LASHKAR (6 page)
Iqbal had been watching the milestones along the highway for quite some time and knew they were at Sukkur when the bus halted for the night; once again at a strangely desolate madrassa.
The Indus was left behind on the second day when they crossed it at Uch and the Chenab took over all the way up to Muzaffargarh. From the little geography Iqbal had studied he knew that the Indus still flowed alongside, flanking them, but it was not visible from the road. The madrassa they halted at that night was a much smaller one and not as well maintained. ‘How come all the places we stay at are so deserted?’ Omar wondered aloud.
By the time the bus reached Talagang on the fourth night, their enthusiasm was on the wane. The road from Muzaffargarh to Mianwali had been okay. Not as good as the roads they had covered but a darn sight better than the pot-holed moonwalk they hit once they crossed Mianwali. However the Talagang madrassa they halted at that night was beautiful and old. Even the food was palatable for a change.
Iqbal was not sure what disturbed his sleep but he woke suddenly in the middle of the night. There was a bright moon outside and its silvery light bathed the hall. Iqbal got up and headed out for the courtyard.
It was a clear, beautiful night. The rectangular courtyard had a small water tank almost directly in front of the dormitory. The still water sparkled in the moonlight and beckoned to him like a long lost lover. Iqbal felt an amazing sense of tranquillity as he sat on the edge of the water tank and watched the night sky.
‘Not able to sleep?’ The voice was soft but the suddenness of it jolted Iqbal out of his reverie. He turned to see their genial escort standing behind him.
‘No…something woke me up and then I just couldn’t sleep again.’
The man sat down beside him. They sat in companionable silence for a while until he asked, ‘Where are you from, my friend?’
‘Lucknow.’ It was the first time he’d been asked a personal question in Pakistan. ‘My name is Iqbal. What is yours?’
‘Wasim.’ Then noticing the smile on Iqbal’s face, he asked, ‘Did I say something funny?’
‘That is the name I am travelling under from Kathmandu to Karachi. Strange coincidence, isn’t it?’
Wasim smiled. ‘I am from Aligarh.’
‘I have never been to Aligarh but my folks are originally from there.’
‘Really?’ Wasim laughed softly. ‘Another strange coincidence. You know, it has been almost six years since I have been to Aligarh…Sometimes I really miss my home… but I cannot go back now.’ He took a deep breath: ‘Not that I mind…it is a small sacrifice to make for the cause. There are others who have given up so much more. But then things seldom turn out the way we think they would. True, isn’t it?’
Iqbal shrugged. ‘Tell me, Wasim, how come all the places that we are staying in are totally deserted? Where is everyone?’
The man gave Iqbal a long look before he replied, ‘They’re not abandoned or empty. It is just that we have to be careful and ensure external trainees don’t mix with the others…Salim Sahib is very strict about that.’
‘I don’t understand…what others?’
‘The locals, primarily.’
‘Why?’
‘Not every one here supports the jihad. There are some who feel that Pakistan should worry more about itself and its economy rather than expend time, energy and resources on external problems.’
That is not what they have been telling us.
‘I thought the people of Pakistan were solidly behind us…behind the jihad?’
‘The people of Pakistan?’ Wasim shrugged. ‘People are people…when push comes to shove they tend to worry about basic things like food, shelter and clothing. Everything else is secondary.’
They sat in silence for a minute. Then Iqbal asked, ‘Who is this Salim you just mentioned?’
‘Salim Sahib?’ Wasim suddenly looked uncomfortable. ‘You will come to know in good time. I am sure you will run into him sooner or later…’
‘He runs the camp where we are going?’ Iqbal prodded him.
Suddenly Wasim was not in the mood to talk any longer. He got up abruptly. ‘I need to get some sleep. Why don’t you try to rest too…it is going to be a long day tomorrow.’
Iqbal could not see the expression on Wasim’s face in the dark. Even so the turmoil within him reached out to Iqbal across the silvery moonlight. He stood there for a very long time after Wasim had gone, until the chill of the night began to add to the disquiet Wasim had stirred in him.
The tranquillity of the night had been disturbed.
The terrain started to change and the air grew distinctly colder as they crossed Rawalpindi and Islamabad late the next evening. They saw hills appear in the distance; small at first and then higher and more rugged. The winding road began to climb steeply. The sun had almost set when the bus finally came to a halt half-an-hour after crossing Muzaffarabad.
A cluster of silent huts and tents greeted the young recruits as they scrambled off the bus. There was not a soul visible anywhere. A frisson of fear ran through Iqbal.
Then the doors of one of the huts opened and two men walked out towards them. Everything about them screamed ‘army’. Iqbal felt another stirring of apprehension as the duo strode up to the recruits. ‘This is the Muzaffarabad training camp. I am…’
The men were neither welcoming nor warm.
Rather like the grumpy sergeants in the old war movies that I used to watch in school,
thought Iqbal.
2210 hours, 27 October 2005, ISI Office, Lahore Army Cantonment, Pakistan.
’Allah be praised! That Afzal guy has delivered. See, sir, I told you he would.’ Captain Azam Cheema gave a satisfied smile; Afzal had been his discovery.
‘I still don’t trust him,’ replied Brigadier Salim. ‘He is the only one in this mission who is here just for the money. If he can sell out his country for cash he can as easily sell us out to the Indians for more.’
‘Don’t worry, sir, he will continue to deliver. I have him well under control.’ In the five years that he had served as Salim’s aide, Cheema had never let him down. Somehow, deep inside, Salim knew he would rather die than let that happen.
‘Well, Cheema, just make sure he is out of Delhi ASAP and in position for his next task.’ Salim shelved further thought on Afzal for the moment; he had more important things to worry about. Picking up the satellite phone he dialled a number that was stored in the phone’s memory. A moment later he was talking to the old Maulavi in Delhi. ‘Are the boys ready?’
‘Of course.’ As usual the old man sounded supremely confident.
The Maulavi was one of the few Indians whom Salim did trust. Over the years he had regularly delivered a stream of young motivated men to the training camps run by the ISI. Many of these men had gone on to achieve great things in the Valley and inflicted terrible losses on the Indian security forces. This time too, it was the pick of Maulavi’s recruits who had constituted the Lashkar. He had personally handpicked nine of them for this assignment. One had gotten injured during the training, but that was not a problem since only seven were needed for the actual operation. Even if they had taken one more hit the mission would not have been jeopardized. After all, reserves were the lifeblood of any operation. Wars were never won without cannon fodder.
‘Excellent. Then let us begin.’
Ten minutes later, Salim’s Lashkar swung into action.
The prelude to the dance of death had begun.
0520 hours, 28 October 2005, Aftab Cyber Café, Khirki Gaon, New Delhi.
The cyber café was a deep cover implant that had been established by the ISI several months ago and was to be activated only for a priority assignment, after clearance from the very highest quarters. Brigadier Murad Salim was definitely high up enough in the ISI hierarchy to ensure it was made available to him without a fuss.
The café, located in one of the several narrow lanes that radiated into Khirki Gaon colony opposite the small temple on the main road, was sited in a carefully reconnoitred and selected building. This particular lane was almost always deserted since it dead-ended just two houses beyond the cyber café. Both houses behind the cyber café were occupied by mid-level workers employed in the host of small factories and offices that crowded the colony. Since most of them were out-of-town migrants, residents were quite used to all kinds of people coming and going at odd hours; new faces drew no special attention here.
The first man arrived just before daybreak. The other five men arrived separately at irregular intervals of ten to twenty minutes. With the exception of one who looked as though he was barely out of his teens, all of them were in their late twenties or early thirties. There was nothing exceptional about any of them except that they were all physically much more fit than the average man on the streets and that they seemed to have a lot more money on them. All of them were clean-shaven and wore nothing that gave any indication of the god they worshipped.
‘We will be working in this room. This is where I stay.’ Furkan, the cyber café owner, pointed to the inner room. ‘No one ever goes in there and the room has enough space for us to work comfortably.’
Unlike the outer room with the gleaming Pentium 4 machines the inner room was Spartan. The only modern thing in it was the small television set in a corner. In the other corner stood a small worktable with an assortment of tools stacked neatly on it.
‘The packages are in the cupboard. Don’t be in a hurry. One small screw-up, and we all get blown to bits,’ Furkan cautioned needlessly.
‘You two unpack and clean out the weapons,’ the oldest member of the team said. He had an aura of authority and was clearly the designated mission leader. He was also the only one among them who had been in active operations before, although this was his first mission on Indian soil.
‘You two,’ he indicated Furkan and the youngest man in the team. ‘Stay in the outer room and keep an eye open. No one is to wander in by mistake. Try and discourage people from using the cyber café today. Just don’t get jumpy and do anything stupid.’
The youngest member and Furkan did as they were told. The youngest member was also the most tech savvy of them all. The two of them fiddled with the computers as they kept careful watch. The few customers who walked in during the day hung around for a few minutes and then left when they showed no sign of moving. Only one persistent young fellow tarried for almost twenty minutes before Furkan told him it was futile to wait. ‘We are upgrading the machines and changing the Internet services provider,’ he said apologetically.
For the rest of the day the three men worked without interruption, carefully assembling the bombs. There was not much by way of conversation as they all went about their carefully rehearsed tasks.
When the muezzin called the faithful for the Asr (afternoon) prayer, the team leader who had just finished cleaning all the weapons looked up. ‘It is time for the namaz. After that I want you three,’ he pointed to the men who had handed in the vehicles for servicing, ‘to get the vehicles from the service stations. Make sure you check them out properly. Take a trial run and if you feel anything is even slightly amiss get it sorted out. We don’t want any breakdowns tomorrow.’
As soon as they finished praying, the designated three moved out from the cyber café separately and went straight to the garages. The three stolen vehicles were collected, checked, test-driven and brought back to the cyber café. The two cars were parked at a little distance from the cyber café and dust covers were placed on them. The motorcycle was wheeled into the inner room where the men fitted used-looking metallic containers on both sides of the rear seat. As soon as the containers were fitted on, the two bomb makers moved in. The bomb itself was a simple device and took ten minutes to assemble. Wiring it up and fitting in the switch took another fifteen. When it was done, they checked the circuit with the tester. It worked fine.
After sunset the men went to work on the cars parked outside. They worked at a slow and deliberate pace and checked everything repeatedly. They worked with the precision of people who had rehearsed every action several times. The bomb that had been assembled during the day was placed in the boot of the Esteem and the wiring was connected up. A couple of old clothes were thrown over the bomb to conceal it. Next morning, by the time the muezzin called for the Fajr (morning) prayer, all the preparations were in order. Then they set to work thoroughly cleaning up the room and removing any telltale signs. All the scraps of material they had used were carefully bagged in a large garbage disposal bag.
‘I’ll take care of that,’ Furkan said, picking up the bag. ‘You guys go ahead and get some rest. We have a long day ahead.’
The six men dispersed, again in ones and twos at intervals of a few minutes each. They left the café with the satisfaction of people who had completed a difficult task properly and thoroughly. Everything was in order. Now all that remained was for the Lashkar to carry out the strike.
Death was straining to unleash.
1025 hours, 29 October 2005, M4K Multiplex, Delhi.
The housekeeping and maintenance staff in the multiplex were almost done with their early-morning cleaning. Shopkeepers had arrived early, bracing themselves for the weekend rush. With Diwali and Eid just around the corner there was a note of festivity in the air. In the wake of a good harvest and a booming economy, shopkeepers and business owners were expecting a huge upswing in business.
‘
Jane kya hoga Rama re, jane kya hoga Maula re…’
The ironically apt lyrics of a Bollywood film song floated through the air, powered by the sound system of the multiplex. The multiplex had been commissioned into service fairly recently. Its newness was evident in the fresh paint and sparkling walls. It was also evident in the manner that the staff responded to situations. Their operating procedures had yet to achieve the stability of time and experience. In fact, it was one of the reasons why this multiplex had been chosen as a target for the strike.
At ten-thirty the stolen Tata Indica turned off the main road and drove into the mall. The parking lot outside the mall was almost empty, as was the one in the basement. The man behind the wheel collected his parking token right at the entrance and started to drive in. The security guard standing just beyond the barrier gestured to him as the car approached. He tapped the window when he saw that the man driving the car was looking the other way. ‘Sir, you can park right here.’ He pointed at the empty parking lot.