by Deva, Mukul
PMO, SOUTH BLOCK, NEW DELHI
THE STARK SILENCE IN THE ROOM WAS BROKEN ONLY WHEN the Prime Minister walked in with the Home Minister, the Defence Minister, the External Affairs Minister and the Director of RAW in tow.
‘Yes, Rao?’ The PM got right down to it. By now he had been given enough information to know that there was no time to waste.
‘Sir, we have another terror strike coming.’ Rao went straight to the heart of the matter. ‘A very big one and it is coming really fast.’ In a quiet level tone, Rao ran through the complete sequence of events and what they were expecting.
There was silence when he finished. Everyone in that room had more or less known what was coming since they were all in the information loop, but it was chilling to have it confirmed.
‘What's the likely target in Delhi?’ the PM asked.
‘We don't know, sir. For Delhi we don't know for sure, but for some of the other overseas cities it's not hard to guess the target,’ Anbu replied.
‘Explain that, Colonel.’ So he did, briefly summing up what Ankita had deduced. When he finished, the PM nodded. ‘Okay, I see what you mean… it makes sense. The terrorists will seek out important public events and large gatherings if they want to make a statement.’
‘Precisely, sir.’
‘What about Delhi?’
‘Sir, we have not been able to pinpoint the target, but we are pretty certain who will carry out the strike in Delhi. We have complete details of the man.’
‘Then why have you not taken him in?’
‘We're looking for him right now, sir. His house, factory, office and all known friends and relatives have been placed under physical and technical surveillance, but he is still not traceable. Apparently he is on holiday with his family in Rajasthan. Even his mobile phone has been switched off since the night of 24 April. Our last sighting of him is at Mount Abu, but he left his hotel there very early on twenty-fifth morning.’
‘I am sure we have ways to find him.’
‘We do, sir, and we will definitely find him.’
‘Good!’ He turned to Rao. ‘What about the other countries? Who have we informed?’
‘All of them, sir. The MEA did it as soon as we came to know. The ATTF and my people are working in tandem with them. The countries being targeted have been given the complete details at the highest possible level.’
‘Excellent! And who did you say is responsible for all this?’ the PM asked.
‘Salim… Brigadier Murad Salim. He is an ex-ISI officer.’
‘Sir, he is the same guy who planned the Delhi bomb blasts in October 2005. He was supposed to have died in a chopper crash the same year,’ Anbu added. ‘Clearly, that was a hoax. It's very clear now that the man had simply gone underground.’
‘Do you think their government knows?’ the PM asked thoughtfully.
‘Knows? I wouldn't be surprised if they planned it themselves,’ the Home Minister spoke before anyone could answer.
‘Sir, we have a huge file on the guy,’ the RAW Director said. ‘He had… has always been very close to General Ehsan Haque, the present ISI Director. It wouldn't be surprising if Haque is hand in glove with him, but we can't be sure. Salim has always been a bit of a loner… a rogue.’
‘Well, one thing is for certain,’ Anbu said. ‘The fourth Thuraya satellite phone is currently operating out of Islamabad and that is where General Haque is these days.’
‘They have nukes on the loose, sir,’ Rao added. ‘And that cannot happen without their so-called official machinery being aware of it.’
‘So let us speak to their government.’
‘What is the point, sir? The civilian government hardly has any say in such matters. In any case, they will deny everything, just as they have always done.’
‘Then what do you suggest? What is the solution?’
‘Sir, if you ask me, the solution lies in a well-coordinated, two-pronged strategy: first, a series of prophylactic and defensive measures and second, taking the war to the enemy and fighting it on their territory rather than on our own. We have to launch a series of aggressive diplomatic and economic offensives to tie them up in knots so that they don't have the time or energy to even think of harassing us with such terror attacks.’
‘I agree with Mr Rao,’ Anbu said. ‘We're so worried about being seen as a big bully that we've ended up playing the benign elder brother for too long. Our neighbours have always taken advantage of this…. They have mistaken our kindness for weakness.’
‘That about sums it up. We should break off all contacts with Pakistan and re-negotiate all treaties, including water sharing agreements. That should wake them up so fast th….’
Nods and supportive murmurs broke out in the room. The noise subsided when the PM held up his hand. ‘Do we have time for all this right now?’
‘You are right, sir. We don't. The clock is ticking really fast, so….’
‘So let's focus on the more immediate problem at hand. How certain are we that we can stop the strike on Delhi?’
‘We have to,’ Rao replied firmly. ‘If the weapon is biological or chemical, we don't have a choice, because if it goes off, we have nothing to even limit the damage.’
His grim words were met by a very long silence.
‘This time we can stop the strike,’ Anbu finally said. He was speaking softly but his tone was firm. ‘Maybe… but the point is, how long will we keep defending ourselves? What will we defend? How many trains, how many buses, how many markets, how many malls? How many temples and mosques? How long and in how many places will we remain on guard? How long should this state of fear be allowed to rule our lives?’
‘True,’ Rao said. ‘Sooner or later an attack is bound to get through. And then another… and another. And whenever that happens, many more will die.’
‘What are you two trying to say?’ the PM asked brusquely. ‘We don't have time for rhetoric.’
‘The time has come to hit back, sir, hard and fast,’ Anbu replied. ‘The time has come for us to take the battle to the enemy. To go in and hit them before they know what's happening.’
‘We have to keep them worried and guessing.’ Rao was equally firm. ‘We have to keep them on the run at all times.’
‘That's right, sir. This is not going to be a conventional battle that can be fought in a conventional manner.’
‘The use of force is never a permanent solution to any problem,’ the PM retorted.
‘Very true, sir,’ Anbu replied evenly, ‘but neither is allowing yourself to be put under siege, waiting for the enemy to come and hit you. No war can ever be won with a strategy of permanent defence. The primary lesson that has emerged very clearly from our experiences in the Kashmir valley, Nagaland, Mizoram, Assam, Punjab and Sri Lanka is that force has to be used to bring the terrorists to heel and compel them to look at peaceful negotiations as the only way to lasting peace.’
‘In any case,’ the RAW Director interrupted, ‘this is not a homegrown problem at all. Everyone knows that the Pakistani ISI is using these jihadis to inflict a proxy war on us. It is stupid for us to believe that Pakistan is anything but a failed state. As Mr Rao was saying, their army and the ISI have to be kept busy with their own internal problems. Only then can we hope to have some measure of peace in India.’
‘Correct,’ Anbu assented. ‘The other thing we have all learnt the hard way is that no terrorist organization is ever going to come out and fight us in the open. They are aware of the disparity of forces and will always resort to such underhand tactics to exert pressure on us and inflict losses. So, like them, we will have to think out of the box and act accordingly.’
‘True, sir,’ Rao said. ‘You remember in 1989 when the United Liberation Front problem began in Assam and they started extorting money from the tea plantations? The buggers were simply lining their pockets but they went around projecting themselves as saviours of the working classes, who were their major support base. There was a school of thought that adv
ocated shutting down the tea plantations rather than giving in to ULFA's demands. But the several hundred thousand tea plantation workers who would have been rendered jobless would never have allowed it. In fact, they would have turned on ULFA the moment they realized that they were suffering because of ULFA's terror tactics.’
‘Then why wasn't it done?’ the External Affairs Minister enquired.
‘We didn't have to. We just leaked news of this plan to the ULFA leadership. They realized what would happen and stopped pressurizing the tea plantations immediately.’
‘That's all very well, Rao, but what's the co-relation here?’ the PM interjected.
‘It is evident, sir,’ Anbu broke in. ‘We need to wake up to the fact that this problem of terrorism cannot be wished away. It is here to stay and it simply cannot be handled in a conventional manner. We have to go in, infiltrate the terrorist organizations where possible and make sure we take down the people who lead them. Also, those who fund and support them.’
‘Absolutely, sir!’ Rao asserted vehemently. ‘As soon as we cut out the heart and chop off the head, the arms will automatically atrophy.’
‘And this is never going to be a one-time solution. It will have to be done again and again. Whenever and wherever the need arises…. We must not lose any opportunity to go in and hit the head.’
‘Pakistan has to be made to understand that attacking India will always be an expensive proposition for them and every attack will result in a direct and proportionate counter-attack.’
A supportive murmur broke out in the room. It subsided when the PM held up his hand. ‘What are you two suggesting right now?’ he asked.
‘Sir, we need to take strong punitive action.’ Anbu spoke in his usual quiet tone but the words rang resolutely through the room. ‘Salim must die.’
A hush fell upon the room.
‘This is not America, Colonel.’ The PM's tone was cold and inscrutable. ‘The Indian government does not sanction murder.’
‘With due apology, sir, this is not murder. I am talking about the need and the right to defend ourselves.’
‘That, Colonel, is exactly what the Americans say when they bomb innocent villagers in their hunt for Al Qaida terrorists. That is what they say when they trample upon human rights and individual freedom in the name of Homeland Security. That is the excuse they give for holding prisoners in covert jails without due process, and for the host of unspeakable things that they have done and continue to do to nameless, faceless people who have little to do with their so-called war on terror.’
‘Very true, sir,’ Anbu countered, softly. ‘But please remember it is America that created the Al Qaida. It is their own Frankenstein that has gone berserk and is now wreaking havoc. It is their own shortsighted policies that have rebounded on them and compelled them to act in this insane and unscrupulous manner.
‘How can our situation be comparable in any way? How are we to blame? India did not create either the Al Qaida or the ISI. Nor have we done anything to have this festering wound of terrorism inflicted on us by a jealous, rabid neighbour smarting after a series of military defeats.
‘As far as lunatics like Salim and his ilk are concerned, we are very much at war… in fact, we have been at war for over three decades now. I am sure I don't need to highlight the number of people, civilians and security personnel who have been sacrificed on the altar of terrorism. You may not agree, sir, but Salim and other people like him need to be hunted down… hunted down and destroyed like the mad raving dogs that they are.’
Everyone waited with bated breath for the PM's response. After a very long moment, he spoke. ‘You want to send your boys into Pakistan again, Colonel? Do you think it is worth the risk?’
‘What has to be done has to be done, sir. That lunatic will not stop. He will plan yet another strike and then another. We have to take him out.’
‘But our first priority should be to stop the strike on Delhi,’ the PM stressed.
‘We're already working on that, sir. Even now our men are hunting down Yakub Khan. However, the assault on Salim must take place simultaneously, otherwise as soon as we manage to stop the strikes, we will lose him. He will know he's been blown and will simply go underground again… till the next time. And the next time we may not be so lucky.’
‘I see what you mean.’ Finally, the PM nodded. ‘So be it, Colonel. Send in your people.’
‘I will need some help, sir… including taking a man out of prison.’
‘Do whatever it takes, Colonel, I trust you to do the right thing.’ Anbu saluted and turned to leave. He was at the door when the PM's voice stopped him. ‘Incidentally, Colonel, I do agree with what you just said and I have no doubt in my mind that people like Salim must not be allowed to get away with such henious crimes.’
‘He will not get away, sir. He will pay for his sins. So will anyone who thinks India is a soft target waiting to be hit.’
‘Good! How much time did you say we have? Twenty-four hours?’
‘We did, sir.’ Anbu threw a quick look at his watch. ‘Now we have a little less than twenty-one left.’
‘Then I suggest we get moving.’
They did. Fast.
ALL OF THEM WERE ON THEIR PHONES AS THEY RAN TO THEIR waiting wheels.
‘MS,’ Anbu spoke quickly but calmly. ‘I want the whole team in the Ops Room… this is what we're going to do.’ Speaking in short staccato sentences, he rolled out a series of instructions, much like a neat bulleted list.
‘What about Yakub Khan?’ Sami asked when he had finished.
‘Chauhan is handling that. It's the ATTF's turf and they're the best people to handle it. We will make Tiwari, Katoch, Dhankar and Vashisht available to them for any operational tasks that come up.’
‘What about tactical support for the team going in to take down Salim? Have you coordinated with RAW or do I need…?’
‘No, I've already taken care of that. RAW will be providing local support for us on the ground. They should be faxing the details of their agent across the border who will work with us on this.’
The orders flew hard and fast. As they always do… just before the bullets begin to fly.
TIHAR JAIL, NEW DELHI
THE JAILOR DID NOT LIKE THE TWO HARD LOOKING MEN who strode into his office. He liked the document they placed on his table even less. But he was a seasoned sarkari mule and knew when to play ball.
‘Not a problem at all… sir.’ He added the ‘sir’ as an afterthought, deciding it was better to err on the side of caution. After all, it wasn't every day that people walked into your office with letters signed by the Home Minister that empowered them to walk off with convicted terrorists. ‘You will understand that I need to clear this,’ he motioned at the document on his table, ‘with my superiors.’
‘Of course,’ Anbu replied, ‘but please do it right away. We have very little time.’
‘Good, good.’ The jailor was the picture of cordiality as he put down the phone a moment later and turned to Anbu. ‘It all checks out perfectly, sir. Sorry, but I needed to do that… duty, you know.’ He gave an apologetic shrug. Then he picked up the intercom and barked out the required orders to some nameless subordinate. ‘Would you like a cup of tea while we're waiting for the convict?’
‘No, thank you,’ Anbu replied, ‘but we would appreciate being given a copy of the convict's records.’
‘I have already asked for them, but they will not tell you anything. Trust me, sir, I know him well. He's a strange one. One of the strangest I have ever seen.’ The jailor looked into the distance as he pulled his thoughts together. ‘I have never heard him talk, unless he's asked a direct question. Though, when he does talk, he is always polite and to the point. All the man wants to do is to work out. In fact, he is much more fit than most people you'll meet. But he is a complete loner and the others give him a wide berth… especially after what happened when he was first brought here.’ The jailor paused dramatically. There was that peculiar express
ion on his face that people have when they want to tell a juicy story, but want to be asked to tell it.
‘What happened?’ Anbu obliged.
‘He had just been brought in here,’ the jailor launched into his story eagerly, ‘and you know how it is in such places… what with the weird people we get.’ He pulled a disparaging face. ‘One day, a gang of old timers in his block surrounded him and began to bait him. For a long time Iqbal did not react, but that only goaded them on and they began to hit him. So he hit back. By the time the guards got in and stopped the fight, Iqbal had been wounded quite badly. One of the guys had cut him up with a surgical knife. But he did not go down without a fight. Two of the gang members were hospitalized for severe fractures and concussion.’ There was a hint of pride in the jailor's tone, as though he himself had put up the fight. ‘And it didn't end there, you know.’ He paused again, melodramatically this time. ‘A few weeks after Iqbal got out of hospital, the leader of the gang failed to turn up for the evening muster. They found him behind the toilets. His neck had been broken.’
The jailor was a bit put out at his visitors’ lack of response to this sensational news. He continued with the story, nevertheless.
‘And then, a few weeks later, they found the man who had used the knife on Iqbal. He too was behind the shithouse with his neck broken. We all knew who had done it but were not able to link Iqbal to either of the killings.’ The jailor waved grandiosely in the air. ‘But then, who cares really? It is not as if either of those guys was anything but criminal scum. The chutiyas only got what they deserved.’
The expression on Anbu's face made it clear that the last remark had not gone down well with the visitors. In fact, their deadpan expressions and silence unnerved the jailor more than a little. He continued hastily, eager to fill the silence.
‘Oh yes, there is definitely something strange about this guy. The other prisoners stay clear of him. You will see what I mean….’ There was a long silence as the man finally ran out of things to say. But you could see that he was wracking his brains because he spoke again suddenly, as he remembered something. ‘Oh yes, another thing – till date he has not had any visitors, nor has he written to anyone or called anyone. We asked him about it once, and he said he is all alone in this world.’
