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Tiwathia was shocked when he felt someone grab his shoulder and looked up to see Iqbal.
‘What are you doing here?’ he hissed, quickly looking around to see if anyone was watching them.
Ignoring the question, Iqbal bent low and whispered in his ear, ‘Asif planted a bomb somewhere near the television on the platform.’ The shock on Tiwathia’s face told Iqbal that his message had been received and understood.
Iqbal felt some of his panic recede. Turning away abruptly, he made his way back to his berth. The return journey was almost as painful, although some people seemed to have settled themselves down for the night, leaving the aisle clearer than it had been. However, Asif was already there by the time Iqbal finally managed to get back to their berths.
‘Where did you go?’
‘To take a leak,’ Iqbal said casually.
‘Fine.’ Asif didn’t seem perturbed. ‘I’m going up to get some rest.’ He climbed into the upper berth and appeared to fall asleep.
Iqbal collapsed into his berth, nearly paralysed with worry.
Would they get to the bomb in time?
A
s soon as Tiwathia registered Iqbal’s warning, he took action. Yanking out his phone, he called Sami.
‘What? Are you sure?’ Sami was stunned but he recovered quickly and asked, ‘Which platform is it on?’
‘Number two. To the right as you enter. There’s only one television on that side of the platform.’
‘Okay!’ Sami cut the call and began to dial the BDS chief.
I only hope the nearest BDS team gets to it in time
, he thought.
It didn’t. The BDS men were running towards the television set installed on platform two when the bomb detonated.
The mind-numbing explosion sent shrapnel slashing into the crowd, dropping dozens of people in their tracks. The corrugated sheet roof above the bench where the bomb had been placed blew several metres into the air before it hurtled down on the screaming crowd.
Even in the train, which was now almost six or seven hundred metres clear of the platform, the sound of the explosion boomed like a roll of distant thunder, jolting Iqbal. Clambering to the edge of his berth, he peered out the window. The glow of a dozen fires triggered by the explosion smouldered angrily in the distance.
That bastard! He must have set the timer for a really short time.
Iqbal’s knuckles grew white as his grip on the window rail tightened. He could feel the rage gather within him. He looked down at his hands and imagined them clenched around Asif’s throat. He knew they were more than adequate for the task. He nearly reached out, then stopped when he remembered that the mission was not yet over. They had to get to the people behind this murderous spree. They were the real killers, the people who funded, supported and used men like Asif, who were and would always be expendable.
Iqbal forced himself to take a deep breath and sank back into his berth.
The sun was a big red ball of fire by the time Asif, Abid, Imtiaz and Iqbal crossed the city and reached Bardhan House from New Delhi railway station. Traffic was still light and they covered the distance in good time. The aging, badly maintained one-room set on the top floor of Bardhan House was yet another typical student accommodation. Zia and Nissar, who were enrolled at the nearby university, had rented it. The lower floors were occupied by three or four large families.
The solemn mood in the apartment deepened when Asif strode angrily into the room. The full details of the fiasco in Varanasi were on the front page of the newspaper that Asif had picked up at the first stop they had hit that morning. His frustration had begun to simmer with every word that he read about the failed strike. By the time the train reached Delhi, he was fuming.
‘How the hell did it happen again?’ Asif exploded as soon as he entered, tossing the newspaper down in front of the men seated in the room. ‘What on earth have you guys been doing?’
‘It wasn’t our fault, Asif bhai,’ the tempestuous Ashraf began to protest heatedly.
‘Then whose fault was it?’
‘You helped to assemble the bombs yourself, so...’
‘Are you blind? There can be no doubt about it any longer; we have an informer in our midst.’ Asif glared at the men gathered around him. Every one of them looked away, unable to meet his gaze. ‘One of us has turned traitor. There can be no doubt at all. How else could the police have found every single bomb?’
‘That’s not entirely true, bhai. Two of them exploded.’
‘Bullshit! Didn’t you hear the news?’ Asif shouted. ‘The one in the temple was found and had been covered by a bomb blanket before it went off. That means they knew about it, but reached too late.’
‘Well, the one at the railway station exploded.’
‘That was the only one, you idiot,’ Asif snapped at him. ‘And possibly because no one knew about it except Iqbal and me.’
‘Come on, bhaijaan, how...’
‘Tell me, how else could it have happened?’ Asif turned savagely on the man who had spoken. ‘There is a traitor here and I intend to find out who it is.’
‘Bhai, we have been with you for each and every strike. How can you suspect us?’ Ashraf and Imtiaz spoke simultaneously.
‘So have I,’ Abid joined in.
‘I know. In fact, barring these three,’ Asif glowered at Iqbal and the two men from Delhi, Zia and Nissar, ‘all of you have been with me right from the beginning.’ Automatically, the rest of the group moved away from the tainted three. ‘You,’ Asif pointed at Nissar, ‘this is your first time with us so I don’t know how involved you can be, but Zia and Iqbal, you two are the only common links between Surat and Varanasi.’
‘Come on, Asif,’ Iqbal said angrily, ‘you can say what you want but you know for a fact that I was with you every minute during both missions. How can you blame me for anything? We have been together every minute of the day, right from the time you planned Varanasi.’
‘Hmm!’ Asif eyed him narrowly. ‘And you?’ He turned to Zia. ‘What do you have to say?’
Guilty or not, the youngster cringed back in horror at the accusation. ‘Come on, bhaijaan, why would I betray us?’
‘You tell me,’ Asif cut him off impatiently. By now everyone in the room was staring accusingly at Zia, who was whimpering as he pleaded with Asif, trying desperately to prove his innocence. Ashraf suddenly rushed at him and grabbed his collar. ‘Tell us, you bastard,’ he hissed. ‘Why the hell did you...’
‘Keep it down, you fool,’ Asif hissed at him angrily. ‘You want the neighbours to hear everything?’ Just then Asif’s phone buzzed. He snatched it out of his pocket and looked at the screen. It appeared to be a task reminder. ‘Okay, listen guys, I need to go and make an urgent call. Meanwhile, you all lie low.’ He glared at Zia. ‘And I’ll talk to you in detail when I return.’ He turned to the others. ‘Make damn sure he stays put until I get back.’
He was heading for the door when Iqbal called out, ‘Can I also come with you? I need to call home urgently. Today was my wife’s eighth month checkup. I need to know if all is well with the baby and her.’
Asif looked at him for a moment before he replied, ‘Okay, come on.’
Imtiaz also piped up bravely, ‘Can I come too, bhaijaan? I just need some fresh air.’
‘Yes, yes! Anyone else?’ he asked sarcastically. He stalked out with Iqbal and Imitaz behind him.
The noise level in the room began to rise the minute Asif left. Halfway down the narrow stone staircase, he looked up and grimaced. ‘When will these fools learn? Bloody idiots!’ He started to go back up, then changed his mind and continued on his way out.
They emerged onto the road from the alley and turned right, heading towards New Friends Colony instead of the university. It was a brisk ten-minute walk to the community centre market.
‘Is this the closest PCO?’ Iqbal asked, hurrying along behind him. ‘I’m sure there’s one in the market that we left behind.’
‘There is, but I don’t want to call from close to where we are staying. Why take a chance?’
‘Okay, you two go ahead with your calls. I’ll just take a walk in the market and then head back.’ Imtiaz peeled away from them as they came to the market. Asif grinned as he watched him head straight for the Bikanerwala sweet shop in one corner of the market. ‘Walk, my ass!’ he grinned wickedly. ‘That bugger just has to feed his face every hour. But that’s not such a bad idea... maybe we’ll join him for a bite after the calls.’ He turned to Iqbal. ‘What do you say?’
‘Why not?’ Iqbal shrugged. ‘We have to eat some time.’
By now they had reached the PCO-cum-cybercafé at the opposite end of the market square. Asif dived into the telephone booth. It was a good fifteen minutes before he emerged and he didn’t look happy. ‘Go ahead,’ he mumbled absentmindedly at Iqbal. ‘I’ll wait for you.’
Iqbal’s call lasted five minutes. Speaking in an undertone, one eye on Asif who stood outside brooding, Iqbal gave Tanaz an update so she could pass on the information to Colonel Anbu. When he emerged, Asif was still standing near the booth looking distracted. Iqbal paid for both the calls and pocketed the bill. The details of the numbers called by Asif and Iqbal were on that bill.
Asif began to walk towards Bikanerwala when he saw Iqbal come out of the telephone booth and pay the PCO owner. ‘Did you pay for both of us?’
‘Yes.’
‘Thanks. I’ll settle with you.’
‘No big deal, Asif. You can pay for the chhola batura and lassi I’m going to have now.’
They crossed the quadrangle in silence. Imtiaz smiled sheepishly when he saw the two of them enter.
‘Come, join me. I was getting hungry so I popped in for a bite.’
Neither man bothered to reply as they joined him. In fact, the meal that followed was a silent affair with each one wrapped in his own thoughts.
About an hour had elapsed by the time they finished eating and began to walk back to Bardhan House.
T
hey had just turned onto the road leading to Bardhan House when a crash of gunfire froze them in their tracks. There was a sudden surge of activity and the street ahead filled with policemen. Some were in uniform, some in plain clothes, but most of them wore body armour and they all had guns in their hands.
The people on the street scattered and ran for shelter as guns roared to life. Most of them raced for the safety of the shops that lined the road.
The three of them joined the crowd that had begun to gather.
‘What’s going on?’ Asif asked one of the bystanders, who appeared to be the owner of the shop they were standing outside.
‘Apparently the police have cornered some terrorists or gangsters there.’ The man had to shout to be heard over another, louder burst of gunfire.
‘Where?’
‘There… Bardhan House.’ He pointed down the alley radiating away from the road. ‘That one… the greenish-yellow building in the corner.’
‘Really!’ Asif gave a low whistle. ‘What happened? How did the cops find out about them?’
‘Apparently there was some fight between the terrorists or criminals, or whoever they are. The neighbours heard them and alerted the cops.’
Asif glanced at Imtiaz and Iqbal. ‘Must have been that idiot, Ashraf,’ he murmured as the man left them to join the crowd.
By now the thunder of gunfire was almost continuous. It lasted a good nine or ten minutes and was immediately followed by the ululating wail of a dozen sirens. They watched as several red and white ambulances raced down the street heading for Bardhan House, their flashing lights dancing on the road.
‘I think we’d better get out of here,’ Asif whispered softly to the others as the ambulances turned the corner. Both men nodded in agreement and they began to move as unobtrusively as possible, retracing their way to the market they had just come from.
‘How much money do you have?’ Asif asked. ‘Everything I had is in the bag back there.’
‘I have everything you gave me in Varanasi.’ Iqbal patted his pocket.
‘Me too,’ Imtiaz added, ‘barring whatever little I spent on food.’
‘Good. Then let’s go straight to the airport and get the hell out of Delhi.’ Asif began to walk faster as they approached the market. ‘I knew those idiots would get into trouble one day, especially that fucker Ashraf, he has no control over himself… jumpy fucking bastard!’ They walked in silence for a while and Iqbal heard Asif mutter to himself, ‘I just hope the cops don’t manage to take any of them alive, otherwise we are all screwed for sure.’
Cold-blooded bastard,
Iqbal thought viciously
. Human life has no value for him!
With great difficulty, Asif managed to hail a cab going past and the three men began the long drive to the Delhi airport through the rush-hour traffic. Except for the sounds of the cars around them, the journey was silent and tedious, as was the late evening flight that they finally managed to catch.
It was almost midnight when the flight touched down at Pune airport. They had just exited the aircraft and Asif had barely switched on his mobile phone when it began to ring. He grimaced and took the call almost reluctantly. Iqbal was unable to hear what the caller said, but the look of discomfort on Asif’s face heightened at once.
‘Mujib bhai, I have no idea how it happened.’ Mindful of the crowd around him, Asif spoke in hushed tones after the caller’s initial outburst subsided. ‘We did everything...’ Another explosion at the other end silenced him. ‘Yes, bhai. I understand... really! You are? Okay, I’ll meet you there at noon.’ The call ended and Asif lapsed into a thoughtful silence.
The three men parted at the airport, after Asif had given them instructions for the next day. ‘Let’s meet tomorrow evening – we may have to go into action again pretty soon. Mujib bhai is very angry.’
‘Who is Mujib?’ Iqbal seized his chance.
Asif replied without thinking, ‘He is the one who is helping us. He is...’ He broke off suddenly. ‘We’ll meet tomorrow.’ Then he turned and walked away. Imtiaz followed suit a moment later, leaving Iqbal to find another autorickshaw.
So, finally, the elusive Mujib is surfacing... we’ve really shaken them up. This is the best chance we’ll have to round up the entire group – or whatever is left of it after today’s shootout. I must get word to the colonel immediately.
