by Deva, Mukul
Ankita waited for them to board the aircraft before she hurried out of the terminal. She was already dialling a number.
‘Pankaj,’ she told the BCAS (Bureau of Civil Aviation Security) Liaison Officer when he answered, ‘the Indigo flight to Delhi is scheduled to leave soon. I want you to have it stalled for at least twenty minutes, if not more.’
‘Consider it done.’ Pankaj had already received orders to cooperate.
‘But only do so when they’ve closed the doors and are about to taxi. I don’t want anyone getting off,’ she explained.
‘No problem,’ he assured her and then he rang off and called the Air Traffic Controller.
Meanwhile, Ankita made another call.
‘Hey, beautiful!’ Manoj answered at the first ring. ‘How are you doing?’
‘I’m good,’ she answered, unable to stop the smile that lit up her face as soon as she heard Manoj’s voice. ‘They’ve moved out. We’re also on the way now.’ They chatted until she reached the vehicle waiting outside. Then she was speeding towards the Indian Air Force section of Lohegaon airport.
Sami, Tiwathia and Dhankar were already on board when she walked up to the waiting Force 22 jet. The smaller, slower aircraft lifted off immediately while the plane in which the terror team was travelling cooled its heels on the runway. So the hunters and the hunted landed at Delhi airport within minutes of each other.
The hunters made their way straight to the ATTF Ops Room in Delhi Cantonment and sat down to wait. Their eyes were glued to the screen as they waited for Iqbal to activate the GPS locator.
The end game had begun.
The second surprise was the man waiting for Asif and company at Delhi airport when their flight landed. Of medium height, with unremarkable features, the clean-shaven, thirty-something man was dressed in a decent, though inexpensive business suit. He looked so ordinary that nobody would give him a second glance.
‘This is Khalid.’ Asif introduced him to the others as they left the arrival hall and headed to the parking lot across the road. Because of the airport reconstruction work, the entire area outside the terminal was a mess of vehicles and people threading their way past worksites lined with steel-sheet barricades. Khalid led them straight to a maroon Maruti van in the middle of the parking lot.
‘Has he reached?’ Iqbal heard Asif ask Khalid softly as he got into the front passenger seat and Khalid took the wheel.
‘Yes.’ Khalid kept his voice low too. ‘We got in yesterday with the stuff.’ Then he started the van and asked, louder this time, ‘Where to first?’
‘Have you checked out your site?’
‘No.’ Khalid shook his head. ‘We had no time. You have no idea how crazy it has been. Mujib has been...’
‘Then let’s go there first,’ Asif interrupted hastily.
‘Okay, Punjabi Bagh it is then.’ Khalid took several frustrating minutes to navigate out of the parking lot. Finally he got clear and turned left, heading towards Dhaula Kuan. Steering clear of the cantonment roads, where surprise security checks are always more probable, he finally got onto Ring Road and continued towards Punjabi Bagh.
Iqbal was still wondering where they were going when they got off Ring Road and slowed down on a crowded narrow street lined with cars parked on either side. Khalid nosed the car along slowly until he spotted a space and carefully eased the van into it. Just across the road from where they had stopped was a large metal gate with a blue and white signboard letting the world know that the said premises belonged to the Punjabi Bagh Club.
‘You guys wait here,’ Asif told the others as Khalid and he alighted from the van. ‘We’ll only take a few minutes.’
Imtiaz and Iqbal watched them walk away till they were lost in the swirling crowd.
‘What a secretive bastard!’ Imtiaz muttered, obviously still smarting from Asif’s rudeness earlier that morning. Wanting to be alone with his thoughts and sensing that Imtiaz was bursting to start a conversation, Iqbal did not respond. He looked away, staring aimlessly at the signboard.
Ten minutes later, the two men returned. They were in animated discussion as they approached the car, but both clammed up as they climbed in. Khalid started the van and entered the traffic again. Asif had obviously told him where to go next since they drove in silence. An hour later, Khalid pulled over to the side of the road. They were on Sansad Marg.
‘I can’t park here, bhaijaan. The traffic cops will be on us in minutes.’
‘Go and take a circuit then. Meet us back here in fifteen minutes.’ Then Asif turned to Iqbal. ‘Come on, let me show you your target.’
Filled with dread even as he itched with curiosity, Iqbal got out of the car and followed Asif down the road till they came to the Free Church.
The large, red and white brick church building was surrounded by a small, lush green lawn and exuded serenity. At this time of the day it was almost deserted, but with Christmas coming up there were a few youngsters, probably student volunteers, laying out decorations and cleaning up the area around.
‘Don’t go in yet, Iqbal. Take a walk around and get a feel of the place,’ Asif said quietly when they were still on the other side of the road.
‘What for? Is this where I have to...?’ Iqbal asked, struggling to keep the horror out of his voice.
‘Obviously! We’re not here for a Delhi darshan, you know.’ Asif was still surveying the church carefully. They took a slow, complete circuit of the church. Several bright, colourful canopies had been set up for the Christmas fete that would be held after morning service on the following Sunday. Also clearly visible were the large metal detectors at both entrances to the church. It was not hard to imagine the boisterous, bustling crowd that would gather there for the church service and fete.
‘Why a church, Asif?’ Iqbal asked softly as they walked away.
‘Why not?’ Asif stopped and looked at him searchingly. ‘Any problem with that? You’re not getting squeamish, are you?’
Iqbal couldn’t think of a suitable reply so he shook his head and fell silent. Asif glared at him a moment longer before he resumed his march to the waiting van. Iqbal followed gloomily, a few feet behind, a conflicting herd of emotions stampeding through him.
An hour later, they pulled up outside the Free Church at the junction of Green Park, facing Aurobindo Market. From inside the van, Iqbal could see Asif and Imtiaz slowly circle the church. Barring the size of the building and the church compound – this one was almost one-and-a-half times larger – there didn’t seem to be any difference between the two targets.
Here too, a number of bright canopy-covered stalls were being set up in the lawns around the church. Perhaps because the church campus wasn’t large enough to house all the stalls, some of them were being put up in the area just outside the gates. The same kind of doorframe metal detectors stood sentinel over these gates too. Iqbal imagined the crowds that would mill around the stalls after the Sunday service and felt a renewed surge of anger. He watched the two terrorists walk back, engaged in conversation.
How can anyone be so damn casual about killing people, innocent people who have done nothing to harm them? For a second, Iqbal felt he couldn’t control himself any longer. In the rearview mirror, Khalid noticed the flush on his face and misunderstood it. ‘Relax, man. This is only a reconnaissance. There’s no danger.’
‘I know,’ Iqbal muttered bleakly, still struggling to control the anger simmering within him.
‘Yes, but tell me,’ Imtiaz was asking Asif as they got back into the van, ‘how do I get the... er… item past that metal detector?’
‘I’ll tell you in the evening. When you see the items, you’ll understand.’ After that vague explanation, Asif nodded at Khalid. ‘Let’s go to the base now. We have to get the items ready.’
All at once, the strike appeared more real and tangible. Suddenly death seemed so close that Iqbal felt he could reach out and touch it. He shivered as Khalid started the vehicle and drove into the traffic, heading through an
d then past the Green Park market.
Seated literally on the edge of the backseat, Iqbal began to fret about how he would get word out to Force 22. Without meaning to, he began to scan the crowd, hoping against hope that he would be able to spot one of them tailing the van. Sharp as ever, Asif noticed his scrutiny at once. ‘Take it easy, miyan.’ He nudged Iqbal casually in the ribs. ‘No one is watching us.’ The other two sniggered. Iqbal gave him a subdued smile and lapsed back into his thoughts. He was still worrying about where the Force 22 team was when they reached Bhikaji Cama Place. Just short of it, Khalid left the main road and turned left into Mohammedpur.
For one crazy moment Iqbal couldn’t believe his eyes. He felt everything around him go still and an eerie sense of déjà vu overwhelmed him. From the depths of memory, the face of Omar floated into his mind.
Omar! The young man who had trained with Iqbal at the Lashkar camp at Muzzaffarabad, the only other terror recruit who had survived the ambush when they had infiltrated back to India after their training in POK, the man whom Iqbal had later tricked to his death at the Chakoti Pakistan army post.
Thoughts of the dead man and his home in Mohammedpur where Iqbal had spent a night flooded back to his mind, causing him to hyperventilate. He forced himself to breathe deeply but he only managed to relax when he realized they had entered the lane before the one that led to Omar’s house.
Khalid dropped them off as the lane narrowed, then drove away while Asif led Imtiaz and Iqbal down the lane. They stopped outside the second last house on the lane, and Asif unlocked the door. Like Omar’s house, this one also opened into a tiny, dingy courtyard with a grilled skylight on top. Several doors led out from the courtyard to rooms on either side. The paint on the walls was peeling and the accumulated dust spoke clearly of the fact that the house had not been occupied for quite some time.
‘Wait here for a bit while I...’ Asif broke off as he opened one of the doors and ushered Imtiaz and Iqbal into the room. ‘I’ll join you in a minute.’ There was something surreptitious about the way he closed the door on them and walked away.
‘Wonder what’s with him,’ Imtiaz remarked as he threw himself on one of the two dirty unmade beds that filled most of the cramped room. Puffs of dust billowed out as he hit the bed, making him cough and grimace. He sat up and began to brush the dust off the bed, causing it to rise up like a small cloud that quickly filled the entire room. Ignoring it as best as he could, Iqbal gingerly seated himself on the edge of the other bed, as close to the door as possible. He focused on trying to work out what was happening outside.
Asif seemed to have crossed the courtyard and entered the room opposite. Iqbal could hear muted voices but try as he might, he was unable to hear what was being said. Silently crossing over to the door, he eased it open a crack and peered out.
‘What the hell are you doing?’ Imtiaz stopped dusting his bed and exclaimed in surprise.
‘Nothing. I just want to see what the hell he is up to.’
‘Asif will kill you if he thinks you’re spying on him. The bugger is crazy.’
‘Hush!’ Iqbal whispered. ‘I’m just looking. What’s wrong with that?’
Imtiaz collapsed back on his bed with a shrug as Iqbal turned his attention back to the narrow crack in the doorway and peered out.
Asif was standing in the courtyard talking to another man whose back was turned to Iqbal. He was taller than Asif, but that was all Iqbal could make out. As they talked, the man turned slightly and Iqbal finally caught a glimpse of his face.
The tall, dark man with saturnine features was similar to Asif in build and had the same nondescript air about him. The two men were engrossed in a muted but intense discussion that lasted for a long time. Suddenly the stranger’s mobile phone began to chirrup; it seemed like either an alarm or a reminder, Iqbal wasn’t sure. The man glanced at it briefly and clicked it off before he said something to Asif and then patting him on the shoulder, started for the main door. At the door, he paused and called over his shoulder, ‘Remember, Asif, no fuckups this time. Okay?’ Asif nodded grimly. ‘Good!’
‘Are you going back to Pune right away?’ Asif asked, raising his voice slightly.
‘No way! I’m staying right here till this is over. You guys go ahead and get the bombs ready while I take care of the vehicles with Khalid. I should be back in,’ he checked his watch, ‘about four hours.’
‘You’re coming with us?’ Asif sounded genuinely startled.
‘No, no, of course not, but I’ll come back to check on the stuff, as well as go over the final details with you once again. I need to be very sure that this one goes down smoothly; otherwise my ass is grass... so, for that matter, is yours.’
‘Fine, Mujib bhai.’ For the first time Asif showed a trace of annoyance; perhaps he didn’t like his capabilities being doubted. ‘If that’s what you want.’
So this is Mujib! Iqbal’s mind captured the image of the man instantly, embedding it in his memory. And he is going to be back in a few hours. Excellent! That gives the colonel enough time to move in and take him down along with the others. Iqbal felt a surge of satisfaction. We’ve got you now, you bastard! Thank god! Soon this whole thing will be over and we can all look forward to...
‘All right then,’ Mujib said, ignoring Asif’s outburst. ‘I’ll see you around midnight.’ He let himself out and was gone.
Iqbal quickly shut the door and had just sat down on the bed when Asif entered the room.
‘Come on, guys, we need to get moving. There’s a lot to be done.’ He led them across the courtyard to the room outside which he had stood talking to Mujib. Throwing open the door, Asif gestured grandly. ‘This is what we have to finish.’
The room was bigger than the one they had been allotted. Barring a large wooden dining table and six matching, though rather battered chairs lined up against the far wall, it was devoid of furniture.
The minute Iqbal laid his eyes on the items that had been arranged neatly on the table, he knew without doubt what Asif had in mind for the church bombings. And he was filled with a sudden dread that the plan was more than likely to succeed. With a sinking heart he stepped forward, taking care to retain a curious expression on his face.
‘What’s all this, Asif bhai?’ he asked innocently.
There was a touch of pride in Asif’s tone as he explained. By the time he finished, Iqbal’s dread had hardened into an awful, gut-wrenching certainty. He realized that Mujib had indeed thought things through. The plan was so simple that it would almost certainly succeed.
‘But why do we need so many of them?’ Imtiaz interrupted Iqbal’s chain of thought. ‘I thought we were just placing three bombs...’
‘Four!’ Asif corrected him. ‘You’re forgetting that I’m here too.’
Crap! I wonder what the fourth target is. Not that it matters. Colonel Anbu’s team will be here as soon as I activate the GPS locator. After that it will be of theoretical interest only. Iqbal tried to still his fears as he began to plot his next move.
‘But we only checked out three targets today,’ Imitaz persisted.
‘Arre, miyan, forget all that and understand what we need to do now.’
Pulling his thoughts back to the present, Iqbal tried to focus as Asif began to explain, but his mind was in a whirl as he tried to figure out his own course of action.
‘We are going to assemble the bombs,’ Asif said to Imtiaz as he led them to the table. ‘You,’ he pointed at Iqbal, ‘are going to decorate them. Make sure they all look the same.’ He waited till both men had nodded in acknowledgement. ‘Come on, let’s get cracking. We only have till midnight to finish getting all the bombs ready.’
Imtiaz and Iqbal checked their wristwatches automatically. It was just a few minutes after eight. Iqbal rapidly did the math; by the time Mujib returned, the bombs would be ready. He began to work out when he should activate the GPS.
‘Do we have time to grab a bite before we start?’ Imtiaz’s legendary appetite intruded o
n his thoughts.
‘Do you ever think of anything but food?’ Asif snorted with laughter. Imtiaz started to protest when Asif raised his hand, cutting him off. ‘Don’t worry, I knew you’d need food. Come!’ He led the way to another small room at the far end of the courtyard. It was the kitchen and not a very clean one at that; a graying 165-litre refrigerator leaned awkwardly against a black granite kitchen counter on which rested an old-style two-burner LPG stove. Asif opened the refrigerator and pulled out some food packets. ‘Khalid has arranged for kebabs and roti… and knowing him, they’re bound to be excellent.’
By the time they got down to work after heating up and eating the food, it was well past eight-thirty. Iqbal watched as Asif and Imtiaz began to assemble the bombs. Both men worked with trained precision. As Iqbal watched them, the sequence of events began to fall into place, his training at Kasauli coming back to aid him.
‘Asif, where are the ball bearings and nails?’ Imtiaz asked suddenly.
‘Not required this time,’ Asif replied.
Imtiaz looked at him in disbelief. ‘What damage can we hope to do without any shrapnel?’
‘Trust me, Imtiaz,’ Asif said without looking up from the bomb he was working on. ‘Just finish the damn things and leave the rest to me. The plan is good and in any case, without metal shrapnel it will be that much easier to get them past the metal detectors.’
Imtiaz returned to the bomb with an exasperated shrug, obviously dissatisfied with the incomplete explanation. Twenty-five minutes later, Asif pushed the first completed bomb towards Iqbal. ‘Do your bit now.’
Iqbal used the assortment of items that Asif had purchased and began to decorate the miniature Christmas tree. Twenty minutes later, the three-foot high plastic tree had been fully decorated and looked exactly like the trees that most showrooms and hotels have on display during Christmas.
‘Is that good enough?’ he asked Asif, standing back and pretending to admire his handiwork.
