SALIM MUST DIE (25 page)

The jailor was a bit put out at his visitors’ lack of response to this sensational news. He continued with the story, nevertheless.

‘And then, a few weeks later, they found the man who had used the knife on Iqbal. He too was behind the shithouse with his neck broken. We all knew who had done it but were not able to link Iqbal to either of the killings.’ The jailor waved grandiosely in the air. ‘But then, who cares really? It is not as if either of those guys was anything but criminal scum. The chutiyas only got what they deserved.’

The expression on Anbu's face made it clear that the last remark had not gone down well with the visitors. In fact, their deadpan expressions and silence unnerved the jailor more than a little. He continued hastily, eager to fill the silence.

‘Oh yes, there is definitely something strange about this guy. The other prisoners stay clear of him. You will see what I mean….’ There was a long silence as the man finally ran out of things to say. But you could see that he was wracking his brains because he spoke again suddenly, as he remembered something. ‘Oh yes, another thing – till date he has not had any visitors, nor has he written to anyone or called anyone. We asked him about it once, and he said he is all alone in this world.’

Anbu exchanged a quick glance with Khare. They'd both read the Intel file on Iqbal and knew that his father and brother were still alive. Both were in Lucknow, where his father still worked at the same school; his brother was now studying at the local university.

Just then the door swung open after a hasty knock and two khaki-clad cops walked in. Sandwiched between them was a tall well-built man in his mid-twenties with a pleasant face. Had it not been for the fact that his eyes were totally bereft of any expression, he may well have been considered handsome. His body was taut and lean. Prison life had burned away every ounce of spare fat. His face lit up with curiosity momentarily when he spied Khare, but he didn't speak.

‘We'd like to talk to him alone,’ Anbu told the jailor.

‘Are you sure?’ the man asked tentatively. ‘He is a dangerous terrorist.’

Anbu looked at him and gave a brief, impassive smile. The cops left reluctantly, their faces shining with curiosity. Anbu waited till they were gone and then gestured to Khare, who immediately took up position near the door, ensuring that the two men inside had the privacy Anbu desired.

Silence prevailed as the men appraised each other. Then Anbu held out two photographs. ‘I believe you know both these men?’

Iqbal threw a quick glance at the photos before he nodded. ‘I already told him. That one was Salim… Brigadier Murad Salim of the Pakistani ISI. He was killed in a helicopter crash in November 2005.’

‘That is what they wanted us to believe,’ Anbu replied softly. ‘He is alive and well.’

‘No!’ Iqbal's face transmitted shock and disbelief.

‘Yes, he is. So is the other man.’

There was a long silence. Iqbal blinked several times, as though fighting back tears. ‘Maybe that is why I am still alive,’ he finally whispered, more to himself than to Anbu. ‘Somewhere inside, I knew my life still had a purpose.’

‘We know that you went back to Pakistan to kill him… after you killed Fazlur Rehman,’ Anbu continued. Iqbal nodded wordlessly, still in shock at the unexpected news. ‘Would you like to take another shot at him?’ Anbu asked softly.

‘Who are you?’ Iqbal asked. ‘You're not making a fool of me, are you?’

‘There is no reason why I should,’ Anbu replied, ignoring the first question. ‘Tell me, would you like to take another shot at Salim?’

‘Yes, I would,’ Iqbal replied without hesitation.

‘You're sure?’

‘Very sure.’

‘You may not come back alive,’ Anbu said bluntly.

‘So?’ Iqbal retorted. ‘What difference would it make?’ He gestured at the bleak prison surroundings. ‘Who can call this living anyway?’

‘Sit down.’ Anbu nodded at the chair facing him. Then he introduced himself briefly and told Iqbal about the impending strike, taking care to reveal only as much as he needed to know. He gave away nothing that would hurt them in case Iqbal was taken… or double-crossed them. ‘That is why we are going to go into Pakistan and take care of him.’

‘But why me? I am sure there are others far more qualified for….’

‘We need someone who has seen him and will recognize him.’

‘I could never forget that face.’

‘That is why we need you. Salim is a very smart operative. There are no photos of him, barring this one… and this is almost useless. See, our people will do the job – you just need to confirm the identity of the man,’ Anbu replied. ‘You help us find him and I will ensure you go free.’

‘I will help you, sir.’ Iqbal gave him a dark, haunted look. ‘But not because I want to be free.’ He looked away. ‘I cannot be free.’ Anbu could feel the guilt and the anger raging inside him. ‘I will never ever be free. My prison is here.’ Iqbal tapped his forehead. His voice was barely above a whisper. ‘I am responsible for the death of my mother and my sister… and Allah knows how many more mothers, brothers and sisters.
I will never be free
.’

Anbu did not say a word. In any case, there was little that he could have said that would have made any difference.

You need to fight those demons yourself, young man.

Finally, Iqbal spoke. ‘I will help you… sir, but you must promise me that I will be allowed to kill that monster.
Please
… promise me, sir.’ He looked at Anbu beseechingly. ‘Maybe that will finally give me some peace.’

Anbu nodded. ‘Okay. Come with me.’

ATTF OPS R
OOM
, N
EW
D
ELHI

THE FORCE 22 OFFICERS WERE OUT IN FULL FORCE WHEN
Anbu walked into the Ops Room. But the usual banter was missing.

‘Have you given them the initial brief?’ Anbu asked Sami.

‘Yes, sir. The weapons and comm gear have also been checked and loaded. We're ready to go.’

‘Good work, MS. And what about Tiwari and his team? Are they ready?’

‘Yes, they are. Katoch, Vashisht and Dhankar will go with him to coordinate with the ATTF and help hunt down Yakub Khan.’

‘Have we got a lock on him yet?’

‘Not a blip so far, sir, but the ATTF sounds confident they will get him whenever he tries to reenter Delhi.’

‘I just hope he is not in Delhi already,’ Anbu muttered under his breath. Then he pushed away the dark thought. ‘Has RAW reverted with the details of their agent?’

‘Yes, they have, sir.’ Sami referred to his scribble pad. ‘Tiwathia and Iqbal will be met by Tanaz Hassan as soon as they cross.’

‘Tanaz? That sounds like a woman's name.’

‘She is a woman, boss. RAW says she is highly motivated and an excellent operative.’

‘Good enough. And who are you sending in with Tiwathia?’

‘Myself.’ Sami gave him a level look.

Anbu met it evenly. ‘Excellent. I'm sure you guys will do a good job, MS. Just try and get back with both your ears this time,’ he said, referring to the time when Sami had come back from the mission in Pakistan with one earlobe shot away. Everyone standing around laughed, breaking the high-wire tension momentarily. Then Anbu turned to the others. ‘Guys, you are all aware of the situation and know how badly stretched we are for time.’ There were terse nods. ‘This is what we have to do and this is how we are going to do it.’ He went over the plan in detail.

Soon the briefing was over and everyone headed out to begin their assigned tasks. Sami, Tiwathia and Anbu stood together just outside the Ops Room, waiting for Iqbal.

‘Can we trust him?’ Tiwathia asked, gesturing towards Iqbal as he walked towards them. He was speaking in an undertone but Iqbal must have heard him, because his step faltered for a moment as he looked up at the three officers waiting for him.

‘Can we trust you, Iqbal?’ Anbu tossed the query to Iqbal blandly as he came closer.

‘Yes, you can, sir,’ Iqbal replied firmly, meeting and holding his gaze. ‘I swear I will not let you down.’

Anbu looked back at him for a long moment. ‘I trust him, Vikram,’ he finally said to Tiwathia, who nodded in response.

‘Thank you, sir.’ Iqbal spoke softly as Anbu turned away. His voice throbbed with barely controlled emotion. ‘I swear I will not let you down. Not this time and, if I do come back alive, not ever in the future.’

‘I know,’ Anbu replied quietly. ‘And don't worry, you'll be back. He's very good at bringing his team back intact.’ He gestured towards Sami with a brief smile. ‘Take care, guys. Keep your transponders on, and happy hunting. I'll see you when you get back.’

With a wave, he turned back to the Ops Room.
At no point did Anbu betray any sign of nerves. This is the way it always is, whenever you send your command into action. Especially when you can do nothing but sit back and wait for them to return
…
sometimes dead, sometimes alive, and often in vain
. Anbu suppressed the strong desire to turn around and watch them leave.

‘Come on buddy, let's move it.’ Tiwathia tapped Iqbal on the shoulder. It was a comradely touch. ‘We have a long way to go.’

In unspoken tandem, the three of them turned towards the waiting vehicle and weapons. The two Special Forces professionals flanked the former terrorist as they proceeded purposefully in lockstep.

In a few hours, all three were going to sail firmly into harm's way. Each one of them knew his life depended on the men walking beside him, for it was they who would be watching his back. None of them felt any fear. The fear would come later, much later. It always did. And it would remain within them for a very long time. Long after the guns had been silenced. It would remain until it became an integral part of their existence. It was this very fear that made a warrior think and exercise caution… and thus kept him alive. After all, only fools know no fear.

However, for the present, all three men had one thought in their minds.

Salim must die.

SIMILAR CONFERENCES WERE COMING TO AN END IN SEVERAL
cities all over the world. Very soon a multitude of special task forces backed by a dazzling plethora of hi-tech gadgetry would come into play.

WHILE THE HUNTERS GOT BUSY, THE HUNTED FOUGHT BACK
in the simplest possible manner – by staying still. Salim, the wily campaigner, had been right when he worked out his plan based on the simple assumption that
something would
go wrong
. That, after all, was inevitable. In
battle, no plan ever remains on course for very long
.

Salim knew that his lashkar could only be caught and taken down
if
they moved. That too was simple military logic.
Anything that moves can be seen. And whatever can be seen can and will be hit
.

So, for now, the killers lay dormant, biding their time. Except for those who had yet to close in on their targets. And they were moving fast and moving smart.

W
ASHINGTON
, D.C.

ANBU WAS HEADING BACK TO THE OPS ROOM WHEN RAHIM
Khan left the Hamilton Inns & Suites Hotel and caught a cab for the Ronald Regan Airport, which was barely a couple of miles away. He still had enough time for his flight, but the urge to keep moving overcame him. Maybe it was a case of nerves. Or maybe it was a keen desire to get to his target as soon as possible. Either way, it turned out to be a good thing because he clocked in before the rush built up at the check-in counters. The soldier-terrorist walked through without having to wait.

At 0715 hours, when United Airlines flight 187 took off for San Francisco, Rahim Khan, immaculately attired as a captain in the US Marines, was safely on board.

Hide in plain sight
, Cheema had advised.
They will be hunting for a Corporal from the artillery, if they are looking at all… a Marine should find it easy enough to get through
.

And that was exactly what happened. Most people respond deferentially to a uniform. The security men clearing the flight were no exception. Neither the killer nor his cargo had any problem getting through security.

I
NDO
-P
AK
B
ORDER
, N
ORTHWEST
OF A
MRITSAR
, P
UNJAB

THE INFILTRATION ROUTE WAS ONE OF THE FEW GRIM
reminders of the days when the ISI had supported the Khalistani militants as aggressively as they were supporting the Kashmiri terrorists now. The ISI never found out that Indian Intelligence had been aware of the route from the first day it had been activated since the people operating it at both ends had been taken and turned by them.

‘He will take you across.’ The RAW liaison officer escorting them gestured at the man skulking a few metres away, without bothering to introduce him. ‘You will cross the IB after dark and cut straight across to the Lahore-Rawalpindi highway. Tanaz will be waiting for you here.’ He tapped a spot on the map in his hand. ‘Once he hands you guys over to her, he is going to lie low until it's time for you to return. Tanaz will take you all the way to Murree and then back to the same point.’

He makes it sound so simple! Tiwathia smiled inwardly. As though we are going for a walk in the park
.

In the end, it did turn out to be simple. The red and white station wagon was waiting for them, parked exactly where it was supposed to be. ‘I will be waiting for you here,’ the escort told Tiwathia, who nodded. ‘I have been told to wait for only twenty-four hours,’ he added in the same bland tone. ‘Khuda hafiz.’ Their taciturn escort handed them over to the woman draped in a black burqa who was standing by the vehicle, and then vanished into the fields around. As the three men approached, the woman waved at them.

‘Salaam waleikum! I am known as Tanaz.’ Her voice was surprisingly young and well modulated.

‘Waleikum asalaam,’ the men responded automatically.

‘I was asked to give you this.’ A slim hand emerged from beneath the burqa, holding out a sleek Motorola smart phone. ‘The GPS Navigator you need has already been loaded on it. I was told you would configure the email account yourself.’