by Dan Fox
‘There is another man who comes to the café on occasion. I do not know him well and I don’t know his name. He sometimes asks me for favours for which he pays. The café business is not so good these days’ Baba Panagodage said trying to justify the arrangement.
‘You have the man’s phone number?’
‘No, he has never called me.’ Someone looked through Baba Panagodage’s pockets and found a phone.
‘Take the phone away and get the call records for the last month.’ Someone took the phone and exited the room.
‘Why did you give Asif Iqbal money to secure his passage on the ship? He told us that you did and we have reason to believe that he was telling the truth. There were certain things he had an aversion to. He became most cooperative. Now it is your turn. We have already determined that your fingerprints and DNA were on the plastic envelope that the money came in.’ The last part was totally untrue, but who cared, if it frightened Baba Panagodage into answering so be it.
‘It was given to me by the man’ said Baba Panagodage.
‘For what reason would someone you hardly know give you a large amount of American dollars to give to another person you hardly know to give to the Captain of a ship that was due to leave Colombo for Singapore? That is a lot of money for such a short voyage. What was it buying?’
‘I don’t know’ said Baba Panagodage who was becoming more and more anxious, the sweat now running in rivers down his face.
‘We think you do know Mr Panagodage but as your memory seems to be failing you we have something which we believe will help you remember.’ With that the tap in the nearby sink was turned on and started to fill a large stainless steel bucket. A large towel was soaked in the water and before he knew it Baba Panagodage was tipped back until his head was much lower than the rest of his body and the dripping towel was draped over his face. He began to splutter as he could not get enough air. Someone then started to very slowly pour the contents of the bucket over the towel. Baba Panagodage couldn’t move his head. He couldn’t shake the towel off his face. He couldn’t breathe. He was drowning. After thirty seconds the water stopped and the towel was removed. Baba Panagodage coughed and spluttered trying to eject the water from his mouth and lungs. He could breathe again.
‘Shall we try that again Mr Panagodage or has your memory returned?’ Baba Panagodage was not that brave.
He spluttered ‘No, I have remembered. I have remembered everything.’
With that a couple of sheets of A4 were passed into the room and on to the interrogator. They were Baba Panagodage’s phone records. One number was ringed in red and appeared about a dozen times.
‘Okay, Mr Panagodage, tell us the name of the man?
‘His name is Sharif Mohammed, he works for Pakistani Intelligence. I believed what he was doing was for my mother country. I didn’t know it was wrong. I was only trying to make a living.’
‘What is his phone number?’
Baba Panagodage hesitated for a moment too long and the tap began to run again filling the steel bucket. ‘No, not that, I’m trying to remember. The number ends in 0077. I can’t remember the first part.’
‘How many times has he called you?’
‘A few times in the last month.’
‘Where does he live?’ Baba Panagodage did not want to answer this and stalled again. The tap began to run.
‘He stays in a small apartment about half a mile from the café. I have only been there once and I cannot recall the name of the street.’
‘We will show you a map and you can point it out.’
Someone went to get a street map. Baba Panagodage was lifted back up and left with his head raised a little. He still couldn’t see his interrogators. The map arrived and he quickly pointed out the location and described the house. That information was passed on for others to deal with. ‘Mr Panagodage we are going to hold you here for a couple of days while we check out everything you have said. If you have told us everything and it is all true you will be allowed to leave without charge.’ Baba Panagodage sighed with relief, perhaps he hadn’t done too badly after all.
A little later, Agents put Sharif Mohammed’s apartment under surveillance but were not surprised that he didn’t show up. He must have known by now that the operation had been compromised and might also be aware that Baba Panagodage had been taken into custody. He would be on the run and trying to get out of the country. Their support team had located Sharif Mohammed in the Pakistani Intelligence records and had secured a recent photograph. This was distributed all over their own network and that of the Sri Lankan Police and the Airport authorities. The surveillance team stayed in place and later that night a figure crept across the darkened street and made for the apartment’s entrance.
There was only one way in or out but they positioned an armed agent at the rear of the property just in case a rear window was used to effect an escape. They now had clearance to apprehend Sharif Mohammed. Two agents went to the front door and knocked. They both had guns drawn but hidden. There was no reply despite repeated knocks so the lock was picked. They entered carefully and heard movement in the rooms above at the top of the stairs. As they quietly climbed the stairs, guns drawn and cocked, they heard a window open which appeared to be at the back of the apartment which was on the second floor. The agent at the rear told them Mohammed was trying to get out of the window and make a jump for a plot of soft ground about fifteen feet below. As he jumped his jacket caught on a nail or something similar and the jump was not clean. He didn’t miss the narrow concrete path that ran along the rear of the building and there was a dreadful crack as he landed feet first. He rolled around the floor in agony. Perhaps it was a broken ankle or maybe a leg. He wouldn’t be too much of a problem from now on. While one of the agents held onto him the others brought their van around to the rear and bundled him in. They gave him a shot in the neck to keep things peaceful. He would meet up with Baba Panagodage later which could prove most interesting. The communications network was told of his apprehension. Another hole plugged.
Chapter 38
New Delhi, India
The ‘father’ of the Desai brothers was strapped into a big strong steel chair which was securely bolted to the floor. He was naked and lashed to the chair with Duct tape. He could only just move his head which had the appearance of that of a boxer who had just lost a fight because his opposition was that much better. Blood ran and oozed from his mouth and nose and a severe gash above the right eye. Sweat ran down his face mingling with the blood and snot and dripped onto his chest. He still cursed his captors refusing to say anything.
‘You obviously want to die so we will keep you alive until you tell us what we want to know. Eventually you will be in so much pain you will beg us to kill you but we will not, we will keep increasing the pain until you become unconscious. We will stop hurting you then, that is until you awake and we start again.
Many of the other people we have caught who were part of this terrible plan have already confessed to their roles and have been released because they were so helpful to us. A couple who would not help us very much have since died from their treatment. That was not our fault as all we wanted was for them to talk to us. Do you think you will die here or be released?
‘Father’ just looked at his interrogator with a little less hate but considerably more fear than earlier. The message was getting through but it needed to get through quicker. They didn’t have time to waste.
‘Did you know that your ‘sons’, the Desai brothers have been caught in Islamabad. They managed to escape America and get back to Pakistan but they were not clever enough. Which one do you think will outlast the other? Which one do you think will give in first? Do you think they will like our treatment? I will give you a progress report on them every hour or so and we can compare notes. That will be interesting won’t it? Perhaps I will have an ear brought from each one for you to see. What part of you do you think they would recognise? So, the questions again, what is your name and wher
e are you from, and who is your contact?’ No answer.
‘Boiling water please’ and the sound of a kettle starting to boil filled the airless and windowless room. The interrogator took the boiled kettle and poured perhaps half a pint over ‘father’s’ scrotum. He screamed like a Banshee. His violent thrashing was in danger of toppling the securely bolted chair. After many seconds he calmed down and moaned loudly.
The interrogator said ‘You can have some more of that in a little while. It will help your memory. Remember if we don’t treat your scrotum soon it will become infected. That infection will turn to gangrene and your testicles will rot. The gangrene will spread throughout your body and you will die in prolonged agony as your body rots before your eyes. That is of course if we have left you any eyes to see with.’
He could see by the look of the captive’s eyes that it wouldn’t take much more.
‘Are you ready to talk to me yet?
The response was a croaked, ‘Water, water.’
‘I will give you water, lots of cool clean water when you tell me who you are. That’s fair isn’t it?
‘Father’ tried to speak but his parched, split and very swollen lips and his battered face muscles wouldn’t let him get any proper words out.
‘I will give you just a drop of water if you promise to tell me your name.’ Father nodded. Breakthrough. He was given a few sips of water and allowed to spit out the blood. He was then allowed to drink a little.
‘Your name then?’
‘Malik, Shiqtar Malik’,
‘And where are you from.’
‘Peshawar.’
‘Who trained and sent you to do this job in New Delhi?’
Silence. The interrogator nodded and the kettle was filled and put on to boil again. At first Malik did not react but fear and terror are pernicious and pervasive. They build up inside.
‘Massood Malhi.
‘Where does he live?’
‘Islamabad.’
‘How long have you worked for him?’
‘Twenty-five years.’
‘I think you will be able to help us a little more. One of my assistants will tend to your scrotum. It will heal in time. You will not suffer permanent damage unless we have to do it again.’ With that the interrogator left the room and made a secure call to the CIA in Islamabad telling them what he had uncovered. The voice at the other end said thanks and then before they hung up said ‘Do you think you could find out where the brothers will head for.’
‘I think it will be Peshawar, the father is from there but I will check.’
The interrogator re-entered the room. Malik looked considerably better. His face had been cleaned up and a thick white cream had been applied to his genitals.
‘Mr Malik, where would the brothers have headed if we hadn’t apprehended them?’ Malik said nothing.
‘Mr Malik we are passed playing these games, do not try my patience again’, he nodded for the kettle.
As soon as Malik heard it he said ‘Peshawar’ and gave them the address of their uncle as well.
Chapter 39
Islamabad, Pakistan
Steve Black got a call from the CIA in Islamabad saying that they had secured a location and were currently fitting it out. They didn’t know the whereabouts of the brothers yet, but were confident that they would know within the next few hours. Steve settled in his seat and tried to relax for the remainder of the journey.
Asif Iqbal was now on his way to Islamabad courtesy of the Rendition team. If the timings were right he could be Steve’s first customer.
Later on Steve and his team arrived in Islamabad dressed casually and as tourists carrying cameras. They had rested well on the plane for there was little else for them to do until they got there. They had quality paperwork and passed through customs and immigration without a problem. At the entrance to the Airport was a dull silver SUV. The driver nodded to them and they put their luggage in the back and got in.
‘Where to?’ said Steve.
‘On the western outskirts of the city just off the main road to Peshawar there is a small disused Industrial Estate.’
Islamabad, the Capital of Pakistan, is a relatively small city which was built half a century ago to replace the former capital Karachi. It sits about a hundred or so miles east of Peshawar. It is home to a little over a million people and has some of the top ranked Science Universities in Pakistan.
‘Okay, what have we found out in the last half hour, I’m up to date until then?’
‘All trails are leading back to Massood Malhi who we have under heavy surveillance. The brother’s father has just cracked and told us his connection. He’s also told us that the brothers will head back to Peshawar, probably to their original home. We have the address. Asif Iqbal is on his way here from Singapore. Rendition flight. A bit chancy I know, but it was the best we could do. We may drop that one straight into Peshawar. The security is not so tight. The Sri Lanka boys have picked up Sharif Mohammed who seems to have organised all the missions from there using the cover of that café. He broke an ankle jumping out of a window, so he won’t get very far even if he escapes’, he laughed, ‘he’s also on his way here.’
‘Great news’ said Steve, ‘let me introduce you to the rest of the team. The big guy is Jackson Leonard, then there’s Jean McKenzie and then Marcel Jeveaux.’
‘Good to meet you. I’m Tom Attwood, head of station here, although we’re not here if you get my drift.’ They all smiled politely.
It took about twenty minutes to make the Industrial Estate with Attwood being careful of prying eyes and parking the SUV well round the back of the old building. They entered through a small Judas gate and almost immediately went down a wide staircase into a basement. At the end of a long corridor a door was open and they could see technicians working on the contents. They each surveyed the room as it was almost complete, and were impressed.
Jean said ‘Is there a shower room for us to use?’
‘Just along the corridor, one male, one female. There’s also a rest room with three single beds, TV etc., and there are three smaller rooms, old offices where prisoners can be held. The doors are steel lined and the locks are good. We are installing a secure line which will get you straight to Central Command or the president if you know his number.’
‘Yes, I’ve got his number’ said Steve to a shocked Attwood.
‘There is a small kitchen with Microwave, Hob, Fridge and Freezer which will be stocked up within the hour. Two oldish vehicles will be delivered shortly, probably vans. We are preparing the driving licences and insurance documents as we speak. I think that’s it for now, I’d better get back to tracking the brothers. I’ll be in touch within the hour, okay?’
Steve and the team thanked him and he left. They went to the rest room to consider the latest info.
‘So let’s check over what we know. The brothers are in Pakistan probably heading for Peshawar but I don’t think they are dumb enough to go back to their old house even if they can remember where it is, after all they were only six years old when they left. Iqbal is on his way here and so is Mohammed. I think we need to get Malik here as well, he knows the brothers better than anyone and could give us a lot more on how their scheme was set-up. We have to pick up Massood Malhi before he gets any more wind of what’s happening. It could get a little crowded in here’ said Steve as he wrote notes on the display board.
Jean added ‘It seems like Massood Malhi is the common point of contact, but from what Attwood said he covers his tracks well. I think we’ll need to prise some detail from the others before we start on Massood Malhi and we have to do it now.’ Jackson and Marcel nodded their agreement.
Steve said, ‘There’s a Mr Big in all of this. Do you think it’s Massood Malhi?’
Marcel replied ‘I don’t think so, there are too many people involved in this. This is a big operation whether it’s any particular extremist group or not. There’s a much bigger fish out there and I’m nervous he’ll go to ground if w
e don’t get our arses in gear.’
‘Good point’ said Jackson, ‘I think we’re doing a little too much sitting around.’ Marcel and Jean agreed.
Steve was a bit put out by this but understood their frustration.
‘Okay, Jean will you call Attwood and tell him we want Malik pronto, and also tell him we want to move on Massood Malhi now, not later. See what he’s got for us. Oh, and you’d better ask what the latest intelligence is on the brothers. I think Jackson and me should head for Peshawar and you and Marcel should go for Massood Malhi, or do you have any better ideas?’
The rest of the team had no further comments and Marcel and Jackson moved off to check weapons and Jean moved to the secure line to call Attwood. Steve went into the corridor to ask if there was any news on their vehicles and papers.
Whilst the team went about their business the brothers had reached Peshawar carefully and by an indirect route. They were nervous, not because anyone had said anything or warned them, they were nervous because absolutely no-one had been in touch with them since they landed in Islamabad. Their father’s line was dead, there wasn’t any response from the land line at their old house in New Delhi, and their Mother’s mobile phone kept playing the normal voice mail message. They couldn’t even raise Massood Malhi although they’d always been told not to try except in a dire emergency. In their panic they had forgotten a golden rule which would bite their arses quite soon.
