Fenix (6 page)

              “So,” Ravoof responded, his voice calm, “this matter is more important than to be left to politicians looking after their own skin. Just how realistic
are
our chances for grabbing Muzammil?”

              Basu took a breath and considered his response: “If we can nail his position while he is on the move, then we should be able to do it. But the government will never authorize it.”

              “Not if it fails, of course!” Ravoof added with a dry smile. “Come on, Basu! This is
right
up your sleeve. Think it through. You are being offered a virtual blanket of ‘clean-and-surgical’ to do what you and your boys do best.”

              Basu smiled as he caught on. He could not even think of such action without senior members of the government supporting him. That was what Chakri had done for him in Tibet three years ago. The two men had shared a common vision about China and Tibet and the intersection of the two visions had made possible everything that had followed. Basu had never been officially named in the investigations, though only for lack of proof. He wasn’t the country’s external intelligence chief for lack of skills.

Ravoof was certainly no Chakri, Basu knew. But he only needed him to be close enough.

              “One other thing,” Ravoof added as he turned to head his way:  “Make it quick and dirty! We owe this one to the citizens of Mumbai.”  

B
asu took a deep breath as he got out of the car and picked up his suitcase on the seat next to him. Thanking his driver for being with him all day, he walked back into the office building. The place was still bustling with people, although the crowd was certainly lighter than before. Basu made the usual pleasantries to his subordinates working past their usual time collating the massive amounts of data coming in from Mumbai, Pakistan occupied Kashmir and from within Pakistan itself. He asked to be kept informed of all important material and then made his way back to his office down the corridor, loosening his tie as he walked.

              He saw a man sitting on the seat across his assistant’s desk, which was now deserted. Basu saw that the man was sitting casually with his legs folded and reading some papers. His coat was on the backrest of an adjacent chair, the medals and other military insignia glistening in the lights of the corridor. Walking closer, Basu saw the man clearer.

              “Ansari! You made it!”

              Colonel Ansari looked up from his papers and smiled, removing his reading glasses. “Of course I made it!” He got up and shook Basu’s outstretched hand.

              “Damn good to see you, old friend.” Basu said with a genuine smile on his face, and then looked around to see Ansari’s belongings set up on the chairs outside.

              “But why the hell are you sitting here? Didn’t my assistant meet you here?” Basu asked as Ansari picked up his coat and papers from the chair.

              “He had some family emergency to deal with, so I told him not to worry about me,” Ansari said as he removed his glasses and folded them before putting them in his coat pocket. “You don’t look too well either,” he added. “But I guess that goes for everybody around here tonight, eh?”

              Basu’s face lost the smile as he motioned for Ansari to come into his office. Once there, Basu hung up his coat and walked behind the desk while Ansari took his seat at the couch, looking it over as though having met after so much time. Which was true. The last time he had been here had been before and during the China war, to brief Basu, Chakri and other senior intelligence officials about his covert special-warfare teams deep inside Tibet. He had sat on this very couch and talked about deaths of Chinese soldiers, destruction of Chinese military equipment and losses encountered by the Tibetan rebels as well as his teams. He had also shown them videos here, taken by specially deployed aerial-drone crews over southern and southwestern Tibet.

             
There used to be a small television set on the wall
…Ansari looked around…
and there it is!

              “Everything as you remember it?” Basu said with a smile from across the desk, accurately judging his friend’s thoughts and feelings.

              “Indeed it is.” Ansari said with a amused grunt as Basu fished in his desk drawer for his regular cigarette. As he found one and began looking for a match to light it, Ansari made himself comfortable on the couch.

              “Small talk aside,” Ansari said just as Basu scratched the matches and lit his cigarette, “I take it you aren’t hosting a social gathering tonight. At least not under the circumstances we find ourselves in.”

              Basu moved the cigarette to the edge of his mouth and let out a puff of smoke as he leaned back in his leather seat. “I wouldn’t be so harsh, Ansari!”

              “Considering all that has happened since all of us were present in this room here,” Ansari said as he glanced around the room, “I didn’t think it was a good idea for us to
ever
meet again in public. Heck, had it not been for the official call I got from your assistant today, I would have been right about that statement for three years running. I was done with the work we did here when we closed out Gephel and his Pathfinders. I have even gotten to like being a regular guy at
SOCOM
!”

              “You like it there?” Basu said, dropping the cigarette ash into the tray on his table.

              “It has its moments,” Ansari said guardedly. Basu smiled at that.

              “Oh
come
on, Ansari! You are not a ‘regular’ guy. Never had been.”

              “No, you better believe it!” Ansari tried to counter, but then gave up and sighed.

              “I thought so.” Basu replied magnanimously.

              “So what are we doing about today’s attack on Mumbai?” Ansari said with a grim tone. Basu lost his smile as well: “I can’t go into the details. You understand?”

              “Of course.” Ansari replied and meant it. Basu looked at the man straight and then leaned forward on his seat, resting his arms on the desk.

              “If I gave you the location of a high-value target behind enemy lines, could you and your guys go and grab him?”

              Ansari didn’t reply for several seconds, considering the question. Then his eyes lit up: “What kind of high-value…”

              “A man.” Basu interjected.

              “Do we know where he is?” Ansari asked next, his mind racing ahead.

              “We will.” Basu added confidently. Ansari leaned forward: “And you are talking to me…why? Surely there is enough brass at
SOCOM
headquarters to answer this question? Why the cloak and dagger stuff?”

              Basu let out the cigarette smoke and crushed the cigarette in the tray, extinguishing it in the process: “Because our incompetent suck-ups in South-Block have a different play in mind. One that is loud, clear and ultimately pointless and unrewarding. And your bosses at
SOCOM
are going to be caught up in the mix of it for show-and-tell purposes soon enough. What I have, however, is a plan that is surgical and painful to those who carried out today’s strike on Mumbai.”

              “A covert operation?” Ansari asked dryly, and Basu gave him a slight tilt of his head which could be interpreted either way. Ansari shook his head and got up from the couch and began to pace the room. After several seconds he turned to face Basu: “You never learn, do you? We barely got away with our lives carrying out the Pathfinder missions! Now you want to do it again? For what?”

              “Quite simple, really,” Basu said and leaned back once again in his chair. “If we
don’t
do this, the bastards who pulled off the attack on Mumbai will live to strike another day. The government does not realize it, but when they do what they want to do, we will be left looking quite toothless to our neighbors who, by the way, will only be too glad to help us in our endeavor.”

              Ansari stopped pacing and looked at Basu, understanding the meaning of his words. “What kind of support will I have? I can’t do this alone!”

              “Oh, I don’t want you doing anything alone!” Basu replied with a smile. “I just want to know if you will lead it. Then I can make it happen for you to get your pick of men and equipment.”

              “The
hell!
” Ansari snapped. “How are you going to arrange any of this? You don’t exactly head up
SOCOM
, buddy. The army does!”

              “Let’s just say I am not alone in thinking the way I do about our upcoming military response to today’s attack,” Basu noted dryly. Ansari saw the fire in the man’s eyes and knew it was no bluff. The decision was clearly in his hands and if he knew Basu at all, the man probably wanted a decision in this room, right now…

              “When will this take place? What’s the timeline on this?” Ansari asked after several seconds of thought. His mind was already made up. And his words let Basu know his decision without actually saying it.

“The government will probably begin the show-and-tell operations within two weeks,” Basu speculated.

“That’s not much time,” Ansari noted.

“No, it is not.” Basu conceded. “But isn’t it what you and your boys plan for, all the time?” The statement was delivered with a wicked smile. It’s response generated the same as Ansari picked up his coat and papers:

“I will get back to you.”

──── 5
────

“Y
ou son of a bitch! What the
hell
have you done?”

General Shakril Hussein looked up from his papers as the Pakistani Prime-Minister walked into his office. The door to his office slammed shut on its own momentum as the civilian man’s large hand shoved it. Hussein said nothing as he removed his glasses and put them on the papers laying on his desk. His composure further irritated the man purportedly his superior…

              “I take it you mean the attack on Mumbai?” Hussein said with a trace of condescension lacing his tone.

              “Of course!” the PM shouted back, “Are you
trying
to get us all killed?”

              “What makes you think
we
did it?” Hussein said as he leaned back.

              “Don’t you
dare
play games with me!” the PM thundered. “The whole
world
knows it’s us! I am getting calls from every head-of-state threatening everything from sanctions to war! And for what? What the
hell
are you playing at over here?”

              Hussein got up from his seat with a suddenness that shook the Pakistani PM, who moved a step back. Hussein rested his knuckled fist on the wooden desk and leaned forward: “
I
am doing my job. My
job
is to bring our enemies down and protect Pakistan. If I have to destroy the powerful economy of my enemies through direct action, I won’t hesitate. The Indians won’t dare attack us. Not now. Not while we have nuclear weapons. Not while their conventional forces are still recovering from their bloody war with our Chinese allies…”

              “
Now
was
not
the time, Shakril!” the PM interjected.

              “Now was
exactly
the time!” Hussein thundered back with his fist pounding the desk with a loud thud. “The Indians are militarily weak. Afghanistan is almost fallen and the Americans have finally withdrawn from the region. The Chinese did most of the work for us! They so conveniently brought themselves and the Indians to their knees, perfectly placed for a swipe of our sword to cut off the Indian head! Their military is weakened, demoralized and will be occupied with the cleanup in Mumbai for weeks. Their economy, on the other hand, will never recover from this strike. Watch how all western investment within India disappears over the next year fearing another nuclear attack from the faithful mujahedeen! Mumbai is finished. And so is India for that matter.”

              As Hussein finished his tirade, the Pakistani PM stood in silence, stunned. For several seconds both men stared into the eyes of the other and silence filled the room.

              “Direct action?” the PM continued. “I fear you chose the wrong words there. You might as well have said unilateral action instead. You have left no doubt today about who runs this country. I should tender my resignation for all the good it will do. At least that way I won’t be judged by history when they review why Pakistan was turned into a radioactive wasteland for the follies of its leaders!”

              Hussein  smirked and took his seat. The PM continued to stand, looking at the man before him.

              “Don’t be overdramatic, sir,” Hussein said with a voice bristling with condescension. “Your
country
still needs you to help it navigate out of this fearful mess. Caused by the war on terror, of course. Besides, your grateful acceptance of the Indian peace initiatives bestows you with an air of credibility as a man of peace. Use it and we will
all
come out of this with our heads still attached to our bodies…except the Indians of course!” Hussein smiled as he leaned back in his chair.

              “
You
,” the PM said, then held himself for a couple seconds as he struggled for words and attempted to contain his bursting anger. And then gave up in disgust, turning away from the desk and making for the door. At the door, he stopped and turned around:

              “Quite obviously, I am not aware of the inner working of these offices, General. But there is one aspect of all this you have not considered. Your plans are based on certain assumptions. I would not like to be present when they are proven wrong. For one thing, you assume the Indians are on their knees. Over the last several decades, many of your predecessors have assumed the same, sitting behind the very same desk as you do now. And they were wrong. To the last man. For their follies we paid with half our country, Kashmir, our Northwest Frontier provinces and our economy. And contrary to their pre-war plans, India grew big and powerful. I fear that this time we will have nothing but our lives with which to pay for your mistakes. There is nothing else left.”

              “You defeatism is noted,
sir
,” Hussein stated off-handedly. “But unless you have a point to make, I have things to do here! As you can imagine, the Indians are becoming very agitated along our western border. We will mobilize to remind them that such actions are foolish and ultimately worthless.”

              The PM let out a breath and looked at the floor before turning back to face the man clearly not interested in what he had to say: “The
point
, General, is that Mumbai isn’t Kargil and nuclear weapons are nuclear weapons. There is a threshold and it has been crossed. Now what happens is clearly beyond the hands of civilians leaders on either side. On our side you have shown me where my authority stands. But the Indians,” the PM waved his hands out of the eastward facing window, “…are not going to take this laying down. Once they find out where the trail of bread crumbs leads, they will come for us.”

              “Indeed?” Hussein said, half amused by what he considered as a civilian playing at things clearly above his head. “And how will they do that? Unlike 2008, the perpetrators for the strike on Mumbai are already dead.
LET
leaders have already staked the claim on the attack. Its yet another deadly terrorist attack and nothing more. They may lash out at us for action and you, my dear friend, will deliver on the back and forth between Islamabad and New-Delhi. But nothing will come off it. And Mumbai will still become deserted as an economic hub. And the rest of the Indian economy will follow soon enough. After that, the Indians will have far greater local worries to deal with as their country falters!”

              The PM grunted, amused at the confidence on display in front of him. “It’s all cut and dried, eh?”

              “Unlike you and your fellow
politicians
,” Hussein said as he put on his reading glasses, “my senior commanders and I work in actual deliverables, not promised ones to a raging mob. Our work is precise
and
surgical.”

              “Precise and surgical, General?” the PM said as he opened the door of the office while Hussein picked up the papers from his desk. “So was Kargil!” the PM slammed the door as he walked out.

              The
Kargil war…
Hussein thought. The PM was right on that score. Several factors had played into Pakistan’s defeat in 1999. Least of which was the underestimation of the Indian response to the occupation of the mountains around Kargil by Pakistan. Despite the overt Pakistani nuclear threat laid out by General Musharraf, New-Delhi had not stopped in its campaign to take back the peaks. Instead, it had counter-deployed its own nuclear-tipped missiles, forcing a nuclear standoff while the conventional war raged, ultimately to Pakistan’s defeat.    

              The way Hussein looked at it, the problem during that war was the very clear and direct involvement of Pakistan in the fighting. And nothing galvanized the Indian public more than the specter of Pakistan claiming Indian land through military action. In his view, Musharraf and his Generals had a reasonably laid out plan, but it’s fatal flaw was the direct involvement of Pakistani troops and general presence. Such a target was what the Indians could aim their guns at.

              But that error has been rectified, hasn’t it?

              If very clear ‘non-state’ actors were doing the dirty work, Islamabad could keep its hands clean and point to the mess with sympathy. After all, it was a victim of the war on terror too…

              Now the plan required a very visible ‘defensive’ mobilization of Pakistani military to thwart an ‘unnecessarily wanton and aggressive’ New-Delhi from pursuing foolish military plans. Hussein understood that the game was about time. A month or two and the initial Indian fury would lose steam, as it always did. If he and his men could weather the storm that was sure to follow in the days to come, they would come out ahead.

             
And wouldn’t that be a damn nice change?
Hussein thought as he removed his glasses and cleaned the lenses with a small cloth.