He was once a spy
ISBN 978-81-907320-8-6
Pages 375
List Price Rs 250 INR
Expected Date of release December 2010
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He was once a spy
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Excerpts from the book for your reading pleasure. Matter copyrighted. (C) Dr L.Prakash. For permission to copy for review, or other uses, please email the author at drlprakash@gmail.com
1. A Small Dark Room
The location is a small dimly lit room in New Delhi. The time is about 11.30 am. A smart young man is sitting across the table, overflowing with so many things that it is a miracle that they don’t start tumbling down in a cascade. The young man, in his late twenties or early thirties is smart, trim and athletic. Though dressed in casuals, it appears as if he had just then got out of his uniform. His hair is closely cropped. He is medium complexioned, pleasant faced, brisk and energetic. His eyes shine with intense concentration, as he listens to the older man, who is moving his mouse cursor over the screen, which is running a power point presentation. The older man has snow white hair, a sharp Caesarean nose, gaunt features, blood shot eyes, and an attitude of weary bone tiredness, as his voice tinged with anger and sorrow, offers explanations, explores possibilities and gives guidelines. Yes! It could only be guidelines, because a field operative like Srikanth, could never perform to rigid rules. Flexibility of operation was the Key! He had to take spontaneous decisions.
Srikant would thus, never be able to perform to predetermined scripts. The older man, just addressed to as Sir or B, who has been a successful field operative in his youth, only knows this too well. The ‘B’ stands for brigadier. This was what the gray haired man was supposed to be, before he joined the organization. This organization would remain unnamed. Suffice to say, that it was a Government organization, funded by the treasury, and acting under the instructions of a few bureaucrats and politicians. It is but obivious, that this department would seek no credit for its performances. Nor would its budget be audited by the Auditor General, or placed before the parliament.
The laptop screen, displays a map of the Suburban Railway in Mumbai; the Western Railway map rather. Seven spots, have red dots on them, and the mouse cursor is pointing to the one between Khar and Santa Cruz stations. The following is their conversation
B – 6.20 am, that was when they all began. The first blast occurred here. And then six more here, here, here, here, here and finally here.
(mouse cursor moves rapidly following the spots)
Srikant – Sir!
B - The initial estimate of the dead is about 193. The toll is still mounting. We will get a more definite picture by the evening.
Srikant – I understand Sir
B – I want you to start now. Catch a commercial aircraft, the first one you get. Mumbai police would have swung into action. Our preliminary investigations show that this could be a work of SIMI (Students Islamic Movement of India). Let the law enforcement proceed in their own way. That is what the society would expect.
Srikant – Understood Sir:
B – You are cleared for operation clean up. Status EFM. Let the police do their job. They would catch a few perpetrators, a few scapegoats, and put them on a Kangaroo trial in the local POTA court. The trial would drag on for years. Finally a few would be sentenced to life. A couple would get capital punishment. The Newspapers would have juicy stories, and people would forget all about it! But you and I have a job to do.
Srikant – Yes Sir!
2. From Darkness to Light
T he harsh sun hit his eye and he had to blink rapidly a couple of times to adjust to the blinding glare. He hardly bothered about the discomfort because he was ruminating about his bosses instructions. B had quite casually ordered an operation clean up, and assigned him status EFM. But this was not something easy. It was an onerous responsibility. An extremely heavy cross to bear.
To tie loose ends would mean that Srikant had to start his own independent investigations in Mumbai. It would not be difficult for someone with his skills, to be able to locate one loose link of the chain. He could follow it up, link by link, and this was what his current instructions were. Follow it up link by link and clean up on his way. Status EFM gave him a license to kill. His would be a parallel operation, with a simultaneous mop up. Instead of arresting perpetrators, he would be silencing them for ever. He was too well trained, and extremely honest, and thus most of his clean ups were genuine perpetrators. It was not unusual for an occasional scapegoat to fall prey to the cross fire.
But innocent causalities are the price paid in each war, and all governments recognized it. No one would blame Srikant if he shot a couple of innocent people. The young man however, was neither a maniac nor a sadist, who enjoys killing. To him it was duty. No emotions attached. He would thus prefer not to know if a victim or two turned out to be innocent. His job was to start from one end, and gradually follow it up. The Mumbai police was sloppy, and would take an inordinately long time to produce any results. In case they did catch a genuine perpetrator, Srikant had to leave him alone. An EFM status would mean that he would not be carrying any identity with him. He was expected to be smart enough not to be caught. If caught, it was expected that nothing incriminating would be found in his possession. If he was caught by the bad men, he had two options. Either to use his ingenuity to survive and escape or to die at their hands.
On the other hand if he was caught by the Mumbai police, or any other law enforcement agency, he had an insurance policy. A call to the director general of police, would set the appropriate machinery in motion, and Srikant would be released. Both from the custody and the assignment. The organization simply could not expect to leave an agent in the field, after his identity was exposed. Someone else, would be assigned. No one would castigate Srikant, for his exposed identity. No black marks would be awarded. The operation clean up would be completed by another agent. But Srikant would not be too pleased with himself. He was the best of the best. It was doubtful if there was a law enforcement officer, who was as efficient, and as expert a killer, as he was. And for that matter, he had absolutely no qualms about his assignment.
So many innocent people had been killed. His assignment was just to punish the guilty. His department had decided, that they deserved capital punishment. The order was signed sealed and delivered. He was just a soldier in the firing squad, who was pulling the trigger.
3. Appropriate ArrangementsSrikant blinked his eyes once again, as he walked slowly to his Maruti Gypsy in the rear compound. The bright mid day sunlight was indeed a contrast to the dimly lit interiors of the building, that he had just left. It was a nondescript building, in its own compound, in Chanakyapuri, between various foreign embassies. The rusted board outside, was almost covered with creepers. A visitor would have to take some efforts to read it.
Government of India – Department of Statistics
Satellite centre for Demographic studies
Visitors please report to the gate.
It was besides the point that the Department of statistics was totally unaware of the satellite centre for Demographic studies. The three huge dish antennas atop the roof, did appear surprising. Why does a department involved in demographic studies, need such huge dish antennas? These, and many similar questions, were seldom asked, because the place rarely got visitors. And when it did get them, the visitors knew all about the place and its purpose. The very select few, who either worked for, or were connected with, the department.
Srikanth had just returned from Nepal after completing a sensitive assignment that led to the overthrow of monarchy and restoration of democracy in that country. However the general public attributed the change of guard in Nepal to popular uprising. Srikanth had a tough task indeed, and had to eliminate a Maoist and two politicians, to eventually achieve what the department considered as a politically correct balance. The bosses had promised him at least two months leave. He had been working too hard, and too long without a break. Even the department understood that All-work-and-no-play, Makes-Jack-a-dull boy! Thus, such leaves were normal! He got three months!
And then the sudden call from office. His remaining leave had been cancelled. He was instructed to get to the office to meet B as soon as he could. At 9.00 am, he was in the small dusty room. He had seen it on the T.V., both the previous night and this morning. The serial blasts on the Western Railway segment of Churchgate to Borivilli. Thus when B opened up the note book computer, and started running the power point presentation, Srikant had not been too surprised. He was expecting some such order.
He swung a slim leather briefcase, as he slowly walked to his jeep. He placed the briefcase beside him, and drove out slowly. The guard at the gate knew him and yet checked his identity carefully.
Srikant looked at the dashboard clock, when the Gypsy drove out to the main road. It was 12.30. Pulling out his mobile, he dialed his traveling agent. The next call was to a Bombay number. The third call was to the office secretary. It took him an hour to reach his flat in Defense Colony, but by then he had booked his Bombay tickets for the 3.30pm fight, and also ironed out small issues.
He had a quick shower and changed into loose formals. He chose a medium sized suitcase, and packed clothes for about a week. He made sure that every item packed was totally anonymous, and did not have markings of any kind. He did not carry anything, except his clothes. The rest of the things would be arranged by the office, and would wait for him at the airport.
4. SuhasiniMy name is R.S. Srikanth. Well, at least that was what my parents named me. That was also the name on my passport and identity card. Of course neither disclosed my true profession. My departmental identity card called me a statistician. My passport, mentioned my profession a scientist. But I rarely used either. Each of my assignments, was different and unusual. It was thus natural, that I used a different name for each occasion. It would invariably end up that I would be using more than a single name, during a single assignment. Name, identity and back story. It all varied with the situation.
In a planned operation, with plenty of time at hand, I would sit with IX department, and work out my favourite identity. When things happened in a hurry, or when it was a rush job, I would have to depend upon the stock identities already available with the department. They had a substantial stock and an extensive range. It was always easy to get a few, to suit the particular occasion. Today was more than a rush job. At 6.30 in the morning, I was admiring my face in my bathroom, and planning how I would tackle Suhasini. Suhasini was a student of economics in LSR. Lady Sri Rams College Delhi. I had met her during my coverage of the NBA fast a few weeks ago.
I don’t know much about dams. Nor do I know too much about politics. I am trained to obey without asking questions. Thus, I had no opinion about the issue. The Government of India had dammed the Narmada river in many places. Sardar Sarover was a multibillion dollar international project. But the whole thing had suddenly come to a standstill.
When the flow of a river is blocked by an immence dam, it is but natural that Quadrillions of liters of water would stagnate, flooding thousands of hecters of land. People living in the submersible areas, would naturally need rehabilitation and the Indian Government had an extensive programme for this. Narmada Bachao Andolan was a public movement, which was protesting against raising the height of the Sardar Sarovar Dam. NBA claimed, that the helpless people already displaced by the previous projects, had not yet been rehabilitated. It thus objected to further work on the dam.
Gujarat Government, the greatest beneficiary from the dam, accused NBA, of being anti national, anti progress and anti development. NBA accused the Gujarat Government, of being merciless, heartless, and soulless. It also stated that dams had no particular use for developing countries. NBA claimed that Dams produced more harm, than good. It also stated that Dams should be blown up.
Gujarat government, as well as certain powerful lobbies, started hinting that NBA’s antinational activities were being funded by CIA and other foreign powers. However the press did not even bother about these rumors, because NBA had by now become the darling of the media. Fourth estate always likes to side with the downtrodden. In addition, NBA had social activists, Booker award winners, and top Bollywood stars, openly supporting it. So no one was even willing to consider NBA and foreign aid theory. NBA were social activists, and not subversives. I was just then back from Nepal.
5. Narmada Bachao Andolan, Versus the Big Dam
My instructions were simple. I was to try and infiltrate into the NBA. I was to try and find out, if it was an organization with a hidden agenda. I had to find out their source of funding. And I had to find out if there was anything anti national in its agenda or methods. This was just a surveillance and reconnoiter operation. Much much more simpler than the mop-up operation in Mumbai. I had just spend four days, before submitting my report and clearing the organization. It was cleaner than a whistle. I met Medha Pathkar. She was almost a saint. A lady who was willing to die for the downtrodden. How could you even accuse her of being a foreign agent or a spy?
I was lucky enough to meet a dozen young men, and women who surrounded her hanging on each word. I met Arundhathi Roy for about ten minutes and was impressed. She too was no foreign spy, Booker or no Booker. And it was here, that I met Suhasini. (No second name. She did not believe in carrying the excess baggage belonging either to her father or her husband) Suhasini was a second year MA from LSR. She was also an activist and an apparently devout foot solider in the war, to protect the downtrodden masses. But a man of my talents did not take too long to see through her. She was an out and out pseudo. A thoroughly confused young lady, with absolutely no idea about her goal.
My cover story had been simple. I had borrowed a friends Mercedes. I was a business man driving by and had stopped to find out what all this fast was about. There was a big crowd. Protestors’ leaders’ displaced people. People affected by inadequate rehabilitation measures, some slum dwellers, a huge unconnected crowd, a fasting Medha, cops, journalists, and hawkers selling mineral water and soft drinks. Every one needed to be rehydrated in the Delhi heat.
My cover was not too essential, because I was accepted as what I was. Between the hundred people I would have found a thousand stories. But it was all too chaotic and disorderly, to be funded or co-ordinated by CIA or a foreign agency. I am a good listener.
Suhasini was a ravishingly pretty, twenty three year old, who was fascinated by the NBA. My organization has trained me extensively in a wide variety of specialties, human psychology being one of the most important in my syllabus. It was thus like a Phd scholar in the presence of a kindergarten kid. Not only could I see right through her pseudo-intellectuality, I also had her eating out of my hands in moments. It was not too difficult to cutivate her, and thus only natural that she would spend the next weekend in my flat dressed just in ear-rings and a silver anklet. No! don’t get me wrong. I am a spy no doubt, but not like that James Bond guy, who not only had a license to kiss, but could seduce women at the drop of his hat.
In my case, I did not wear a hat to be dropped. And no girl fell on my lap just like that. I had to make determined efforts. Nothing comes easy in life, especially a girl dressed just in ear-rings and anklet. And this morning at 6.30 am, while I splashed after shave lotion on my cheek, I was whistling a happy song because Suhasini was coming to my flat by 9.00 am. She had woken me that morning “Honey! I am feeling horny and have taken a day off. Expect me in your flat by 9.00 am!”
6. Amicable Farewell
Well! This was the problem with these modern day girls. So frank. Not shy in the least. I am horny and expect me in a couple of hours! Imagine girls speaking like this a couple of years ago! I was really on seventh heaven as I looked into the mirror. Thank God that I was good looking enough to attract girls like this. This is what I liked. Short term, no commitment, no holds barred, intimate relationship, with absolutely no hints of anything permanent. Suhasini was an ideal candidate.
But from the airconditioned – comforts of the seventh heaven, I was down on the hot Saharan desert at 6.40, when I got a call from office. I had a nine hundred hours appointment with B in the office; status red alert. This red alert business, was a humane way of telling me that once I reached the office, I would become in-communicando. Thus, if I had to contact some one or pass on appropriate messages, I had time till I got to the office.
Fortunately I have neither a wife nor a family. I am not the marrying kind. In addition, the organization I worked for, did not encourage married field agents. The risk of widowhood was a tad great. So I did not have to cook up excuses about a sudden business trip to London which would keep me away for a week, or a month or more. The only person that I needed to call, was the young lady with promises and an appointment. I knew well that I would be transforming a horny Suhasini, to an angry Suhasini. She reacted exactly as expected. At first she threw a tantrum. She then threatened to walk out of her hostel and rape the first auto driver that she saw. She then screamed at me. It was at this moment that I decided that this was a convenient point to disembark from this ship. She was getting too possessive and familiar. Things moved to shaky waters.
I did not say anything. I remained silent through the entire outburst. I was about to touch the disconnect button when Suhasini said “Sorry!”
“What?” I replied hardly hiding the surprise from my face.
“I am sorry that I blew my top. I am sorry that I lost my temper. I know that you enjoy being with me as much as I do. Not too long ago, you had agreed to a date. Something really important would have come up. Else you would not have broken our date. I will wait for your return. Have a nice time and don’t forget to call me when you are back. Bye!”
“Bye! You are a good girl! I will call you”
As I disconnected the phone, I told myself, that my initial diagnosis had been a little incorrect. Our relationship had a little more life left to it. As I drove towards Palam, I told myself, that Suhasini was a nice girl. A little too intelligent, but absolutely smashing in bed. I knew not, how long my assignment in Mumbai would last. But the moment I was back to Delhi, I would surely contact Suhasini.
Robert from the office met me at Palam with the appropriate baggage. I handed him the gypsy keys. They would get the vehicle back to my flat. It would wait in the airport on my return. It appeared that Robert had already made the preparations. I carried my shoulder bag, while Robert followed me with the two suitcases. I still had about forty five minutes for my Mumbai flight.
7. The Security RoomThe young man who followed Srikant was in his early thirties. His military crew cut indicated that he was a part of some form of uniformed services. Another odd thing about him was that he wore a black suit with a brown shoe. A cop who had got out of his uniform in a hurry, but did not have time to change his shoes. He was an Anglo-Indian, and thus a few shades fairer than Srikant. In addition he had cat-grey eyes which made him look strikingly handsome, the looks that would attract a specific group of girls like a pin to a magnet.
One of Robert’s suitcases appeared to be a little heavy. He was not able to keep up with the extremely brisk pace, exhibited by his colleague. Srikant wanted to do a quick inspection of the goods before they were sent to the pilots cabin. He also wanted to sneak certain things on his person. Certain things without which he would never travel.
“Sir! I have got the key to the security officers room. You can do a final check and pack of the gear sir. One of our boys is waiting at the security area.”
“How long do we have for the flight departure?”
“Sir! The scheduled departure is in about forty five minutes. However this is a continuation of Calcutta – Delhi – Mumbai sector. The aircraft is an Airbus A300 and yet to land. We expect it to be here in about ten minutes. So the flight may be finally delayed by about half an hour”
By then, the two of them were outside a locked paneled door, which had a board – chief security officer. Robert placed the two suitcases on the floor, and unlocked the door. It was a medium sized air conditional room, fully cluttered with stuff. However it had a big table in the center, which was empty. Robert kept the boxes on the table one by one. He then handed over the keys.
In moments, the suitcases were opened, and Srikant was busy examining things. The lighter suitcase was full of a wide assortment of things, make up material, disguises, bleaches, dyes, scissors, razors crèmes, lotions, fillers, patties, silicone pads, suction pads, the works. All extremely high quality stuff. The department had an extensive budget, and did not stinge on quality. It always had to be the best. Srikant’s nimble fingers quickly ran through the items and made a mental check list, while Robert stood to one side defferentially.
Just then, there was a knock at the door. Srikant continued his work, while Robert walked to the door. In moments he closed the door and came back to his initial position. By now Srikant had opened the second box. This one contained the real goods. A Uzi 9mm pistol. A Ikanowa dart gun, shaped exactly like a Smith and Wesson 0.22 pistol. Two brick sized cubes of the best Synmatrix from Dupont. And six boxes of ammunition. Another long narrow box with three smaller boxes with the tranquillizer ammunition. The Iknaowara is a Japanese miracle which shot tranquillizer darts.
Srikant did not always shoot to kill, on occasions, he needed the enemy alive so that he could conduct appropriate interrogations. Srikant was thorough. He took twenty minutes to check up on everything, and ensure that every mechanical part performed to his total satisfaction. This was an issue, which would brook absolutely no compromises.
8. Appropriate Baggage
The organization could also arrange supplies to him in Mumbai. In a way it would have been a little less hassle, than transporting it by air, amidst high security. This was not presently done, because of two reasons. For one, it was still not decided how deeply undercover, Srikant would have to penetrate, during the current assignment. In this new avatar, he may not be in a position to collect the stuff. In addition Srikant was supposed to start working from the moment he landed in Mumbai. Carrying the baggage with him, would save a lot of time and trouble.
Once Srikant had checked the weapons, he looked up to Robert, who pointed to the false bottom of the weapons box. Srikant flipped a knob, and the second half of the suitcase opened up. In the bottom, a number of currency notes were stacked. All bundles of used currency. A few thousand rupee, a few five hundreds and a couple of smaller bundles. To one side was a bundle of hundred dollar notes and another of hundred Euro notes. Satisfied, Srikant snapped the partition shut. Robert gave him a small folded slip. Srikant unfolded it. Inside was a golden colored plastic credit card.
“An ATM card. Totally anonymous and no upper limits. The slip of paper, has the PIN number”
Srikant looked at the number and quickly converted it into images, so that it would be permanently imprinted in his mind. The card went into his pocket while the slip was torn, burnt, and the ash crushed in an ashtray on the table. He collected a handfull of things from the make up box. A couple of silicone pads, and some make-up material. Srikant unzipped his shoulder bag, and kept the items inside. He debated about a weapon. His own snub nosed Erma 0.32 was still strapped to his calf.
Srikant never traveled without a personal weapon. The only time the Erma was slid out of the calf strap, was either when he was taking a bath or making love. It had grown to be almost a part of his body, and he felt incomplete without it. But a plane journey was not an occasion, during which you could carry any weapon. He thus reluctantly pulled it out and placed it in the weapons box. A spare ammunition clip came from his back pocket and this too went in. He was about to close the box, when he hesitated. He really felt helpless when he traveled totally unarmed. He then rummaged through the box, and extracted one dart ammunition. This was about the diameter of a ball point pen and about a third thick. The shiny cylinder was metallic and would catch the detector. But he would work his way around.
Once he had ensured that everything was in order, he turned to Robert,
“It is Okkay. Hand it to the cockpit crew. What is the story?”
“It is supposed to be a package for ministry of Defense. I have not told them anything but have indirectly implied that it could be a top secret Biological Weapon for the MOD. You are the senior scientist”
“Oh Ok! You go ahead with the deposits. Get me the tags at the coffee shop”
“Ok boss. I will carry your checkin baggage too. I have your tickets with me. I will get you the boarding passes and baggage tags in about five minutes”
The Public Address System boomed out an announcement, that the Calcutta Delhi flight had just landed.
9. Security check
Srikant walked out briskly humming a tune. The moment he proceeded for an assignment, his mind automatically went on top gear, and his body assumed a tense stance of someone all ready to pounce. Though he had no enemies in sight, and would not be meeting any for a couple of hours, his body had gone into a preparatory mode, for the job at hand.
Delhi airport was busy as usual, and just then the automatic doors opened to allow a dozen new passengers with their trollies, over loaded with baggage. Srikant spotted a girl in bright red. It was the color that had drawn his eye. He then broke out into a smile. It was a new bride, pushing a trolley with her fair hands, on which the intricate mehandi pattern was vying in its darkness of the red, with that of her bridal attire. She was extremely fair and really pretty. From an angle, she looked like the current Bolywood heartthrob Kathrina Kaif. The overflowing dress, clung to her slim waist and contoured anatomically around her perfect breasts.
Her hair was a shade of brown, and looked enchanting around her fair skin. Her cheeks too, were a little pink, but from his distance, Srikanth was not able to say if this was a make-up-pink, natural-pink or a blushing-pink. Whatever it was, made her look cute and charming, as only newly-wed brides could be. The groom beside her was tall, a little darker and dressed in a Sherwani Kurta. His trolley was a few feet ahead of her. He would occasionally turn back and speak something to her. Srikant observed them go towards the baggage check area and gave a smile. He then walked towards the bookshop. He was dying to get his hands on the latest bestseller which he had put off reading for a long time.
In his past life, Srikant had been an avid reader. He was a speed reader, and could read really fast. But since joining the department, he somehow did not find time to read. On operations he would obviously be too busy. And during the free times, he was busier recharging his batteries. Flights were the only times that he got to read. He picked up two novels, a couple of magazines and the latest copy of AUTO, the international car and bike magazine.
As he got out of the book shop, the PA system announced security clearance to Indian IC312 to Mumbai. He spent five minutes, sipping a lukewarm coffee, from a paper cup in the kiosk adjascent to the bookshop. As he sipped the tasteless brew, he saw the newly wed couple, walk towards the security with a hand baggage each. The wife had a maroon vanity case, probably her make up and jewellery, while the husband carried a soft overnight hand baggage.
Srikant observed that their security took a little longer than expected. Finally the public address system announced the boarding of the Mumbai flight. Srikant moved his head towards the other side and then broke out into a smile. Robert and another young man were walking towards the security area. He crushed his cup, tossed it into the bin, and slowly walked to them. He showed the dart ammo separately, and told them that it was a computer data chip. No one bothered about it.
10. Saleem and Anarkali
If we rewind our story a little, we would find ourself in the airport lounge of Palam airport. Srikant is flipping through the pages of a magazine in the book shop. If we leave him here and move our camera trolley and push it diagonally along the long airport corridor, we would head towards the departure area. The camera now follows the people who are standing in a line outside the check in counter. The board clearly says IC312 – Mumbai. The camera zooms closer and this is what happens.
“Hey Saleem! Aren’t you feeling excited?”
“Scared would be a more correct definition. I am now having second thoughts about the whole thing”
“Don’t be a coward Saleem. Remember your oath!”
“But I am afraid! So many things could go wrong!”
“Nothing will go wrong. Trust in Allah. We are Jehadis. If we win, we win the world. If we loose, we loose our life and go straight to Zannat. Quoran says thus!”
“It is they who follow the guidance of their lord, and it is they who shall prosper”
The bride groom quoted the sixth verse of Al Baquarah in Quoran. The bride came closer and took his hand in hers. She gave him a reassuring squeeze and said softly
“And those who believe in Allah and his messengers, will have the signs manifest to them so that they may understand” The bride said, quoting Quoran once again.
“But Anara! I don’t see any signs”
“You are not intuitive Salim. But I see clearly what Allah has commanded us. In our duty lies our destiny and it is a victory both ways”
“But Anara! I am scared to die!”
“Don’t worry you fool, you wont die. You will be a hero. You would be on international television. K has already passed a message to Kabul and they are expecting us.”
“Okay Anara! I trust you. I hope that we don’t face any problems at the security hold”
“No we won’t”
They had by now reached to the front of the queue. Saleem handed the tickets while his feet tapped nervously on the linolean airport floor. Their baggage went on the ramp and disappeared from view. Now this Salim and Anarkali, were not the Mughale-E-Azam pair. They were a much more modern couple. They were lovers no doubt, but not of the type to die for love. They were well capable of taking lives. Salim and Anarkali were not their real names. He was Abbas and she was Parveen. Both students in Delhi University. Both hard core members of Simi. Both had taken a do or die oath on Quoran to embark upon a holy Jehad.
He was not a groom. Neither was she a bride. They were play acting the role. This was their cover. Their actual destination was not Mumbai to which they held boarding cards. The real destination was Kabul in neighboring Afghanistan. The local government was favorable to Simi, and Khan also known as ‘K’ had decided that an airplane hijack would be a good publicity. The girl threw herself at the opportunity, though the guy was a little reluctant.
11. The Pen Box
The public address system announced that the Indian flight to Bombay, was now open for security check. Once again Anara squeezed Salim’s moist palms. He carried a briefcase, while she had her vanity case with her. At the entrance of the security area, was a barricade that separated males from the females. Clutching his briefcase tightly to dear life, he hesitantly walked to the left, while Anara had a lot more confidence to her walk as she turned right and smiled at a plump dark Maharashtra constable police woman in a brown saree. Saleem saw his wife disappear behind the brown curtain, as the lady constable waved a metal detector.
Salim saw a skinny skeletal constable smile at him. He gave a return smile which came out weak. He slowly handed over his briefcase which was placed into the ramp which moved into the belly of the X-Ray machine. He tried to peek at the monitors but the cop gestured him with the metal detector. Salim could almost feel his heart thump out of his rib cage. By the time he emerged on the other side, he was smiling. The worse seemed to be over.
But on the other side he found his briefcase to one side and the security officer pointing towards it. He hesitatingly pulled out his key and unlocked it. The security fellow rifled through the contents. He then pulled out the gift box still wrapped in a silver gift wrapping. The security fellow picked up the package and examined it from all sides. It appeared to be a little heavy. He was about to ask Salim to open it, when he decided to run it through the X-Ray machine. Two pens. He adjusted the intensity and the interior was hollow. The pens appeared metallic.
By now, Saleem too was watching at the monitor. His heart had already stopped beating and forehead was full of sweat droplets, beaded in a close geometric distribution. He pulled out his handkerchief and wiped his brow.
“What is it?” Asked the security man. He was looking to the opposite side where Anaras vanity case lay open and another gentleman was inspecting the contents.
“A pen set in gold for my boss!”
“Could you please open the gift wrapping?” The security fellow appeared a little reluctant to ask Saleem to unwrap the gift, but the some how was not satisfied with it. Saleem panicked. He darted furtive glances. He was about to abandon everything and run away, but found that there was no place to go.
“The gift wrapping please. Could you unwrap it? It appears a shame, but then we have to follow a certain procedure”
The security fellow continued. Wiping his forehead yet once again, Saleem replaced the white handkerchief into his pocket. Quickly he ripped open the wrapping. He had to make immense efforts to ensure that his hand did not tremble as he handed over the packet. The inspection was thorough. The box contained two pens; which did not show anything out of ordinary. Satisfied, the set came back to Saleem’s hand, who quickly snapped it into the box, tossed it into the briefcase and collected the boarding card with a security check ok stamp. He could see Anara snap close her vanity case, and walk daintly towards a bank of moulded chairs next to the aquarium. But by now Saleem had totally lost his nerve.
12. Count me out
Anara however had a confident smile as she entered the search cubicle. The Maharashtra woman constable ran the metal detector over her body. The manual frisking was a little cursory, though Anara felt a tickle when the dark woman ran her pudgy hands all over her silk wedding dress. When she walked out, she found her jewellery box kept separately. The chap in spectacles pointed towards the monitor. Anara smiled, though inwardly her heart had missed a beat. The spectacled chap had pointed exactly to the two suspicious objects.
Don’t panic. Now is the time of test. Don’t you worry! Brave it out and nothing will happen. Take a deep breath and steady yourself. With steady hands she rolled the combination number to 786 – Bissmillah. The two items were then handed over to the security fellow. One was a flat mobile phone sized gadget and other was a jewellery. A lady shave electric razor and a gold necklace. The necklace was made up of a lot of gold nuggets stringed together. What had alerted the security fellow was the shape of nuggets. They were similar to 0.22 bullets.
But once the security fellow saw the shining gold and a pistol shaped pendant, he gave a smile. So this was a designer jewellery. He tossed it back into the jewellery box. Nevertheless he insisted that batteries were not allowed, and removed a pair of penlight cells from the shaver and tossed them away. Anara gave him a bewitching smile and he reciprocated. In moments, she too was on this side of the security barrier. She choose a bank of empty moulded chairs to a corner opposite the T-V monitors close to an aquarium. She was about to take her seat, when she saw Saleem walking towards her. One look at his face, and Anara was shocked. This would simply not do! Saleem was breaking into pieces. No! things could not continue in this way!
In moments Salim was beside her.
“Anara! I can not take it any longer. I am leaving now. I don’t care for the consequences”
He spoke in a panicked whisper the moment he occupied his seat beside her. Anara was aghast. What a time to loose his nerve! They had actually crossed the security barrier. The mission was almost accomplished. If Saleem panicked at this moment, it would totally mess up everything. She squeezed herself close to him, and started stroking his hand. In a reassuring tone she said “Honey! We are almost through. There is no point panicking at this time. Hold on to your courage just for a little while more. Be a good boy, Saleem!”
The announcement on the PA system told them that the craft would be ready for boarding in another ten minutes. She looked up to Saleem and found that he was too flustered to be normal. He was trembling like a leaf, as if he was sized in throes of a febrile fit.
No! It simply would not work. This fellow was in no state to travel with her. Even if he did board the aircraft, one look at him, and the stewardess would summon both an ambulance and a doctor. She made a decision. It would be stupid to complicate things. She was bright enough and it did not take her too long to think of an excuse to get rid of him. Saleem had served his purpose, and it was now no longer necessary that he accompany her. The next stage of the operation could be concluded by her alone. She bent her head close to his ear and slowly whispered her scheme. At first, Saleem was too flustered to understand, but when she repeated it again slowly, he understood. Features of relief flooded his face.
13. Slap
The security check was routine. From the respectful glances and differential attitude of the staff, it was quite, clear that Robert and his colleague had spun an appropriate story about me. I had showed them the cylindrical unit containing the tranquilliser dart, and told them that it was computer data storage pen drive. Roberts’s briefing seemed to be adequate, because no one bothered too much with it. The PA system was booming an announcement about my flight, when I got into the waiting area. I spotted the newly wed couple at the opposite corner huddled close. A bride in red was speaking some intimate things to her beaù who was nodding. Well, newly weds would have thousands of things to talk about. It was none of my business.
I quickly walked into the toilet and emerged in five minutes. I had extracted the ceramic reinforced plastic stiletto from the hiding place in the small of my back and slipped it under the elastic band around my calf. A knife was only useful if you could pull it out at a moments notice. This knife I had, was a stiletto dagger shaped contraption, of about eight inches in length. However it was fabricated out of carbon reinforced plastic interleaved with high tech ceramic to produce a sharp stiff weapon which was totally impervious to all metal detectors. For that matter, it did not have any metallic components.
You would no doubt be wondering why I was packing knives, when I was taking a simple domestic flight from Delhi to Mumbai. I always like to be well prepared. I expected no trouble on the flight, but if something did happen, I wanted an upper hand. It was a simple matter of routine. In all emergencies, a field operative from the department always emerged as some one with an unfair advantage. The moment I came out of the toilet, I saw the commotion.
The slap was loud. The sound almost echoed to the furthest corner of the waiting hall. She staggered, fell back a few steps and caught hold of the aquarium. The fish tank was on a stand which shook a little as she attempted to recover her balance. It was the newly wed couple, in what appeared like a little more than a spat. The husband had slapped his wife with a great force, and had she not caught hold of the fish tank, would surely have fallen down.
And then he did it again. Walked two steps close and slapped his wife once again. The blow was powerful. And this time she fell back. As she fell, she pushed the aquarium which shook, lost its center of gravity, tilted, and then as if in a slow motion, tipped to the opposite side, crashing on the marble floor of the waiting area. It shattered into a hundred bits, water splashed and the next instant the dozen guppies, mollies, gold fish and tetras were writhing on the marble floor twisting and jumping as they gasped for the air.
The bride in red, who had fallen to the other side, sat up. She looked at her husband with blazing eyes. The noice and commotion had invited the attention of others in the hall. A few passengers rushed. Two chaps from the security area rushed in a hurry to investigate. I was probably the only one who was walking a little away from the scene. A few steps took me to the glass wall that faced the tarmac. I could see the dozen planes parked at various places. From this place, I could get a better view of things, both outside and inside.