by Mukul Deva
As the day progressed, Jennifer’s attempts to get closer to him became obvious. She started with little touches on his hands or shoulders, progressing till she ended up taking his arm as they were strolling through the Red Fort. Though uneasy, Chance made no attempt to free his arm.
The ancient fort with its sprawling, lush gardens had an irresistibly romantic aura. Chance had to feel it even if he hadn’t wanted to. But he did. It had been a while since he’d been with a beautiful woman. Still, he felt confused responding to Jennifer’s flirtations. Unsure where he stood with Ruby made him uncomfortable.
“Would you like to come in for a nightcap?” Jennifer asked as they halted outside her room.
The hint of desire in her eyes tugged at him. But conflicted, Chance hesitated. “Not tonight, Jennifer.” He saw her disappointment, realized he’d been too abrupt, and added, “I am very tired. It has been a long day. Maybe tomorrow.”
“Maybe.” Jennifer gave him a light peck on his cheeks and went inside.
Chance stood in the corridor, not sure why he had turned her down. After a moment, he raised his hand to knock and tell her he’d changed his mind, but then could not bring himself to do it.
On the other side of the door, Jennifer heard him walk away.
* * *
Ravinder was feeling drained by the time they managed to extricate themselves from the clutch of relatives who throng every family wedding and related function.
Jasmine too was feeling the pressure; these days, weddings were not high on her list of favorites, especially not with Simran using every occasion to have one or the other of her sisters and cousins try to talk sense into her: marriage sense. Several times Ravinder had seen her surrounded by a gaggle of aunts, looking hurricane-hit. More than once he’d even worked up the courage to wade in and rescue her.
Simran, of course, was thriving. She loved the hustle and bustle of these functions.
By the time they finally got free and hit the road home, it was near the witching hour.
Ravinder was almost asleep when he remembered: He’d forgotten to tell Simran and Jasmine to exercise more caution. And he’d also forgotten to check on the latest with Mohite, about the hunt for Javed Khan and Aslam, the Jaish-e-Mohammed terrorists. The APB that had been put out yesterday and the request to int had yielded several leads that Mohite was following up on. He thought of waking up Simran and telling her, but it had been a long day.
Tomorrow. First thing tomorrow. Ravinder promised himself. We have to find those bastards before …
DAY THREE
Ruby woke up as their plane began its descent toward Delhi’s Indira Gandhi International Airport.
She checked her watch, a Cartier Tank with an ivory dial, blue metallic hands, and black Roman numerals encased in brushed stainless steel, with a steel bracelet with yellow gold links. The sight of it made her smile; Rehana had saved up for it for a long time. Ruby had found it waiting for her when she finished her MI6 training. It had been a part of her life since then.
Well beyond my pay grade, Ruby thought with a wry smile.
Her smile faded as the aircraft hit the ground with a thud, bounced once, and then, settling down, roared down the runway.
Seven days left till the summit.
The ops clock in her head started ticking louder; it happened before every mission. Her spine stiffened and shoulders squared off as she emerged from the plane.
Battle mode was on.
The massive, recently commissioned airport was bustling with energy, flights landing and taking off every few minutes. Mark and she cleared immigration without any hassles and caught separate cabs. Mark would be checking into the Radisson, a short hop from the airport and within striking distance of the target. Ruby headed for the Hyatt Regency, on the Ring Road, also a short run from the Ashoka.
By the time Ruby finished checking in, she knew Mark would have had time to do his first task here. With the missing Glocks weighing on her, she reached for the phone.
* * *
When the phone suddenly rang, Ravinder was getting ready to leave for the office. He paused, one hand still trying to push the links through his shirt cuff, deliberating if he should take the call. Realizing that was not an option, he reached for it.
“Good morning, sir.” Ravinder winced as Mohite’s voice crackled through, not an auspicious start to the day. “The man from Mossad is here. He wants to know when he can brief us.”
Ravinder threw a glance at his wristwatch and a mental prod at his calendar; it would be another chockablock day. But this briefing could be important. “Can he make it at twelve?”
“Of course he can. What else is he here for?” Mohite declared with his usual tact. “I will tell him to be here at noon.”
Ravinder shook his head. For a moment he thought of telling Mohite that this was not the way to go around making friends and influencing people, then decided not to bother. He didn’t have the energy, not after yet another hour-long session with Simran and Jasmine on marriage. And, knowing Mohite, it would be futile.
“And, Govind, please call up Chance and Jennifer and tell them to be there.”
“Why?”
“Because they are going to help us secure the summit, my friend. They need to be in the loop.… That’s why,” Ravinder replied patiently.
“But—”
Ravinder cut him off. “Because I’m saying so, Mohite. And just in case they are not in their rooms, leave a message and send them a text.” He added, knowing that Mohite was capable of giving that as an excuse for not passing on his message. He was about to end the call when he remembered. “Oh yes, what’s the latest on Javed and Aslam? Any progress?”
“Nothing so far, sir,” Mohite replied. “We drew a blank on seven of the leads. False alarms.”
“How many leads are there?”
“Nine so far. Three from int and six public sightings. I’m having the remaining two public sightings followed up today.”
“Yes, do that today, Govind. Keep me posted. And no matter what happens, keep up the publicity on these buggers. That will force them to go underground and keep them on the run … not give them time to sit and plan their strikes.”
* * *
Ruby tapped her feet impatiently, waiting for the phone to be picked up. Her first five calls, made at intervals of ten to fifteen minutes, had gone unanswered. The sixth call finally was.
“Damnit, Mark, where the hell have you been?” Ruby realized she had spoken more sharply that she intended. She added, a lot more gently, “I need you to confirm about that guy for the remaining equipment.”
“I had gone down for breakfast and then I was just taking a shower, Ruby. It’s been a long flight. Then I had to go out to call our man.… I didn’t want to do it from the hotel, so I had to look for a public phone.”
“And?” Ruby knew he was right with taking these precautions, but she was itching to find out what had happened about the Glocks.
“Anyway, he is out of Delhi and can only meet us the day after.”
“No way he can make it earlier?”
“I tried to get him to, but he says that’s the fastest he can get back.”
“Damn! Well, in that case, let’s focus on the reconnaissance for now.”
“Where do you want me?”
“Not with me. Not yet. The less we’re seen together, the better. Take down the places I want you to check out on your own.”
* * *
Chance and Jennifer were already there when Ravinder walked into the Police HQ conference room. So was Mohite. He sat beside a well-built, fair, taciturn-looking man at the other end of the table.
“Good afternoon.” The Mossad man held out a large hand. “I am Ido Peled.” His English was only slightly accented.
With time at a premium, Ravinder brought the meeting to order and Peled began his briefing.
“My government has asked me to give you all a detailed account of the Jerusalem attack and the people responsible, since we b
elieve that they will try to disrupt this peace summit too. I will also give you details of all delegates and try to answer any questions you may have.” He looked around, but except for nods to go ahead, there was no comment.
“Our investigations confirm that fifteen people were involved in planning and executing the terror strike on Jerusalem. However, twelve women carried out the actual strike. They had four things in common.”
Peled, clearly a fluent communicator, had practiced his presentation. He raised one finger in the air.
“Firstly, none conformed to the profiling systems of most security agencies post 9/11. They were ideal, undetectable recruits, selected from among apparently well-integrated members of society.”
A second finger came up now.
“Secondly, all identifying dental work and body marks had been removed, and every stitch of clothing on them had been procured locally. Barring false passports, they carried nothing that could reveal their identities or show to which group they owed allegiance.”
Finger three rose.
“Thirdly, all twelve were ready to die as readily as they were to kill.”
He then took a theatrical pause.
“Lastly, they had all been trained thoroughly, especially the six women who arrived last. The first six entered Israel from various points in Europe. The other six, also of European origin, came from Pakistan. However, since passengers from Pakistan are subjected to extra-stringent checking by most countries, this lot too was routed in through European cities. They had been handpicked from among one hundred eighty-five women trained for the past two years at two special Lashkar-e-Taiba camps at Bhimber and Kotli in Pakistan-Occupied Kashmir.” Peled paused for a sip of water. “This was done so that the planners could pass off this attack as a Zionist conspiracy.”
Mohite interrupted. “Considering the efforts taken to prevent all this from coming out, you guys seem to know an awful lot.”
“Yes, because we pieced the whole thing together from camera footage at the airport, from the targets, eyewitness accounts, and forensics.” After a pause he added softly. “Also because we captured one of them alive.”
“You did?” Jennifer couldn’t contain her surprise. “But that was not in the news.”
“We don’t want the people behind the strike to know we are on to them.”
“Good thinking.” Ravinder gave an approving nod. “So you guys know exactly how the raid was executed?”
“Yes, we do.”
“Please share it with us. I am sure there can be major lessons in it for all of us.”
Peled gave Ravinder a long look. When he resumed, his voice had dropped a few decibels. “The strike on Jerusalem began at precisely ten fifty that morning.”
As he spoke, he flicked a wireless controller in his hand. Powered by his laptop, footage from a security camera began to beam onto a screen at the far end. It showed a plethora of tourists milling around. Also visible were some security men. Like a sophisticated voice-over, Peled spoke.
“The attack started innocuously enough, but escalated so rapidly that our security was initially swamped. By the time we recovered and started a counterattack, the raiders had gained a foothold, a tenuous one, but enough to ensure that the damage inflicted was substantial.”
His four-person audience were riveted.
* * *
A security camera zoomed in to show three women walking up toward the Al-Aqsa Mosque. All seemed to be in their mid-twenties and could not have looked more touristy. They held travel books in their hands, big SLR cameras slung around their necks, and water bottles sticking out of knapsacks on their backs. Their hair was covered with scarves and their full-sleeved shirts and trousers ensured no indecent display of skin.
In retrospect, it was easy to see that their eyes were not still; they constantly darted around, like the advancing scouts of a rifle section. They had divided the area into zones; so between the three they maintained a total view of the surroundings. This heightened awareness was mostly due to benzphetamine pills they had taken a few minutes ago. So they blended well with the throng of visitors at the Al-Aqsa.
It was here that the Holy Prophet was given the commandment to pray five times a day and for the following sixteen and a half months, Jerusalem was the Qibla (direction of prayers), though today Muslims face Mecca while praying.
The Dome of the Chain marked the exact central point of the mosque, which like most mosques had four minarets—three square ones and a cylindrical one from the Mamluk period. Recognizable by its lead dome, which replaced the aluminum covering done in 1964 in order to restore it to its original cover, Al-Aqsa comprised three distinct parts; narrow arcades running along one end, a huge atrium, and a covered area to the south.
Still visible were signs of the damage done to the mosque in 1969, when a fanatic Jew set fire to the covered area. Among the numerous sad losses was the beautiful handmade pulpit from Aleppo. Made of over ten thousand interlocking pieces of wood, ivory, and mother-of-pearl held together without a drop of glue or a single nail, and considered one of the most beautiful in the world.
Today, if the plan developed for these terrorists had succeeded, the damage would have been much more severe.
As the trio approached the main entrance, they were engrossed in animated conversation.
They were fifty feet away when a motorcycle sped past on the road in front. It was clearly visible on the security footage. About twenty meters from the main security post, it lost control. Since the camera feed was not backed by an audio track, none of his listeners could hear the loud thud as the motorcycle slammed onto the road. It would have been followed by a nerve-grating, screeching sound as metal impacted on hard tarmac. The rider’s helmet had broken loose. When the bike finally shuddered to a halt, she lay still. Blood masked her face.
Two of the six security men at the monument gates ran forward to help. And the attention of the other four also focused on the fallen rider.
Sitting on the edge of his seat, Ravinder could tell that the security men had been lured into a trap.
Converging on the motorcyclist along with the security men were another nine or ten passersby. The soldiers were among those who reached the crash victim first. This lot was killed by the forty kilograms of high explosive strapped on the motorcycle. Its fuel tank added to the carnage.
“The explosion was so powerful, it was heard miles away, which is what it was supposed to do, since it not only created the diversion for the main assault force, it also triggered the next phase.”
While the cloud of motorcycle parts, blood, and gore was still billowing upward, the security camera caught the three tourists suddenly pull weapons out of their knapsacks and run forward.
All three were wielding Micro Tavor assault rifles. Of Israeli design, with a length of just twenty-three inches, the MTAR-21 is possibly the shortest 5.56mm assault rifle, shorter even than the Uzi and more accurate due to its relatively longer barrel.
The trio headed straight for the main gate.
People became aware of them only when the terrorist leading the charge hurled a grenade at the security post at the main gate.
“It landed behind the sandbags, which ensured the attackers were safe from the shrapnel.” Peled’s tone stayed dispassionate. Almost. “None of the security personnel survived.”
Charging through the smoke-ridden carnage, Raiders One and Two could be seen racing toward the solitary door on the western side that led into the covered area of the mosque. Meanwhile, the third continued toward the security post on the west, her role to prevent the guards from interdicting her teammates.
It was happening so fast that the security men on that side were caught unawares. All three died. Confirming they were down, Raider Three whipped around and headed for the sentries at the next gate on the west.
The camera footage was grainy, but Ravinder could see her expertly flip her magazine as she ran. Two more security men died next, but not before one of them managed to put a bull
et in her, high on her left shoulder.
Ravinder saw her falter. Then she spun around and headed for the next security post. However, by now the guards were ready to engage. She fell to a hail of bullets. For one brief moment everyone involved froze. Then, on the conference room screen a soundless explosion billowed out darkly as she triggered the explosive in the camera around her neck. Parts of her body were hurled up and outward. The amount of explosive was enough to batter her upper body beyond recognition, which was the aim, since the terror maestros meant to keep the identities of the attackers obscure.
“Her objective was the same as the woman who had crashed her motorcycle, to provide the primary pair of raiders an opportunity to get into the main mosque.”
The camera feed switched to show Raiders One and Two racing into the mosque, firing in short, two- or three-round bursts, gunning down everyone who got in their way: tourists, people coming or going from prayers, and security guards.
The camera feed switched again; two more women, Raiders Five and Six, emerged from the crowd of tourists going between the Al-Aqsa Mosque and the Temple Mount. They ran toward the solitary door on the east, which led into the covered area of the mosque, gunning down everyone in their path.
The security forces here, however, were now on full alert.
Caught in Technicolor, Raider Six fell to a hail of bullets halfway to the mosque. Her final act also was to trigger the bomb in the camera slung around her neck. Two more bystanders were blown apart with her. And the explosion created more confusion, allowing Raider Five to slip into the mosque.
