by Dan Fox
‘Jesus’ interrupted the CIA man, ‘are you going to war?’
‘We certainly are’ said Steve. ‘We’ll let you know whether we’re dropping into Islamabad or Peshawar in a few hours. We’ll send you a list of weaponry, vehicles and such within the next half hour. You tell everyone you have to what’s happening. Nobody else, we don’t want any leaks. You tell them what you need to tell them to get the job done. Understand?’
‘Yes Sir, we already have a facility outside Islamabad in an old factory. It won’t take too much effort to get it up and running. Why do you want Dentists chairs?’
‘You really don’t want to know, okay’ said Steve, ‘go for it, we’ll be landing in a little over seven hours and we’ll need to be met by someone who has all the latest local intelligence. Use your contacts and find where those bastards have gone. You do all that and I might buy you a beer. See you in seven.’
In the meantime all sorts of things had been happening. The CIA and its agents in New Delhi had discovered more about the Desai’s parents. They weren’t their parents at all. They were a handling couple who ‘fostered’ young recruits for major terrorist organisations. They were now busy interrogating father Desai to get a fix on where the boys had come from. It could just be that they were heading back there. Father Desai was a tough nut, but like all nuts they will crack if you hit them hard enough. Mother Desai had been shot dead in the fracas that developed when the team came to get the father. That was probably fortunate for her.
Chapter 36
Singapore
The Karachi Moon was closing in on Singapore’s main harbour and its unloading berth. Singapore is an island state which hangs off the bottom of the Malaysian archipelago which drops down from Thailand. As you approach its gigantic port you enter the Singapore Strait and then pass to the left of Jurong Island.
Asif Iqbal had gathered all his belongings and equipment and without anyone watching made his way to the stern of the ship. There was a small promontory at the south east corner of the Tuas area which the ship would pass within about two hundred yards of, right at the edge of a very deep channel. It was dark with little moon and he believed he could make the shore without too much difficulty. No-one would be looking for him that was for sure.
One local CIA agent was hiding very close to where the ship would dock. Another was on top of the promontory that the ship would pass close to with a very large pair of light enhancing binoculars. The ship and Asif Iqbal were expected and they were anticipating an escape attempt. The agents were in radio contact with each other, and more importantly with a Rendition team waiting in a nearby grocery van. As the ship reached the promontory the binoculars picked up a shape at the stern rail. It climbed up the rail and deliberately jumped as far from the stern as possible, landing in the water about fifteen feet from the thrashing propellers. It immediately started to swim for the shore. It would take Iqbal at least fifteen minutes to swim that distance fully clothed and carrying a big sports bag.
The agent on the dock understood and waited for the ship to arrive. It could be another hour before the gangway was lowered and the Customs personnel boarded. Of course they wouldn’t be Custom’s people. The Rendition team arranged to meet the other agent at the foot of the promontory nearest the harbour. It was the only way out. When a soaking wet, cold, dishevelled and exhausted Asif Iqbal staggered along the pathway, he didn’t immediately notice the shiny Glock pistol pointing at him. When he did he collapsed in a big heap and began sobbing. He was quickly put into the van and taken away.
As soon as the gangway of the Karachi Moon was lowered the Custom’s men climbed aboard. They were met by the Captain who took the two most senior of them to the bridge to examine the manifest. Three armed Customs men remained at the gangway. Nobody would get on or off the boat whilst they were there. As they examined the manifest, one of the Custom’s men asked Khan if he’d had any passengers on this trip.
Khan kept his face straight with considerable effort but almost pissed himself and said ‘No Sir, no passenger.’
The senior Custom’s man looked at Khan quite sternly for a few seconds and said ‘I would like you to answer that question again, but this time I would ask you to carefully consider your answer. You may not get another opportunity.’
Khan now felt real fear, abject terror. His knees had gone weak. ‘We have had one unofficial passenger. He joined us in Colombo. A friend asked me if I would help him out. Some family problem I think.’
‘What is the name of this friend?’ Khan realised now that his attempts to minimise the impact had gone badly wrong. He was now in deep trouble.
‘Well it is more of an acquaintance than a friend, I can’t remember his name.’
‘Well, well, how much were you paid to help this acquaintance?’
Maybe Khan could bribe the officials with the money, ‘Two thousand American dollars.’ The official gestured for Khan to hand it over which he did. Khan thought that was the end of it.
‘Captain Khan you are under arrest for harbouring and assisting a wanted terrorist suspect’ and read him his rights. Khan’s attempt at deception had gone badly wrong. Before they left the ship Khan showed them the cabin which Iqbal had stayed in. It was clean, but then the CIA had him anyway so it didn’t matter.
Back in the USA the FBI Investigators and Analysts continued to uncover small details of the plot. On a more thorough search of the Desai brother’s apartment a single receipt was found from an ethnic shop in a rundown area of Baltimore. Under all normal circumstances no-one had sufficient evidence to mount a raid on the shop, but these were not normal circumstances. The FBI team went in at five o’clock in the morning, arrested all the occupants in the apartment above and mounted an intensive search of the property inside and outside. It became clear that this store had acted as a dead drop for correspondence not only for the Desai’s but for a number of other immigrants who were probably up to similar tricks. The shop was permanently closed whilst the FBI took it apart brick by brick.
The interrogation techniques that the FBI could offer in the USA did not compare with those used by certain foreign governments, or those not so controlled by, or caring about Human Rights. They were slow to get results, very slow. But eventually each man had his cracking point. You didn’t have to cut a man’s penis off to get the information you wanted. You had to make him absolutely believe that it was what you were going to do. His mind would do the rest. Once the president learned that there were more potential suspects he allocated a load of additional budget to the FBI and Homeland Security to draft more resource. They had a golden opportunity to stamp out these tentacles of terrorism and stamp them out they would.
The Singapore Rendition team didn’t bother to take Asif Iqbal out of the country although they may be instructed to do that later. They didn’t want to waste the time travelling. They had names to get and made for an old factory which had been gutted by fire a year or so ago. It was well fenced off and there was nothing of value there so nobody bothered with it. They backed the van up to the rear entrance doors and left the engine running. They would need that shortly. Iqbal was hauled out of the van and thrown roughly onto the dirty concrete floor. He was screaming in terror through his taped mouth. He was picked up and sat upon an old chair. His trousers and underpants were pulled down. The running engine was providing power to a couple of cables. Each had a crocodile clip on the end. When Iqbal saw these his bowels voided.
Just before the clips were connected to his scrotum, one of the team ripped the tape of his mouth and said ‘Anything to say?’
Iqbal spat at him. The tape went back on and the clips were applied. Then the engine was revved for a few seconds and a scorching smell came from Iqbal’s balls. The clips were removed and the tape ripped off again.
‘Anything to say?
Iqbal screamed and wept and nodded his head.
‘Let’s have it then. Who put you up for this job? What’s his name? I want his contact details. Okay? Remember, one
hint of a lie and we put the clips back on and leave them there until you die. Okay?’
Iqbal nodded immersed in excruciating pain. ‘My only contact is Massood Malhi from Islamabad. His phone number and e-mail address are on my phone in my bag.’ The bag was fetched and opened and a waterproof sleeve showed the phone inside. It was taken out and powered up. The call list was opened and there were several numbers.
‘Which one is his?’
‘The one that ends 5727.’
‘And e-mail address?’
‘It is the only one on the list I have only just had the phone.’
‘How did you communicate from the ship? The Captain says you used the Radio Room.’
‘Yes I did, the frequency is written in my notebook.’ The notebook was opened and sure enough there was a bona fide radio frequency. This was too easy. They could see that Iqbal was scared shitless, literally, but even petrified men try to retain some secrets. The team leader thought for a moment.
‘Where did you get the money to pay Captain Khan?’
Iqbal’s eyes moved, he was going to hide something. This could be important. ‘It was my money, I would be re-imbursed later.’
‘Okay, let’s have your bank name, address and account number, we’ll check for that withdrawal.’ Iqbal knew the game was up but he couldn’t divulge the name. It was fear and honour and shame.
‘It is a new account I can’t remember.’
‘Fetch the cutters someone, let’s take his dick off and see if that helps him remember.’ Iqbal screamed before the cutters were less than a yard away. He continued to scream as the cutters were opened and the cutting edges closed upon the circumference of his penis. ‘Last chance.’
‘Okay, okay’ Iqbal screamed, the money was given to me in Colombo by a café owner named Baba Panagodage.’
‘Café name and where in Colombo?’
‘Near the docks, very near. It is called the Golden Moon.’
The cutters were removed. When the call was answered a voice said ‘Welcome to information, just ask your question’ ‘Can you confirm a café called the Golden Moon on the Docks of Colombo, Sri Lanka. Please also tell us the name of the owner.’
‘Just a moment.’ Background music played on the line for what seemed like an hour but it was only two minutes. ‘The café name and location are confirmed. The owner’s name is Baba Panagodage.’
‘He’s telling the truth, let him clean himself up.’ The rendition team needed to check on what they were expected to do next, and with Iqbal. Doubtless their employers would be very happy with the information they had prised out of him. The secure line was called and the information divulged. They would be called back within the hour. The team should go where they felt comfortable in the meantime and await further instructions.
Within a few minutes the information that Iqbal had disclosed was communicated via Central Command and then distributed to all the key players. The net was closing in but nobody could have foreseen how big that net would have to be.
Steve and his team arrived in Cyprus to refuel, landing at Larnaca Airport and taxiing to the secure area at the far end. The grapevine had been busy and there were no customs or immigration checks. The team got off to stretch their legs and have a shower whilst the plane was refuelled and they picked up a new crew. Thirty-one minutes later they were on their way to Islamabad.
The CIA and Pakistan’s Intelligence services have an oil and water relationship. They don’t mix very well. It’s difficult therefore to be openly CIA on your business in their country. The answer had been to have a more clandestine unofficial CIA, one that operated a little more under the surface than usual. There had been suspicions about Massood Malhi for several years but despite all the surveillance they had tried nothing of any consequence was uncovered. All they could do was continue to monitor him. The breaking news from Singapore was nothing short of a shot in the arm to the American investigators in Islamabad. They would ramp up their surveillance for now and await the special ops team’s arrival.
Captain Mustapha Khan of the Karachi Moon was told he would be taken to the Singapore Custom’s Headquarters for interrogation, but it was not Custom’s officials who interrogated him. His blindfold was removed and he blinked his eyes a few times trying to adjust to the bright light shining in his face. ‘Captain Khan you are plainly guilty of a very serious offence. If you wish to spend the next twenty years in jail here then you should tell me lies. If you wish to see your home and family in Pakistan ever again you should tell me the truth. Do you understand me?’
‘Yes Sir.’
‘Who asked you to accept the passenger on board your ship and when and where did it happen?’
Khan thought hard for several seconds. This was going to be difficult. He would need to divulge a lot to save his skin, but he would certainly lose his life if he revealed all. This would be a fine balancing act. There had been no rough stuff so he thought if he was careful he could talk his way through this.
Khan began ‘I do the run from Karachi to Singapore via Colombo about eight times a year. Some years ago I was approached by a man in a café in Colombo, near the docks, who asked me if I would take a small package to Singapore for him. For this I was paid one hundred American dollars. I do not know what was in the package. Over the years I have carried several packets and parcels for him. It has helped me pay for extra schooling for my children. I did not believe it was drugs.’
‘So it was this unknown man who asked you a favour and for a few dollars you carried parcels for him, have I got that correct?’
‘Yes Sir.’
‘So was it the same man who asked you to take the passenger?’
‘Yes Sir’
‘Describe the man for me?’
Khan hesitated, ‘I never saw his face, er, it was always dark, er, in an alley nearby.’ The blow that struck Khan’s cheek rattled his teeth and rendered him unconscious for a few seconds, enough for him to come to lying on the floor behind the chair he’d been sitting on. He was helped back into the chair but was now firmly tied into it. Khan began to panic. The door into the room opened and a trolley was pushed in. He stared in disbelief at the implements laid out on the white cloth. The interrogator picked up a scalpel, tested its sharpness against his thumb, and without warning drew it along Khan’s forearm. The skin split so easily and blood poured out of the three inch gash. Khan was close to fainting.
‘Perhaps that might improve your memory. Your eyes will be next.’
‘I do not know the man’s name but he is an associate of the café owner, Baba Panagodage.’
‘I think we may have just saved your sight Captain Khan. Please relax a little whilst we check up on a few things.’
They left Khan in the room with just the sound of blood dripping onto the floor for company. His cheek was cracked and extremely sore, his arm throbbed and he felt helpless. Perhaps they would let him go now. Surely he had helped them enough. He’d only earned a few dollars for his children. He hadn’t really done anything wrong. He was not a terrorist or a sympathiser he wasn’t even a good Muslim. He’d just made a simple mistake.
The men returned. The interrogator said ‘Captain Khan, we have verified your information. Thank you’ and headed for the door, ‘Oh there is just one more thing’ and he turned and shot Khan twice in the heart. The disposal team passed him on the way out.
Chapter 37
Colombo, Sri Lanka
The surveillance team watching the Golden Moon café in Colombo had been there for a few hours now. The Colombo Police had supplied a photograph of Baba Panagodage who was a gross and ugly man of about fifty. His age was not going to matter. They knew the latest intelligence from Singapore and what was required of them. A car drove along the road and parked a hundred yards or so from the café. A very large man locked it and began to walk towards the café. Two of the surveillance team were already out of the van and walking towards him as their van slowly eased itself away from the kerb. The two men did not look at
Baba Panagodage but politely separated to let him past. As he did he was grabbed and a syringe plunged into his neck. As Baba Panagodage’s legs went to jelly the van pulled alongside and he was bundled in.
Baba Panagodage awoke strapped to a flat table in a small room without any windows with a very bright light shining in his face. He couldn’t move an inch and his mouth was taped. There were other people in the room but he couldn’t see them, they were behind him.
‘Do you want to die Mr Panagodage?’ asked a hard and frustrated voice. Baba Panagodage shook his head.
‘Excellent, then we won’t need to detain you for very long then shall we? We have been talking to Asif Iqbal and Captain Khan. They are friends of yours we understand?’ Baba Panagodage was stunned, he had no idea they knew, he had better be very careful. ‘Tell us the name of your co-conspirator Mr Panagodage, the one who organised the passenger for the Karachi Moon?’
‘I do not know of such a person, I only vaguely know of the others you mentioned because they have been to my café on a few occasions.’ His answer was almost unintelligible due to the gag, but the message came through.
‘Really, Mr Panagodage, do you think for moment that we are not aware of your involvement in terrorism activities. Do you think we do not know about the parcels you gave to Captain Khan and their contents?’ Baba Panagodage was becoming very anxious with nervous perspiration appearing on his face in small droplets. They obviously knew a lot more than he’d thought.
‘So Mr Panagodage if you do not wish to suffer extreme pain and discomfort you need to tell us who your accomplice is and you need to do it now. I am very tired Mr Panagodage and when I am tired I am not very patient. Would you like me to demonstrate what I do when people do not tell me what I want to know?’ Baba Panagodage now knew he was in very deep trouble but he must minimise the damage. He could only tell them so much or he would destroy the network. Baba Panagodage tried to speak again but this time only grunted through the gag. A hand reached over and ripped the gag from his mouth. ‘Now that’s better isn’t it. I think you were trying to tell us something.’
