Authors: Mukul Deva
The Chote Miyan was delivered straight to Lahore airport by a man dressed in the uniform of the airport's ground staff. There were two hard looking men with an unmistakable air of authority waiting for him at the airport's entrance. The sinister duo had the right papers to open doors magically; they escorted the man and his precious case through all the checks and barriers, right on to the tarmac.
At 1250 hours local time, when PIA flight 771 took off from Lahore for Copenhagen via Oslo, the beautifully repackaged and camouflaged nuke was safely stowed in the aircraft's cargo hold. The man who had delivered the nuke was also on board, but now he was dressed like a member of the PIA crew. The aircraft took off and settled into the scheduled flight path for Copenhagen.
PIA FLIGHT 771 HAD BEEN LOADING UP FOR DEPARTURE WHEN
the three-man crew who had camouflaged and reprogrammed the four suitcase nukes finished packing up their gear at the nondescript warehouse in Lahore that had been their home for the past few days. Loading the minivan they normally commuted in every day, they finally drove off. The minivan was well clear of the area when the timer on the bomb attached to the underside of the vehicle ran out. The bomb was small but powerful, and its location was precise. It completely decimated the van and the three men inside it.
Watching from the safe confines of his parked car, Captain Azam Cheema nodded to himself. He was not a man who liked to leave any loose ends behind.
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ELHI
ANKITA WAS PORING OVER A PHOTOCOPY OF MAI'S DIARY
when two phone numbers scribbled on a page caught her eye. They stood out simply because there was nothing else on that page. The next four pages were full of scribbled notes, but they were in a shorthand that Mai had obviously devised for himself. Ankita was not overly surprised since her brother was a scientist and he too had a peculiar code of his own. She rapidly keyed one of the phone numbers into her laptop and began her hunt.
Thuraya satellite phones! Hey! Hello!! Those are hot favourites with terrorists operating out of Pakistan
. A fresh twinge of worry ran through her.
Has this son of a bitch scientist been hand in glove with them? If he's been doling out biochems to those crazies, we're all in deep shit
. With a sinking feeling, she nudged Manoj. ‘Here, take a look at this.’
The minute he saw the two phone numbers, a tiny bell began to clamour in the recesses of Manoj's mind. There was something about them that had struck a chord, but he was not sure what it was. He pushed his mind hard… harder… cajoling it to come up with an answer.
Ankita intruded upon his thoughts. ‘Manoj, can you check if the chink called either of these numbers… or was called by them?’
‘Sure, one sec.’ Khare rapidly scanned the phone records of the room, which the ATTF had already procured from the hotel manager. A tense moment later: ‘No, he made no calls from the hotel room for sure.’
Manoj picked up the dead scientist's mobile phone and scrolled through the names. ‘Neither of those numbers is stored in his mobile phone memory, nor has there been any call made to or from those phones to this one… but wait… there is a text message which has been sent to one of them.’ Khare clicked the ‘read message’ icon on Mai's mobile phone. ‘It's just one word – mailbox.’ Khare checked the screen again. ‘The chink sent it out to the satellite phone listed on top at 2327 hours last night. That would have been just before he died.’
Khare looked up again at Ankita. ‘Listen, there is something about these phone numbers that is bothering me.’ He scratched his head. ‘I'm not getting it right now, but I…’ His voice trailed away. ‘Ankita, let me track these phones down. Meanwhile, why don't you track Mai Hu's movements over the past few weeks? And we need to get into that laptop.’ He gestured towards Mai's laptop. ‘After all, if there is a mailbox he is referring to in the text message, then either he sent a mail or he received one.’
‘First let me go over his movements in the recent past,’ Ankita replied, ‘then I'll take care of his laptop.’
The two got down to work and silence reigned in the room again.
BOTH FORCE 22 OFFICERS WERE DEEP INTO THEIR SEARCH
when two miles away, the usually ill-tempered and ill-mannered Ben Ashton took off on board Jet Airways flight 9W122 from Delhi to London. At this moment, however, the man was in a rare good humour. Thanks to Mai's ingenuity, he had sailed through the dreaded pre-flight security checks without raising any flags.
The last killer had breached the security barrier.
P
ARIS
TWENTY-FIVE MINUTES LATER, HALFWAY ACROSS THE GLOBE
, Air France flight 488 bound for St Martin took off from Paris. The security check for transit passengers was as cursory as it normally is. Sahiba and Kismat exchanged looks of relief as the aircraft gained altitude and settled down at cruising height. They were now into the second leg of their interminably long journey.
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‘CAN YOU BELIEVE THIS? THE DEAD MAN DOES NOT BUDGE
out of China for months,’ Ankita commented to no one in particular. ‘And then suddenly he goes to the Maldives last month and now to Delhi. Do you think the two trips are related?’
Manoj looked up when Ankita spoke but he had a glazed look in his eyes. He seemed lost in whatever he was doing. Ankita smiled when she saw his expression and returned to her machine with a never-mind wave.
B
ERLIN
TWO HOURS AFTER THE FLIGHT LANDED IN BERLIN, KARL
Gunther walked into the Park Inn Hotel and checked in. Located just off the Alexanderplatz, this was as close to the target as it was possible for him to get.
No matter what happens, you must not return home. You must not check in under your real name or use a credit card to pay for the hotel room or anything else
. Cheema's warning echoed in his head as Karl wrote the name Franz Breitner in the check-in register and paid the required advance in cash for two nights.
Cloaked in vibrant blue and red colours, the newly refurbished room was warm and snug. Karl was confronted with a long wooden luggage rack with a rod and hooks above it as soon as he walked into the room.
There is no cupboard…. Damn! What will these newfangled designers come up with next
? Cursing under his breath, Karl carried the suitcase nuke across to the other end of the room and placed it carefully in the shadow of the bed.
Twenty minutes later, he logged onto meetyourmatch.com and confirmed his arrival to Salim.
Remember that those of you who have a shorter travel time will have longer to wait. You have to ensure you don't get impatient or restless during this waiting period. Just keep your head down and lie low
, Cheema had cautioned them. So Karl Gunther switched on the television and prepared to tide over the long wait for his tryst with Destiny.
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‘
I KNEW IT! I KNEW THERE WAS SOMETHING FAMILIAR ABOUT
these damn numbers.’ Manoj Khare's voice made Ankita look up from her laptop. ‘The two phone numbers that were scribbled in Mai's diary belong to a set of four Thuraya satellite phones. All four phones were purchased by the same person at the same time. The four phone numbers are contiguous and all of them are registered to a Dubai based company called Desert Apparels.’ Ankita started when she heard the name, but Manoj continued excitedly, ‘The company is owned by a person called S. Murad. Now here's the kicker!’ He gave Ankita a pleased look. ‘You remember I was telling you that something about these numbers has been bothering me? Well, now I know why. In November 2005, just after the strikes we carried out in Pakistan post the Delhi bomb blasts, a guy was captured at the LOC. He was carrying a Thuraya phone.
That
phone is one of these four.’ Manoj gestured towards his laptop. ‘For some reason, the old man had asked me to check out….’
‘Who was this guy?’ Ankita cut in impatiently.
‘He was a youngster named Iqbal, from Lucknow, who'd been recruited by the Lashkar-eToiba and sent to POK for training.’ Manoj jabbed at the page flashing on the screen of his machine. ‘It's quite an interesting story. Here, I'm transferring a copy of his interrogation report to your machine. I had downloaded it from the Military Intelligence database at the time… when the old man asked me to check on it. Meanwhile, let me find out more about these phones. I have a feeling they're vital to all this.’ He returned to his laptop. ‘Let's see where all these phones have travelled and where they are right now.’
‘Sure thing, Manoj, do that, but listen,’ Ankita interjected, ‘listen to this.’ Manoj caught the sharp edge of excitement in her tone. ‘You know that Mai spent a week in the Maldives last month. Now here's a coincidence you'll love. While he was there the guy stayed at a resort called the Blue Moon; it's a pretty exclusive high-end resort. During that week, all but twenty-seven of its 156 beach cottages, water bungalows and water villas were full. On the days that Mai was there, twelve of these water villas – which, by the way, are the most expensive of the lot – had been booked by,’ she gave a dramatic pause, ‘
a Dubai based company called Desert Apparels
.’
‘You're kidding me!’ Manoj exclaimed.
‘No, not at all!’ Ankita leaned back and raised an eyebrow at Khare. ‘Now, is that a coincidence or what?’
‘Damn right it is! Now we're getting somewhere. Let me find out who was staying in the other eleven villas. I know exactly who to ask. Meanwhile, see if you can sink your hook into this S. Murad guy who owns Desert Apparels. He seems to be the key.’ Khare turned to the phone in front of him with a mounting sense of urgency. The man he called was about to pack up for the day, but when he learnt who was calling and what he had to say, he got moving pretty fast.
ABDUL RASHID HEADED THE SPECIAL INVESTIGATIONS UNIT OF
the Maldives Police. A year ago, he had attended a training course in counter-terror operations in India. It was during this training that Khare and he had got acquainted. Their interaction may not have been long, but they got along famously. Rashid knew and respected Khare enough to honour his request without asking too many questions. ‘You are sure that none of this concerns us?’ Abdul asked.
‘Right now I don't know for sure,’ Khare replied. ‘But I promise you that if anything
does
come up, you'll be the first to know.’
‘That's good enough for me.’
‘And listen, right now, since we don't know exactly what is going on, I'd request you to do this yourself. Don't involve anyone else until we know more.’
‘Oh!’ There was a long pause as Abdul Rashid thought this over. ‘I see what you mean. One never knows who may be…. Right! Don't worry about it. I'll call you back in a couple of hours.’
C
HICAGO
WHILE ALL THIS WAS GOING ON, ERIK SEGAN'S FLIGHT LANDED
at Chicago. He disembarked quickly and crossed the terminal from where his connecting flight to New Orleans was scheduled to depart after a layover of two hours and fifteen minutes. Already, thirty-five minutes of this waiting period had been consumed since his flight from Delhi had met a strong headwind and was running behind schedule. By now the exjunkie's nerves were literally in tatters and he was almost falling apart with the stress. He sweated through the remaining hour and, despite his fear of flying, was actually relieved when they announced the boarding for his onward flight. The flight to New Orleans left on schedule and was quite uneventful.
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RLEANS
DESPITE THAT, ERIK SEGAN WAS NOT PARTICULARLY HAPPY AS
he left the aircraft at the Louis Armstrong International Airport in New Orleans. Most of the excitement and euphoria of his glorious role in the jihad had worn off after the incredibly long flight from Delhi. He was decidedly nervous about the lethal aerosol containers kept in his baggage and his anxiety was mounting at an alarming pace at the thought of the dreaded security check ahead of him.
These days the Homeland Security people are anything but casual. They'll tear me a new arsehole if they so much as get a whiff of what is in my bags.
‘Remember, it will look rather strange for you to have room-freshener in your hand baggage, so check that in. The eau de cologne and the aftershave lotion shouldn't be a problem… so long as no one decides to try them out,’ Mai had added with a laugh when he'd briefed him in Delhi, clearly enjoying the long-haired musician's discomfiture. ‘What I suggest is that you check it all in. That's the best thing to do.’
That was precisely what Segan had done. But it wasn't making him feel any better as he retrieved his bags from the baggage carousel and began the long trek towards the exit.
Mopping his face and neck clean of all traces of perspiration, Erik Segan took a couple of deep breaths and forced himself to calm down as he walked up to the exit gates. Up ahead he could see a huge Amazon type Homeland Security female gesture towards one of the passengers moving in front of him. She had huge breasts, which under normal circumstances would have ensured Erik's undivided attention. Right now, the only emotion she evoked in him was dread.
‘This way please, sir,’ she said as she pointed towards the security enclosure where several other passengers had been stopped and were opening their bags for checking. ‘Please remove all locks and stand back, sir,’ Erik heard her say to the man in front of him. Her tone was sharp and stopped short of being rude.
Erik felt his breath almost wheeze to a halt as he reached the point where a couple of her equally forbidding colleagues were scrutinizing the passing crowds with eagle eyes. He felt one of them rest his gimlet gaze on him. He even felt the gaze linger for a long moment. A silent, frantic prayer shot out from him unbidden. Perhaps Allah heard it. The gaze lifted and he was through.
Gradually, his breathing picked up again. Forcing himself to retain his slow deliberate walk, he crossed the security gate. By the time he was through, his legs felt weak with stress and he had to stop himself from running to the washrooms that lay just beyond the security barrier. Throwing himself into the first empty cubicle, he collapsed on the toilet seat. It took all of fifteen minutes for his breathing to return to normal and the foul taste of fear to recede from his mouth.