BLOWBACK (26 page)

So this is Mujib!
Iqbal’s mind captured the image of the man instantly, embedding it in his memory.
And he is going to be back in a few hours. Excellent! That gives the colonel enough time to move in and take him down along with the others.
Iqbal felt a surge of satisfaction.
We’ve got you now, you bastard! Thank god! Soon this whole thing will be over and we can all look forward to...

‘All right then,’ Mujib said, ignoring Asif’s outburst. ‘I’ll see you around midnight.’ He let himself out and was gone.

Iqbal quickly shut the door and had just sat down on the bed when Asif entered the room.

‘Come on, guys, we need to get moving. There’s a lot to be done.’ He led them across the courtyard to the room outside which he had stood talking to Mujib. Throwing open the door, Asif gestured grandly. ‘This is what we have to finish.’

T
he room was bigger than the one they had been allotted. Barring a large wooden dining table and six matching, though rather battered chairs lined up against the far wall, it was devoid of furniture.

The minute Iqbal laid his eyes on the items that had been arranged neatly on the table, he knew without doubt what Asif had in mind for the church bombings. And he was filled with a sudden dread that the plan was more than likely to succeed. With a sinking heart he stepped forward, taking care to retain a curious expression on his face.

‘What’s all this, Asif bhai?’ he asked innocently.

There was a touch of pride in Asif’s tone as he explained. By the time he finished, Iqbal’s dread had hardened into an awful, gut-wrenching certainty. He realized that Mujib had indeed thought things through. The plan was so simple that it would almost certainly succeed.

‘But why do we need so many of them?’ Imtiaz interrupted Iqbal’s chain of thought. ‘I thought we were just placing three bombs...’

‘Four!’ Asif corrected him. ‘You’re forgetting that I’m here too.’

Crap! I wonder what the fourth target is. Not that it matters. Colonel Anbu’s team will be here as soon as I activate the GPS locator. After that it will be of theoretical interest only.
Iqbal tried to still his fears as he began to plot his next move.

‘But we only checked out three targets today,’ Imitaz persisted.

‘Arre, miyan, forget all that and understand what we need to do now.’

Pulling his thoughts back to the present, Iqbal tried to focus as Asif began to explain, but his mind was in a whirl as he tried to figure out his own course of action.

‘We are going to assemble the bombs,’ Asif said to Imtiaz as he led them to the table. ‘You,’ he pointed at Iqbal, ‘are going to decorate them. Make sure they all look the same.’ He waited till both men had nodded in acknowledgement. ‘Come on, let’s get cracking. We only have till midnight to finish getting all the bombs ready.’

Imtiaz and Iqbal checked their wristwatches automatically. It was just a few minutes after eight. Iqbal rapidly did the math; by the time Mujib returned, the bombs would be ready. He began to work out when he should activate the GPS.

‘Do we have time to grab a bite before we start?’ Imtiaz’s legendary appetite intruded on his thoughts.

‘Do you ever think of anything but food?’ Asif snorted with laughter. Imtiaz started to protest when Asif raised his hand, cutting him off. ‘Don’t worry, I knew you’d need food. Come!’ He led the way to another small room at the far end of the courtyard. It was the kitchen and not a very clean one at that; a graying 165-litre refrigerator leaned awkwardly against a black granite kitchen counter on which rested an old-style two-burner LPG stove. Asif opened the refrigerator and pulled out some food packets. ‘Khalid has arranged for kebabs and roti… and knowing him, they’re bound to be excellent.’

By the time they got down to work after heating up and eating the food, it was well past eight-thirty. Iqbal watched as Asif and Imtiaz began to assemble the bombs. Both men worked with trained precision. As Iqbal watched them, the sequence of events began to fall into place, his training at Kasauli coming back to aid him.

‘Asif, where are the ball bearings and nails?’ Imtiaz asked suddenly.

‘Not required this time,’ Asif replied.

Imtiaz looked at him in disbelief. ‘What damage can we hope to do without any shrapnel?’

‘Trust me, Imtiaz,’ Asif said without looking up from the bomb he was working on. ‘Just finish the damn things and leave the rest to me. The plan is good and in any case, without metal shrapnel it will be that much easier to get them past the metal detectors.’

Imtiaz returned to the bomb with an exasperated shrug, obviously dissatisfied with the incomplete explanation. Twenty-five minutes later, Asif pushed the first completed bomb towards Iqbal. ‘Do your bit now.’

Iqbal used the assortment of items that Asif had purchased and began to decorate the miniature Christmas tree. Twenty minutes later, the three-foot high plastic tree had been fully decorated and looked exactly like the trees that most showrooms and hotels have on display during Christmas.

‘Is that good enough?’ he asked Asif, standing back and pretending to admire his handiwork.

‘Add some more of those mini Santas and stuff,’ Asif said after examining the finished product minutely. ‘There! That’s much better,’ he added a few minutes later, when Iqbal had complied.

‘How are we going to trigger them?’

‘I’ll be doing that with my mobile. Just one text message or call to that phone buried in there,’ he pointed at the pot in which the Christmas tree was planted, ‘and boom...’ He unclenched his palms and threw his hands upwards.

‘What a caller tune that will be!’ Imtiaz gave a neighing laugh.

Asif laughed and clapped Imtiaz on the back. ‘Good one, that!’ With an effort Iqbal joined in the laughter, controlling his horror and disgust.

They were midway into the fourth bomb when Iqbal looked at his watch. It was nearly half past eleven. He knew it was time to activate the GPS locator. That way Mujib would be with them when the Force 22 team moved in.

‘I’m just going around the corner.’ Iqbal made for the door.

‘Too many kebabs, eh!’ Imtiaz said with a crude laugh.

‘It’s the last door at the end of the courtyard.’ Asif pointed after he had finished laughing. ‘The light switch is just outside, to the left of the door… oh, and the door doesn’t lock.’

‘The door doesn’t lock?’

‘What difference does it make? It’s only us here. What have you got that we don’t?’ There was another burst of laughter.

Laugh all you want, you morons. Just one hour more and you will be singing to a different tune.
Iqbal cursed them as he made his way to the bathroom at the end of the courtyard. Not only did the rickety metal door of the bathroom not lock, the stink in the tiny, filthy cubicle was unbearable. Blocking his nose with one hand, Iqbal pulled the door shut and held it closed with his foot as he removed his belt.

‘You have to turn the buckle clockwise once, then counter-clockwise thrice and then clockwise one last time. That will activate the GPS locator in the buckle.’ Iqbal kept Dhankar’s instructions in mind as he carefully removed the belt from the loops in his trousers.

‘Why all these twists and turns?’ he had asked Dhankar.

‘To ensure it’s not activated by mistake.’

‘And how will I know it has come on?’

‘You won’t.’

‘Actually, you will,’ Tiwathia had said with a laugh. ‘When we beat down the door and kick the bad guys’ asses, you’ll know all right.’

They had all laughed at that. Now Iqbal caught hold of the buckle and began the activation sequence. He was starting to make the final clockwise turn when there was a sudden pounding on the door.

‘Hey! If you’re done, I’d like to go too.’ Imtiaz’s yell and the bang on the door startled Iqbal. The door almost flew open and he had to lunge forward to keep it closed. As he did so, his hand twisted and he looked down in horror to find that the buckle had snapped free from the belt.

‘Hang on, miyan.’ Iqbal struggled to keep his voice even. ‘I’m almost done... another couple of minutes.’

‘Okay, but hurry up, yaar,’ Imtiaz grumbled and began to pace the stretch of courtyard outside the toilet.

Iqbal couldn’t believe his eyes as he examined the broken buckle in his hand. His heart was thudding.
Damn! Damn! Damn! How on earth did this happen?
Then he spied the tiny wire running out from the broken buckle.
Shit! If these buggers see it, I’m dead.

Hurriedly, he removed the tiny GPS locator inside the buckle and the cell that powered it. Dropping them in the Indian style commode, he flushed the toilet. He waited for the water to settle and checked that nothing was visible.

Okay, so that’s one problem solved. But how the hell do I get word out to Colonel Anbu?

‘Are you done?’ Imtiaz called out again.

‘Coming, coming,’ Iqbal replied irritably. He was about to step out when he realized he was still holding the belt and broken buckle in his hands.

Asif might notice something... he is so suspicious about everything.

The tiny ventilation hole in the rear wall came to his rescue. In better days, it had probably housed an exhaust fan to keep the air fresh inside the toilet. Right now it was just a gaping circular hole, eyeing the silent darkness outside. Iqbal knew it would open onto the alley at the rear of the house.

He chucked out the belt and buckle and finally emerged from the bathroom, making a show of tucking his shirt into his trousers. ‘Go!’ he told Imtiaz, who was pacing outside impatiently, and made his way back to the room with the Christmas trees, his mind in a tailspin. Luckily, Asif was so preoccupied with putting together the last bomb that he didn’t notice anything untoward.

‘Come on,’ he said cheerfully, clearly very pleased with their progress, ‘we’re almost done. Just dress that up while I finish this last one.’

Iqbal put his hands to work, mechanically tagging on the required decorative items as his mind went over the options available to him. He knew Asif wouldn’t allow him out of the house. Suddenly realizing that he was completely on his own, he felt his heart sink and a sense of helplessness swept through him. Tiwathia’s words of caution came back to him.

‘Remember that the undercover operative must always be fully self-reliant in every respect.’

‘So basically we are going to be totally on our own.’

‘That’s the only way to look at it.’

Iqbal cursed to himself. He knew he had to somehow disable the bombs himself. He had begun to apply his mind to this new thought when Asif stood up and stretched. ‘That’s it then. You finish this and we’re done for the night.’

‘Okay.’

Just then Imtiaz returned. ‘We’re done here; now Iqbal just has to complete the camouflage,’ Asif told him proudly. ‘Tell you what, why don’t you get some tea and snacks ready while I go and lighten the load too.’ He patted his belly, a satisfied expression plastered over his face. ‘Then we can all get some rest.’

‘Excellent idea!’ As always, the thought of food enthused Imtiaz. ‘There are still some kebabs left.’ He headed for the kitchen and Asif went to the bathroom, leaving Iqbal alone with the bombs. He knew this was his best chance.

Iqbal thought back frantically to what Dhankar had told him about disabling bombs.

‘When a mobile phone is used to trigger a bomb, it’s switched on only at the time the bomb is actually being deployed.’

‘Why? Why not do it earlier when there are no prying eyes around?’

‘Right!’ Dhankar had given a short laugh. ‘Can you imagine what would happen if some pesky telemarketer decided to call that number to make some asinine sale?’ He laughed again. ‘That would be pretty funny, wouldn’t it?’

Without further thought Iqbal pushed his fingers into the flowerpot in front of him, and gently pulled out the mobile phone buried in it. Sliding open the back cover of the phone, he withdrew the tiny white SIM card, inverted it and re-inserted it. Then he replaced the phone cover and pushed it back into the pot. With the contact broken, Iqbal knew that no calls or messages to the phone would go through; the bomb was as good as dead.

Groping inside the pot of the second tree, he repeated the same procedure. He had just buried the fourth phone back inside the pot when he realized that he could have used one of those phones to get word out to Colonel Anbu. For a moment his hands paused as he thought it over quickly; talking was no good, they would hear him, but he did have the option of sending out a text message. It seemed doable. He was just reaching back into the pot when he heard Asif returning from the bathroom. He quickly pulled out his hand and headed for the door, emerging just as Asif came up to it.

‘You done?’

‘All done.’ Iqbal’s heart was pounding wildly, as much at the close call as at the missed opportunity.

‘Okay, then let’s go and grab a bite.’

‘You go ahead. I’ll just wash up first.’ Iqbal needed to be alone for a minute. His heart was pounding so hard he was sure Asif could hear it. He headed for the washbasin in the corner of the courtyard. The cold water delivered him to the present with a snap, bringing some semblance of normalcy.

When he went back to the kitchen, Asif was saying something to Imtiaz. The minute Iqbal walked in, he broke off and moved away. It was the way he did it that raised Iqbal’s antenna immediately. He knew they had been talking about him and Imtiaz’s shifty demeanour only confirmed his suspicion.

Iqbal wondered what they had been talking about.
Did they see me when I was working on the mobiles? Are they onto me?
he thought wildly.

‘Come on, Iqbal, grab a bite.’ Asif gestured at the food on the kitchen counter. ‘Imtiaz has heated it up for us.’

Pushing away the nagging worry and pretending he had not noticed anything, Iqbal forced himself to eat. But the hot, succulent kebabs tasted like cold ash in his mouth.

They had just finished eating when Asif’s phone rang. As usual, he moved away from them and answered.

‘Haan bhai,’ Iqbal heard him mutter. ‘Yes, they’re all done... okay... sure. No problem, I’ll wait for you.’ He ended the call and turned to them. ‘Right, guys, let’s get some rest.’ He threw a quick look at his wristwatch. It was just a shade after midnight. ‘We hit the road sharp at seven-thirty tomorrow.’