‘I assume our boys and girl are doing all right,’ said Waris.
‘Ray and Laila have been in touch with Sky and Kang and have covered their tracks. They’ll meet us at the Jinnah Ground tomorrow. As for Kang, we suspect it’ll be a close call, but he’ll join us there at some point during the rally or just after,’ said Brijesh.
‘As long as he doesn’t miss the boat out of Karachi,’ said Waris.
‘He won’t.’
At that point, Chandra returned with greasy packages of food and bottles of mineral water.
‘That was quick,’ remarked Brijesh, as Chandra set about emptying the bags of their contents. Kebabs, rotis, salad and a couple of packets of dry fruit tumbled out. The football coach stood up and walked over to Brijesh and Waris.
‘I’m not sure if I’m overstepping here, but since you’re going to meet Azhar tomorrow, I figured you might need this,’ he said, as he pulled a country-made handgun from his pocket.
Brijesh’s eyes widened.
‘It’s completely untraceable,’ said Chandra, ‘Easy to dispose of, easier to use and it’s loud, so it will disperse crowds and allow you … allow us to escape.’
‘That’s right. Us,’ said Brijesh. ‘Once again, you’ve shown some very good thinking, Chandu. I have no idea where we’d be had you not come to the hospital. But I think you should get rid of it; we’ll be fine.’
‘I’ve been working with the Lahore police for a couple of years. I understand weapons and have made the right kinds of contacts, which can be useful in such times.’
‘Many thanks, Chandu. But we will be fine …’
‘You could thank me by eating the food while its hot,’ said Chandra, a twinkle in his eye as he took a seat.
Vikrant stirred awake a little before dawn and sat up. He noticed that Waris and Brijesh were asleep in different parts of the room. But the bedsheets that had been used by Chandra lay in a crumpled heap. Vikrant went to the washroom to freshen up and returned shortly to find Brijesh and Waris still asleep. Chandra was nowhere to be found.
Unperturbed, he went about his daily routine of stretches, sit-ups, push-ups and squats. He was on his seventeenth squat in the third set when the front door opened and in walked Chandra. In a white T-shirt covered with patches of sweat and his green track pants, the football coach smiled from the doorway.
‘Good morning.’
Vikrant grunted a response.
‘I respect a man with discipline,’ said Chandra, sounding just like a coach.
‘Thank you,’ said Vikrant. ‘Where have you been?’
‘It’s something of a malaise really. I feel incomplete without a morning run. My whole day begins to feel like a waste unless I get that run in,’ he replied.
‘When do you think we should start making our way to Jinnah Grounds?’
‘We’ve got time.’
Vikrant nodded and returned to his workout. It was time to prepare for the last and final stand.
37
Jinnah Grounds, Karachi,
16 November, 3 p.m.
Waris sat with a map of Karachi laid out in front of him. Vikrant and Brijesh sat across the table from him. The three men had their eyes fixed on the layout of Jinnah Grounds, absorbing every detail.
The area looked like Raj Ghat in Delhi.
Sprawled over half a kilometre, the park held the grave of Mohammad Ali Jinnah and the Botanical Gardens. It was regarded as a major landmark in Karachi and was abuzz with visitors every day of the week.
But it had rarely seen political rallies. Musharraf had once called a rally there but had to cancel it.
This rally, coming so soon after major Moharram processions across the city, had put a strain on the overburdened Karachi Police and the Pakistani rangers.
Exit plans were discussed for the nth time, and Waris briefed Brijesh and Vikrant about diversionary tactics. They could not get this wrong. There would be no second chance.
Waris stood up and began to roll up the map.
‘I think we’re ready,’ he announced. He motioned for Chandra to come closer.
The three of them walked up to Waris.
‘Vikrant and you will take the lead on this one,’ Waris told Brijesh.
‘Laila, Ray and Kang will enter the rally behind you and serve as back-up. Chandu, you will stay put in your van. We’ll need a getaway car. You know the terrain like the back of your hand and are our best bet to exit when the job is done.’
‘Got it,’ Chandra nodded. ‘We’ll be inconspicuous.’
‘Good,’ Waris said.
‘I assume you will be waiting for us in the vehicle and providing updates?’ said Brijesh, looking straight at Waris.
Waris got up and unrolled the map out again in front of the other three.
‘You assume wrong,’ he said. He jabbed a finger at Jinnah Grounds, then circled a structure next to the park. ‘This is Frere Hall. After a terror attack on the U.S. consulate, this building was shut to the public. Frere Hall provides the best overhead view of the grounds – a fact that is invaluable to us. The hall was reopened two years ago and that is where I shall be, watching everything.’
Brijesh nodded and looked over at Chandra.
‘Do we have enough diesel in the van?’
‘I was on my way to refuel.’
‘We’ll meet you outside and leave as soon as you’re back.’
‘Check.’
Brijesh watched as Chandra stepped out of his family home. He watched as Chandra turned for one last wistful look and then hopped into his van and drove off.
Vikrant ambled away to wash his face, while Brijesh laced up his boots. Waris continued to stare at the map until the others got ready.
When Chandra drove up in his van a few minutes later, they piled in, solemn in the awareness that this was another step forward, drawing them closer to the end.
It was nearly 3.15 p.m. by the time Chandra parked at the designated spot.
‘I’ll be waiting here,’ he told the men, watching as they strode away. ‘Good luck!’ he said, so softly that they almost missed it.
He watched as they blended into the crowd. Three men in Pathanis and skullcaps, their eyes lined with surma.
Waris broke away from the group, veering to his left, 300 metres after they left Chandra’s van. He was going to sneak his way as high up the gothic structure of Frere Hall as possible. Brijesh and Vikrant walked into the crowd that was milling in front of an empty stage that had been erected for Mahmood Azhar.
Brijesh touched his leg subconsciously The country-made gun was concealed in his trousers. He was lucky he hadn’t been frisked properly on the way in. Vikrant stayed close behind as Brijesh tried to weave his way to the front.
Waris, meanwhile, had managed to make his way to the second floor of Frere Hall, but this was nowhere near high enough. He wondered fleetingly about the threadbare security, but didn’t dwell on it. Climbing up so many flights of stairs at his age was going to be challenging.
Brijesh and Vikrant were ten or eleven rows from the stage when a voice on the public address system came through, requesting patience from the audience. Azhar was running late.
Vikrant and Brijesh looked at each other, their irritation evident at the delay.
But Waris was pleased. The delay meant he would have enough time to find a vantage point and it would give Ray, Kang and Laila a little more time too.
The minutes ticked by. Waris was finally where he wanted to be. He pulled out a pair of binoculars and scanned the crowd. Vikrant and Brijesh are in position, he thought to himself, but where are Laila, Ray and Kang?
Just then, a convoy arrived behind the stage. Azhar had to be in one of those cars, thought Waris, but which one? And where in the name of God are those three?
Waris stopped mid-scan, swinging the binoculars back a few rows. He had spotted a burqa-clad woman alighting from a cab, along with a man. The two could not be mistaken for anything but a Pakistani Muslim couple on their way to the ral
ly. But he knew them for who they really were.
As Laila walked through the car park, she suddenly stopped and bent down as if to pick something up. Her purse had fallen and the contents were strewn on the ground. She squatted and began to collect her things. Ray joined her. Deftly, she picked up a compact-like case, flipped the catch and stuck it under the petrol tank of the car closest to her. Ray had finished retrieving the rest of the contents of the purse, taking a quick look around to see if anyone had noticed Laila’s handiwork. Satisfied that they were not being watched, the couple began to walk towards the crowd again.
Waris smiled.
Vikrant and Brijesh had started to sweat by now as the crowd milled and pushed around them. Anti-India and anti-US slogans rang out, but that did not affect the two men as much as the rising mercury levels. Up at Frere Hall, Waris was beginning to grow frustrated as his Thuraya battery seemed to have run out and Kang was still missing.
Suddenly, a loud roar went up as Azhar and his cronies took the stage. Waris was furious. Where was Kang?
The first speaker thanked the Lord for all His blessings and began his talk, eulogizing Mahmood Azhar’s unwavering faith and devotion to their cause: the fact that Azhar was back after the man who had shared the stage with him last had had his brains blown into smithereens, not long ago, was proof of his conviction and commitment.
Brijesh and Vikrant started to inch forward. Waris peered through his binoculars, alternating between the stage and the back of the crowd. Everyone was in position except Kang.
Brijesh had spotted Azhar sitting to one side of the stage and knew that it would soon be time to strike.
He nudged Vikrant, signalling that he should follow him, and they made their way further, until they were no more than five rows from the front of the stage. This it it, thought Waris, as he watched his men press forward. The muffled sound of the public address system wasn’t enough to drown out the sound of the wind blowing through Frere Hall. Nor was it loud enough to drown out the sound of approaching footsteps.
Using Vikrant as a shield, Brijesh leaned against his shoulder, ready to draw his gun.
Suddenly, a loud explosion rang through the car park. An SUV had erupted in flames, shattering the windshields of other cars around it.
The first salvo had been fired.
It was enough for the Pakistani rangers, the Karachi Police and the army to rush towards the site of the explosion. The crowd, wondering what had happened, began to mill around the car park.
It was time for the next step.
Vikrant, who had hidden a knife in his scarf, brought it out and swiftly stabbed one of the security supervisors, before lithely moving ahead. The man screamed in agony and turned to his neighbour, grabbing him by the collar, convinced it was he who had stabbed him. They started punching each other.
The crowd was getting increasingly restive, pushing and shoving.
The men around Azhar sensed this could be the moment the assassins hidden in the crowd would strike. They drew their guns and formed a wall around him, scanning the crowd with narrowed eyes.
We are so close, thought Brijesh, we just have to get Azhar away from the stage.
While the pushing and jostling was at its peak, Vikrant moved ahead a few rows and softly said, ‘bomb’.
Within seconds, there was bedlam. The security forces had to jump in to stop a stampede. The crowd had gone berserk.
In a moment, soldiers had quickly scrambled onto the stage and formed a protective cordon around Azhar and his men so that a hidden sniper in the crowd could not aim his gun at them.
Brijesh cursed himself for losing focus for a brief moment. He couldn’t let that hate-monger get away another time. He charged forward with Vikrant in tow and jumped over the barricade, knocking down two security guards. Laila and Ray had been pushed back by the crowd. Vikrant set off around the stage, hoping to ambush Azhar, while Brijesh followed the route taken by the fleeing men on the stage.
The footsteps were very soft but very clear to Waris’s trained ear.
All senses on alert, Waris focused on the sound. Hidden behind the shadows of a pillar, he could make out the form of three men in grey combat uniforms. One of them was armed with a sniper rifle and the others carried automatic rifles.
Waris saw the man with the sniper rifle take aim. But he wasn’t pointing it in the direction of the stage. He was aiming at the back of the crowd. Was he aiming at Laila or Ray?
Adrenalin coursed through his body, giving him inhuman strength, as Waris leapt out of the shadows and shoulder-charged one of the assailants, pushing him over the banister and grabbing his rifle as he fell to his death, screaming.
The other two men jumped back, caught unawares. Waris aimed a killer kick at one gunman’s jaw and got the other in the groin. Reeling in pain, one of the men fired a stray shot that hit a member of the crowd. The restive crowd had now turned hysterical.
Waris snatched the automatic from the second gunman, jumped over him and wrestled with the third, who was starting to stand up. The man launched two jabs at Waris, who retaliated with a flurry of jabs, hooks and another deadly kick to the head and groin that had the attacker out cold on the ground. Waris turned to see the other sniper fleeing and ran after him. He got him on the head with his elbow, and the gunman collapsed without a sound while Waris picked up the fallen rifles.
Vikrant and Brijesh, meanwhile, had parted, deciding to attack Azhar from different directions.
However, Azhar was shielded from both the front and back, as the other speakers onstage remained near him.
It seemed impossible for them to break the human shield – they needed divine intervention now.
At that point Waris trained his gun on Azhar and took a shot but missed. The man standing next to Azhar was hit. Waris cursed under his breath and fired again. He missed again.
When Azhar saw two men next to him falling like nine pins, he charged out of the shield and got off the stage, hoping to disappear.
In the narrow bylanes, choc-a-bloc with men and vehicles, rows of cars were stuck. Azhar covered his face with his headgear and walked swiftly past, with one of his aides close on his heels.
Brijesh and Vikrant jogged after him on the sidewalk and slowed to a walk as they got closer. They watched as he turned into a bylane that was nearly deserted.
Suddenly a jeep screeched into the bylane and the driver said, ‘Huzoor aaiyye, yeh gaadi aap ke liye hai.’
The jeep door opened for Azhar, who looked at the driver, quickly taking in the Pathani outfit and the beard. He hesitated for just a moment before getting into the jeep.
The driver backed up in the direction he had come from, tyres and brakes screeching in protest.
Brijesh and Vikrant looked at each other in consternation. Not again. Azhar could not have escaped them again!
They looked around for a bike or a car to go after the jeep – when they saw a bullet-proof car bearing the Karachi police emblem speeding towards them. Chandra was at the wheel, Laila and Ray behind him.
The car stopped with a jerk, and Vikrant and Brijesh scrambled into it. Chandra seemed agitated and in a hurry.
‘Kis taraf gaye maulana sahib?’ he asked urgently, almost shouting.
‘We saw the jeep turn left,’ Vikrant replied, momentarily puzzled by Chandra having referred to Azhar as ‘sahib’. Chandu shifted gears and sped in that direction. Hope soared again.
After driving half a kilometre, the driver stopped the jeep under a nondescript and deserted structure.
‘Why did you stop here? We must get to the office,’ Azhar demanded.
‘Janab, this is where you leave this world and start the journey to hell,’ Kang said calmly, pulling out a gun from the pocket of his kurta.
‘Dhokha diya hai Hindustani kafir ne …’ the now sweating Azhar screamed.
‘Jinhone plane kidnap karke tumhe riha karwaya woh wafadar the kya?’ Kang retorted, referring to the IC 814 hijacking and subsequent release of Azhar in excha
nge for the passengers.
Out of the corner of his eye, Kang saw a vehicle approaching at full speed.
He aimed the gun at Azhar’s face and shot him in the forehead. Twice. He was taking no chances.
The police car screeched to a halt and Chandra, Vikrant and Brijesh leaped out. Chandra was the first to reach Azhar. He turned to Kang, his eyes filling with pure hatred.
Kang looked at Chandra’s face and froze.
Vikrant and Brijesh were puzzled by the instant hostility between the two.
‘Kang, this is Chandu. He’s helping us escape.’
‘This is not Chandu,’ said Kang coldly. ‘Yeh to ISI ka kutta Afridi hai.’
Their rage and elation had momentarily blinded the men to the approaching army vehicles. Four cars suddenly screeched to a halt, cornering the trio. ‘Maulana shaheed ho gaye,’ someone cried.
In one of the army vehicles was Waris. He was staring straight ahead, his hands tied behind his back.
Afridi then turned and slapped Kang.
The army men pushed all of them into the waiting vehicles. It was over now.
38
Korangi Warehouse, Karachi
Waris was seething with fury and frustration. He had been checkmated for the second time by his nemesis. How could the enemy have been so smart as to predict their every move and then decide to join them as a meek, subjugated Hindu – a perfect cover that none of them had seen through?
How could they have known that his heartrending story would be so convincing that Waris’s team would feel sorry for him and even think of taking him back to India with them?
The ISI man had outsmarted him. The man who had got so close to them was virtually number two in the hierarchy, Waris reminded himself, and they had slipped up by not recognizing him.
Waris’s eyes were blazing; his hands were tied to a rod that ran the length of the roof. His legs were chained to a peg on the floor.
Mumbai Avengers Page 29
