SALIM MUST DIE (16 page)

That night, before going to bed, Mai logged onto his meetyourmatch profile and sent off a message to Salim.

Thanks for the details forwarded by you. Please give me a couple of days to think over things. I will be in touch with you on the twenty-fifth or twenty-sixth of this month.

IN THE SAFE CONFINES OF THE BUNGALOW IN MURREE, SALIM
laughed aloud as he read Mai's message. His face aglow with excitement, he charged out of his room. ‘He's done it, Cheema. Mai has made the weapons.’

‘Fantastic!’ Cheema beamed broadly. ‘Should I activate the others then?’

‘Of course! I'll alert the strike teams. You go ahead with your people. It's time to trigger the next phase of our mission.’

The two men went about their tasks with a surging sense of enthusiasm.

Soon a stream of messages flowed out from Salim's computer to each person on teams Alpha and Bravo. This time there was no difference in the messages sent to the two teams.

While Salim was sending the messages, Cheema was on the phone. An hour later, he left the bungalow and was on his way to Lahore.

Not too far behind him, one by one, as they received Salim's message, the members of Strike Team Alpha reached for the travel bags they had kept ready and began to move.

Strike Team Bravo also made their final preparations, but they would not be moving out of the target cities, since their weapons were being delivered to them.

The strike had now moved smoothly into its third phase and as yet, not one of the intelligence agencies in the world had the faintest idea of the calamity that was rushing towards them at breakneck speed.

Phase Three: Breaching the Barriers

K
IRANA
H
ILLS
M
UNITIONS
D
EPOT
, P
AKISTAN

THERE WAS NOTHING OUT OF THE ORDINARY ABOUT THE
small army convoy that drove up to the gates of the Munitions Depot just after midnight. Nor was there anything out of the ordinary in the documentation carried by the young Captain commanding the rifle platoon escorting the convoy. As far as anyone could tell, it was a simple transfer of ordinances from the munitions depot to a designated military post.

What
was
a bit out of the ordinary was the nature of the consignment mentioned in the papers carried by the Captain. Keeping in view the security SOP (Standard Operating Procedure) for such special items, a call was made to the CO of the weapons depot. The CO was a man known to play by the book. As per the protocol governing the movement of such weapons, he picked up the phone and called the person who had signed off the authorizations. The authorizations checked out fine.

Two hours later, the small convoy drove out of the munitions depot. Safely nestled in the rear of the truck in the middle of the convoy were the four pieces of cargo they had come to collect, neatly packaged and crated. Each crate contained a specially constructed mini nuclear weapon.

Also referred to as suitcase nukes, they were plutonium fuelled, gun-type atomic weapons almost identical in size and design to the Soviet RA-115 or the American MK-54 SADM (Small Atomic Demolition Munitions). Codenamed CM-911 by the Pakistan Army, they were more commonly referred to as Chote Miyan in daily parlance.

Designed for covert use by Special Forces, each nuke was barely 60x40x20 centimetres in size and almost impossible to detect. Each Chote Miyan had a yield of one kiloton (that is, the equivalent of 1000 kilotons of conventional high explosive) and was eminently capable of destroying every living thing in a small city and rendering it radioactively unfit for habitation for many, many years.

A FEW HOURS LATER, THE CONVOY DROVE INTO A SMALL
warehouse on the outskirts of Lahore. The warehouse belonged to a seldom advertised, low-key freight and forwarding company headquartered in Karachi. The company was a legitimate business concern. Unknown to most people, it was also a front for the ISI and a key component in the narco-nuclear-terror trade carried out by the ISI.

There was a specialist three-man crew waiting at the warehouse, which had been converted into a well equipped and brightly lit workshop. They took charge of the four pieces of cargo. Cheema emerged from the shadows as the convoy departed.

‘I want you to check everything and let me know if there is anything else that you need,’ he told the chief of the crew and then waited patiently as they went to work on the cargo.

A few hours later, the man beckoned to him. ‘It's all there.’

‘Good. Now make sure you guys do a thorough job.’

‘Don't worry about it.’ The crew went to work on the cargo even as Cheema took a last look around, and left.

BY THE END OF THE SECOND DAY, THE FIRST CHOTE MIYAN
had been beautifully camouflaged and repackaged. It did not look even remotely like the suitcase it had resembled when it left the Kirana Hills Munitions Depot.

First, an additional lead lining had been placed all around it, to rule out any possibility of a radiation leak. Thereafter, a rectangular plate with four evenly spaced holes drilled into it at carefully measured distances was attached to it. Then the whole thing was neatly fitted inside an empty jeep tyre.

Cheema arrived within an hour of getting the call from the warehouse. He gave a satisfied grunt after examining the finished product. He gave a louder grunt as he ran the Electronic Dosimeter over the suitcase nuke and noted that it did not even blink.

‘Just try that one there.’ The chief of the crew pointed at the SynOdys Radiation Monitoring System installed in one corner of the room. ‘That's the type being used at most major airports and harbours these days.’

Cheema wheeled the nuke slowly past the monitor.

Not a beep! Great! That takes care of the radiation problem.

This was essential. With the heightened security alerts prevalent these days, Radiation Monitoring Systems were deployed at almost all the main entry points of most countries.

Replacing the nuke on the rack, Cheema asked, ‘What about the controller and the timer?’

‘There have been no major changes. The handler has to simply strip off the outer casing that we have added on to camouflage it.’ The man showed him the four key points from where the casing had to be stripped away and continued, ‘And then he has to plug in the controller… that too, only for this one, since we had to detach it. This is the most time consuming part of the process and can take five to six minutes.’

‘That long?’

‘I assume the handler will be working under active operational conditions,’ the man replied, giving Cheema a level look, ‘which means he has to do it very discreetly to ensure he is not detected.’ The man waited, but Cheema did not respond, so he continued, ‘That's why it will take him a little more time than what we can achieve here. After that he has to key in the arming code twice to initiate the firing sequence. Finally, he has to set the timer and then key in the activation code. The whole process should not take more than fifteen to seventeen minutes max, even if external circumstances are extremely… unfavourable.’

‘If I'm not wrong, the timer has only three settings.’

‘That's absolutely right. The lowest is thirty minutes, the next one is forty-five minutes and the third setting is for a one hour delay.’

When Cheema spoke again, he had lowered his voice. ‘Is it possible for you to alter these settings?’ It was obvious he did not want the others in the room to hear.

‘Right now? Here in the workshop? Yes it is, but not once Chote Miyan is out in the field.’

‘Then do it. I want the first setting to be operational immediately, the second after a fifteen minute delay and the third after thirty minutes. You can do that?’

‘Yes, of course I can, but that means the person who is going to deploy the weapon will have no time to get clear if he uses either of the first two settings. He will also go down….’

‘Do you always ask so many questions?’ There was menace in Cheema's voice. ‘I want you to do it. Okay?’

‘Okay.’ The man was clearly cowed down. ‘On all four bombs?’

‘Of course. How much time do you need?’

‘About an hour per device.’

‘Have the first one ready right away and the others before they go out.’ Cheema began to turn away when he stopped and spoke again. ‘I hope you have no problems with any of these orders?’ His tone was still low and even. ‘And you have no problem keeping vital operational information to yourself?’

‘No, no, of course not,’ the man replied instantly, his tone subdued.

Cheema gave a curt you-will-bear-watching-my-friend nod.

‘Get the first one ready. The one for which you have detached the controller.’ Turning away, he stalked off to one corner, extracted his satellite phone and began to speak into it softly. The call lasted several minutes.

A few hours later, the carefully repackaged and reprogrammed Chote Miyan was on board a jeep headed for Karachi port.

U
RUMQI

WHEN MAI SAW THE MESSAGE FROM SALIM, HE KNEW THAT
similar messages must have been sent out to the entire strike team. So,
finally it has begun
. He could not suppress the sharp thrill of excitement that shot through him.

It was on this high that he arrived in his office that morning. There was one final task left for him to complete before he left for the Fourth International Workshop on Biotechnological Approaches to Chemical Weapon Destruction, scheduled to be held at New Delhi on 27–28 April. The trip would not raise any eyebrows because Mai had attended the third workshop at Saratov, Russia in August 2000.

To Mai, this final task was the least palatable. ‘Must I do that?’ he had argued with Salim in the Maldives.

‘Yes, you must! If you want all traces of your involvement to be eliminated, you have no option,’ Salim had pointed out. ‘I know you are attached to the lab, but you must remember that you are a very valuable asset to the jihad. Your cover is of paramount importance.’ Mai had to admit the man was right and had agreed to the plan.

Even though he was working in full view of dozens of his colleagues, Mai got away undetected simply because no one expected him to be doing anything untoward.
Cheema was right, it is always best to hide in plain sight
.

It took Mai barely an hour to slip the cans of air-freshener filled with VX Gas into the air-conditioning ducts that led into the main conference hall and the primary laboratory where the majority of the research staff worked. He had fitted highly sophisticated timer devices on the release valves and had already set the activation time before he slipped them in.

Getting the explosives into the specimen bank area was much harder, but Mai managed to get them in without being detected. Explosives were not something he was used to handling. Controlling his fear and discomfiture, he carefully followed the instructions Cheema had given him, and initiated the timer on the explosive charges. He set the same date and time that he had set on the VX Gas cans.
The poor sods will not even know what hit them
.

MAI SPENT THE EVENING WITH HIS SECOND-IN-COMMAND,
briefing him on the various things to be taken care of while he was away. ‘A lot of the top brass are going to be here for the quarterly research review next month,’ Mai stressed. ‘You must pay special attention to it.’

‘Aren't they always?’ The second-in-command sighed in exasperation. ‘They expect us to produce results as though we're cooks trying out new recipes. Don't they realize how painstaking and time consuming research can be?’

‘That's true, but it is a reality we have to live with.’ Mai was used to this gripe from almost every scientist he had worked with. ‘Anyway, I want you to conduct a pre-conference on the twenty-eighth and have everyone go over his or her presentations.’

‘That's no problem, chief, you don't worry about it. I'll schedule it right away.’

‘I've already done that. The email went out just before you came in. You just ensure everyone takes it seriously. Remember, our budget depends on it.’

‘Leave it to me, boss.’ On that note they parted.

AS HE DROVE OUT THAT EVENING, MAI PAUSED NEAR THE
facility gates for a long time. He knew he would never see it like this again. When he returned…
if he returned
, Mai reminded himself, he would not be allowed within miles of the facility.

It would have become a devastated shell of a building. The whole facility would be flooded with the deadliest variety of viruses and chemicals known to mankind and would remain sealed off for many decades to come.

There was a twinge of regret in Mai's heart as he finally engaged gears and drove away. After all, it had been his home for many years now.

Just remember why you are doing this
, he told himself.
Remember that no matter what they say or do, the Chinese State is the enemy. It has and will continue to destroy our Muslim brothers
.

Pulling himself together, Mai hardened his heart and accelerated towards the new destiny that awaited him.

A few hours later, the jet carrying Mai was airborne and heading swiftly towards Beijing, from where he would take the China Airlines flight to New Delhi. Beautifully camouflaged, the aerosolized VX Gas and Variola Major vials were safely nestled in the baggage that he had checked in.

Keeping in view the latest security stipulations, Mai had sealed the aftershave and room-freshener sprays in the See-Buy-Fly plastic security pouches with ‘Open only at the Destination’ printed boldly across, that all duty-free shops at all airports use these days. In each of these plastic pouches he had also neatly placed the required bill of sale from the Delhi duty-free shop that it was supposed to have been bought at. All the bills were clever forgeries, but one would have to open the packets and check them carefully to know this.

Salim had been right:
The best security precaution becomes redundant the minute it becomes routine. By now security men the world over have become so used to seeing such items in sealed pouches that they rarely give them a second glance
.

Mai had no doubts about being able to get through airport security at Beijing. His rank and status were more than adequate to ensure he sailed through all the security checks.

The airport security at Delhi will be the real challenge. Let us see if those cretins have the mental capability to see through the camouflage.

Mai smiled to himself. He was confident he would get through unscathed.

MAI'S JET WAS ACCELERATING DOWN THE RUNAWAY WHEN
the first of Salim's chosen killers, Erik Segan, also took off. In the next few hours, one by one, from various points of the compass, Karl Gunther, Ben Ashton, Abrahim Reis, and Sahiba and Kismat Khan also became airborne.

The ruthless terrorist armada was starting to converge yet again. This time the destination was New Delhi.

K
ARACHI
, P
AKISTAN

THE MAN WHO CARRIED THE FIRST NUKE DOWN TO KARACHI
delivered it to a small house on the outskirts of town. The dishevelled looking man who took it from him did not look or behave like the highly trained naval commando that he was. The man had totally submerged himself in his role, and looked perfectly at home in the fishing dhow that sailed away from Karachi harbour a little later. The three other people in the dhow with him were also similarly attired. Like him, two of them were Pakistani naval commandos.

The third was a highly talented man named Sohail Ahmed. The thirty-year-old had been employed as a postman in the Indian Postal Service for the past seven years. For four of those seven years he had also been on the payroll of the Pakistani ISI.