Mumbai Avengers

by S. Hussain Zaidi

  ‘Ah, all right. So the 3D technology, how much will it cost us?’

  ‘Around ninety lakh rupees,’ Brijesh said. ‘Roughly, hundred thousand dollars.’

  Vikrant looked at Brijesh and said, ‘Aamra parun to?’

  Ghuman gave them a puzzled look. Brijesh tried to explain, ‘He is from the interiors of Bangladesh and likes to speak in his mother tongue; he is asking me if we can manage within this amount?’

  Ghuman sat silently for a moment. The waiter walked up to the table and served each man a thick, reddish omelette and a glass of tea. He placed a basket of dry bread between them, then tossed a few sachets of butter beside it and walked away.

  ‘That’s quite an amount,’ Ghuman replied. ‘We had a Singaporean firm willing to do it for much less.’

  Vikrant again lapsed into Bengali. ‘Ae ki hoitase re?’

  Brijesh again acted as interpreter. ‘He means, what is happening here? Why are you renegotiating after bringing us so far from our country?’

  ‘The price you are quoting is too steep. The Singapore firm gave us a reasonable offer,’ Ghuman said.

  ‘Sir,’ Vikrant said, ‘with all due respect, we aren’t making a profit on this either. However, if you feel the Singaporeans are better, let them do it.’

  ‘They’ve asked us to wait,’ Ghuman said matter-of-factly. ‘Some kind of delay. The owner of the firm, a fine lady, fell ill at the last moment. That’s why we negotiated with you.’

  ‘Well, since you’re being so blunt about it,’ Vikrant said, playing with his omelette, ‘we will too. We can’t do it for anything less than this. In fact, we were afraid it would run into a higher amount. So, take it or leave it. You can wait for the fine Singaporean lady to get over her common cold and let her do it.’

  Ghuman looked deeply insulted. He was clearly taken aback by Vikrant’s outburst. He wiped his mouth with a tissue and got up without finishing his omelette.

  ‘I’ll stay in touch. I need to call the head office before taking any decisions.’

  Vikrant smiled and nodded his head in approval. ‘We do what we have to do, sir.’

  Ghuman walked away.

  ‘Well,’ Brijesh said. ‘There could’ve been better ways of handling that.’

  ‘Why waste time around those edicts if we aren’t mapping them, anyway? We’ll come during the vacation for a picture with them if that’s what you want. Besides, this buys us more time for a recce. The hills with the edicts are more than two kilometres away from the ground where Azhar is going to speak. We have to find a closer vantage point.’

  ‘I know,’ Brijesh said. ‘This saved us a trip. His boss will want him to wait for the Singaporeans after he reports how you behaved with him. But I’m sure you’re happy for another reason as well.’

  ‘And what is that?’ Vikrant asked with an enigmatic smile.

  ‘Nicole gets to do what she always wanted.’

  27

  Chattar plain, Mansehra, 5 p.m.

  ‘So, Azhar is going to speak at a rally in the northwestern part of Mansehra,’ Vikrant said, as he changed his T-shirt. ‘It’s the same place where Nawaz Sharif spoke in March.’

  ‘Good,’ Brijesh replied. ‘I called Hafeez from your phone while you were away. We’ll be making a trip down there.’

  ‘Sounds good.’ Vikrant picked up his phone as it rang. ‘It’s him, let’s get going. Ray showed us these particular hills on the map he sent us, they are about 1800 metres to the right of the stadium. Apparently, there’s a roadway as well.’

  Brijesh walked out of the door and Vikrant locked it behind him.

  ‘Check the lock again,’ Brijesh told him. ‘Our equipment is in there, under the bed.’

  Vikrant slipped the key into his pocket and walked up alongside Brijesh.

  ‘Why is there a roadway?’

  ‘They plant poppies there,’ Vikrant replied. ‘Don’t you read the emails Ray sends?’

  ‘No,’ Brijesh said, as they approached the car. ‘Not ones about opium when I have real work to do.’

  ‘Well,’ Vikrant replied with a grin. ‘It’s part of our work now. We tell Hafeez that we want to go and buy some of the stuff there. You know the drill.’ They sat in the car and told Hafeez what they wished to do to which he nodded obediently and Brijesh saw a half-smile on his face.

  The sun had disappeared, though it was only 6 p.m. They reached an area called the Chattar plain, where some of the rallies were set up. According to the flimsy boards and hoardings and the various pamphlets stuck on the walls, this was where Maulana Mehmood Azhar was going to deliver a speech on Islam and on what God desired from the Islamic youth.

  ‘Mehmood Azhar,’ said Brijesh softly. ‘I’ve heard that name before.’

  He knew that Hafeez was bound to butt in and tell him about Azhar. As if on cue, he lowered the volume and spoke with a smile. ‘Officially, the Pakistani government said he isn’t anywhere in our country, just like they did about Osama. But here there are photos plastered all over the walls about him giving a speech.’

  ‘Oh,’ Brijesh said. ‘Isn’t he the guy who has a terrorist organization?’

  ‘Yes, Jaish-e-Mohammad. He was also very close to Osama.’

  ‘Have you ever been to any such speeches, Hafeez?’ Vikrant asked casually. ‘Any idea what he talks about?’

  ‘He speaks about how we are being oppressed by the other countries in the world. India and America, especially. I have been to one such speech of his.’ Vikrant and Brijesh prodded no further. They knew Hafeez well by now. If he kept silent, it was because he felt an obligation to build on the topic at hand.

  ‘I don’t know if I should be saying this,’ Hafeez said, and paused dramatically.

  ‘Well, we won’t tell anyone, if that’s what you’re afraid of,’ Brijesh said.

  ‘I’ve heard that this seminar of his has been cancelled,’ Hafeez said hesitantly. ‘Apparently, there is an important visitor at the training camp somewhere in the Chattar plain. He is here to talk to the young militants they’ve recruited for the organization.’

  ‘Any idea who the visitor is?’ Brijesh asked, delicately. Vikrant was still quiet as he tried to process this new piece of information.

  Hafeez shook his head vigorously. He continued: ‘In fact, after the two of you are done at the plantations, we must head back home immediately. The training camp is around two kilometres away, and we don’t want to get into trouble.’

  Brijesh and Vikrant had to throw in a smattering of Bengali now, for Hafeez to trust their cover.

  ‘Aar kotdur zaita hoibo?’ Brijesh asked.

  Hafeez looked at Vikrant, totally unfazed.

  Vikrant tried to explain eruditely, ‘Mushfiq is from the suburbs of Dhaka, he cannot keep himself from breaking into his mother tongue. He is asking, how much farther do we have to go?’

  The driver nodded. After a few minutes, they drove past a junction and kept going straight, at the end of which the path diverged into two. One of these led to a T-point, while the other continued towards an upwards slope.

  ‘Ae toh gobhir bon,’ Brijesh said again, trying to be an authentic Bangladeshi.

  Hafeez looked helplessly at Vikrant.

  ‘He is saying, it is such a dense forest,’ Vikrant said with a smile.

  ‘The car won’t be able to go inside,’ Hafeez said, as he parked the SUV neatly.

  ‘So, how did you know that the talk has been cancelled?’

  ‘I have a friend,’ Hafeez said. ‘He works under Maulana Azhar. They are going to be at the training camp tomorrow night, because of this guest.’

  ‘For what?’ Vikrant asked.

  ‘Training the kids for jihad. Azhar and his friend are going to lecture the young militants in the camp.’

  ‘Do you agree with all this, Hafeez?’

  ‘No,’ he said. ‘Not at all. For the simple reason that my father protected me from it, he didn’t want to lose me. And I don’t want to lose my son. That’s all. For me, it’s my famil
y first. I’m beginning to hate these people. They have spoiled our beautiful country.’

  Brijesh and Vikrant looked at each other.

  ‘Anyway,’ Hafeez said. ‘Here we are.’ He pointed at a huge field, beside which there was a small hut. It seemed abandoned. The sun was setting and tiny flies were beginning to irritate Vikrant and Brijesh.

  ‘How much do you want, bhai? I’ll go and buy it.’

  Vikrant shrugged and gave him a thousand-rupee note with a smile. ‘You decide.’

  Hafeez started walking towards the hut. ‘Do you think we can trust him?’ Brijesh asked.

  ‘He seems genuine,’ Vikrant replied. ‘Doesn’t betray his emotions. I like the chap.’

  ‘But after the last debacle, where we almost lost Kang, it’s hard to trust anyone.’

  Vikrant nodded. ‘Azhar has cancelled his rally. Something serious is happening. I wonder who this guest is.’

  ‘Do you, really?’ Brijesh asked with a sly smile. ‘We’ll need to make a clean getaway. We have to find out where the camp is and which hill we should use.’

  ‘We need to trick Hafeez into taking us around then,’ Vikrant replied. ‘He seems pretty disturbed himself.’

  ‘We don’t need to trick him. We’ll tell him why we’re here,’ Brijesh replied. ‘We are journalists who need to figure out where the training camp is. We need a few pictures, after which we can make our escape.’

  Vikrant stood silently, waving away the files. He saw Hafeez walk out of the hut with a plastic bag. ‘Do you think we should tell him?’ Brijesh said quickly, as Hafeez made his way back.

  Vikrant shook his head. ‘No. That’s a bad idea, we should stick to our cover.’

  Hafeez held out the bag.

  ‘Hafeez bhai,’ Vikrant said, ‘do you smoke this?’

  ‘No, Nasiruddin bhai. I got it for you,’ he said, as he started walking towards the car. ‘Let’s get going. We aren’t safe here.’

  ‘You can throw the weed away, we don’t smoke either.’

  Hafeez turned around, his eyes bulging. ‘W-what do you mean?’

  ‘We were just curious. Back in Bangladesh, drugs are an absolute no-no. We just wanted to see what it looks like.’

  ‘You mentioned that there are camps around this place, what are they like? Are they like military camps or religious institutions?’

  ‘They’re more like military camps, but it’s too dangerous to be around them. You have no idea what will happen, if we get caught.’

  ‘You don’t have to worry, Hafeez bhai. All you have to do is drive us out of here as fast as you can. We just want to look from a distance. We are so excited, it’s a once-in a-lifetime opportunity to see such a thing,’ Vikrant said, placing a hand on Hafeez’s shoulder. ‘We just want to see these areas once.’

  ‘Ten minutes. Not a second more.’ Hafeez sighed. ‘After that, we rush out of here and go back to the hotel.’

  ‘No, Hafeez bhai. We go back to Islamabad immediately, as our project has been postponed. We’ll check out of the hotel and keep our equipment and bags in the boot.’

  ‘Also,’ Brijesh continued, ‘we will pay you the price you name, once we are back in Islamabad. You could get your son a worthy education, yourself a good house to live in and not be terrified of the looming threat of him being sacrificed in the name of God.’

  Hafeez sighed again and shook his head. He couldn’t believe he was agreeing to take them right around the training camp. He got out of the car, then motioned for them to as well. They stepped out obediently.

  ‘Follow me,’ he said sternly and walked towards a diversion that led uphill. ‘From here you will be able to see the training camp. We are quite a distance away from it, but please make sure the sentries don’t spot you with their telescopes.’

  ‘We’ll be careful, bhai.’

  They trudged up the gentle slope, to where the terrain became rockier and more treacherous. They had to climb very carefully, since it was dark and not much could be seen. Brijesh and Vikrant made an easy task of it, but Hafeez took his time. They walked for five minutes until they reached the top of the hill. It was the lowest one in the area, and Hafeez continued walking through what was now flat land. It was barren and, barring a few shrubs and bushes, there were no major obstacles. They walked for about a hundred metres after which Hafeez stopped at the edge of a cliff. He stretched his arm out and pointed at an enclosed continuation of the Chattar plain. Vikrant and Brijesh followed his pointing finger and saw a fairly large ground, the size of two cricket fields combined.

  It was lit up, and there seemed to be some sort of activity going on. They could vaguely see the smoke from a fire, which the young militants must have been using to warm themselves in the November chill.

  ‘Looks like they’re preparing for their guest,’ Brijesh said, squinting at the camp. ‘So Vikrant, where do you reckon we set up the camera, so that we don’t miss taking pictures of this?’

  ‘Right here,’ Vikrant replied with a satisfied smile.

  They looked around and saw that the plain was surrounded on all sides by hills, similar to the one they were standing on.

  ‘What are the chances of us being seen here, Hafeez bhai?’

  ‘Not too high,’ Hafeez said. ‘But it’s still risky. Besides, when they have a rally or a seminar, they tend to beef up security along the valley which they use to enter.’

  He then turned and started walking ahead towards a clearing.

  ‘Ae kothai liya zaitasey re?’ Brijesh asked in a sceptical manner, furrowing his brow.

  Hafeez stopped and looked at them both. Vikrant heaved a silent sigh of relief; finally, Brijesh’s repertoire of Bengali had been exhausted. He realized that Hafeez was still looking at him curiously.

  ‘He’s asking, where are you taking us?’ Vikrant said.

  Hafeez said, ‘Oh, just here, not very far off.’

  He pointed towards the narrow valley, then towards the opposite hills.

  ‘Sometimes, there are guys with guns who stand right there. They have these really expensive ones, which can shoot from a far distance, to cover the important person at the rally.’

  Vikrant raised an eyebrow at Brijesh who shrugged.

  ‘So we place our camera right here. And we take a shot. Sounds good?’ asked Brjesh.

  ‘Yes,’ Vikrant said. ‘We take the shot and then we run back down to Hafeez bhai.’

  ‘And then we go back to Islamabad. And I never return to Mansehra,’ Hafeez concluded.

  It was 4 p.m. The stage was set. A hundred young trainees had gathered in front of the approximately ten-foot high wooden stage on which there were four plastic chairs and a standing microphone. The stage had a roof that would shade the honourable guests who would be imparting their ample knowledge about jihad to the newcomers. The new wolves in a never-ending pack. The day was extremely bright because of the sun, but it wasn’t too hot. A light November breeze swept huge dunes of sand along the plain. It was the perfect evening to spread Allah’s word.

  ‘All set?’ Vikrant asked Brijesh, as he unloaded his bag from the car. They had spent a good part of the previous evening assembling the sniper. The trickier parts had been completed by Brijesh, in the confines of their hotel room.

  Hafeez tapped on the steering wheel impatiently.

  ‘I’ll call you after we take the pictures,’ Vikrant said to him, as he began to walk away from the car. ‘Keep the engine running.’ Hafeez grumbled about ‘no amount of money being worth this nonsense’, but complied. Clearly the funds that had changed hands had been enough to coerce, if not convince him.

  Vikrant and Brijesh began to scale the hillock, going back to the spot that Hafeez had taken them to the previous evening. Vikrant quickly marked out a tiny ‘x’ with his toe. He unzipped his bag, pulled out a tiny tripod and set it up.

  ‘I wonder who the guest is,’ Vikrant told Brijesh. ‘They’re making such a big deal of him. Anyway, whoever he is, remember, Azhar is our priority. We have exactly
three bullets. And we need to try and do the job in one,’ Vikrant said.

  ‘We have no second shot at him, Vikrant. We are approximately 2,000 metres away from him, and we will not get a second chance.’

  He shot a glance towards the ongoing rally. Apparently, the three guests had arrived. One of them was speaking animatedly into the microphone. That was all he could see from this distance.

  ‘I could use a hand here,’ Brijesh told Vikrant, as he assembled the sniper painstakingly. They worked at it, twisting and turning the screws. Finally, after the six minutes that Vikrant counted off, they were able to screw the last bit on. They placed the scope and Brijesh looked through it at the training camp.

  ‘Fuck,’ he said. ‘Hafeez was right. They are using two snipers to cover the rally. One just behind the stage, and one on the hill right opposite.’

  Vikrant pulled out his binoculars and focused on the stage. He saw the familiar face of Maulana Mehmood Azhar and … his jaw dropped.

  ‘Look at the stage,’ was all he could tell Brijesh. Brijesh looked through the scope at the third man standing with the others.

  ‘That’s their guest then.’

  They sat silently, contemplating what they were to do next. They had three bullets and four targets. They had to take out the ‘guest’ at the rally as well. They simply had to.

  ‘We need to do this safely,’ Brijesh said finally. ‘We take out both the snipers, or we risk getting ourselves killed by them. And then, we take him out.’

  ‘Azhar?’

  ‘Of course not,’ said Brijesh. ‘These are decisions that have to be taken on the field, Vikrant. You, of all people, know that.’

  ‘I agree. Let Azhar get away,’ he said through gritted teeth. ‘We take that motherfucker out today.’

  They looked down at the audience. Then Brijesh got up and switched his position in order to get a better look at the stage.

  ‘Assalaamo Alaikum alaikum warahmatullahe wabarakatoh,’ said the slightly pudgy, bearded man on the stage, as he responded to a roaring applause from the young militants who made up his audience. He stroked his beard and grinned from ear to ear at their enthusiam.