was racing against time. He called up the Kochi Metro chief and expressly told him to not allow anyone except the most essential personnel near the Metro. Nobody other than those already with security clearance should be allowed till the Prime Minister finished the run. He got half a dozen guards posted around the Metro rail coaches to ensure that no one came even remotely close. Karan had earlier got in touch with the chief of the elite Special Protection Group (SPG) that formed the inner circle of the Prime Minister’s security and told him categorically to prevent the Prime Minister from mingling with the excited crowds.

  Priya, who was here as well thanks to her fluency in Malayalam - a language that most mid-level Metro staff would talk in - moved around as the crowd continued to grow. While she kept an eye out for anything out of place, she casually struck a conversation with the people around, but could pick nothing out of the ordinary. Everything seemed to be proceeding as per plan. She could not afford to get complacent, though.

  Meanwhile, something else was bothering Karan. Why would Javed turn up at Imtiaz’s residence, for instance, despite knowing that Imtiaz was under the agency’s radar? Javed also knew that the Intelligence Bureau had sniffed the Ricin plan and would follow up on the potential threat at the inauguration of the Kochi Metro services. In other words, Javed had conveniently left an easy trail for Karan to follow. Even the most intelligent criminal would make a mistake and that becomes his undoing. And yet, this seemed too simple to be believable.

  On an impulse, he called up Tihar jail, where Rehman Khan, the rogue scientist, was being held. An IB officer held a cell phone against Rehman’s ear as Karan asked, “What was Javed’s Plan B? If he could not release the canisters, what was he going to do?” Rehman answered that at every stage of purification, he had prepared both the powder and the liquid versions. The liquid had to be compressed and then loaded into the canister, he explained.

  Karan asked, “But surely you would have excess liquid, right? What did you do with it?”

  “It was stored in vials bearing the date of manufacture,” he answered matter-of-factly.

  Something occurred to Karan suddenly and he asked, “Did Javed carry syringes?”

  “Yes.”

  It slowly dawned on Karan that Javed would perhaps try and shoot a syringe to deliver the poison. The more he thought about it, the more he was convinced that this was what the ISI handler had planned all along and cursed himself for not guessing it sooner. Extracting Ricin from a vial into a syringe, fitting it to a rifle and firing from a distance of 20-30 feet would be feasible, especially when the Prime Minister was surrounded by people. It was also the perfect setting for the shooter to easily blend in with the crowd and scoot. He recalled from the profile he had read that Javed was an ace shooter during his military days.

  Mahatma Gandhi, John F Kennedy, Abraham Lincoln, Martin Luther King among many other prominent figures in history were assassinated using firearms. Gandhi was shot from close range with a small gun. Kennedy was brought down by a sniper using a rifle. Lincoln was shot at in a theatre after the doors of the hall were tampered with from the inside so that they could not be opened. King was shot dead by the assassin who had located himself in a rooming house and waited for his target to appear in the balcony of a motel nearby. Javed was apparently planning to add a first in this list, by assassinating an Indian leader — no less than a Prime Minister - using a poison dart shot from an improvised rifle.

  Javed reached his spot a full hour ahead of the time when the Prime Minister’s cavalcade would pass. He checked his rifle scope to ensure that it was dirt free. He was wearing special purpose gloves so he would avoid touching the Ricin. He planned to aim the syringe at the target’s carotid artery. The Prime Minister would feel a pinprick, not unlike a mosquito bite. The syringe was a mere two centimetres long. Everything would be fine for a while till the nausea and other symptoms set in. Since the poison would have entered the blood stream, there would be no way to undo it. The only critical factor was the purity (and hence effectiveness) of the poison. This, Javed thought, was wonderful. A bullet could hit the target but not always result in death. But Ricin was certain to do the job.

  Since the prime ministerial cavalcade would move at a snail’s pace, given the huge crowds on the streets, Javed felt confident of being able to get his target.

  The Prime Minister’s entourage came to sight finally. Prime Minister Jadeja was in his usual exuberant mood, waving to the crowds, and occasionally bringing his palms together in greeting. The SPG personnel had thrown a ring around him, their eyes darting in all directions. They had been briefed to be extra careful today. The Prime Minister had been advised to travel in his armour-plated official vehicle, but he had insisted on an open SUV. He did not want to cut himself off from the masses. This was something that Javed had anticipated correctly. Had the Prime Minister come in a closed vehicle, Javed would have had to wait for him to alight and then shoot. That would have drastically reduced the chances of hitting the target with precision.

  Javed waited for the right opportunity. As a seasoned sniper, he knew that patience was critical. He finally had a good view of the Prime Minister’s carotid artery in his telescopic sight. He pressed the trigger.

  It was just at that moment that the Prime Minister happened to bend down to pick a garland that had been tossed at him and was dangling from the vehicle’s bonnet. As he bent forward, the syringe missed his neck. It hit the side of the windscreen and then toppled on one side of the bonnet. Karan saw the metallic flash as the syringe fell away.

  The next few minutes were contained chaos. The security personnel instinctively closed round the Prime Minister, and one them carefully retrieved the syringe, using plastic gloves. Hasmukh realised that he had escaped a possible assassination bid but behaved as if nothing had happened. He continued smiling and waving to the people. They were blissfully unaware of how close their beloved Prime Minister had come to being killed.

  Karan quickly guessed the direction from where the syringe was fired and turned to look there. It was just in time that he saw the barrel of a rifle being withdrawn hastily. He spoke into his earpiece and informed his associate, who was about 20 feet behind the cars, to quickly move to the building and nab the man.

  Javed had just one shot and he had missed. It was time to flee. He needed to move quickly. There was no time to clean up the rifle, which was assembled from bits and pieces sent over a period of time through various couriers. He snapped his rucksack shut and decided to hop from building to building as quickly as possible, far away from the procession.

  Karan saw what Javed was up to and realised that he needed to somehow get ahead of him. He had to have men from
his team come from the opposite direction and confront him. He rattled off more instructions, describing the man’s attire and the backpack and told his men to be extremely careful. He urgently barked his instructions to the team: “Do not hesitate in taking a shot at him. If he can’t be captured alive, kill him.”

  Security officials recovered the canisters and a few more syringes from the spot Javed had chosen. The owner of the place was located and with some persuasion, spilled the beans on how the rent for the building was paid for a whole year in advance and in cash. The owner could not remember who it was that gave the money. All he had done, the frightened man said, was take the money and hand over the key. The amount was so alluring that he did not bother to follow procedure and ask for the stranger’s identity.

  The inaugural run of Kochi Metro went off well, and everyone heaved a sigh of relief. Priya had been with the Prime Minister all along, till he boarded his flight back to New Delhi.

  Javed had managed to slip away. Yet again. Karan sighed as he caught up with Priya later. Both realised that while the immediate danger had passed, there would be no respite till Javed was nabbed.

  CHAPTER 34.

  Deal-maker turns Politician

  After the comprehensive losses that her Freedom Party suffered in the general elections, Dipika had gone into a shell. Some senior members had deserted the party and jumped ship to the ruling dispensation, while a few others had begun to show their dissatisfaction at the state of affairs. The dedicated few plodded on, encouraging her with prospects of a return to glory in the next polls, which was still a long way away. She was democratic enough in party meetings, which she rarely summoned, listening patiently to all opinions and rarely let others know of her views. In private, she had begun to realise that none of them could be trusted.