Operation Chaos: A Gripping Action Thriller

Operation Chaos

Himanshu Rasam

Acknowledgements

I would like to thank my parents for supporting me in all my endeavours and being my source of inspiration.

I want to thank my dear friend, Sushrut Thorat, for encouraging my writing style and helping me with loads of other things including editing and structuring. This book would not have reached this stage had it not been for Sushrut.

I want to thank Amrita Satapathy Ma'am for being my support system and guiding me throughout the process of writing and editing. I can't stress how much I value your help, Ma'am. Every review and suggestion I got from you made me a better writer.

Thanks to my friends- Preeti, Monia Tadu, and Abhinav Krishnan for giving me those valuable tips and thorough feedbacks. Thanks to Aishwarya Mandlik for putting those long hours in meticulously editing the story.

I would also like to thank the team of 'Seven Seconds Collective' for their help with the cover design and posters. Thanks to Supriya Wakil Ma'am and Swaroopa Belapure for the help with the Sanskrit translations.

Last but not the least: I beg forgiveness of all those who have been with me, helped me with this novel and whose names I may have failed to mention.

A glimpse of what's in the story:

Copyright ©Himanshu Rasam(2015). All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used, reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage or retrieval system, without the written permission of the publisher, except where permitted by law, or in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. 

Prologue

Intelligence Bureau Substation,

Delhi, India.

Time - 18:27 hrs

'The time is upon you... '

The voice was weak and stammering.

'It's time you pay for your actions.'

A definite gasping could be heard. The voice diminished to a weaker tone.

'I want you to suffer. You'll be hurt and you'll be put to pain-'

But the last words stood out loud and clear.

'... EVERY.SECOND.'

Bleep.... Bleep.... Bleep

''That is all we have, Sir. The call terminated at this point,'' the operator responded, taking down his headphones.

Another officer in a blue formal shirt poured in the details. ''It was tapped on one of the Class Red lines. We received it about four minutes ago, Chief!''

The head of the Indian Intelligence's field unit churned out the possible theories regarding this mysterious call in his mind as he rotated a glass paperweight lying in front of him. Placing his hands on the table and maintaining his calm, he looked up at the officer in the blue shirt. "Have you traced..."

"We are working on it, Chief," the officer's response was crisp.

Prakash Mehta was in his late forties, but still in good shape. His closely cropped black hair already greying at the temples and his solemn intelligent face suggested that certain indefinable something about him common to all senior intelligence officers. After completing his early days in the army, he was recruited in the intelligence. The fifteen years of hard work, bullets in his shoulder and his ability to handle some complicated investigations had given him the necessary expertise to head the field operations unit of the bureau. To the department, he was 'The Chief'.

Prakash replied in a deep and curt voice. ''So we have another 'threat' call. You know the drill, officer- trace it, follow it and update me if anything important turns...''

Without any warning, the door slammed against the back wall as a young officer sprinted in the Chief's office waving two yellow sheets in his hands. His face was white and his fingers trembled as he pointed at something on the sheets.

''Chief!'' he gasped for air, ''You are not going to believe this. We traced the location of that call...''

He stopped for a deep breath. His breath was still ragged, his eyes bulged, but he was trying to gather himself as he continued, ''... and we triangulated the coordinates of that place. The call was made from somewhere inside the premises of the Presidential Residence.''

The next second was silence.

''The Rashtrapati Bhawan, Chief!!'' The young officer repeated in a mild shout.

And the next second was chaos.

Chapter 1

BLACK CATS- Classified Operation

Thar Desert, Rajasthan, Western Frontier, India.

Time - 18:34 hrs

The vibrating clangour from the six-piston engine set your teeth on edge and made an intolerable assault on cringing eardrums. The chopper rotors roared in the sky and its shadow slithered like a snake over the sand dunes. In the cold, bleak and dark compartment at the back of the pilot cabin were ten metal framed canvas seats bolted to the floor. Huddled on those seats were the nine personnel who would soon face their toughest assignment yet. Captain Ashish sat beside the man who was going to lead the mission- a man who had the utmost respect and infallible obedience of every man riding in that helicopter. The chopper lurched as it hit an infrequent air pocket; Ashish grabbed the bar above his seat to steady himself. However, the man sitting next to him was as completely at home in his environment as the most contended oyster in his shell. Quite clearly, Commander David D'costa found the shuddering vibration as soothing as the ministrations of the gentlest of masseurs, the roar of the rotor blades positively hypnotic and the ambient temperature just right for a man of his taste. With a cupped cigar in his hand, Commander David leaned calmly against the seat and gazed thoughtfully into the middle distance. He clearly remembered the details of his mission supplied by the Headquarters a few minutes ago.

'Intel reports suggest that a group of terrorists have been spotted near the coordinates  26° 59′ 06 N, 71° 00′ 05″ E by some informers. Our investigating team has confirmed the reports. Your mission is to secure information about the activities of those terrorists and their intentions. You are cleared to breach in their sectors and the use of a standard class of weapons is approved. Intel says they are more than ten people, but that report is not yet confirmed.'

This was one of Commander David's 'going to hell' situations. Not that he hadn't been in some ugly scenarios earlier, but presently with a team of only eight commandos, not much ammo and no backup, the operation seemed almost impossible. Nevertheless, the seal on his left chest pocket reminded him that he was a Black Cat commando- a member of the nation's elite special task force. Underneath the black uniform that he adorned, lay an uncommon beast ready to tear the enemy apart with his bare hands. Chosen from the best of NSG commandos and trained in the most dangerous terrains; these Black Cats were the most skilled assassins in the country. Combining their forces with the country's other special operations squads such as the Paratroopers and the MARCOS, they had carried out numerous successful operations in Jammu and Kashmir as well as other parts of the country. There, of course, had been certain incidents where they had failed to deliver their best, but they had learned a lot from their failures. And this was a mission he did not want to fail. Failure meant death in this mission.

Maybe the element of surprise will help us
, thought David.

He broke off, fanned the smoke-laden air to improve visibility and asked his pilot. ''How much time?''

''3 minutes from the location, Sir.''

''Take us as close as you can. Stay low and standby for air support.'' David then turned and said, ''Sergeant Harish, stay in the chopper for sniper support. We might need you.'' 

''Sir!''

''Alright everyone- Lock and Load. Night visions on standby. Two minutes.''

David adjusted and locked his CornerShot. He was ready to take on whatever awaited him in the shrouding darkness of those dunes.

Chapter 2

Chief Prakash Mehta was stunned by the news he had just received. The message on the tape had sounded ghastly.

''I want every officer, every available asset we have to reach the Central Secretariat right now,'' he thundered.

He turned towards the officer in the blue formal shirt standing next to him.

''Sharma, I want the Head of Security at the Bhawan on the line. NOW.''

He took out the Berretta 92A1 from his drawer and loaded it. It was quite infrequent for his beloved Beretta to see the light of the outside world, let alone being fired upon a target with Prakash Mehta's finger on the trigger. Picking up the radio on his desk, the Chief called in his best officer.

''Roshan, get all the men you can and set up a two kilometre perimeter around Rashtrapati Bhawan. Get me a Code Red clearance in five. Arrange for a chopper surveillance over the Central Secretariat if possible, and I need the exact location of the origin of that call ASAP.''

Pulling on his bulletproof jacket, the Chief jogged out of his office. The intelligence bureau sub-station was now in a state of controlled chaos- agents gathering their ammunition and artillery, technicians fiddling with computers trying to extract more details about the call traced. Formed in 1887, the Intelligence Bureau, also known as
I.B.
served as India's internal intelligence agency and was reputedly the world's oldest intelligence agency.