SALIM MUST DIE

by Deva, Mukul

  ‘Go on… tell us more about its properties,’ Salim said, ignoring the question.

  So Mai had.

  The conversation came back to him now, as he reached for the container of Variola Major.

  The deadly virus had originally been developed for delivery as an aerosol. Now Mai carefully repackaged it into the bottles of aftershave lotion and the two cans of room-freshener. Working in the heavy protective suit was hard, tedious work but there was no alternative. It took Mai six days to finish the task. Then he moved on to the next phase of the operation, and began to repackage the VX Gas he had stolen.

  PRODUCED VIA THE TRANSESTER PROCESS, VX GAS IS ONE OF the most lethal chemicals created by man. Developed in England in 1952 by the Porton Down Chemical Weapons Research Centre at Wiltshire, its chemical formula is CH3CH20-P(o)(CH3)-SCH2CH2N (C3H7)2 and the unwieldy formal chemical name given to it is S-2 (diisopropylamino)ethyl O-ethyl methylphosphonothioate. Some time later, the British traded VX technology to the Americans in return for thermonuclear weapons technology. From that day onwards, the human race has expended considerable effort to make VX Gas even more lethal and virulent.

  ‘Despite its name, VX Gas is actually an oily yellow, odourless liquid with a low volatility,’ Mai Hu had briefed Salim and Cheema. ‘The “V” in its name signifies its extreme persistence, unlike its cousins of the “G” variety, like GA (Tabun) and GB (Sarin). VX is an excellent adhesive. In fact, a special form has been developed that is so adhesive that it is virtually impossible to remove it from any surface it comes in contact with.’

  ‘How exactly does it work?’ Cheema had asked.

  ‘Well, in the liquid form, VX gets absorbed into the human body through the eyes or the skin, and takes effect in about an hour. However, in the aerosol form, it has immediate effect. In both cases, the lethal dose for humans is a mere 10 milligrams and the end result is painful death preceded by violent tremors, incontinence and failure of the heart and lungs.’

  ‘Damn!’ Cheema raised an eyebrow in surprise. ‘It takes that little, huh?’

  ‘Yes, it's absolutely lethal.’

  ‘Where in the past has it been weaponized?’

  ‘Oh, in several countries. It is a well established, though little publicized fact that there are approximately 1.9 million artillery shells filled with VX Gas stored at the Shchuchye Military Base, near the Siberian city of Chelyabinsk, in South-Central Russia. Each shell is capable of delivering an instant and deeply painful death to 85,000 people. Most of them have been developed as tactical weapons….’ Mai noted the questioning look on Cheema's face and clarified, ‘Tactical weapons have a shorter lethality time, to ensure that one's own forces can move in safely and secure the ground once enemy troops in the target area have been destroyed.’ Cheema nodded as he got the drift, and Mai resumed, ‘The destruction of these shells has been put off till 2012 due to paucity of funds.’

  Both the rogue intelligence officers were listening to Mai with rapt attention. They were fully aware of the awesome credentials of the man sitting before them.

  ‘Not that America, Russia's Cold War foe, is lagging behind in the field of chemical weapons. During the 1950s, America conducted an ambitious nerve gas program during which 400,000 M-55 rockets were manufactured. Each rocket was capable of delivering a five kilogram load of Sarin. Many of these were found to have a serious manufacturing defect, hence in 1967 and 1968, all of them were sunk in about 2000 metres of water barely 240 kilometres off the New York coastline.’

  Mai noticed the rapid exchange of glances between the two men sitting before him. ‘No!’ He pre-empted the thought. ‘Don't even think about it. Getting them out of such deep water is simply too gigantic a task. In any case, it's hard to tell whether they would still be of any use. The entire effort is more than likely to be a sheer waste of time and money. Not to mention the fact that it would alert the Yanks for sure.’

  The Brigadier had shrugged. Cheema had not bothered to respond.

  As he worked, Mai's movements were deliberate and extra cautious. Unlike with the Variola virus, he would not get even a moment's reprieve if he made a mistake with the VX Gas.

  Death will be instantaneous and it will be excruciatingly painful.

  He suppressed the shudder that accompanied this thought as he went to work on the deadly chemical.

  THE VIALS OF VX GAS MISAPPROPRIATED BY MAI CONTAINED the most virulent form of the lethal nerve gas. Handling the aerosol and avoiding detection by any of his colleagues while doing so was not easy, but the resourceful Mai proved more than equal to the task.

  On the night of 18 April, when Mai returned home, he had with him several dozen glass vials, each one not bigger than a large marble. Frangible glass, three millimetres thick, had been used to make the vials. Every vial was filled with an almost clear vapour that was barely discernible to the naked eye. The glass was thick enough to withstand transportation, yet thin enough to shatter on impact against any reasonably hard surface.

  Mai carefully placed the deadly vials in the huge locker in the basement of his house, along with the cans of Variola Major that were already stored there. With a sense of deep satisfaction he turned the key in the lock and went up to inform his wife that finally, he was done.

  That night, before going to bed, Mai logged onto his meetyourmatch profile and sent off a message to Salim.

  Thanks for the details forwarded by you. Please give me a couple of days to think over things. I will be in touch with you on the twenty-fifth or twenty-sixth of this month.

  IN THE SAFE CONFINES OF THE BUNGALOW IN MURREE, SALIM laughed aloud as he read Mai's message. His face aglow with excitement, he charged out of his room. ‘He's done it, Cheema. Mai has made the weapons.’

  ‘Fantastic!’ Cheema beamed broadly. ‘Should I activate the others then?’

  ‘Of course! I'll alert the strike teams. You go ahead with your people. It's time to trigger the next phase of our mission.’

  The two men went about their tasks with a surging sense of enthusiasm.

  Soon a stream of messages flowed out from Salim's computer to each person on teams Alpha and Bravo. This time there was no difference in the messages sent to the two teams.

  While Salim was sending the messages, Cheema was on the phone. An hour later, he left the bungalow and was on his way to Lahore.

  Not too far behind him, one by one, as they received Salim's message, the members of Strike Team Alpha reached for the travel bags they had kept ready and began to move.

  Strike Team Bravo also made their final preparations, but they would not be moving out of the target cities, since their weapons were being delivered to them.

  The strike had now moved smoothly into its third phase and as yet, not one of the intelligence agencies in the world had the faintest idea of the calamity that was rushing towards them at breakneck speed.

  Phase Three: Breaching the Barriers

  KIRANA HILLS MUNITIONS DEPOT, PAKISTAN

  THERE WAS NOTHING OUT OF THE ORDINARY ABOUT THE small army convoy that drove up to the gates of the Munitions Depot just after midnight. Nor was there anything out of the ordinary in the documentation carried by the young Captain commanding the rifle platoon escorting the convoy. As far as anyone could tell, it was a simple transfer of ordinances from the munitions depot to a designated military post.

  What was a bit out of the ordinary was the nature of the consignment mentioned in the papers carried by the Captain. Keeping in view the security SOP (Standard Operating Procedure) for such special items, a call was made to the CO of the weapons depot. The CO was a man known to play by the book. As per the protocol governing the movement of such weapons, he picked up the phone and called the person who had signed off the authorizations. The authorizations checked out fine.

  Two hours later, the small convoy drove out of the munitions depot. Safely nestled in the rear of the truck in the middle of the convoy were the four pieces of cargo they had come to collect, neatly packaged and crated. E
ach crate contained a specially constructed mini nuclear weapon.

  Also referred to as suitcase nukes, they were plutonium fuelled, gun-type atomic weapons almost identical in size and design to the Soviet RA-115 or the American MK-54 SADM (Small Atomic Demolition Munitions). Codenamed CM-911 by the Pakistan Army, they were more commonly referred to as Chote Miyan in daily parlance.

  Designed for covert use by Special Forces, each nuke was barely 60x40x20 centimetres in size and almost impossible to detect. Each Chote Miyan had a yield of one kiloton (that is, the equivalent of 1000 kilotons of conventional high explosive) and was eminently capable of destroying every living thing in a small city and rendering it radioactively unfit for habitation for many, many years.

  A FEW HOURS LATER, THE CONVOY DROVE INTO A SMALL warehouse on the outskirts of Lahore. The warehouse belonged to a seldom advertised, low-key freight and forwarding company headquartered in Karachi. The company was a legitimate business concern. Unknown to most people, it was also a front for the ISI and a key component in the narco-nuclear-terror trade carried out by the ISI.

  There was a specialist three-man crew waiting at the warehouse, which had been converted into a well equipped and brightly lit workshop. They took charge of the four pieces of cargo. Cheema emerged from the shadows as the convoy departed.

  ‘I want you to check everything and let me know if there is anything else that you need,’ he told the chief of the crew and then waited patiently as they went to work on the cargo.

  A few hours later, the man beckoned to him. ‘It's all there.’

  ‘Good. Now make sure you guys do a thorough job.’

  ‘Don't worry about it.’ The crew went to work on the cargo even as Cheema took a last look around, and left.

  BY THE END OF THE SECOND DAY, THE FIRST CHOTE MIYAN had been beautifully camouflaged and repackaged. It did not look even remotely like the suitcase it had resembled when it left the Kirana Hills Munitions Depot.

  First, an additional lead lining had been placed all around it, to rule out any possibility of a radiation leak. Thereafter, a rectangular plate with four evenly spaced holes drilled into it at carefully measured distances was attached to it. Then the whole thing was neatly fitted inside an empty jeep tyre.

  Cheema arrived within an hour of getting the call from the warehouse. He gave a satisfied grunt after examining the finished product. He gave a louder grunt as he ran the Electronic Dosimeter over the suitcase nuke and noted that it did not even blink.

  ‘Just try that one there.’ The chief of the crew pointed at the SynOdys Radiation Monitoring System installed in one corner of the room. ‘That's the type being used at most major airports and harbours these days.’

  Cheema wheeled the nuke slowly past the monitor.

  Not a beep! Great! That takes care of the radiation problem.

  This was essential. With the heightened security alerts prevalent these days, Radiation Monitoring Systems were deployed at almost all the main entry points of most countries.

  Replacing the nuke on the rack, Cheema asked, ‘What about the controller and the timer?’

  ‘There have been no major changes. The handler has to simply strip off the outer casing that we have added on to camouflage it.’ The man showed him the four key points from where the casing had to be stripped away and continued, ‘And then he has to plug in the controller… that too, only for this one, since we had to detach it. This is the most time consuming part of the process and can take five to six minutes.’

  ‘That long?’

  ‘I assume the handler will be working under active operational conditions,’ the man replied, giving Cheema a level look, ‘which means he has to do it very discreetly to ensure he is not detected.’ The man waited, but Cheema did not respond, so he continued, ‘That's why it will take him a little more time than what we can achieve here. After that he has to key in the arming code twice to initiate the firing sequence. Finally, he has to set the timer and then key in the activation code. The whole process should not take more than fifteen to seventeen minutes max, even if external circumstances are extremely… unfavourable.’

  ‘If I'm not wrong, the timer has only three settings.’

  ‘That's absolutely right. The lowest is thirty minutes, the next one is forty-five minutes and the third setting is for a one hour delay.’

  When Cheema spoke again, he had lowered his voice. ‘Is it possible for you to alter these settings?’ It was obvious he did not want the others in the room to hear.

  ‘Right now? Here in the workshop? Yes it is, but not once Chote Miyan is out in the field.’

  ‘Then do it. I want the first setting to be operational immediately, the second after a fifteen minute delay and the third after thirty minutes. You can do that?’

  ‘Yes, of course I can, but that means the person who is going to deploy the weapon will have no time to get clear if he uses either of the first two settings. He will also go down….’

  ‘Do you always ask so many questions?’ There was menace in Cheema's voice. ‘I want you to do it. Okay?’

  ‘Okay.’ The man was clearly cowed down. ‘On all four bombs?’

  ‘Of course. How much time do you need?’

  ‘About an hour per device.’

  ‘Have the first one ready right away and the others before they go out.’ Cheema began to turn away when he stopped and spoke again. ‘I hope you have no problems with any of these orders?’ His tone was still low and even. ‘And you have no problem keeping vital operational information to yourself?’

  ‘No, no, of course not,’ the man replied instantly, his tone subdued.

  Cheema gave a curt you-will-bear-watching-my-friend nod.

  ‘Get the first one ready. The one for which you have detached the controller.’ Turning away, he stalked off to one corner, extracted his satellite phone and began to speak into it softly. The call lasted several minutes.

  A few hours later, the carefully repackaged and reprogrammed Chote Miyan was on board a jeep headed for Karachi port.

  URUMQI

  WHEN MAI SAW THE MESSAGE FROM SALIM, HE KNEW THAT similar messages must have been sent out to the entire strike team. So, finally it has begun. He could not suppress the sharp thrill of excitement that shot through him.

  It was on this high that he arrived in his office that morning. There was one final task left for him to complete before he left for the Fourth International Workshop on Biotechnological Approaches to Chemical Weapon Destruction, scheduled to be held at New Delhi on 27–28 April. The trip would not raise any eyebrows because Mai had attended the third workshop at Saratov, Russia in August 2000.

  To Mai, this final task was the least palatable. ‘Must I do that?’ he had argued with Salim in the Maldives.

  ‘Yes, you must! If you want all traces of your involvement to be eliminated, you have no option,’ Salim had pointed out. ‘I know you are attached to the lab, but you must remember that you are a very valuable asset to the jihad. Your cover is of paramount importance.’ Mai had to admit the man was right and had agreed to the plan.

  Even though he was working in full view of dozens of his colleagues, Mai got away undetected simply because no one expected him to be doing anything untoward. Cheema was right, it is always best to hide in plain sight.

  It took Mai barely an hour to slip the cans of air-freshener filled with VX Gas into the air-conditioning ducts that led into the main conference hall and the primary laboratory where the majority of the research staff worked. He had fitted highly sophisticated timer devices on the release valves and had already set the activation time before he slipped them in.

  Getting the explosives into the specimen bank area was much harder, but Mai managed to get them in without being detected. Explosives were not something he was used to handling. Controlling his fear and discomfiture, he carefully followed the instructions Cheema had given him, and initiated the timer on the explosive charges. He set the same date and time that he had set on the VX Gas cans. The po
or sods will not even know what hit them.

  MAI SPENT THE EVENING WITH HIS SECOND-IN-COMMAND, briefing him on the various things to be taken care of while he was away. ‘A lot of the top brass are going to be here for the quarterly research review next month,’ Mai stressed. ‘You must pay special attention to it.’

  ‘Aren't they always?’ The second-in-command sighed in exasperation. ‘They expect us to produce results as though we're cooks trying out new recipes. Don't they realize how painstaking and time consuming research can be?’

  ‘That's true, but it is a reality we have to live with.’ Mai was used to this gripe from almost every scientist he had worked with. ‘Anyway, I want you to conduct a pre-conference on the twenty-eighth and have everyone go over his or her presentations.’

  ‘That's no problem, chief, you don't worry about it. I'll schedule it right away.’

  ‘I've already done that. The email went out just before you came in. You just ensure everyone takes it seriously. Remember, our budget depends on it.’

  ‘Leave it to me, boss.’ On that note they parted.

  AS HE DROVE OUT THAT EVENING, MAI PAUSED NEAR THE facility gates for a long time. He knew he would never see it like this again. When he returned… if he returned, Mai reminded himself, he would not be allowed within miles of the facility.

  It would have become a devastated shell of a building. The whole facility would be flooded with the deadliest variety of viruses and chemicals known to mankind and would remain sealed off for many decades to come.

  There was a twinge of regret in Mai's heart as he finally engaged gears and drove away. After all, it had been his home for many years now.

  Just remember why you are doing this, he told himself. Remember that no matter what they say or do, the Chinese State is the enemy. It has and will continue to destroy our Muslim brothers.