The Zero-Cost Mission/The Wily Agent

by Amar Bhushan

  He reached home at around 11.00 p.m. to find Arpita waiting eagerly for his return to hear about the outcome of his visit. He didn’t say much, going straight to the bedroom to change and have a quick wash. She sensed that something had gone wrong. While he was having a drink before his late dinner, she joined him.

  ‘Did the Chief scrap the mission?’ she asked as she sat down beside him.

  ‘I couldn’t meet him, but Reddy evidently seems to have lost interest. He wants me to believe that if he has his way, he will continue funding the mission, but the Chief is holding him back. I don’t know whom to trust. He says he doesn’t have the power to sanction the amount of service money that I need and has asked me to slash the budget,’ Sujal said bitterly.

  ‘Then do what he has advised. After all, this is his operation and surely he knows best whether to run it and how. I hope you didn’t get angry and press for a transfer,’ she enquired.

  ‘Let him find an officer who will work at his bidding. I never asked for this job. It was thrust on me. I will undertake it only on my terms. I am not sending him any revised proposal. But don’t worry, we won’t leave Calcutta for another year,’ Sujal said.

  Realizing that Sujal was upset, Arpita wisely decided not to pursue the conversation further.

  Sujal quickly finished his drink, had his dinner and retired to bed. But sleep eluded him. He lay awake in the dark and began shortlisting his friends and contacts who could finance the project. Suddenly, he remembered a person. He tossed and turned for the rest of the night, impatient for dawn to break so that he could go meet him.

  The first thing that Sujal did in the morning was to shut himself in the garage and search for a diary containing his old Bangladeshi contacts among the stacks of paper lying in a disorganized state in cartons. He was looking for the phone numbers and addresses of one Mazhar and his leader Sahib who headed the People’s Front in Bangladesh. He recalled that Mazhar had once mentioned to him that Sahib would pay him any amount if he could punish Jamaat for helping the Nationalists to incarcerate him.

  After nearly four hours of searching, Sujal succeeded in locating a diary that contained Mazhar’s contact information in Dhaka. He promptly left the house to call the numbers from a nearby public phone booth but was told by the operator that they were no longer in service.

  Undeterred, Sujal next called several contacts who he knew had links with Mazhar. One of them told him that Mazhar was no longer in Dhaka and had probably moved to India or Bangkok. Finally, it was the ever-dependable Israr who provided the breakthrough. He informed Sujal that Mazhar was hibernating somewhere in Calcutta, taking care of Sahib’s financial and political interests with the help of his local Bangladeshi contacts. Sujal immediately instructed Saumen to track him down using his extensive knowledge of the illegal immigrants in the Park Circus and new Wakaf areas. It took Saumen only three days to locate the address and telephone numbers of Mazhar. Sujal wasted no time in calling him. He waited anxiously as the phone rang several times and just as he was about to give up hope, a man with a distinctive baritone answered. Sujal immediately recognized him as Mazhar.

  ‘Hello, Mazhar bhai. This is Sujal Rath. I have recently been posted to Calcutta,’ he said.

  ‘What a surprise!’ Mazhar said but did not sound particularly pleased to be hearing from him.

  ‘Is it possible for us meet?’ Sujal enquired. ‘I know you must think that I let you down very badly. I wanted to come and explain what went wrong and why I couldn’t fulfil my commitment given to Sahib.’

  There was silence for a few seconds.

  ‘Someone will contact you shortly,’ Mazhar said and hung up. Having seen the workings of the National Security Intelligence from close quarters for years and conscious of its network of watchers in Calcutta, Mazhar was afraid of giving away any information about his location or engaging in polite conversation about their past association on an open line.

  The man who eventually came to see Sujal was Nurul Hassan, a businessman who, like Mazhar, was also on the run to evade arrest, warranted by a court in Dhaka for his involvement in alleged anti-state activities. Sujal knew Nurul from his days in Dhaka. He saw that he was still as chubby and charming as ever, although he had greyed at his temples. Sujal welcomed him warmly and apologized for remaining incommunicado for so long.

  ‘I’m sure you had your reasons,’ Nurul said and paused for a few seconds. ‘For us, it has been a very difficult seven years,’ he continued slowly. ‘Soon after you left, Mazhar and I had to flee Dhaka after Sahib was detained by the Nationalists. Initially, we lay low, but once the search for us cooled off somewhat, we slowly began to invest in local businesses. Mazhar uses the dividends to bribe Bangladeshi officials to ensure that Sahib receives at least the basic comforts and the People’s Front is kept afloat. I manage the police and municipal officials here so that we are not harassed for overstaying without proper documents.’

  ‘Did Jamaat not put pressure on the Nationalists to treat Sahib with respect? How could they forget that Sahib was of tremendous help in expanding their cadre base and gaining political legitimacy?’ Sujal enquired.

  ‘They didn’t lift a finger to help. In fact, they collaborated with the Nationalists in treating Sahib like a common criminal,’ Nurul said bitterly.

  Not keen on dwelling on the issue further, Sujal changed the topic, inquiring about Nurul’s family.

  ‘Chanda is with me in Calcutta and my two kids are in a boarding school in Ooty. Mazhar lives alone. His wife remained in Dhaka with their son, and is looking after the family business there,’ Nurul said, bringing him up to date.

  ‘Is it possible to meet Mazhar?’ Sujal asked, having done with the pleasantries.

  ‘I have been asked to give you his home address and a telephone number.’ Nurul scribbled the details on a piece of paper, which he handed to Sujal.

  Sujal looked at it and noticed that the address was different from the one that Saumen’s contacts had provided. He thanked Nurul, who told him that Mazhar would be waiting for him in his house in Baguihati on the following evening at nine.

  The day of Sujal’s encounter with Mazhar did not start on a propitious note. A religious man, Sujal had his share of superstitions, particularly when he embarked on a mission. As he was getting ready to leave for the office, he looked out of the window at the sky. It was overcast with dark clouds threatening to pour any moment. He waited for half an hour for the rain to fall and the skies to clear, but the clouds lingered ominously, and the rain never came. He thought it was a bad omen. Since he had to write a brief note on the project for Mazhar, explaining how it would benefit Sahib, he had no choice but to leave for the office. No sooner did he sit in his car than Reddy called on his cell phone.

  ‘Sujal, I haven’t heard from you in a while. Have you revised the mission plan and budget? I know I’m pushing you, but as the Chief is due to retire soon, he’s keen on taking a decision one way or the other before the end of the month so that if something goes wrong, he will still be around to control the damage.’

  ‘Sir, I’m working on the revisions and will be in touch soon,’ Sujal lied.

  ‘Don’t keep us waiting too long,’ Reddy said before hanging up.

  It was obvious that while the Chief approved of the mission in principle, he did not have the stomach to back it up fully. For Sujal, the project was as good as dead and his forthcoming meeting with Mazhar was just a gamble.

  As soon as he walked into the office, his assistant informed him that Dayal was looking for him. Not looking forward to the encounter, Sujal headed to his office and found Dayal in a foul mood. The latter wasted no time in launching a litany of complaints against Sujal—his frequent absences from the office, and his unavailability for any other work of the unit. Realizing that there was nothing to be gained by arguing and unwilling to prolong the meeting any more than necessary, Sujal uttered a few placating words and made his escape.

  Finally alone in his own office, he closed the door, to
ld his assistant not to disturb him, switched off his cell phone and began writing the brief for Mazhar.

  At 7.00 p.m., Sujal left for home in his official car. He had hardly covered a kilometre when the rain that had been threatening all day finally came down in torrents, accompanied by a strong wind. It wasn’t long before he was caught in the inevitable traffic jam. He knew he would never make it to Mazhar’s house by 9.00 p.m. if he went home first, so he decided to head directly to Mazhar’s place. Keen to keep the meeting under wraps, he dismissed the Agency driver before jumping out of the car to hail a taxi.

  It was 9.50 p.m. when the taxi finally pulled up in front of the house. Anxious because he was almost an hour late, Sujal quickly paid the fare and almost sprinted through the small wooden gate and up the short pathway to the front door. He rang the bell, and as he waited for someone to open the door, he looked around. It was a single-storey, independent house of fairly new construction. The lighting around the house was very poor. He had had difficulty in reading the house number, and had almost tripped when negotiating the few steps up to the front door. A few minutes later, he rang the bell again. This time, an elderly man opened the door. Sujal told him who he was and was led inside to a sprawling living room. Once he was seated on a large, plush sofa, Sujal asked if Mazhar was home. It was unusual for Mazhar, known for being an excellent host, to keep his guest waiting.

  ‘He should be home soon. He is caught in a terrible traffic jam and has instructed me to look after you in his absence,’ the old man said before withdrawing to bring Sujal some refreshments.

  Mazhar finally returned at 10.25 p.m. He apologized profusely for the delay, cursing the inept management of traffic by the Calcutta metropolitan police, particularly during the rains.

  ‘That’s okay,’ Sujal said and enquired how Sahib was doing. ‘Does he still think that I betrayed him and did nothing to ensure his political rehabilitation?’

  ‘I don’t know where to begin. It was hell after you left Dhaka. The Nationalists threw Sahib in detention, a witch-hunt was started and several of our supporters were either killed or prosecuted on trumped-up charges. I managed to escape, thanks to Nurul’s efforts and his timely warning.’

  ‘How is Sahib’s health?’ Sujal asked.

  ‘He is not well and moreover, he is bitter and disillusioned. Everyone stabbed him in the back,’ Mazhar responded. ‘The Nationalists and Jamaat, which had promised to provide him protection and facilities befitting his political standing, took a complete U-turn after forming the government and systematically tried to decimate his party. They have since dragged him to court on false charges of corruption, misuse of power and anti-national activities. Even you, who had promised to secure his dignity, chose to run away and remained untraceable. Do you remember? You always complained that when in power, Sahib did nothing to address India’s security concerns, that he took no action to curb the anti-India activities of Jamaat and ISI. Why don’t you now act against the Nationalists and Jamaat leaders who are spewing venom against your country and inciting their cadres to attack Hindus and their shrines in Bangladesh?’

  ‘You have every right to be angry with me. I made those promises at the behest of my government. I later learnt that Delhi could not force the Nationalists to treat Sahib fairly. Perhaps I could have still done something, but I was not in India,’ Sujal said defensively.

  Mazhar said nothing and after a brief but tense silence, excused himself. He returned soon, carrying two glasses of whisky. Accepting a glass and recognizing it for what it signalled—a suspension of hostilities—Sujal relaxed a little. Slowly, the tension eased and both began exchanging memories of the good old times and news on each other’s families. Dinner was served by the old man and after a hearty meal, they retired to the living room once again. As Mazhar poured liquor into two glasses, Sujal told him that he had come to discuss something very serious.

  ‘I guessed as much,’ Mazhar responded, handing Sujal a glass.

  ‘Do you recall you came to me once with an offer from Sahib to pay any amount to secure his freedom and have his privileges, including proper government accommodation, security and freedom of movement both within and outside the country, restored?’ Sujal asked.

  ‘I do.’

  ‘I have a plan to avenge his humiliation. The idea is to take on Jamaat and force them to unleash mayhem in the country. This is bound to provoke a sharp reaction from the League, which will no doubt lead to an alarming deterioration in the law and order situation. Once that happens, the Nationalists, being partners of Jamaat in the government, are likely to come under enormous pressure to step down or drop Jamaat. They may not be left with any choice but to seek support from other parties, barring the League of course, to remain in power. That will be the time when Sahib can ask for his pound of flesh and demand the restoration of his privileges as a quid pro quo for extending support.’

  ‘It’s a very long shot. I doubt if it will work.’

  ‘I’ve brought a brief for you to read. If you think the plan is feasible, we can discuss it further, but if you don’t, we will restrict our future meetings to dining and gossiping,’ Sujal said with a small smile as he passed Mazhar the note.

  Silence descended as Mazhar read through it.

  ‘It’s not a bad idea to hit Jamaat and teach them a lesson,’ Mazhar said thoughtfully, looking up from the paper. ‘It was Sahib who gave them political legitimacy, but look at their treachery. They paid him back by joining hands with the Nationalists to force him out of power and treat him shabbily.’

  ‘I am aware of that.’

  ‘Do you really believe that attacking a few Jamaat posts will help restore Sahib’s position and dignity?’ asked Mazhar, the doubt clear in his voice.

  ‘As I mentioned before, our violent action is bound to have a cascading effect on the political situation. With the country plunged into chaos, the Nationalists may even be forced to call for fresh elections. Should that happen, Sahib will be freed, as both the mainstream political parties, the League and the Nationalist Party, will be desperate to seek his support in contesting the elections to get the seats required to form the government. So, it’s a win-win situation for Sahib. I do agree that it is a long shot, but we must give it a try for his sake,’ Sujal urged.

  ‘What do you want me to do?’ Mazhar enquired, knowing that his friend rarely did things for others without a price.

  ‘I need 10 per cent of what Sahib promised me years ago,’ Sujal said with a straight face.

  ‘But that will still be a huge sum,’ Mazhar exclaimed. ‘Why can’t your Agency provide the money? Has it gone bankrupt? And what about your fair-weather friends in Dhaka whom you pay regularly? Can’t the League spare some money out of your regular donations to them for this purpose? Is Jamaat not their number one enemy? And, if there is a complete breakdown of the rule of law, are they not going to benefit more than Sahib?’

  ‘I am not here to talk about others. There are reasons why I did not go to the Agency or others for money. Suffice it to say that for this kind of operation, only your money can be camouflaged and appropriately regulated.’

  ‘Is your chief aware that you are asking us for money?’ Mazhar asked.

  ‘No. I have not discussed this plan with anyone. This is my operation. My goal is to teach Jamaat a lesson and fulfil a promise that I made to Sahib seven years ago,’ Sujal said.

  After a thoughtful pause, Mazhar asked, ‘Can I keep this brief? I want Sahib to read it. It may help him in taking a decision on the funding. What do I tell him if he insists on meeting you to clarify his doubts?’

  ‘Unfortunately, that is not feasible. I cannot travel incognito to Dhaka to meet him when he is under twenty-four-hour surveillance. He has to trust me just one more time,’ Sujal responded.

  ‘Whom will the amount be delivered to and where?’ Mazhar asked.

  ‘The funds will be handled by you and handed over in Bangladesh in local currency to persons whom I will identify in due course. I wil
l also need to know, in advance, the complete profile of the man who will deliver the payments,’ Sujal said.

  ‘You may have to think of another arrangement. It is not safe for my man to hand over money in Dhaka, particularly to locals,’ Mazhar pointed out. ‘If your agents turn hostile or greedy, they may have my man arrested and coerce him into identifying me as the actual provider of the funds. They can even hold me to ransom when you are no longer around.’

  ‘It won’t happen. I am going to introduce two cut-outs between you and the final recipient to ensure that no one knows where the funds come from, or to whom they ultimately go. We will first do a test run with a smaller amount and if it goes well, only then will you start sending bigger sums. Neither one of us will be physically involved. I will explain the drill in detail once Sahib agrees to my request,’ Sujal clarified.