SALIM MUST DIE

by Deva, Mukul

  ‘Of course I am sure,’ his boss retorted irritably. ‘I double-checked with the man who transcribed the tapes. There is no doubt about it. There's something very big going on down there.’

  ‘What did we find at the Urumqi facility?’

  ‘That bastard Hu had planted explosives all around the central storage area. If they had gone off they would have unleashed all the viruses and chemicals held there in deep storage.’ His voice was near despairing. ‘You have no idea what that means, Liang. Some of the stuff there is so lethal that it would have rendered the facility and the surrounding areas unfit for habitation for decades. Thousands would have died.’

  Liang shuddered as his mind conjured up ill-informed images of nameless, faceless things running loose in the countryside. ‘What is missing from the stores?’

  ‘As far as we can make out, some VX Gas is definitely missing. We're still trying to work out the quantity… I should be able to tell you in a few hours. We think some of the Variola Major is also missing, but again’ – Liang could almost visualize his helpless shrug – ‘we need more time to pin down the precise details.’

  ‘Variola Major? What the hell is that?’ Liang's mouth fell open in horror as the man at the other end told him. ‘Shit! And you say this Haemorrhagic type is the deadliest?’ An uncomfortable silence held sway for a long moment. ‘What should I do? How much should I tell the Indians?’

  ‘The high command says we have to tell them everything.’

  ‘Everything! They'll go crazy!’

  ‘I know, but this is just too big a deal to hold back on. I mean, you don't screw around where VX Gas and smallpox viruses are concerned. Do you realize what the world will do to us if that stuff gets loose? In these days of free and easy travel, the smallpox will spread like wildfire. No one is even prepared for it these days. And this one is an almost certain killer.’ There was another, much longer pause as both men contemplated the scenario. ‘Fuck! Millions could die.’

  ‘The Indians are going to go ape-shit!’ That was all Liang could say before he finally put down the phone after a detailed briefing by his boss.

  THE INDIANS DID NOT GO APE-SHIT. FOR A VERY LONG TIME, the MEA man was simply unable to understand what Liang was saying, or its implications. When Liang finally started getting through to him, he went wild. So did the others… right up the chain of command.

  ‘Don't the fucking Chinks take care of this stuff?’

  ‘How the bloody hell did that bastard manage to carry all that shit through airport security?’

  ‘Exactly what did we find in his room?’

  ‘Nothing! Barring the remains of the….’

  ‘Nothing? So where the hell has it gone?’

  The questions, most of them rhetorical and as yet unanswerable, came thick and fact. The panic was just starting to set in. Luckily, a few of the cooler heads realized what would happen if the news hit the streets, so a tight security blanket was thrown over it immediately. Only those who were already in the know and those who would be directly involved with the hunt were told.

  ‘JUST HOW CERTAIN ARE WE?’ THE INDIAN PRIME MINISTER asked when G.K. Rao finished speaking.

  ‘It is all very hazy right now,’ Rao replied reluctantly. The bespectacled Rao was almost single-handedly responsible for the new, well integrated and professional face that Indian Intelligence proudly displayed these days. ‘So far the only thing the Chinese are sure of is that some VX Gas and Variola Major are missing.’

  He gave the PM a very brief idea of what VX Gas and Varioal Major were and what they were capable of doing. It was enough to bring a grim look to the PM's usually serene countenance.

  ‘These missing items coupled with the woman's dying statements leads them to believe that something big is about to go down in our part of the world. Apparently, the scientist was a closet jihadi. They're still trying to work out the details.’

  ‘And we? What are we doing?’

  ‘We just got the Intel an hour ago, sir. Even as we speak, our people….’

  ‘Rao, I want you to head this investigation yourself. Bring in some top-notch people from NEMA and the ATTF. Pull out all stops and ensure you keep me posted all the time. And listen,’ the PM added as Rao was turning away, ‘I am placing Force 22 directly under your command for this mission. Keep Colonel Anbu in the loop. To my mind they're our best bet should we need to respond rapidly to any situation.’

  ‘VX GAS? VARIOLA MAJOR?’ COLONEL ANBU'S SHOCKED VOICE mirrored his disbelief. ‘Do you know what you are saying? Can you even imagine….’

  ‘I know, I know, Colonel, but that's exactly what the CW people have confirmed,’ Rao interrupted him. ‘The man who died is a Chinese scientist. He was in town to attend a chemical weapons destruction conference.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘And the PM wants you in on this, so I suggest you get your people moving.’

  ‘Don't worry about us, Mr Rao, most of my people are already in Manesar, close to Delhi, for a joint training with the NSG. Please consider us on high alert within the next hour.’

  Anbu's instincts were working overtime as the call ended. ‘I have a really bad feeling about this one….’ he said to Sami who was sitting opposite him as he dialled another number. ‘Ankita, I want Khare and you here,’ he said when the phone was picked up at the other end. ‘ASAP! Drop everything else for the moment.’ While waiting for them, Anbu told Sami in detail what Rao had said. ‘Alert everyone, MS. Tell the NSG that the training is off for the moment and make sure everyone is back at base, locked, loaded and ready to go.’ He saw the questioning look on Sami's face and added, ‘No, I don't know what the hell is going to happen but I have a feeling that we're going to hit the ground running on this one… very soon and very hard.’

  A FEW MINUTES LATER, THERE WAS A SOFT KNOCK ON ANBU'S door and Ankita Bhatnagar and Manoj Khare entered.

  Waving them in, Anbu went straight to the root of the matter and then gave them their tasks. ‘I want both of you to go over everything – and I mean everything. Mr Rao, the NIA, is personally heading up the investigation and he has already spoken to the cops, the ATTF and NEMA; you'll get all the cooperation you need from them. In any case, both of you get along well with Rao.’ He gave both officers a hard, level look. ‘We need to find out what that crazy scientist has carried into the country. Even more importantly, we need to find out where the hell it has gone.’

  They were almost at the door when he spoke again. ‘And listen guys, I don't think we have much time on our hands, so pull out all the stops. We're all going to be waiting for you two to point us in the right direction.’ He turned to Sami. ‘Tell the others to get ready.’

  BERLIN

  MANOJ KHARE AND ANKITA BHATNAGAR HAD JUST FINISHED going through the hotel room in which Mai Hu had died when Austrian Airlines flight 271 from Vienna touched down at Tegel airfield in Berlin. The security man who electronically scanned Karl Gunther's luggage did not find anything suspicious, and Karl walked through unscathed. The first killer had breached the final security barrier.

  LAHORE

  KARL GUNTHER WAS EXITING TEGEL AIRPORT WHEN THE LAST repackaged and reprogrammed Chote Miyan left the warehouse in Lahore. The nuke now bore an uncanny resemblance to one of those typical black cases that almost all airline crew members carry. They are such a ubiquitous part of the airlines uniform that people barely notice them.

  The Chote Miyan was delivered straight to Lahore airport by a man dressed in the uniform of the airport's ground staff. There were two hard looking men with an unmistakable air of authority waiting for him at the airport's entrance. The sinister duo had the right papers to open doors magically; they escorted the man and his precious case through all the checks and barriers, right on to the tarmac.

  At 1250 hours local time, when PIA flight 771 took off from Lahore for Copenhagen via Oslo, the beautifully repackaged and camouflaged nuke was safely stowed in the aircraft's cargo hold. The man who had delivered the nuke was also on bo
ard, but now he was dressed like a member of the PIA crew. The aircraft took off and settled into the scheduled flight path for Copenhagen.

  PIA FLIGHT 771 HAD BEEN LOADING UP FOR DEPARTURE WHEN the three-man crew who had camouflaged and reprogrammed the four suitcase nukes finished packing up their gear at the nondescript warehouse in Lahore that had been their home for the past few days. Loading the minivan they normally commuted in every day, they finally drove off. The minivan was well clear of the area when the timer on the bomb attached to the underside of the vehicle ran out. The bomb was small but powerful, and its location was precise. It completely decimated the van and the three men inside it.

  Watching from the safe confines of his parked car, Captain Azam Cheema nodded to himself. He was not a man who liked to leave any loose ends behind.

  NEW DELHI

  ANKITA WAS PORING OVER A PHOTOCOPY OF MAI'S DIARY when two phone numbers scribbled on a page caught her eye. They stood out simply because there was nothing else on that page. The next four pages were full of scribbled notes, but they were in a shorthand that Mai had obviously devised for himself. Ankita was not overly surprised since her brother was a scientist and he too had a peculiar code of his own. She rapidly keyed one of the phone numbers into her laptop and began her hunt.

  Thuraya satellite phones! Hey! Hello!! Those are hot favourites with terrorists operating out of Pakistan. A fresh twinge of worry ran through her. Has this son of a bitch scientist been hand in glove with them? If he's been doling out biochems to those crazies, we're all in deep shit. With a sinking feeling, she nudged Manoj. ‘Here, take a look at this.’

  The minute he saw the two phone numbers, a tiny bell began to clamour in the recesses of Manoj's mind. There was something about them that had struck a chord, but he was not sure what it was. He pushed his mind hard… harder… cajoling it to come up with an answer.

  Ankita intruded upon his thoughts. ‘Manoj, can you check if the chink called either of these numbers… or was called by them?’

  ‘Sure, one sec.’ Khare rapidly scanned the phone records of the room, which the ATTF had already procured from the hotel manager. A tense moment later: ‘No, he made no calls from the hotel room for sure.’

  Manoj picked up the dead scientist's mobile phone and scrolled through the names. ‘Neither of those numbers is stored in his mobile phone memory, nor has there been any call made to or from those phones to this one… but wait… there is a text message which has been sent to one of them.’ Khare clicked the ‘read message’ icon on Mai's mobile phone. ‘It's just one word – mailbox.’ Khare checked the screen again. ‘The chink sent it out to the satellite phone listed on top at 2327 hours last night. That would have been just before he died.’

  Khare looked up again at Ankita. ‘Listen, there is something about these phone numbers that is bothering me.’ He scratched his head. ‘I'm not getting it right now, but I…’ His voice trailed away. ‘Ankita, let me track these phones down. Meanwhile, why don't you track Mai Hu's movements over the past few weeks? And we need to get into that laptop.’ He gestured towards Mai's laptop. ‘After all, if there is a mailbox he is referring to in the text message, then either he sent a mail or he received one.’

  ‘First let me go over his movements in the recent past,’ Ankita replied, ‘then I'll take care of his laptop.’

  The two got down to work and silence reigned in the room again.

  BOTH FORCE 22 OFFICERS WERE DEEP INTO THEIR SEARCH when two miles away, the usually ill-tempered and ill-mannered Ben Ashton took off on board Jet Airways flight 9W122 from Delhi to London. At this moment, however, the man was in a rare good humour. Thanks to Mai's ingenuity, he had sailed through the dreaded pre-flight security checks without raising any flags.

  The last killer had breached the security barrier.

  PARIS

  TWENTY-FIVE MINUTES LATER, HALFWAY ACROSS THE GLOBE, Air France flight 488 bound for St Martin took off from Paris. The security check for transit passengers was as cursory as it normally is. Sahiba and Kismat exchanged looks of relief as the aircraft gained altitude and settled down at cruising height. They were now into the second leg of their interminably long journey.

  NEW DELHI

  ‘CAN YOU BELIEVE THIS? THE DEAD MAN DOES NOT BUDGE out of China for months,’ Ankita commented to no one in particular. ‘And then suddenly he goes to the Maldives last month and now to Delhi. Do you think the two trips are related?’

  Manoj looked up when Ankita spoke but he had a glazed look in his eyes. He seemed lost in whatever he was doing. Ankita smiled when she saw his expression and returned to her machine with a never-mind wave.

  BERLIN

  TWO HOURS AFTER THE FLIGHT LANDED IN BERLIN, KARL Gunther walked into the Park Inn Hotel and checked in. Located just off the Alexanderplatz, this was as close to the target as it was possible for him to get.

  No matter what happens, you must not return home. You must not check in under your real name or use a credit card to pay for the hotel room or anything else. Cheema's warning echoed in his head as Karl wrote the name Franz Breitner in the check-in register and paid the required advance in cash for two nights.

  Cloaked in vibrant blue and red colours, the newly refurbished room was warm and snug. Karl was confronted with a long wooden luggage rack with a rod and hooks above it as soon as he walked into the room.

  There is no cupboard…. Damn! What will these newfangled designers come up with next? Cursing under his breath, Karl carried the suitcase nuke across to the other end of the room and placed it carefully in the shadow of the bed.

  Twenty minutes later, he logged onto meetyourmatch.com and confirmed his arrival to Salim.

  Remember that those of you who have a shorter travel time will have longer to wait. You have to ensure you don't get impatient or restless during this waiting period. Just keep your head down and lie low, Cheema had cautioned them. So Karl Gunther switched on the television and prepared to tide over the long wait for his tryst with Destiny.

  NEW DELHI

  ‘I KNEW IT! I KNEW THERE WAS SOMETHING FAMILIAR ABOUT these damn numbers.’ Manoj Khare's voice made Ankita look up from her laptop. ‘The two phone numbers that were scribbled in Mai's diary belong to a set of four Thuraya satellite phones. All four phones were purchased by the same person at the same time. The four phone numbers are contiguous and all of them are registered to a Dubai based company called Desert Apparels.’ Ankita started when she heard the name, but Manoj continued excitedly, ‘The company is owned by a person called S. Murad. Now here's the kicker!’ He gave Ankita a pleased look. ‘You remember I was telling you that something about these numbers has been bothering me? Well, now I know why. In November 2005, just after the strikes we carried out in Pakistan post the Delhi bomb blasts, a guy was captured at the LOC. He was carrying a Thuraya phone. That phone is one of these four.’ Manoj gestured towards his laptop. ‘For some reason, the old man had asked me to check out….’

  ‘Who was this guy?’ Ankita cut in impatiently.

  ‘He was a youngster named Iqbal, from Lucknow, who'd been recruited by the Lashkar-eToiba and sent to POK for training.’ Manoj jabbed at the page flashing on the screen of his machine. ‘It's quite an interesting story. Here, I'm transferring a copy of his interrogation report to your machine. I had downloaded it from the Military Intelligence database at the time… when the old man asked me to check on it. Meanwhile, let me find out more about these phones. I have a feeling they're vital to all this.’ He returned to his laptop. ‘Let's see where all these phones have travelled and where they are right now.’

  ‘Sure thing, Manoj, do that, but listen,’ Ankita interjected, ‘listen to this.’ Manoj caught the sharp edge of excitement in her tone. ‘You know that Mai spent a week in the Maldives last month. Now here's a coincidence you'll love. While he was there the guy stayed at a resort called the Blue Moon; it's a pretty exclusive high-end resort. During that week, all but twenty-seven of its 156 beach cottages, water bungalows and water
villas were full. On the days that Mai was there, twelve of these water villas – which, by the way, are the most expensive of the lot – had been booked by,’ she gave a dramatic pause, ‘a Dubai based company called Desert Apparels.’

  ‘You're kidding me!’ Manoj exclaimed.

  ‘No, not at all!’ Ankita leaned back and raised an eyebrow at Khare. ‘Now, is that a coincidence or what?’

  ‘Damn right it is! Now we're getting somewhere. Let me find out who was staying in the other eleven villas. I know exactly who to ask. Meanwhile, see if you can sink your hook into this S. Murad guy who owns Desert Apparels. He seems to be the key.’ Khare turned to the phone in front of him with a mounting sense of urgency. The man he called was about to pack up for the day, but when he learnt who was calling and what he had to say, he got moving pretty fast.

  ABDUL RASHID HEADED THE SPECIAL INVESTIGATIONS UNIT OF the Maldives Police. A year ago, he had attended a training course in counter-terror operations in India. It was during this training that Khare and he had got acquainted. Their interaction may not have been long, but they got along famously. Rashid knew and respected Khare enough to honour his request without asking too many questions. ‘You are sure that none of this concerns us?’ Abdul asked.

  ‘Right now I don't know for sure,’ Khare replied. ‘But I promise you that if anything does come up, you'll be the first to know.’

  ‘That's good enough for me.’

  ‘And listen, right now, since we don't know exactly what is going on, I'd request you to do this yourself. Don't involve anyone else until we know more.’

  ‘Oh!’ There was a long pause as Abdul Rashid thought this over. ‘I see what you mean. One never knows who may be…. Right! Don't worry about it. I'll call you back in a couple of hours.’

  CHICAGO

  WHILE ALL THIS WAS GOING ON, ERIK SEGAN'S FLIGHT LANDED at Chicago. He disembarked quickly and crossed the terminal from where his connecting flight to New Orleans was scheduled to depart after a layover of two hours and fifteen minutes. Already, thirty-five minutes of this waiting period had been consumed since his flight from Delhi had met a strong headwind and was running behind schedule. By now the exjunkie's nerves were literally in tatters and he was almost falling apart with the stress. He sweated through the remaining hour and, despite his fear of flying, was actually relieved when they announced the boarding for his onward flight. The flight to New Orleans left on schedule and was quite uneventful.