BLOWBACK (31 page)
‘You can’t be serious, sir?’
‘Of course I am. The MRI even released a map of Mughalstan in which a large corridor of land runs through north and east India, linking Bangladesh and Pakistan. In fact, all the jihadi groups, especially Al Qaeda, Lashkar-e-Toiba, Hizbul Mujahideen Jaish-e-Mohammed, YPS and the Indian Mujahideen support this plan for a Greater Pakistan. They’ve also managed to get the support of various criminal groups in India.’
‘But Pakistan itself is on the verge of disintegration, so how the hell can they be thinking of this?’
‘Disintegration? Really?’ Anbu asked. ‘Is it disintegrating, or is it just slipping bit by bit into Taliban hands? Isn’t that what the hardliners there want, and people like the Ameer are working towards?’
For a moment, no one spoke. Then Sami said, ‘How the hell can they hope to convince the Indian Muslims to support crap like this?’
‘They’re banking on the hardliners to bulldoze the moderates and make them toe the line.’
‘Do they actually believe that the Indian Muslim will ever accept being forced to live in Taliban-like conditions? Do they think we are not aware of the destruction the fundamentalists have wreaked on the parts they control in Pakistan?’
‘Whether you do or don’t is not the issue here,’ Anbu intervened. ‘The fact remains that this is what they want to achieve. Do you know that one of Jinnah’s private secretaries, who stayed behind in India after partition and became a minister in the Assam ministry, wrote to him promising that in thirty years he would present Assam to Pakistan on a platter?’
‘And this man was a minister in India?’ Sami was the picture of disbelief. ‘Why didn’t they shoot him for treason?’
‘Yes, he was.’ Anbu nodded, ignoring the last part of Sami’s question. ‘And since then they have been working hard to ensure that the Muslim population attains majority in the areas they have targeted for inclusion in Mughalstan. That’s why we’ve seen such an explosion in the number of Pak-funded madrassas in certain parts of India, Nepal and Bangladesh. That is...’
‘Precisely, sir,’ Iqbal interrupted. ‘Mujib clearly told me before he died that the Ameer is making sure they are not far from achieving their goal.’
‘He may have said so, Iqbal, but let me tell you that we have been monitoring events very closely for many years now; in fact, even more closely since you told us about the Ameer. But barring stray rumours and some unsubstantiated reports, we’ve come up with nothing.’
‘What did these reports say?’
‘That a group of people are trying to fill the gap after the death of the Sheikh in American custody and the one-eyed Mullah, the commander of the Afghan Taliban, had to go into hiding in Quetta. But you must understand, Iqbal, that there are many such people who will try to take advantage of this vacuum in leadership and assume bigger roles for themselves.’
‘Absolutely,’ Sami agreed. ‘With the Sheikh dead and most of the Al Qaeda leadership either in hiding or on the run, there is considerable disarray in their rank and file. Most of the terrorists have either split up into smaller groups or have just gone back to wherever they came from.’
‘So, that’s what Mujib must have meant.’ Iqbal saw the query on the faces of the Force 22 officers and added, ‘Tell me, sir, what would happen if someone came forward and took charge of the situation; someone ruthless enough to seize control and restructure the shattered jihadi setup. Someone who could make all the groups function in tandem. What then?’
‘If such a thing did happen...’
‘It would raise the pitch of the battle and take it to a totally different level. They have already wrested control over the Swat Valley and large parts of Waziristan,’ Iqbal continued, ‘and if they are working with the ISI to make Mughalstan a reality, then we certainly have a lot to worry about.’
‘But how on earth can the ISI hope to gain if Pakistan splits up?’
‘Does anyone really know what’s going on in that part of the world? Everything we see and hear is so contradictory… can we really make sense of it sitting here? Is the country really splitting up or is it just being taken over by the fundamentalists in a planned manner?’ Anbu said. ‘Or is there a larger plan, some devious hidden agenda that we are all missing?’
No one answered.
‘We need to go after the Ameer and his group. As long as he and people like him are at large, this battle is far from over.’
‘I agree with you, Iqbal, but if that’s all you know about the Ameer, it’s hardly enough.’ Anbu’s calm voice tried to blunt the edge of Iqbal’s fury. ‘You won’t even know where to start.’
‘You may be right, sir, but I know I’ll be able to find him. Don’t ask me how, where, why... Here,’ he tapped his heart, ‘I just know I’ll find him. That’s enough for me.’ There was a chilling, almost pathological certainty in Iqbal’s tone.
‘If you say so, Iqbal. In any case, you’re a free agent and you know I can’t stop you. I don’t even want to. In fact, I’ll do everything in my power to help you, but,’ Anbu met his gaze squarely, ‘do you think this is the time for you to go away? There is much to be done. Tanaz has to be buried…’
‘No, sir,’ Iqbal was dogged. ‘Tanaz will be buried by me up here,’ he touched his forehead with the fingers of his right hand, ‘only once I have taken out the Ameer. Till then there will be no closure.’ He turned to Tiwathia. ‘Will you do this for me? Will you bury Tanaz for me, the way she should be, with honour and dignity... as befits any soldier, for she was no less.’
‘Yes, she was a true soldier and a much braver one than most,’ Tiwathia replied without hesitation. ‘I would be honoured to do this for you, Iqbal. This and anything else you want me to do.’
Just then, the door swung open and a nurse entered. Cradled in her arms was the baby that Tanaz had battled death to give birth to. He was fast asleep in the warm cocoon of the woman’s arms, with no inkling of the turmoil that had prefaced his arrival on earth.
‘Your son.’ The nurse held out the bundle to Iqbal. ‘I thought you’d like to see him.’
A warmth he had never known before flooded through Iqbal as the baby slipped into his arms. He cradled the tiny bundle of life close to his heart, so close that for a moment the heartbeats of father and son merged into a single, rhythmic medley. Iqbal felt a sharp pain clamp his heart.
‘What about your son, Iqbal?’ Anbu murmured softly, watching the glow of attachment on the young father’s face. ‘He has already lost his mother. Do you think you should also take his father away from him?’
Anbu’s words broke the magic of the moment, in a way he would never have imagined possible. Reality hit Iqbal like a bucket of cold water and a shadow passed over his face.
‘If he stays with me, he is not going to last very long.’ Like his face, his voice was flat and bereft of all feeling. ‘Everyone and everything I have ever loved has been destroyed and taken away from me. I know I am cursed. Take him, sir, I beg you. Take him away from me. No one else knows about him and that’s the way I’d like to keep it.’ His eyes sought and held Anbu’s. ‘Will you keep him safe for me? Please.’
‘Are you sure that’s what you want, Iqbal?’
‘Yes, sir. It would make me happy if you took him and brought him up as your own. There will be no danger to him as long as no one knows he belongs to me.’
‘Okay.’ Anbu nodded unhesitatingly, reaching forward and taking the infant in his arms. ‘If that’s what you want. I promise you your son will never want for anything. He will be a son to my wife and me... and a brother to my son and daughter. He will get the best that I am able to give either of my own.’
‘I have no doubt that he will, sir. But yes, there is one more thing that I will ask of you. Please bring him up as a god-fearing person, but let his god have no name, let his god have no religion.’ Without meaning to, Iqbal half turned to face the love of his life, now lying dead. ‘How could they have done this to her? How could any human being have…’ His voice faded away as his eyes took in her battered body yet again. ‘May I please be alone with Tanaz?’ he whispered finally after a long pause.
Anbu nodded and gestured to the two officers who flanked him. Wordlessly, as one, the three Force 22 commandos made their way out. None of them could push away the thought that they had let them down; the young beautiful woman whose brutally tortured body now lay stiffening on the hospital bed and the tormented young man whose body was alive but whose soul seemed condemned to the uncertainty of festering hate once again.
S
ome time later, concerned by the prolonged silence within, the three men came back into the room and found it empty, except for the lifeless body on the bed.
Tanaz had been tended to, carefully, lovingly. Her hair had been combed back and her eyes were now closed. All that was humanly possible had been done to erase the evidence of the mutilation she had suffered. The fresh bedsheet that covered her body up to her chin hid most of the horrific wounds that had been inflicted on her. It seemed as though Tanaz was merely asleep.
And Iqbal was gone.
This book would not have been possible without the tremendous support I have received from my family over the years. They gave me the time, space and the encouragement to keep going.
I must thank my comrades-in-arms in the Indian Armed Forces who were kind enough to ensure that I did not make any major blunders while writing about tactics, weapons and weapon systems. However, I must stress that all technical data used in this book is freely and easily available on the internet and has not been provided to me by any person or persons.
A very special vote of thanks to my publisher Karthika V.K. for believing in me, keeping me on track, and for giving final shape to this book and this series. Without her watching over me I do not think I could have ever been able to achieve this incredibly difficult task of getting out each successive book within a year. And to Neelini Sarkar, Amit Sharma, Jojy and the others at HarperCollins India who helped to make this book possible.
Any errors, factual or technical, that still exist in this book are solely my fault or have been deliberately left there by me to prevent any misuse of a technology or an idea.
An alumnus of La Martiniere College, Lucknow, the National Defence Academy, Pune, and the Indian Military Academy, Dehradun, Mukul Deva was commissioned in December 1981 into the Sikh Light Infantry of the Indian Army. He took early retirement after fifteen-plus years of service, including a decade of active combat duty in India and overseas. Mukul is now an entrepreneur, consultant, Writing, Leadership and Business Coach. He is the author of
Time After Time
…
It All Happened, S.T.R.I.P.T.E.A.S.E: The Art of Corporate Warfare, M.O.D.E.L.: The Return of the Employee, Lashkar
and
Salim Must Die
.
This book is a work of fiction although some of the events mentioned here have actually taken place.
All the characters, countries, places and organizations described or mentioned in this book are fictitious or have been fictitiously used and any resemblance to any person, living or dead, is unintentional.
The technical details of the various weapon systems, the specifications and methodologies of bomb making and weaponry, as well as the tactics and security procedures employed by any police, military, intelligence organization, airline, airport security and/or militant organization, as also all criminal, forensic and investigative procedures, have been deliberately kept vague, inaccurate and/ or incomplete to prevent any misuse, accidental or otherwise.
There is no slur or malice intended against any religion, race, caste, creed, nation, organization or people.
‘Deva has a Nostradamus touch.’
– The Statesman
‘India’s literary storm trooper.’
– Business Standard
‘Deva comes as a pleasant surprise… it is rare to find a successful, celebrated man who has enough vulnerability.’
– New Indian Express
‘You can smell the gunpowder. Such is the power of the words of Mukul Deva… India’s first military action thriller writer.’
– The Hindu
‘India’s only military thriller writer.’
– The Week
‘Deva needs to be congratulated for being part of the pioneering group in the genre of the Indian thriller novel.’
– The Deccan Herald
‘Mukul Deva wears the crown of India’s premier military thriller writer with great skill and panache.’
‘An edge-of-the-seat-thriller.’
– The Hindustan Times
‘Exciting... with some action, some introspection, some retrospection... A racy read.’
– The Times of India
‘For the first time, an Indian thriller set in contemporary times… a gripping tale.’
– Pioneer
‘
Lashkar
tries to make sense of the terror that surrounds our lives.’
– The Hindu
‘Ludlumesque.’
– Tribune
‘A glance is enough to discover... this is a Tom Clancy on the LOC.’
– Time Out
‘A real page-turner… a riveting read.’
– Business Standard
‘Written with style and panache.’
– Sahara Time
‘A real-life take on how the so-called jehadis are picked up from anonymous Indian streets…
Lashkar
tells many tales with great ease.’
– MetroPlus
‘
Lashkar
is gripping... racy and visually captivating.’
– Indo Asian News Service
‘A compelling read.’
– Govind Nihalani, film-maker
‘Deva is back and how! Uncannily prescient. Unputdownable.
Salim Must Die
enthrones Deva as the undisputed Master of Thrills.’
– Sarthak Dasgupta, film-maker
‘Taut and gripping... technical knowledge and research are remarkable, as is the plotting and the premise. Great read for the fans of Tom Clancy.’
