SALIM MUST DIE

by Deva, Mukul

  ‘When we checked out the usage records of these four phones, we found that they have been functioning mostly in Pakistan from the time they were bought. In fact, three of them are still in use and all three are currently located in Pakistan… two are in Murree, a hill station just north of Lahore, and the third is in Islamabad.’

  ‘What about the fourth one?’ Rao couldn't hold himself back.

  ‘The fourth Thuraya phone has spent most of its time in POK with occasional trips to Lahore, Multan and Islamabad. It was last in operation in Kashmir till about two years ago when it was captured by one of our patrols along the LOC. At that time it was in the possession of a man named Iqbal who'd been trying to cross the LOC and sneak into India. Since then, it's been in the custody of Military Intelligence.’

  Anbu gave a visible start. Ankita paused for a moment, thinking he was going to say something, but resumed speaking when she saw that he had lapsed into a thoughtful silence.

  ‘What is even more interesting is that both the phones that are in Murree today were also in Maldives for the full week that Hu was there. From there they moved a day later, went to Dubai, and then to Lahore the same day. This is the roaming record of both phones.’ She gestured towards the giant screen as another document flashed on it. ‘I have tabulated it for the entire period that the phones have been in operation. You'll note that barring short trips overseas, the third phone, the one that's in Islamabad, has remained there and in Lahore, Multan, Karachi and Peshawar.’

  She was about to resume when Anbu interrupted. ‘One moment, Ankita.’ He turned to Sami. ‘You remember that guy I told you about… who had been captured by Vinod Rai's company in the valley?’

  Before Sami could say anything, Khare butted in. ‘Yes, sir, he's the one they found the phone on. I've already checked him out, sir. The man is right here in Delhi, in Tihar jail.’

  ‘Excellent work, Manoj.’ Anbu gave him the thumbs up sign. ‘Get hold of his interrogation file for me.’ Khare nodded and turned to his laptop immediately.

  Ankita resumed the briefing. ‘We have tried very hard to home in on the real identity of S. Murad but have not made much headway so far. What we do have is this.’ The front pages of two passports appeared on the screen. ‘These are the two men who occupied the last two suites booked by Desert Apparels at the Blue Moon Resort while Mai Hu and the others were also there.’ The photos were grainy and revealed nothing much beyond the approximate age of the two men. ‘Both passports were issued in Lahore in December last year. This one,’ she pointed at the photo of the older man, ‘is made out in the name of Faiz Ali, and that one to Mushtaq Ahmed. However, both passports have the same Murree address given on them. We believe that these are the two men who are currently using two of the remaining three Thuraya phones.’

  Everyone in the room stared at the two photographs projected on the screen.

  ‘Then, just as we were analyzing the data, this message came through on the matchmaking site. It is addressed to all ten people who have been communicating with S. Murad.’

  Salim's last message to his lashkar snapped onto the screen. The silence this time was deafening.

  ‘So where do we stand now?’ Sami finally asked. ‘We know that some dangerous biochems are missing and are likely to be used for a terror strike that could target several countries. We know that these people who met at Male are a part of this strike. We also know that whatever is going to happen will begin or end twenty-four hours from the time some traitor falls.’

  ‘No, sir, it's not over just yet,’ Ankita replied with a somewhat satisfied smile. ‘The ATTF has confirmed that six of the people from the strike team were in Delhi. In fact, five of them left Delhi just hours before or immediately after Mai Hu died.’

  ‘Bloody hell! That obviously means they had come to collect….’

  ‘Precisely, sir! It is obvious that they had come to Delhi to collect something from Hu. It had to be something of high value that could not be transported through regular channels and something that Hu did not have with him when he met them in the Maldives.’

  ‘The damn biochems, of course!’ Rao breathed. ‘So at least we now know who took them and where they're headed.’

  ‘That's the logical assumption to make, sir. That is why the security agencies of all those countries have been alerted.’

  ‘Who were the three that didn't come to Delhi?’ Anbu interjected.

  ‘They are Lars Borge of Denmark and Liaquat Ali and Rahim Khan from the US. We don't know anything about Yakub Khan since he is Delhi based and we have so far been unable to confirm if he met Dr Hu or not. However, the other three have not left their countries since they returned from the Maldives… unless they travelled on false documents,’ Ankita added as the thought struck her.

  ‘Damn!’ Rao exclaimed angrily. ‘So we now have highly dangerous bio-chemical weapons of unknown shape, size and lethality moving in six or seven densely populated cities in the world, including Delhi.’

  ‘Well, sir, the surveillance tapes at the Delhi airport, where Hu landed, show that he had two large suitcases as check-in baggage and a carry bag and a laptop as cabin baggage. So whatever he carried was in those bags.’

  ‘That means very little if we keep in mind the tiny dosage of VX Gas or smallpox virus that is required to wreak havoc.’

  ‘True, sir,’ Ankita conceded. ‘We must also keep in mind the glass ampoule which killed Mai Hu. There were traces of face cream on the outer surface of the glass and a tissue was also found in the waste bin, with the same cream on it. The glass ampoule had probably been in a jar of cream and Hu must have used the tissue to wipe it clean.’

  ‘The devilish bastard,’ Rao breathed. ‘The cream would have protected the ampoule and made it almost impossible for anyone to find it.’

  ‘Very true, sir! The ampoule probably came from one of the weapons, so that does give us an idea of how the VX has been packaged. Not a very clear one, but something. And from what Chinese Intelligence tells us, the dead scientist had requisitioned several items a few weeks before all this began. At that time, no one gave it a second thought, but now it appears that in addition to these glass vials he may have packaged the VX, the Variola, or both, as an aerosol in some spray can.’

  ‘This whole thing is full of too many ifs and buts,’ Rawat remarked. ‘We need to….’

  Whatever he was going to say was lost as one of Chauhan's senior aides rushed into the room. His voice was high and he was literally shaking with excitement. ‘Sir, I think you need to see this.’ He turned on the television and increased the volume till the voice of the news anchor filled the room. The voice was throbbing with excitement.

  Soon the room was, too.

  The Traitor Falls

  THE PRESIDENTIAL COMPLEX, ISLAMABAD

  ACCORDING TO THE STANDARD OPERATING PROCEDURE OFthe Pakistan Army special protection detail, at no point in time was the General to be guarded by less than four men. This was as much to ensure that there was no chance of anyone from the protection detail turning on him as it was to ensure that a ring of sturdy Kevlar-clad bodies always stood between him and harm's way.

  The sturdy bodies that stood in the line of fire belonged to the same para-commando battalion in which the General had been commissioned as a young Lieutenant. It was the same unit where he had found his Captain's stars and his Major's pips and which he had once commanded as a young Colonel.

  One of the first things he had done when he wrested control from the Prime Minister in a bloodless coup had been to move this para-commando battalion to the finest garrison in Islamabad and assign them a host of coveted duties, one of which included the protection of himself and his family.

  The men assigned to the dictator's protective detail were handpicked after extensive profiling. Each one of them had been thoroughly checked and verified before being allowed anywhere near the General's august body. As an extra precaution, duty rosters were prepared in such a manner that no two men on duty in the same shift
were from the same town or village.

  Each man in the General's protection detail was a superb marksman, skilled with a variety of weapons and trained to kill in almost every possible way known to man. They were undoubtedly the pride of the Pakistan Army and they all took their jobs very, very seriously, which was not surprising, given the number of people who were itching to deliver the not-so-beloved General to his maker.

  If there was a world record for the head of state who had survived the largest number of assassination attempts, the Pakistani dictator would have won hands-down. There had been forty-seven attempts already, of which two had nearly succeeded. More than seventy-eight people had lost their lives either in trying to get rid of the General or in trying to protect him. The list of casualties did not include the five officers who had headed the security detail over the past six years and been compelled to take premature retirement due to high blood pressure and other stress related disorders, which were very much a part of the territory as far as this particular job went.

  THE GENERAL WAS IN AN EXTREMELY FOUL MOOD WHEN HE left the conference room after the morning's briefing. The Lahore Times and Dawn had outdone themselves in the nasty, sarcastic things they had written about him that day. So had most of the other papers. Each one of them sang about his sell-out to the Satanic Americans. The same rabid hardliners he had supported and fed all their lives were now clamouring for his blood.

  The ungrateful Godless mongrels, the General cursed under his breath as he strode into his office. Angrily, he flung the sheaf of tightly rolled newspapers he had been clutching. The roll of papers hit the edge of the sofa with a thud and scattered across the floor.

  The sound attracted an immediate response from the presidential security detail. The two men who were positioned just outside the door rushed into the room. Their weapons were drawn, and their hard gimlet eyes raked the room. They relaxed slightly when they saw what had caused the noise. There was a rapid exchange of glances and then the two men turned and made their way to the door. The one in front pulled it open and left the room. The one behind him caught hold of the door as it began to silently swing shut. However, instead of pulling it open, he softly pushed it shut and smoothly threw the latch into closed position in the same motion.

  Levelling his weapon as he turned, the commando swiftly strode up to the General who was standing by a huge office table, in front of large windows with bulletproof panes. The General was pulling back his chair to sit down when the harsh snick of metal caused him to look up. He raised his eyes to throw a quizzical glance at the bodyguard, and saw the automatic pistol pointed straight at him. His mind was still trying to take this in, when the bodyguard pulled the trigger. Once, twice, thrice….

  Like his comrades in the security detail, the commando was yielding a Sig Sauer P229, 357-calibre handgun. At almost point blank range, the heavy lead bullets ploughed through the frontal skull plate of the General, and lacerated the soft grey brain cells. The entry points were small neat circles, but the exit wounds were a large gory mess.

  The back of the presidential head exploded. Bone, tissue and flesh sprayed through the air and spattered in a horrific mosaic across the sparkling clean bulletproof windowpanes.

  The sound of the pistol shots echoed through the room with startling effect. The door of the office flew open as it was shouldered in by the Praetorians positioned outside. The three other men of the security detail flew into the room, their weapons drawn. There was a brief, almost infinitesimal pause as they took in the scene and then a crash of gunfire thundered through the building.

  The bodyguard-assassin was on the point of firing his last round into the already dead General when the first volley of bullets fired by the protective detail slammed into him. He staggered as they pounded his body, but none of them managed to penetrate the Kevlar protecting his torso. Those that encountered his head had no such problem.

  The man fell in a ragged heap as more and more bullets found their mark. He felt his weapon being wrested away and then he saw the furious eyes of the team leader boring into him. Life was already fast fleeing his body so he could not hear the words, but the ‘Why?’ in those eyes did not escape him.

  He tried to speak, to share with him all that Salim had told him; about how the General had betrayed their Allah, their country, their….

  The horrified team leader saw life drain out of the assassin's body along with the blood pulsing out of his mouth.

  Fuck! Why did it have to happen on my watch? I'm dead.

  NEW DELHI

  ANBU CLICKED THE TELEVISION REMOTE, AND THE EXCITED voice of the news anchor covering the assassination of the Pakistani dictator filled the room.

  ‘That settles one thing for sure,’ Anbu said. ‘Now we all know what that traitor falls part of the sentence means.’ There were several unhappy nods in the room. ‘It is also obvious that whatever is supposed to happen has already begun. We now have twenty-four hours to find out what it is and stop it.’

  Instinctively, everyone looked at their watches.

  Twenty-four hours!

  Almost a dozen cities strung out all over the globe!

  This cannot be happening!

  No one in the room had any doubts about the mammoth task that lay ahead of them.

  Yet again, it was Anbu who broke the silence. ‘I think you'd better call the PM.’ He looked at Rao. ‘We need to bring him up to speed.’

  Rao nodded miserably. ‘I just wish we had more to tell him.’

  ‘We will, if we get cracking right away,’ Anbu replied briskly before turning to Khare in a businesslike manner. ‘What about the man I'd asked you to check on? Iqbal?’

  ‘Oh yes.’ Khare jumped up with a start. ‘Here is the transcript of the interrogation carried out by MI.’ ‘Iqbal was recruited by the Lashkar-e-Toiba and sent to Pakistan for training. He says he took the Thuraya phone off Maulana Fazlur Rehman whom he killed because the October 2005 bombs at Sarojini Nagar that had been planted by the Lashkar had also killed his mother and sister.’

  ‘The October 2005 blasts? Wasn't that the handiwork of Brigadier Murad Salim?’ Rao asked. There was an infinitesimal pause. Anbu softly mouthed the name again, as though mulling over it. ‘Murad Salim….’ It clicked in the minds of most of the people in the room almost simultaneously. ‘S. Murad… Salim Murad… Murad Salim… shit! It's him! It has to be him!’

  ‘But Salim died in a chopper crash just a few days after the Delhi blasts,’ Rao interjected.

  ‘Well, it appears he didn't,’ Anbu whispered thoughtfully.

  ‘The bloody cheek of the man! He simply inverted his name.’

  ‘Part cheek and part ego, I would say. In any case, he must have thought his role in this strike would never surface.’

  ‘And it wouldn't have if Mai Hu hadn't died… we would have been clueless even now.’

  ‘It all makes sense actually, when you come to think of it.’ Anbu suddenly threw off his thoughtful demeanour and turned to the others. ‘Listen, if Murad Salim is behind this, we can bet the strike is going to be big. That guy is the coldest, most ruthless of them all. And you can definitely bet that India will be an important target… if not Delhi, it'll be some other major Indian city. I want you guys to get down to it right away. MS, you hold fort till I get back. I want our boys ready to go…. Keep all options open for now.’ His voice crackled with urgency. ‘Khare, I want you to go down to Tihar with copies of those last two passports which we have not been able to identify. Talk to Iqbal… handle it delicately. I have a feeling he will be able to confirm that they are who we think they are. Ankita, I want you to get cracking and hunt down the current location of the man using the smurad profile.’ Then he turned to Chauhan. ‘And could you please put more ATTF boots on the ground? We need to track down every possible lead. Yakub Khan has to be found and taken in.’

  ‘You think we should focus on Delhi, or do we alert the other metros also?’

  ‘I would say we focus on Delhi for now, simply bec
ause Yakub himself is from Delhi. My guess is that the strikes are going to be concentrated on the cities that the attackers are from.’

  ‘That makes tactical sense,’ Chauhan concurred.

  By now, Rao had put down the phone. He threw a look at Anbu. ‘Let's go. The PM wants us. Now.’

  THEIR CAR WAS ENTERING THE PARKING LOT AT SOUTH BLOCK, having zigzagged through the heavy traffic from Delhi Cantt. when Anbu's phone rang. Khare's excited voice came through. ‘Sir, that guy Iqbal says that the man in the photo is Murad Salim.’

  ‘He is sure?’

  ‘Yes, sir. He said he could never forget his face.’

  ‘I thought as much.’ Anbu could not hide the satisfaction in his tone. ‘What about the other man?’

  ‘Iqbal says he was Salim's aide and used to accompany him all the time. He is not sure of the name but he says it was most probably Captain Azam Cheema.’

  ‘Good work, Khare. Get back to base now and wait for my call.’

  He had barely disconnected when the phone rang again. It was Ankita.

  ‘Sir, I have been profiling all those who were in the Maldives, and the cities they hail from. There is a pattern emerging… at least for some of the cities. In these places, it's not hard to predict the target.’

  ‘Explain that, Ankita,’ Anbu said tersely. So she did. As usual, her analysis was based on impeccable logic and meticulous research. ‘Excellent! That makes perfect sense. I suggest you alert the governments involved so they can cover those targets.’

  ‘I'll do that right away.’

  ‘And get hold of Salim's location for me. Use the Thuraya phones and the IP address. I'm willing to bet he won't stray from his command post just yet.’

  Anbu was quiet as he accompanied Rao to the PM's office. A variety of options raced through his mind. He analysed them with military precision, segregating the possible from the plausible.