Operation ‘Fox-Hunt’ (20 page)

Khulna, Bangladesh, 15 December: 1300 hours

At 1300 hours, the first of the trucks left the compound. The RAW surveillance operative was sure there were no Pakistanis in it. It was the advance party. Around 1600 hours, the next three vehicles left the compound. He could see there were Pakistanis in the second SUV. The game was on. He called in his report. High above in the orbit above the earth, a masterpiece of Indo-Israeli cooperation, a spy satellite with less than one-metre resolution, started tracking the convoy. Post the Kargil war, ISRO and Israelis had joined hands to launch a spy satellite tailored to mutual needs. Twenty-four hours earlier, it had been positioned over the Bangladesh territory to monitor the operation. The spy satellite, called CARCOSAT II, could see through rain, clouds or storms. Its infra-red sensors could see at night. Its control station was manned by both Indian ARC specialists and Israeli MOSSAD operatives. To avoid controversy, the control station was based in the Negev desert. Live-feed was received through an encrypted signal in a basement in RAW’s Lodhi Road HQ. A team of ARC and National Technical Research Organisation (NTRO) officers would monitor it on huge five feet by seven
feet screens until the operation was over. The main surveillance team bundled into their cars and started back for Dhaka, while four men and two cars followed the convoy at a safe distance. They would keep far back until nightfall. The border roads in the area had few vehicles. After two hours, the convoy stopped for a break at a petrol pump with a small restaurant. The tailing cars slowed down, two RAW operatives got off further down the road and doubled back to the petrol pump. The vehicles were parked a little away from the restaurant with one guard. One of the operatives engaged him in aimless chatter regarding directions to a town nearby while the other sneaked up and attached small powerful GPS transmitters to each of the vehicles. Task done, he signalled the other operative to break-off and both quickly ran and jumped into the tail vehicles. Now they could track the convoy from a safe distance.

GHQ, Rawlapindi, 15 December: 1900 hours

The DG ISI was sitting in the most powerful real estate in the land of the pure, the office of the COAS. The COAS was smoking his cigarette and had a glass of Remy Martin at his side. They were waiting for his Military Secretary (MS), a Brigadier, to leave the room.

“Sir, General Abbas, Brigadier Hassan and the DGMO are waiting in the conference room.” The MS reminded the General as he prepared to leave the room.

“It’s okay, Junaid. I will send for them once I have had a word with the DG. Please ask my pilots to standby; I want to leave for Islamabad in an hour. You must get the files on recent troop movements ready too.” The MS saluted smartly and left the room.

The COAS turned to the DG–ISI, “I have read the reports over the last few weeks from Hasan and I must say I am quite impressed; so are we ready?”

DG–ISI smiled, “We are, General, Hasan will give you a detailed briefing about the operational status of Operation Shamshir. We have been monitoring Indian radio traffic. There doesn’t seem to have been any major announcement or alert. Also the operations at the Pune airport are normal. No alerts have been sounded. Our sleeper agents in Pune have reported no major developments in terms of increased security in the city. The Indians don’t have a clue.”

COAS looked satisfied, “Last night Mr 10 Percent had called me.” He used the derogatory term for the civilian President of Pakistan, “He wanted to discuss the leadership transition to the next chief. He knows he will never have it so good; the public is disillusioned with the army. He holds too many aces right now. With the US elections around the corner, the Americans will not look kindly upon us hitting back at their drones and the Taliban are too close to victory for us to disturb them now. Afghanistan is almost ours. But until then, we must ensure that the people are behind the army; a 100 percent,” he spoke quietly.

The DG-ISI added helpfully, “Operation Shamshir will ensure that the country gathers around us. The Indians do not have the balls to attack us. With the election so close and their troops in Afghanistan, no one in the US is going to allow Indians to attack us. It doesn’t matter if our attack fails or succeeds. Indians will be able to trace it to us either ways. There will be a crisis and this time, they will have to do something to placate their population. But eventually, they will have to stop at saber-rattling. Meanwhile, we will show that we are ready for war if it is imposed upon us. That would allow us to move more troops from the western to the eastern sector. With fewer of our boys, the Taliban can regroup faster and prepare to take over Afghanistan when the US leaves. It’s brilliant!”

It was no secret that the President did not like the DG-ISI He was the Army Chief’s hatchet man. When the current COAS completed his term, the DG expected to become the Chief but the President would never allow that. He knew it. Operation Shamshir would make his chances brighter. The DG-ISI smiled to himself. He could see himself as the Chief very soon. This old man would leave soon. The COAS knew what he was thinking and smiled too.

The fool thinks all this is about transition. It’s about another extension … for me
. He pressed the button for intercom. It connected to his ADC’s cabin outside, “Please send in General Abbas and Brigadier Hasan.”

Both soldiers came in and saluted. Hasan had a file in his hands which he handed over to the DG-ISI. “Okay, update me on the status of the two teams,” COAS told Hasan.

“Sir, the two teams are both in position. Team Rashid has reached the Indian border. As soon as I flash a message after this meeting, they will cross the border at 0000 hours and proceed by road to Kolkata airport. A flight will take them to Pune. They will land at around 1200 hours. An agent will drive them to a farmhouse three kilometres away. The other team will already be there. The Mumbai team will start at dawn from Mumbai and be in the farmhouse by 1100 hours. Both teams will use the afternoon to get acquainted with their weapons while their leaders go to the location for a reconnaissance. At 1800 hours, both teams dressed as members of a hockey club will leave with equipment for the airport. They will have tickets for a 2000 hours flight to Delhi, which will never leave the airport. Also, Amin, the agent who arranged the logistics, has flown into Dubai yesterday via Bangkok. He will be back in Karachi tomorrow. Once the team departs for the attacks tomorrow, the Pune agents will also proceed to Mumbai to take the flight to Hong Kong.
Our friend in China will get them back to us. We don’t want any of our long-term agents to get caught.”

He smiled at his own attempt at humour but seeing no response from the COAS, cleared his throat and continued, “I need your signature on the file to execute the orders. Also, there is a pre-dated document which announces cashiering orders for Hamza and Shezad. They are pre-dated by five months. All other documents are ready; as soon as you sign these, we will place them in their personnel file.”

“For deniability of course,” Hasan added.

The COAS turned to DG ISI, “You have my approval, Brigadier. Activate the operation. I wish you all luck.” He then took the file from the DG and signed the documents authorising the operation.

Hasan looked at the DG ISI, who nodded to him indicating that his job was done. “If you will excuse me, sir, I need to go out and give orders for the operation to be executed.”

It was 2100 hours. He knew it would be 2200 hours in Bangladesh. He called Colonel Khan who was manning the operation room at a secret location near Cherat. Colonel Khan sent the signal via satellite phones, both to Hamza and Shezad.

14

Mumbai, India: 2100 hours

T
wo choppers landed in quick succession on a helipad created just two weeks back to receive a VIP. More than three hundred thousand rupees had been spent for one hour of use by the politician. The Indian Navy had moved a team of technicians and communication personnel to take over the helipad for the day. They had set-up lights and an assembly area in the clearing next to the helipad. The police and forest guards had cordoned off three kilometres radius to avoid unwitting civilians or journalists tripping on the operation. An affable young PR officer of the local government was camped out just in case the press had any questions. The official story was that a ‘routine drill’ for civil-military forces, inter-operability was in progress.

The helicopters deposited the NSG teams at the helipad. The operation’s commanders reviewed plans and waited for the orders to come through. A fleet of police vehicles with motorcycle outriders stood by for action. There was dinner for everyone and the men stood down for some hot food.

Sanjay was sitting in a van near the helipad. He had just received a report that a phone call had been made again to the US from the line and that there was no aberration in the general talk. A live video of the apartment complex was streaming in
on two monitors from two different cameras. He was also being updated from Delhi on the movement of the Bangladesh team. He had briefed the officials of the local administration and police that they would go into attack mode within twenty minutes of the Bangladesh team crossing the border. This had been decided in consultation with the DG-Security and Secretary-R. Now all they could do was wait.

The police were busy too. F1 had moved its men to a fire brigade building close to the target. Traffic was not expected to be a problem, but Javed had organised alternative traffic arrangements in case there was a change in plan.

In the apartment, the four men had their dinner and were watching Salman Khan’s latest blockbuster on DVD. Shezad had retired to his bedroom. He realised that in less than twenty-four hours they would be getting ready to hit the target. He felt a nervous energy flood through him. He reached into the pocket of his trousers and pulled out a packet of Marlboros and walked to the picture window as he lit a cigarette. He could see cars driving in and people coming home from work. He too was expecting a visitor. The driver who was to take them to Pune was expected to reach by midnight. He had received the orders from Colonel Khan earlier in the evening to proceed with the final phase of Operation Shamshir. But something was bothering him. He looked out again; he just could not put his finger on it. He threw away the butt and closed the window before pulling the shades.

“Damn, I had a clean shot!” cursed the F1 sniper who was huddled with the surveillance team. Javed had placed him there as an added insurance, in case something went wrong and the NSG could not take over the scene. There were two others on the roof of the other tower. An F1 team had also been placed in the penthouse on the top floor. Javed would not depend on
central forces to defend his city. He still remembered the night of 26 November 2008 when he had lost his boss, a heroic Deputy Inspector General. The time it took for the naval commandos and the NSG to swing into action had cost almost 200 lives. As a professional he was not willing to take that chance.

Inside the flat, Shezad felt a sense of despair. A day before the operation, he had expected to be buoyant. It reminded him of the morning before the shrapnel had hit his leg in the freezing heights of Kargil. He stared at his watch. It was 2300 hours. His guide for the Pune drive was expected anytime now. He fidgeted with the satellite phone and kept staring at the laptop screen. He had an Indian news channel switched on, but the volume was on mute. On his laptop he was surfing other news sites. There was absolutely nothing else to do but wait.

Indo-Bangladesh Border, Kumta Village: 2300 hours

Hamza and his men waited in the shadows as both Aameer and Mehboob went over to a car parked in the dark. His men had quietly assumed a defensive position using whatever cover they could find in the empty garage. There were vehicles being repaired, a vacuum pump and some empty shells of what had been cars. The parked car had blinked its lights in the proper sequence; Aameer was not one to take chances. Mehboob’s sinister-looking band of men had surrounded the vehicle while Aameer and Mehboob went ahead to make contact. Mehboob went to the driver’s side and spoke quietly in Bengali. He returned in five minutes with a reed-thin man with a hollow face and buck teeth. Mehboob waved cheerfully as they approached the group in the shadows of the garage. Hamza slipped the safety catch of his MP5 to ‘safe’ and asked his men to stand down.

“This is Basharat and he will lead us into India. We have done this before and Basharat has never let us down.” Basharat
nodded his head and beckoned them to get into their vehicles. Mehboob explained further, “We will drive for another hour and then from there onwards, we go on foot. Hundred metres from the border, Basharat and his men own a tunnel which they use for petty smuggling. We will use it. Five of my men, your men and Aameer bhai will go down the hole. Others will stay back. Don’t want to attract too much attention.” Mehboob chattered on about his vast experience in operations throughout as he drove the SUV tailing Basharat’s old Suzuki. “We are paying him 200,000 rupees, for only one night’s work. Scoundrel he is. It seems his brother-in-law is in the police station on the Indian side; he supplies him with information regarding the patrol timings of the BSF.”