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‘Go on, Rao,’ the PM said. ‘What else?’

‘Well, sir, we should also ban organizations that are funded by organizations that are suspect. We must identify and shut down cash flow and support to terror groups by cracking down on hawala operators and others who are known to support terrorist activities. If we cut off their cash flow, we’ll seriously restrict their ability to function.’

‘All this is not going to be easy to put in place, Rao.’

‘No, sir, it won’t be easy at all. In fact, it will require tremendous political will and be a slow and continuous process, but the sooner we begin, the better. And we can’t do this alone. We must mobilize citizen action groups and strengthen resident welfare associations and local market associations, for instance, to ensure that strangers moving into a colony are immediately registered with the local police station. They will also help to make sure that all domestic help and staff hired in their areas are subjected to security scrutiny. We can even use citizen support groups to enhance surveillance of common areas, parks and markets. This will get people more proactively involved in the war on terror.’

‘Don’t you think it will open a Pandora’s box and just add to the confusion?’ The home minister sounded unconvinced. ‘Some people might get high-handed and take the law in their hands.’

‘I am sure there will be some incidents,’ Rao conceded, ‘at least in the initial stages, but that doesn’t mean we shouldn’t try it. Can you imagine the pressure on a terrorist if he knows that the local RWA will scrutinize him before he can even lease a room? It will no longer be as simple as conning a gullible landlord with false documents.’

‘And everyone will be so much more careful before they give out rooms,’ Narayan said.

‘And it doesn’t end there,’ Rao added. ‘We have to enhance technical surveillance by deploying more cameras in marketplaces, places of worship, railway stations, airports, sensitive installations and monuments. We must also plan to cover major traffic junctions and bottlenecks as and when the resources become available.

‘If we network these cameras and back them up with advanced facial recognition software, we can make life hell not just for terrorists but also for criminals of all sorts. They’ll think ten times before they step out anywhere.’

‘This would be hugely expensive, don’t you think?’ the PM asked, almost gently.

‘Expensive it will be,’ Rao agreed, ‘but if we can find the money to build huge parks and life-sized statues of irrelevant politicians, I am sure we can find the money for such a vital project that impacts national security. I think we could easily find the funds if we focused on getting back the money parked in tax havens overseas.

‘As for doability, I think, sir, that we underestimate ourselves as a nation. Projects such as these have been structured and organized by people of Indian origin the world over. I am sure that once we find the political will, we’ll find the means to make it happen.’

‘So you want the government to play Big Brother?’

‘I believe most Indians would find it a small price to pay for knowing that their families can walk the streets without the fear of being ripped apart by bombs… and for the consolation of knowing that if and when something like that does happen, the guilty will be speedily brought to book. Don’t you think so?’

The discussion windmilled on, slowly but surely growing more focused as the hours fled by. What the final outcome of this meeting would be only time would tell, but at least things had begun to move. And a few things had been said that needed to be said, to the one person who might be able to do something about them.

TEN

The loud voices brought Iqbal awake with a start.

‘What’s going on?’ he whispered to Tanaz, who was already awake.

‘I’m not sure. It sounds like security forces.’

‘Shit!’ Iqbal’s heart began to beat faster. ‘Let me check.’

‘No! Don’t go out!’

‘Don’t worry, Tanaz! I’m not going to. We can listen from there.’ He gestured at the window.

Just as suddenly as they had started, the voices broke off. They heard the squeal of tyres as an unseen vehicle roared to life and raced away. They waited for a few moments; when they couldn’t hear anything more, they decided to venture out.

The compound was in an uproar. ‘What happened?’ Iqbal asked a man who was stuffing things into a rucksack as he hurried past.

‘The fucking ISI is what happened!’ he said over his shoulder without breaking stride. Iqbal hurried after him.

‘The ISI? What do they want? I thought this was their compound.’

‘It is! They came to tell us that an army patrol is approaching, to encircle the compound. Apparently, some more jihadi hides have to be sacrificed to the goras,’ the man snapped. ‘The bastards know there are no biggies here, just us street soldiers. They’ll take us into custody… just so those gora bastards can be told that the war on terror is going full steam ahead. In return, those white sons of bitches will throw some more dollars at our great, fearless leaders.’

‘So what do we do now? Where is everybody going?’

‘We get our asses out of here, that’s what we do, miyan. As far from here as possible.’ The man finished strapping up his rucksack and shrugged it over his shoulder as he gestured to someone across the compound. ‘Come on, move it, you morons. They’ll be here any moment now.’ He turned to Iqbal. ‘I suggest you get your butt out of here, unless you want to end up as jailbait.’ He walked away, talking in rapid tones to two others who had joined him. He was a dozen yards away when he looked back over his shoulder and yelled at Iqbal, ‘And don’t trust anyone… not for a moment.’ And then he was gone.

Iqbal was stunned. The past few weeks of inactivity had dulled his reflexes and he found himself unwilling to leave the place where he’d spent some of the most peaceful moments of his life. The more practical Tanaz was quicker to respond. He felt her shove a small duffel bag into his hands. ‘Come on, Iqbal,’ she hissed at him urgently. ‘Let’s go! That way!’

Iqbal came back to reality with a start. ‘Let’s head for the town.’

‘Yes, but we’ll get out that way, then circle around to Faisalabad from the other side. It should be safer.’ She started to stride away and Iqbal followed without any hesitation.

They were about two kilometres away when they saw the clouds of dust converging on the compound they had just left. Dozens of vehicles could be seen racing in from every direction.

I
t was late evening when the weary couple finally found themselves on the outskirts of Faisalabad.

‘We need to get to a phone and call in,’ Iqbal said.

‘How do you plan to do that? We don’t have a paisa on us.’

‘Let’s fix that,’ Iqbal said thoughtfully. He steered her towards a dimly lit street and they stood together in the shadows, at the mouth of one of the alleys branching out from it.

The man who rode up the street on a flashy new motorcycle had the clothes and demeanour of a small-town trader. Tanaz emerged from the alley and waved at him till he slowed to a halt at the entrance to the alley. Tanaz stepped up to him, a piece of paper visible in her hand.

‘Excuse me, bhaijaan. Can you help me…’ The man didn’t even notice Iqbal come up to him on silent feet. By the time he felt Iqbal’s presence, it was too late; the wooden slat, which Iqbal had picked up in the alley, had slammed down on his head. Tanaz caught the motorcycle by its handlebars as the man fell unconscious. Iqbal dropped his weapon and wheeled the bike into the alley with its occupant still slumped on it. Turning the engine off, he lowered the bike to the ground and quickly went through the man’s pockets. With a satisfied grunt, he extracted a wallet, then removed the man’s wristwatch and also the gold chain that hung heavy around his neck.

A
n hour later, with the comfort of a hot meal inside them, Iqbal and Tanaz found themselves outside a PCO. The rickety wooden telephone booth with its half-broken, faded signboard was deserted. A bored old man lolled on a wooden chair propped up against the booth, idly smoking a cigarette. He watched as they came up to him and gestured with the tip of his half-smoked cigarette towards the booth.

‘Make it short,’ Tanaz whispered as they squeezed into the tiny booth. ‘You can take it for granted that calls to India are being monitored.’

‘I will,’ Iqbal promised as he began to dial the number that he had been told to memorize not so long ago. ‘Colonel Anbu will be happy to hear from us.’

And he was right. Once he got over the initial shock of hearing from the man they had all presumed dead, Anbu could barely contain his joy. He checked his emotions with an effort and said, ‘I’m so relieved to hear you’re well.’

‘We both are,’ Iqbal said excitedly. ‘In fact, it was Tanaz who…’

‘Don’t say anything else,’ Anbu cut him off quickly. ‘I want you to call me again in one hour. I’ll let you know what to do then.’

‘No problem, sir.’ And they ended the call.

T
anaz was right. All calls to India were recorded, and someone listened to them to decide if they merited further action.

Iqbal’s call came up for review by the duty analyst almost as soon as it ended.

‘Did you notice that?’ he told his associate as they played it back. ‘Almost as though… it was so damn fauji, the way he said it. Where did it come from?’

‘PCO 14,’ his associate replied. ‘That would be… here… this one.’ He jabbed at the map on the tag board in front of them.

‘Great! That’s not so far from the local office. Get someone there. He’s going to call again in an hour. Have them bring him in so we can have a word with him.’

Thirty-five minutes later, an unmarked security car pulled up across the street from PCO 14. The four men inside sat silently, watching the phone booth, waiting for their quarry to turn up.

O
nce again it was Tanaz’s RAW training and field experience that saved them.

‘We’re not going to make the second call from the same PCO,’ she told Iqbal as they exited the phone booth. ‘Let’s find another one as far from here as possible.’

‘Aren’t you being a little paranoid, Tanaz?’

‘So what? Just because I’m paranoid doesn’t mean they’re not after us.’

They used the hour to trudge around town. It was a depressing walk. The dirty streets, the dim streetlights, the rows of boarded-up shops and an insidiously pervasive sense of gloom spoke of the shattered state of the economy far more clearly than a newspaper headline could. The few women on the streets were all accompanied by men and were covered in burqas from head to toe. Most of the men sported heavy beards and Taliban headdresses – many more of them than Iqbal remembered from the first time he had travelled from Karachi to the Lashkar training camp at Muzaffarabad.

‘Am I imagining it, you think?’ he questioned Tanaz about the difference.

‘Of course you’re not.’ Her voice was grim. ‘Didn’t Pervez tell us the same thing? There have been many instances of men being beaten up for not keeping a beard, or for un-Islamic attire. People are scared, especially with the government increasingly abdicating control to the mullahs.’

They were still talking in low tones when they spotted another PCO. It was just as nondescript and battered as the first one.

This time Anbu answered the phone instantly. He spoke before Iqbal could get a word in edgewise. ‘Put her on the line,’ he said. ‘How long will it take the two of you to get to the place where Rehmat met you the last time?’ he asked when Tanaz answered.

‘A day at best,’ she replied. ‘Two if things are… not so good.’

‘Fine. Get moving then. Rehmat will be waiting for you, tomorrow and the next two days.’

‘We’ll be there.’

By the time the call brought the counterintelligence men to the PCO, Iqbal and Tanaz had been swallowed up by the night.

R
ehmat was waiting under the same tree that he had been positioned at when Iqbal, Tanaz and the two Force 22 officers had linked up with him on their return from Murree. Tanaz shivered at the sense of déjà vu. Involuntarily, she reached for Iqbal’s hand. Her eyes worked ceaselessly, surveying the landscape with nervous anxiety. Iqbal squeezed her hand reassuringly and whispered, ‘Don’t worry, things will work out fine this time.’

And they did. Led by Rehmat, they made their way down the winding trail that took them across the IB, to the jeep waiting at the other end.

I
qbal grinned widely when he saw the familiar figure standing by the jeep. Captain Vikram Tiwathia strode forward and enveloped him in a tight bear hug.

‘I never thought I’d see the two of you again! The Old Man was thrilled to bits when you called. Come on, he’s waiting for you two. Let’s go.’

Two hours later, they were in Amritsar. The waiting chopper swept them into the Force 22 base at Kasauli. Tiwathia took them straight to Anbu’s office, where Sami was waiting too. It took a while for the excitement to die down but then Anbu got the whole story from Tanaz and Iqbal, from the time they had parted ways with Vikram and Sami at the RV.

‘What did you say his name was?’ Anbu asked Tanaz when she told him about the man whose convoy had rescued them.

‘I don’t know,’ she said, ‘but the guy who treated Iqbal referred to him as the Ameer ul Momineem.’

‘That means the Commander of the Faithful,’ Sami translated softly for Anbu’s benefit.

‘Hmmm. I see. Tell me more about him.’ Anbu’s attention peaked immediately when he heard the name.

‘There isn’t much to tell. I only saw him once and except for that brief conversation with the so-called doctor, I didn’t hear anything. None of the others was ready to talk about him… either that, or they didn’t know much about him. But he was clearly very important, someone really high up in the terror hierarchy. I remember what the doctor said, that the Ameer was going to do more for the cause than the Sheikh had even visualized.’

‘He said that?’

‘Yes! Also, that it’s because of the Ameer that the Islamic crescent would rule the world one day.’

‘I see. Any idea which group he was from?’

‘No, sir. The compound had people from several groups in addition to the Afghans and other foreign mujahideen. There were people from the Lashkar, Hizbul, Jaish, Harkat and many smaller groups.’