BLOWBACK (17 page)
There was something about the man called Asif that made Iqbal certain. Perhaps it was the assessing look he gave Iqbal. Perhaps it was the acute interest with which he eyed him. Either way, Iqbal instinctively knew that this was the enemy. Apprehension and excitement pulsed through him as he reached out and took Asif’s proffered hand. It was at that precise moment that he was sure…
contact had been made.
Blinded as he was by his so far successful run and still unaware of how devastatingly fast failure could strike, Asif eyed his latest find with quiet anticipation.
Asif only sent in the first probe after Iqbal and he had met over a dozen times. That day, classes had finished early and Asif, Imtiaz and Iqbal were sitting together in an empty coffee shop across the road from the German Bakery in Koregaon Park.
‘Isn’t it amazing how easily we Muslims bear the brunt of every single problem?’ Asif remarked to no one in particular as he tossed down the newspaper in his hand.
‘Why? What’s happened?’ Imtiaz looked at him curiously.
‘Some bloody fool calling the Palestinians terrorists just because they are fighting for a homeland.’
Break the ice by talking about Palestine
, that’s what Asif had been told by Mujib. He was quoting from the jihadi recruitment manual. ‘Don’t scare away a potential recruit by talking about the concerns of Muslims right at the beginning; doing that will make it obvious you’re trying to recruit him. And don’t get into arguments about religion or even criticize him. As the conversation progresses, you can talk about the mujahideen and the jihad, but always in a general, casual way. Avoid mentioning any particular group since your potential recruit may be negatively affected by the calumny spread by the media about that particular group.’
While Asif was talking, Iqbal leaned forward and rapidly scanned the article Asif had been reading. ‘Obviously, Asif!’ he said when he had finished. ‘A suicide bomber killed twelve people in a shopping mall; almost all of them were kids or women buying groceries. What else should they call the guy?’
Don’t make it too easy for them. Let them work at recruiting you; don’t just roll over and fall into their laps. The harder they work at recruiting you, the more they will tend to trust you when you finally agree to join them.
‘So you think it’s fine, all that the Palestinians are going through because of these Jews?’ Asif countered.
‘I never said that, but is this the right way to fight back?’
‘What option do the Palestinians have? The Jews are well armed and have powerful countries like America backing them. They are crushing the Palestinians and forcing them to fight back with whatever little they have.’
‘Come on, Asif, let’s at least get our facts straight.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘How come nobody is ready to acknowledge that the first major terror bombing took place on 24 February 1948, a good ten days before the Jewish state even came into existence? It was a massive triple truck bomb that killed about fifty-four people on Jerusalem’s Ben Yehuda street.’
‘You seem very well informed.’
‘Why shouldn’t I be?’ Iqbal countered defiantly.
‘All right, all right, but what’s the relevance?’
‘The relevance is this, Asif – the Arabs have a problem with the mere thought of a Jewish state, so let’s not say the suicide bombings and terror attacks are only because of the occupation, because I don’t think that’s true.’
‘You sound like a Jewish sympathizer,’ Imtiaz spat out angrily.
After a pause Asif asked, ‘So you don’t think what’s happening to the Palestinians, our fellow Muslims, is wrong?’
‘No!’ Iqbal shook his head vehemently. ‘I think it’s very wrong and extremely unfair. It makes my blood boil, but…’ He shrugged helplessly and let his voice trail away. ‘What can I do about it?’
‘I know what you mean.’ Asif smiled. He had his man where he wanted him. ‘The very thought makes me sick with anger.’
Imtiaz spoke up on cue. ‘Well, if we don’t do something quickly, they’ll continue to walk all over us.’
‘That’s easier said than done,’ Asif remarked, almost too casually. ‘Iqbal is right, what can we do? The Indian government should…’
‘The Indian government? It’s run by kafirs!’ Imtiaz exclaimed, his voice low, but the vehemence in it unmistakable. ‘Why should they do anything for us? When have they done anything to protect us?’
‘I don’t think that’s entirely true,’ said Asif, playing devil’s advocate.
‘You don’t, do you?’ Asif sat back as Iqbal snatched at the bait angrily. ‘Tell me what happened in Gujarat. Did they punish those who literally massacred dozens of Muslims? Our women were raped, our children burnt alive… did anyone pay for it? No, everything came down to mindless legalities; witnesses were bribed, judges were bought off or prevailed upon to look the other way. The same thing happened in Mumbai.’
‘You could say the same thing about all those times when Hindus got killed, or Christians, or Sikhs,’ Asif goaded him on.
‘So you think it’s all right for us to sit back and allow our religion to be driven into the ground?’ Imtiaz asked.
‘No! I never said that,’ Iqbal retorted, allowing his anger to show.
‘Then what do you think we should do?’
‘I don’t know.’ Iqbal slouched back in his chair with a helpless shrug. ‘I just don’t know.’
Before the conversation could go any further, a group of students walked into the coffee shop. Soon a lot of the tables were taken, including the one next to them. The conversation returned to more mundane topics till Asif threw a glance at his watch and muttered, ‘Man! Is that how late it is? I must be going. Let’s meet again tomorrow.’
As Asif smiled at him and got up to go, Iqbal was suddenly reminded of the old maulavi at the Savita Nagar mosque who had recruited him for the Lashkar-e-Toiba. He had that same calculating smile, the quietly persuasive tone, the outwardly peaceful demeanour. Iqbal had to fight to keep the revulsion off his face as he shook hands with the man.
Imtiaz flashed Asif an ingratiating smile. ‘Sure! Let’s catch up again tomorrow evening.’
A
nd they did, the following evening and several evenings after that. Each time they met, Asif the recruiter wove his relentless web of words and deceit. And every day, Iqbal the undercover operative watched Iqbal the reluctant recruit being hemmed in by lies and slowly falling deeper and deeper into the web. Iqbal allowed Asif and Imtiaz to go home every day feeling satisfied that they had hooked the fish and were now, slowly but surely, reeling it in.
As the days went by, what began to eat into Iqbal, more than the playacting, was the resemblance between Asif and his old nemesis, the maulavi. With each passing day, the similarities became more and more marked. And there were times when Iqbal the man rebelled against Iqbal the operative. He felt compelled to snatch up a weapon – anything, even a knife or a fork lying on the table – and put an end to the hateful man sitting in front of him, lying to him about religion, misquoting both the Quran-e-pak and the Holy Prophet. But each time, Iqbal the operative stepped in and took charge, remembering the words of his patient trainers back in Kasauli.
Live the lie, Iqbal. You have to live the lie. Only then will you succeed.
And so he did.
‘Can you imagine?’ Asif’s voice intruded on his thoughts, forcing him back to the present. They were in one of the numerous coffee shops that marked out Pune as a student town. ‘The fucking Americans have started to call this so-called war of terror a clash of civilizations. I tell you, Iqbal, it’s going to be a repeat of the Crusades. They’ve already decimated Afghanistan and Iraq. It’s just a matter of time before they seize control of the entire Middle East.’
‘You’re right, Asif,’ Imtiaz said, ‘they’ve already started forcing the Pakistan Army to conduct operations against our brothers in the NWFP and Baluchistan.’
‘I wouldn’t worry too much about that,’ Asif remarked with a knowing smile. ‘The Pakistan Army is too smart to actually do anything. Sooner or later, they will do something to instigate the Indians and force them to deploy the Indian Army on the border. The minute that happens, Pakistan will have a legitimate excuse to pull out their forces from the NWFP and move them to the Indian border. That will put paid to any efforts to suppress the jihad.’
‘What do you mean, Asif?’ Iqbal asked innocently.
‘It’s simple, really. You think the Americans can do anything on their own in these areas? The minute the Pakistan Army moves out of NWFP or FATA (Federally Administered Tribal Areas), Afghanistan will fall back under the Taliban’s control. So, for that matter,’ he added after a moment’s pause, ‘will Pakistan.’
‘What are you saying?’ Iqbal could not control the shock that pulsed through him. Luckily for him, the others were so caught up in the conversation that they misread his horror as excitement.
‘Exactly what you are hearing, my friend.’ Asif smiled, a pleased, almost affectionate smile. ‘America cannot and will not retain troops in Afghanistan forever. They are always ready to deliver their famous shock and awe from the skies, but seldom put their troops in the line of fire. They just don’t have the balls for a fight when their own people start dying.’ He laughed derisively. ‘And when that happens, it’s just a matter of time before the Taliban takes over Afghanistan and Pakistan. They will restore Islam to its pure, original state.’ His voice rose as he declaimed, ‘Nothing can stop our march then. We’ll see that the Islamic crescent rules the world.’
They fell silent after that, each man immersed in his thoughts. Then Asif turned to Iqbal again. There was something in his manner that altered the atmosphere instantly. All three of them knew that the moment of reckoning was at hand. The recruiter had decided the time was ripe to make the final pitch.
‘That is why, my friend, I ask you again, as our good old friend George Bush put it so eloquently, are you with us or against us?’ He levelled a hard, unwavering look at Iqbal.
Live the lie, Iqbal.
‘With you, obviously!’ Iqbal retorted, his eyes steady as they met Asif’s.
‘Are you sure?’ Asif’s voice throbbed with barely controlled energy.
‘Of course!’
‘It could well mean your life one day.’
‘One must have a reason to die, rather than nothing to live for.’
‘Well said, Iqbal. That’s very well put,’ said Imtiaz admiringly, repeating the words softly. Iqbal ignored him, his eyes still fixed on Asif.
‘It’s a one-way street, Iqbal.’ Asif held his gaze, and now there was a hint of menace in his eyes. ‘Once you join us, there’s no going back.’ Iqbal didn’t reply. He just nodded, letting his eyes do the talking for him.
‘Good!’ Asif leaned closer to Iqbal until their faces almost touched. ‘If you ever betray our cause... if you ever let us down… you will not live. Neither will those close to you.’
Iqbal started up angrily. ‘Are you threatening me? What gives you the bloody right to question my faith?’
‘I’m not doing either.’ Asif was unfazed by his outburst. ‘I just want you to know the way things are in this world you want to enter.’
‘Just tell me what I have to do to prove myself,’ Iqbal retorted, glaring back at him.
‘I will.’ Asif pulled away abruptly and leaned back in his chair. ‘When the time is right, I will. For now, just prepare yourself and be ready to move quickly. The time is not far when we will strike at the kafir again.’
‘Again? You mean...’ Iqbal left the question hanging between them.
‘All in good time, my friend.’ A cold smile settled on Asif’s face. ‘Just be ready.’
‘I am,’ Iqbal said firmly.
He pushed back his chair and took his leave of the other two, barely able to conceal his excitement.
A week later, Asif was waiting for Iqbal outside the Golden Heritage complex when he returned from the institute.
‘Hi!’ Iqbal did his best to conceal his shock. ‘What a surprise! Just passing by, or did you come to look us up?’
‘I need to park this with you.’ Asif pointed at a battered, dirty grey VIP suitcase near his feet.
‘Is that your luggage? Are you going somewhere?’
‘No!’ Asif lowered his voice. ‘It’s the stuff we need for our next operation. Let’s go in.’ He picked up the suitcase, which was obviously a lot heavier than it looked. ‘I’ll tell you about it inside.’
As they entered and Iqbal switched on the lights, Asif asked him, ‘No one at home? Where’s your wife?’
‘She must have stepped out for some household stuff. She should be back by six or so… that’s when I normally get back.’
‘Great, we have time then.’ Asif looked at his watch. ‘Here, let me show you.’ He placed the suitcase carefully on the dining table and unlocked it. On top was a layer of clothes. When he removed them, the actual contents came to light. Iqbal suppressed the shock he felt when he saw the array of detonators and slabs of RDX inside. Forcing an expression of innocent curiosity on his face, he asked, ‘What’s all that? Are they…’
‘The materials we need to make the bombs.’ Noting his surprised expression, Asif gave a pleased laugh. ‘I thought it best to leave it here. After all, with your wife staying with you and this being a nice, quiet residential colony, it’s the last place anyone would think of looking for such things.’
‘Is it safe?’ Iqbal leaned forward and touched them gingerly.
‘Of course it is.’ Asif grinned wickedly. ‘Unless you decide to plug in the detonator, wire up the timer and start it.’ Moving with practised ease, he pushed one of the detonators carefully into a slab of RDX and then pointed at the wires of the timer that needed to be attached to the detonator. ‘We plug that into a power source, start the timer, and boom!’ He threw up his free hand, his fingers opening out like a flower.
‘Wow!’ Iqbal whistled appreciatively.
‘Anyway.’ Asif unhooked the items, covered them with the clothes again and shut the suitcase. ‘Let’s get this out of sight before your wife gets in. She’ll freak.’
‘That’s true. She may support me in my cause, but doing that and actually seeing bombs in the house are two different things.’ Picking up the suitcase, Iqbal carried it into the spare bedroom and slid it under the bed. ‘There! That should be good enough.’