Eleventh Hour Page 16

  The IM Five bust hadn’t been Vikrant’s work alone, although very few knew that. The IB had picked up some intelligence which they had passed on to the Maharashtra ATS, and the ATS chief had put Vikrant on the job. Vikrant had spent three months patiently watching the module and gathering every piece of information about them before he made his move. The result was a perfectly handled arrest operation and a water-tight chargesheet.

  The same IM module now walked up to the deck as dusk started to break over the horizon. Vikrant watched as Qureshi, Mazhar Khan, Shaukat Asad, and Mustafa and Ibrahim Kadri assembled on the top deck, frequently turning his eyes to glance at the aircraft carrier.

  The IM Five stood with their backs straight and their chests puffed with pride as Marwan handed out M16 assault rifles, Glock pistols, stiletto daggers and ammunition clips to each of them from a crate that Marco was holding.

  Munafiq looked at them with the pride of a father as they loaded up.

  ‘You have come a long way, my sons,’ he said, his silver hair flying in the wind. ‘From the time that I laid my eyes on you, I knew I had found the right people for the cause. You will spearhead our takeover of these islands, which will mark the beginning of a new chapter in our jihaad.’

  Vikrant, who had at the time been staring intently at the aircraft carrier across the water, burst out laughing. Everyone turned to look at him.

  ‘What the hell are you doing, Toothpick?’ Daniel breathed.

  ‘Just play along,’ Vikrant whispered.

  ‘You have something to say, you kafir?’ Munafiq asked.

  ‘I would…’ Vikrant chortled. ‘I would … if I could … stop laughing…’

  ‘Share the joke, will you?’ Daniel said loud enough for everyone else to hear.

  Munafiq and Marwan made a movement towards them but Mazhar Khan, the burliest of the IM Five, beat them to it.

  ‘Shut up,’ he snarled, planting his huge frame in front of Vikrant.

  Vikrant stopped laughing to stare insolently at the hulking terrorist. Taking a deep breath, he started talking. ‘Your godfather met you at the Bhopal court posing as advocate Rishabh Chawla. He told you to break out of prison within a certain deadline and made getaway vehicles and weapons available. The vehicle you were in, when we had that encounter in Palghar, was parked somewhere in the vicinity of the jail itself. Am I right so far?’

  Khan said nothing. Munafiq and Marwan, with the rest of the IM Five, stood in the middle of the deck, listening, while Marco and his five mercenaries stood near the railing, guns ready.

  ‘You made a key using a toothbrush and you,’ he said to Mazhar directly, ‘opened your cell door and broke the guard’s neck. It was you, wasn’t it?’

  Khan’s snarl deepened but he still said nothing.

  ‘What’s your point?’ Marwan asked.

  ‘That I’m not stupid. And because I’m not stupid, I know exactly what’s going on.’

  ‘Which is?’ Marco asked with amused curiosity.

  ‘You,’ Vikrant said to Khan, ‘and your four brothers are being played. Don’t you see? They’re walking away from here, leaving you feeling like you are being given the greatest gift in the world, while they are actually leaving you to die.’

  ‘Ah…’ Daniel said with a smile.

  ‘Yeah. Do you really think the government is going to hand over Lakshadweep to you guys? And do you think the five of you are going to rule over the islands like some kings? You’ll be snuffed out in a minute, while your masters here get to safety.’

  Daniel started sniggering.

  ‘You’re not the chosen ones, motherfuckers,’ Vikrant said, laughing again, with Daniel joining in. ‘You’re the fall guys.’

  Mazhar slid his stiletto dagger from its scabbard and went behind Vikrant. Clutching his hair, he brought the dagger to Vikrant’s throat.

  ‘If you don’t stop laughing right now,’ he said savagely, ‘I’m going to slit your throat.’

  Vikrant looked up, straight into Khan’s snarling face. Then he winked.

  In one quick movement, Khan moved the dagger across Vikrant’s throat and brought it to rest by his side.

  47

  Wednesday evening, Lakshadweep.

  Mirza’s jet was about to begin its descent onto the aircraft carrier when the pilot jolted him out of his thoughts.

  ‘Sir, I think you should see this,’ he said.

  Mirza leaned forward and peered through the windscreen. The jet was still high up, but there was apparent commotion on the top deck of the cruise liner and an unmistakable muzzle flash from at least two guns.

  ‘Get me there,’ he told the pilot. ‘Get me on the bloody cruise liner right now!’

  Goyal was waiting anxiously on the aircraft carrier. After getting off the phone with Mirza, he had spoken briefly to Jaiswal and then gone onto the deck, binoculars in hand. He’d watched intently as Marco’s men milled about keeping an eye on Daniel, Vaishali and Vikrant and also looking at the aircraft carrier in turns. At all times, someone or the other among the hostiles had an eye on the aircraft carrier.

  ‘All you need is one moment,’ Mirza had told him. Goyal watched without blinking, praying hard, till the moment came. The IM Five marched up to the deck and Munafiq went to address them as Marwan handed out weapons from a crate that Marco was carrying. Marco’s men turned to watch, half-turning their backs to the aircraft carrier.

  Goyal zoomed the binoculars onto Vikrant’s face, who was staring directly at him unblinkingly from across the water. Quickly, Goyal pulled out a flashlight from his pocket, flicked it on, let it remain for three to four seconds and then switched it off. Vikrant smiled and winked, and Goyal heaved a sigh of relief.

  He ran down to the Officers’ Room, where the naval commander and several other officers were watching the confrontation between Vikrant and Mazhar Khan. He looked around to see Shaina peep into the room. She winked at him and slipped out again.

  ‘Is that … wait … what the hell is happening?’ the naval commander asked, staring at the screen, his eyes wide.

  Only Daniel noticed that Khan’s blade had never touched Vikrant’s skin, passing barely an inch away. For two seconds everyone, from Vaishali to Marco and his men to Munafiq, Marwan and their four soldiers, were focused on Vikrant’s throat, expecting to see blood spurt out.

  In the same crucial two seconds, Khan slipped his dagger between the rope binding Vikrant’s hands and slit it.

  Everyone else was just starting to realize that something was wrong when Khan shoved his Glock into Vikrant’s hands. Turning towards the IM terrorists, Khan then let loose a spray of automatic fire, catching Mustafa and Ibrahim Kadir square in their chests, while Vikrant opened fire at Marco and his men. Marco leaped out of Vikrant’s line of fire, falling onto Munafiq, who, in turn, fell on Marwan.

  Marco’s men were not so lucky. Three of the five took pistol rounds from Vikrant in the chest and toppled over the railing. The other two raised their guns but their heads exploded in a mass of blood and brain before they could even aim.

  Everyone on board looked around, confused, and Daniel was the first to notice Shaina standing on the deck of the aircraft carrier, a Dragunov sniper rifle in her hands.

  ‘Hell, yeah!’ Daniel said happily as Khan, taking advantage of the moment, quickly cut the ropes binding him and Vaishali. ‘Stay down!’ he whispered in Vaishali’s ear.

  Munafiq threw Marco off, grabbed Marwan and made a run for the other end of the deck.

  ‘Cover us!’ he yelled at Qureshi and Shaukat Asad, who reflexively fell into step, guns raised. They backed away, firing a couple of bursts, and found cover behind a row of deck chairs.

  Marco came up cursing, his gun raised, but Daniel, snatching Khan’s dagger, leaped at him and they both went down again.

  Vikrant, meanwhile, untied the rope binding his feet and together, Vikrant, Vaishali and Khan crawled deeper into the cafeteria, taking cover behind a decorative fountain in the middle.

  ‘Yo
u know where the cache is?’ Vikrant yelled into Khan’s ear as Khan fired bursts at Munafiq, Marwan, Qureshi and Asad.

  ‘What cache?’ Khan yelled back.

  ‘The fucking weapons and bombs from ’93!’

  Khan looked at Vikrant.

  ‘Don’t worry about that.’

  ‘What?’ Vikrant asked.

  ‘Trust me,’ Khan said. ‘Just put an end to this bloody thing.’

  Vikrant nodded.

  ‘Get her out of here,’ he ordered. ‘Go to the aircraft carrier. They’ll be expecting you.’

  Khan handed his weapon to Vikrant and dumped all his ammunition on the deck before wrapping a huge arm around Vaishali and dragging her to the far corner, away from the gunfire. Vikrant reloaded both the assault rifle and the pistol just as a jet came roaring close to the deck. He took one last look to check on Khan and Vaishali, and saw them go for the lifeboats.

  Munafiq leaned forward and whispered to Marwan, who, in turn, said something to Qureshi and Asad. Marwan let loose a volley of rounds at the jet, which swerved away, while Asad and Qureshi opened fire at Vikrant, making him duck.

  Then, almost together, all four ran to the railing and jumped over it. Munafiq and Marwan made it over the short distance and landed on the freighter that Marwan had come in on, which was anchored metres away from the cruise liner. Qureshi fell short but managed to grab the railing. Asad, however, was barely at the cruise liner’s railing before Shaina cut him down with a well-aimed shot from her sniper rifle.

  At the other end, Daniel and Marco were locked in deadly combat. Daniel, with one swipe of Khan’s dagger, slit the strap of Marco’s Uzi, which clattered to the ground. Marco tried to go for his Glock and Daniel kicked at his wrist, making it fall away as well. Daniel then charged ahead with his dagger raised, and Marco, in one easy movement, caught his wrist and twisted it.

  Daniel held fast as Marco manoeuvred him to the railing, leaning hard. He kept pushing, making Daniel lean half over the railing, the dagger in his own hand inches away from the ex-soldier’s face.

  ‘Tough guy, eh?’ Marco whispered in Daniel’s face.

  ‘Fuck you,’ Daniel replied. In one quick jerk, he brought the dagger towards himself, letting it rip into his shoulder. The spray of blood in his eyes and the unexpected move threw Marco off balance, and Daniel fell backwards, toppling over the railing, taking Marco with him.

  Across the water, Goyal, who was following the scuffle through his binoculars, followed the two men as they fell into the water. He would spend the next three months telling anyone who would listen that he had never seen anything like it.

  ‘Fernando stabbed Marco in mid-air! He just pulled the dagger from his shoulder even as they were falling and rammed it up Marco’s throat!’ he would say.

  On the freighter, Munafiq, Marwan and Qureshi were about to run into the lower levels. Qureshi placed himself in front of his two masters and let off a volley of shots to cover them. Vikrant ducked as the rounds chipped at the fountain, then sprang up and returned fire. Two of the rounds pierced Qureshi’s chest, while the third blew part of his face away.

  Munafiq pulled Marwan’s pistol from its holster and they took positions back to back, guns raised, when three choppers from INS Dweeprakshak came roaring up into view, surrounding them from all sides. Mirza lowered himself from the jet onto the deck using a rope ladder, a pistol in hand. Vikrant sprang from his cover on the cruise liner and ran to the railing, coming to a stop parallel to the father and son.

  For a moment, nobody moved. They all waited while the rotor blades of the choppers whirred. Vikrant glanced at Mirza, who was standing a few feet away from Munafiq, daring him to start something.

  Then Munafiq stretched his hand sideways and let his gun fall to the floor. Marwan glanced behind him and, reluctantly, threw his M16 to the ground. They both stood, arms outstretched, as naval commandos lowered themselves on the deck. Vikrant clambered over the railing of the cruise liner and jumped aboard the freighter.

  Mirza strode forward, gun by his side, till he was a foot away from Munafiq. Silently, Mirza stared at him, pure hatred blazing from his eyes.

  Mirza was thinking about the day at the Ministry of External Affairs, which had started it all. He thought of Vikrant’s conversation with Pakistan High Commissioner Zakir Abdul Khan before Vikrant had lost it and punched the diplomat in the face. He thought of the nine years of writing to the Pakistan government, the back and forth, all but begging for justice for the victims of 26/11. And he visualized a repeat of the entire process after Munafiq and Marwan’s arrest.

  Vikrant actually heard Mirza say, ‘Fuck it’ before his mentor raised his pistol and shot Munafiq in the face at point-blank range.

  ‘NOOOOOO!’ Marwan roared, diving for his gun. Vikrant stepped up, stood over Marwan and emptied the clip of his M16 into the son’s body.

  A group of impatient men waited as Khan and Vaishali were pulled up onto the deck of the aircraft carrier.

  ‘Don’t shoot,’ Jaiswal yelled. ‘Do not shoot the man!’

  ‘Shut the fuck up already,’ the naval commander barked at Jaiswal as Khan clambered aboard and was welcomed by several guns pointed at him.

  ‘Where’s the cache?’ an IB officer snarled.

  Khan sat down on the deck, feeling exhausted. Jaiswal pushed through the crowd.

  ‘Where is the fucking cache?’ he demanded.

  ‘For God’s sake!’ a tired Khan said. ‘There is no bloody cache.’

  48

  Friday morning, New Delhi.

  Mazhar Khan stepped onto the balcony of the five-star hotel’s suite and took a deep breath of the cool morning air.

  ‘Mashallah,’ he said to himself. ‘It is good to be back.’

  Khan’s story wasn’t a very unique one. It is similar to those of hundreds of young men growing up in the slums in Mumbai, drawn into the world of crime for one of the usual reasons. In Khan’s case, it was rage.

  Khan’s mother, an attractive woman and the talk of many a boys-only party in the locality, had run away with a boy half her age when her son was fourteen years old. His father had coped by spending half the day smoking cannabis and the other half beating him and his ten-year-old brother Ayyub when they failed to earn enough money to fuel his addiction.

  Khan had endured the abuse for three long years, channelling his rage by secretly working out at night at a local gym where he worked as a cleaner during the day, before he finally snapped. One night, when his father came at Ayyub with a cricket bat, Khan, who had by then turned into a burly teenager, wrested the bat away and broke it into two with his bare hands.

  ‘Next time you try to touch either of us,’ he breathed in his stupefied father’s face, ‘I’ll snap your spine like that.’

  The threat, instead of putting some sense into his drug-addled brain, further enraged Khan’s father. He sprang at his elder son and tried to strangle him and Khan, in one easy movement, caught hold of his father’s forearm and fractured it in two pieces. He left the house with Ayyub, leaving the old man writhing on the ground.

  As it was bound to, the law caught up with Khan, who was hiding at a relative’s place, and he was taken to the local police station. His father had insisted on an FIR being filed and could not wait to see his son behind bars. The officer who had picked up Mazhar, however, took pity on him. He had seen too many products of broken homes and knew that putting them in juvenile homes was hardly the answer. And he had a feeling that the burly young man with the barely contained rage would end up taking a life in the juvenile home within his first month there.

  The officer told his superiors that he could not find the boy and instead contacted Vikrant, whom he had worked with earlier. Vikrant, who was with the IB at the time, got one of his Mumbai-based informants to employ Khan in one of his godowns and would visit the boy from time to time, encouraging him to keep working out and making sure he wasn’t straying, which was so easy to do at his age. Over the next four years, Vikrant and
Khan became friends. Khan stayed at the same godown where he worked, while Ayyub stayed at a relative’s place and attended a local municipal school. Khan made it a point to send money to the relative every month.

  Then, without warning, Ayyub disappeared one day. Khan scoured the entire city for him but in vain. Two days later, however, Vikrant received a call from a cyber expert with

  the IB.

  ‘Found a video of this kid saying he’s denouncing the world for the higher purpose of jihad. He’s from Mumbai, so take a look,’ the cyber technician said. Vikrant watched the video and recognized Ayyub.

  That was the last time anyone saw Ayyub. After a week, Mazhar Khan called up Vikrant and asked if they could meet. Vikrant agreed immediately.

  ‘Ayyub was in touch with some fellows from the area who’re involved with IM,’ Mazhar told Vikrant.

  ‘I’ll get them picked up,’ Vikrant assured him.

  Khan shook his head. ‘My fight is not with them. My fight is with the motherfuckers who mislead the Ayyubs of the world with their lies.’

  Vikrant, for the first time, noticed that Khan was not the usual fireball of rage but deadly calm.

  ‘What are you saying?’

  ‘I want to go undercover. I want to infiltrate their module here and go as high as I can. I want to destroy the entire motherfucking chain.’

  They had argued tooth and nail the entire night but at the end, Vikrant had had to give in. He had coached Khan on how to get noticed by the IM module, and ultimately, Mazhar was among the five young men who were handpicked and sent for training to Pakistan.

  After the arrest of the IM Five, Vikrant, under the pretext of interrogation, spoke to Khan, and they decided that he would stay in jail till the case went to trial, just to pick up whatever else he could.