LASHKAR (22 page)
‘Don’t worry, sir. Force 22 will not let the country down.’
Anbu had full faith in his men, but he knew that in battle a million things could go wrong. He took one long look at the huge electronic battle board that took up an entire wall of the Force 22 command post. He could see the six tiny green dots glowing over the huge area the map presently displayed. The GPS locators carried by his teams fed back their positions in real-time to him. Anbu could tell where his men were whenever he wanted to, but he could not know how they were. He could not tell if they were captured and dead, or alive and racing towards their objectives. Eight of the dots represented the men and women who would actually be carrying out the strikes and delivering India’s message to her enemies. Only two of the eight were located on the safety of Indian soil. The other six were deep in Pakistan and squarely in harm’s way. As he spoke into the phone, his tone was cold and crisp, betraying none of the tension that coursed through him, ‘Let’s go for it, Khare.’
At 0506 hours the solitary Krishna UAV was airborne soaring silently into the air as it gained height and closed in on its target. However, unlike the pair that had guided the four Force 22 officers through the Rajasthan desert the previous night, this Krishna carried four precision-guided missiles. The missiles were third-generation laser-guided ones that needed to be shown the target and then guided to it.
The Krishna UAV streaked unseen through the still, early morning air as it headed for Mari. It was flying the course painstakingly plotted out for it by Ankita Bhatnagar and was not noticed by the host of Pakistani radar operators who keep a relentless eye on Indian airspace all along the borders. Even if they had detected the Krishna it is doubtful that the Pakistanis would have anything readily available in their arsenal that was fast enough or accurate enough to take it out in mid-air in the short time that it was in flight.
0519 hours, 31 October 2005, Mari, Pakistan.
The solitary Krishna UAV reached its target area and came into a holding pattern on the outskirts of Mari town. Like a falcon getting ready to swoop it took one complete circle of the small town as it located, identified and aligned itself with the target. There was a very brief pause as a series of relays and circuits clicked into place on board the Krishna. An unseen laser shot out from the Krishna and lit up the target. The target designator showed the awaiting missiles their target. The missiles acknowledged the signal and confirmed that they had the target in their capture fields.
With a silent click the Krishna released the first set of missiles, one from each wing. A few seconds later it released the second set of missiles. Having done that the Krishna hung around for a few more seconds to ensure the missiles were heading out properly in the right direction and going to do their jobs properly. Its full-colour nose camera whirred as it captured the missiles streaking towards the target. It saw the missiles strike home before it turned around and raced back towards its handlers at optimal speed, weaving its way back along the skilfully plotted path.
Another twenty-seven minutes later the Krishna was safely back in its cradle. An hour later it was back on board the small truck that followed the jeep as the three vehicles sped back towards the Force 22 base in the Kasauli hills.
‘The bird is back, sir,’ Khare told Anbu as Ankita completed the data transfer from her laptop. ‘The BDAR (Bomb Damage Assessment Report) is being uploaded to you right now.’
‘Give me a second.’ Anbu cradled the mobile phone against his shoulder and punched a few keys on the command centre computer.
All three watched as the feed from the nose camera began to play back on the screens in front of them.
Falling away from the Krishna the four precision-guided missiles swooped down on the target like a pack of eagles. They hammered into the safe house in rapid succession and disappeared inside. With their advent the safe house ceased to be safe and became a death trap instead. The two terrorists of Team Three of the Lashkar, their ISI handler and the three ISI support personnel present in the safe house at that time were fast asleep when the first two missiles struck the house a few seconds after 0520 hours. The sharp, precisely focused explosion brought the house down like a pack of cards. They died instantaneously.
The second set of missiles simply demolished the house and ensured they were all given a thorough if not decent burial. Fifteen minutes later, when the dust and debris began to settle, the house had ceased to exist. Barring the odd cracked window here and there, none of the neighbouring houses had been damaged.
The killers had been delivered to their maker for final justice. There was no loss of any innocent lives at Mari. Unfortunately the same did not hold true for Karachi; substantial collateral damage took place there.
0505 hours, 31 October 2005, Clifton Area, Karachi, Pakistan.
The plush Clifton Area in Karachi town belied the actual state of Pakistan’s teetering economy. The streets were wide, well laid-out and in an excellent state of repair. The houses that bordered both sides of the streets were palatial, mostly double-storeyed structures built on acre-sized plots. Most of them belonged to top-level industrialists, senior civil service and military officers, serving and retired. Anybody who was anybody in Karachi owned a bungalow in the Clifton Area. Sprinkled amongst the wealthy elite of Karachi were an assortment of drug-lords, weapon-traffickers and so-called religious leaders. However they were not your average criminals. All of them, without exception, were major players in the narco-nuclear-terror networks that the ISI had fielded over the years.
‘Let me tell you, guys,’ the Force 22 Intelligence Officer had told them, ‘in that area there are more guys who have had Red Corner alerts issued for them by Interpol than there are labour unions in Kerala.’ He may have overstated it a bit, but there was substantial truth in what he had said.
Deopa and Dhankar reached the Clifton Area just a few minutes after five in the morning. At this time of the morning the streets were almost completely deserted, save for the security guards in some of the houses. The milkmen and newspaper boys had yet to begin their morning rounds. It took them ten minutes to complete their reconnaissance and mesh ground reality with the satellite pictures they had used to study the target on. The house selected by Force 22 as the operational base after studying the satellite pictures, was ideally located. Although it had a security cabin right next to the main gate there was no security guard on duty that morning. ‘Good! That is one less problem we have to deal with,’ Dhankar thought to himself as he silently opened the main gate and the two commandos let themselves in.
A small driveway ran up from the main gate to the front door of the house thirty feet away. There were two cars parked in the drive. They provided valuable cover since they partially screened the front door from the street beyond the gate. Dhankar positioned himself roughly halfway between the main gate and the front door while Deopa, moving rapidly on silent feet, completed a circuit around the house. He nodded briefly to Dhankar as he came around and then approached the front door, the commando knife in his hand gleaming dully in the early morning light. The chimes of the bell ringing inside the house echoed out faintly through the door as he raised his hand and rang the doorbell.
The middle-aged man who answered the door was shaking off sleep as he opened the door, cursing whoever it was disturbing him at this unearthly hour. The sharp edge of the knife cut open his jugular with surgical precision. He was already dying as Deopa caught his falling body and moved him away from the doorway quickly, just in case someone was watching from the street. Dhankar moved swiftly out of the shadows. Skirting the car parked right outside he raced up the stairs as Deopa swept through the ground floor. The knife was put away and now silenced pistols in their hands were poised ready to cough out their lethal cargo. The magazine of each weapon housed nine death-dealing rounds. The tenth was already in the chambers of both pistols.
There were two other people in the house. Both asleep at the time. They were dispatched with due diligence. Dhankar did not hesitate as he fired. They died without even knowing it.
Elsewhere, the Krishna UAV had already unleashed its missiles and was on its way home, when Dhankar and Deopa began to set up their equipment in the bedroom on the top floor of the house. The room had two very large windows. One of these windows faced west. It overlooked the palatial bungalow across the street.
The large bungalow was set in the middle of a sprawling garden. The only entrance was through a massive gate made of sheets of solid metal. The gate was painted an ominous black and, as always, it was shut. Through his binoculars, Deopa could clearly see two men in the guard-room next to it.
‘There are two at the gate and three patrolling the garden,’ Dhankar whispered to Deopa.
‘Got them. You get some rest now. My watch.’
It took Deopa a little longer to spot the two men positioned on the terrace garden atop the house. They were standing in the lee of the water tanks and, like the guards in the garden and guard-house near the gate, were carrying automatic rifles. Deopa could read the Chinese markings on some of the weapons as he scanned each one of them through the small, but powerful binoculars he was using.
Though it appeared formidable Deopa knew that the security set-up was cosmetic at best. The man in the house and the government hiding him did not really think the security men would be ever called into action. Or maybe the guards were meant to contain the threat of other rival gangsters; a task for which they appeared adequate. Of course, taking on a trained military force was a totally different ball game.
‘According to Indian Intelligence, the security is there more to ensure the man does not get away from the country,’ the Force 22 Intelligence Officer had told them. ‘That is the most likely scenario,’ Anbu had agreed. ‘The man knows too many secrets about the Pakistani terror factory to be allowed to get away alive. His criminal network is also a vital part of the covert nuclear proliferation network set up by the Pakis. A chunk of the drug profits are used to fund the global jihadi terror factory. There is no way in hell the Pakis will ever allow him to walk out of their country alive…he knows too much and they have too much at stake riding on him.’
All this ran through his mind as Deopa settled himself down into a comfortable crouch behind the window and watched with unwavering attention. He did not speak to or disturb Dhankar who was lying on the bed in the centre of the room; rest was their ultimate weapon and they would both need it.
‘We know for a fact that the man is in Karachi. He has been regularly sighted in his home and was last seen there just a few hours back,’ the Intelligence Officer had told them during the briefing. ‘It is also an established fact that he follows a pretty fixed routine.’ Despite all this, Deopa and Dhankar had no way of knowing if the target would emerge at all that morning or how long they would need to hold fort in the house; a million unforeseen factors could come into play.
‘If he does not emerge from the house before nightfall you are to implement Plan B just before first light and then get the hell out of the area,’ Anbu had said. ‘You will ensure that you pull out latest by the next morning, no matter what happens. Otherwise the extrication is going to get really tough.’
‘Plan B is way too uncertain,’ Dhankar had voiced the concern that had been in Deopa’s mind too. ‘It is too loud and messy and there is simply no guarantee that the target will be taken out.’
‘I understand,’ Anbu’s voice had been very firm. ‘But if there is no choice then that is what we will have to live with. In the worst case, it will at least deliver a loud and clear message to the Pakistanis and the terror groups hiding there that we can get at them anytime, when and wherever we wish. Anyway, let’s not discuss this further. Those are the orders and that is precisely what you will do.’
Even if either man had been the worrying kind they had no time or reason for worry up until then since fortune rode squarely with them. God was with the good guys that morning in Karachi.
Dawn was breaking over the posh Clifton Area of Karachi when the target emerged. Even at that early hour he was wearing his trademark dark glasses with a white tracksuit as he stepped out onto the terrace and started to jog, stopping after every round and taking deep breaths.
Deopa scanned the face carefully and compared it with the photo lying beside him. The photograph was from the same file that had been handed over to Interpol, yet again, the day after the Delhi blasts. It was the same one that had been handed to the Pakistan government, along with the pictures of the nineteen others wanted for terrorist and criminal activities in India. As always, Pakistan had denied any knowledge of their whereabouts.
Despite the uncertain early morning light, there was no doubt in Deopa’s mind that the person jogging on the terrace in front of him was the man behind the March 1993 bombings that had caused horrific death and destruction in Mumbai.
Deopa tracked him through his binoculars as he took his first round, just to ensure he had made no error. When he was sure he nudged Dhankar awake. ‘Up, buddy boy,’ he hissed. ‘The target is out. The hunting season is open.’
Dhankar rose instantly and scooped up the scoped sniper rifle that had already been assembled and kept ready beside him.
The American manufactured 7.62 mm bolt-action M600 sniping rifle is a weapon that any gunsmith would be proud to wield. In the hands of an expert it is a superb killing tool. Dhankar was beyond all doubts an expert. Although he personally favoured the Russian Dragunov rifles he was more than adept with the weapon in his hand. Moving to the window he took up position. There was no glint off the sniper scope since the rising sun was coming up behind them. Dhankar ranged in on the target with minimal motion.
Through the sniper scope the soon-to-be-dead man’s head loomed large and clear. Dhankar could even make out the small twisted birthmark on his right temple. It offered an irresistible and automatic aiming mark.
