Panther's Ghosts, page 11
Zubaida had a double-walled, sound proof bedroom with a disguised trapdoor under the bed. The door led to a 1 km long secret tunnel, which ended beyond the hillocks in a rug shop owned by a Punjabi who was Naved’s school friend. Inside the tunnel was a pit railway track, the kind normally seen in old coal mines and used to carry materials and workers. She had installed a sophisticated pit railway track with a small electrically charged platform that could carry four people at a speed of 25 kmph. There was also a small garage with a refrigerator fully stacked with canned food and supplies to last a week. Zubaida had a premonition that a day would come when the Army would try to put her Dad in jail as they had done to other civilian government officials who did not toe the Army line. At a time like that, this tunnel would prove to be her saviour. The house was patrolled by security guards from a private agency she had personally selected and the entire property was secured with high-end American integrated tech-security systems. Every entry and exit point of the mini fortress was monitored by CCTV cameras. In short, it was not easy to enter the bungalow uninvited.
The twenty-minute ride to his daughter’s place felt like eternity. As he passed through the streets of Islamabad, he realised how backward his country was—even the VVIP areas through which he was travelling were filthy and stinking. The country had gone bankrupt and was surviving on American dole. There was a miniscule percentage of industrialists who were courageous enough to run their business but the only reason they survived was because of the protection money they gave to the Army.
Apart from independent bungalows, the society also boasted of two fifteen-storeyed towers of which one was located 500 yards away from Zubaida’s house. On the eleventh floor of this tower, the ISI had a safe house. Unknown to its residents, the ISI kept a watch on all the activities in the society—especially those in Zubaida’s bungalow. By the time Naved reached his daughter’s house, it was noon and the sun was reaching its peak as he pulled the tinted windows down. The spherical cameras at the gate focused on his face, recognised it and gave instructions to the command centre. An alarm buzzed in the living room, announcing the visitor as the locks clicked open and the massive iron gates opened inwards. Zubaida heard the alarm and watched her father’s car enter the compound on the CCTV monitor installed in her bedroom. She watched him walk up the porch and thought to herself with a smile: He has taken the decision. The sensors at the main door recognised the visitor and opened automatically. As Naved stepped into the cool living room of his daughter’s house, she ran into his arms and hugged him.
‘How is my angel doing today?’ he asked as he hugged her tightly.
‘Now that you are here, super!’ she laughed. She pressed a button on the remote as she escorted him to a sofa in the living room and behind them, the steel doors closed automatically.
The ISI officer on duty recorded everything and immediately intimated his boss.
2
Naved was thrilled to see his daughter. He sat on the sofa, holding her hands as she talked non-stop. Each time she threw back her head and laughed, a dull ache ran through his heart. In a few months, she was going to leave him and settle down in London. After his wife Shabnam’s demise, his only support system had been his daughter.
‘In a few months, you are going to get married and I will be left all alone,’ Naved said, as he squeezed her hand tightly. He had always known that the day would come when they would have to part. Even then, as the day of her wedding came closer, his panic only increased.
‘No matter where I am, I will always be in your heart,’ she said, snuggling up to him.
He kissed her on her head lovingly and whispered, ‘God bless you, my child.’
She brushed away a tear from his left eye and said, ‘Come on. Let’s go to my room.’ She led him to her bedroom and made him sit on the bed. Then she locked the bedroom door and sat next to him. Both father and daughter always held their confidential discussions in the bedroom as it was soundproofed and had one-way glass on all windows. One of the cupboard walls had an almost invisible panel behind which was a SAT phone with a fully equipped SAT connection. Neither the Army nor the ISI had any clue about this facility. ‘Now tell me,’ she said, looking into his eyes.
He looked at her and said, ‘I think the time has come, Zubaida.’
‘I know. I saw the news,’ she nodded.
‘Give me the phone. I will call him now,’ he said.
‘No. You have your lunch first, and take a nap. Then we will call him,’ she replied as she led him to her dining room with large bay windows. Zubaida was aware of the fact that her movements were being watched by the ISI because her head of security had briefed her about it. Yet, she continued to act as though she was unaware. She laid the table and seated Naved in such a way that the ISI guy in the safe house could easily see them. The lunch was simple yet delicious. Father and daughter spoke for a while about the wedding, the groom, the in-laws and so on while the ISI officer in the safe house watched them. After lunch, she escorted him to the guest room for a nap and retired into her room. The officer on the eleventh floor also decided to take a break. His eyes were smarting and his hands were hurting from holding the binoculars. After two hours, Naved got up and walked to his daughter’s room. She was lying on her bed and reading a book.
‘Feeling relaxed?’ she asked.
‘Yes, angel. Let’s make that call now,’ he said, sitting on the edge of her bed. Zubaida got up, locked the bedroom door and took out the SAT device. She switched on the connection, dialled the number and handed the SAT phone to her father. Naved took the phone and waited. After a few seconds of silence, he heard a long beep. Immediately, the phone was answered. ‘I hope you are coming for the wedding, janaab?’ Naved asked.
‘Not for the wedding but I will come to bless her. I will drop by on my way back from Kabul. It will be a last-minute decision,’ the voice answered.
‘Should I send you a formal invitation?’ asked Naved.
‘Avoidable,’ came the reply. After a pause, the voice asked, ‘What is it?’
‘The time has come,’ Naved said quietly into the phone.
‘I realised,’ said the voice on the other side.
‘I really need your help,’ whispered Naved.
‘Don’t worry. I will take care of the situation,’ said the voice and disconnected. Naved handed over the SAT phone to Zubaida, who asked ‘So?’
‘He said he will help,’ replied Naved with a smile.
‘Everything will be okay,’ she said, patting his back.
‘He is my only hope,’ Naved sighed as he walked up to the mirror and started combing his hair. Zubaida saw the tension on her father’s face. She hugged him tightly from the back and said, ‘Allah will take care of everything.’
‘I know,’ he smiled back. Then he held her hand as they walked towards the main door. ‘Don’t watch the news tomorrow evening, dear,’ he whispered in her ear as he walked out.
‘Why?’
‘I will be at the United Nations tomorrow, parroting that dumb speech Hafiz wrote.’
‘Kashmir again?’
‘What else?’ he said as he got into his car. As Naved’s car left the bungalow and moved towards the main road, the ISI officer called his boss. ‘Nothing untoward, janaab; just a visit to his daughter and he is on his way back.’
A thousand miles away, the prime minister of India Damodar Das a.k.a. the Panther put his SAT phone back on its charger, looked at Dhariwal and said softly, ‘The source said it’s a GO.’
‘Can we trust him?’ Dhariwal asked.
The Panther smiled. ‘No, but it serves our purpose. Naved’s aim is to gain total control over the Army and the ISI, and establish control through a democratically elected government. Our aim is also the same. It’s better to have a corrupt neighbour than a rogue state.’
‘Should I prepare the Ghosts?’ Dhariwal asked.
‘I guess so, my friend,’ replied The Panther as he stretched his hands above his head.
MAY 2018
Rawalpindi; Northern Pakistan’s biggest logistics and transportation centre was bustling with activity even at midnight. The headquarters of Pakistani Army and the ISI, both of which were located in the city, were a lot quieter though, being a Thursday evening.
3
It was 12:30 AM on a Thursday night, and the compound around the palatial bungalow of Pakistan’s Chief of Army Staff was silent except for the muted sound of the television in the library. General Pervez Khan, the head of the Pakistani Army, sat nursing his whisky, watching the American News Network (ANN) broadcast the UN session live on the 3:00 PM news in America. He had been drinking all night and was sloshed. After a commercial break, the ANN anchor was back on the screen.
‘After the Pathankot incident on 2 January, the Uri attack on 18 January has shaken India. Eighteen soldiers of the Indian Border Security Force (BSF) have been killed. India is extremely upset and every Indian citizen is baying for war with Pakistan. At the UN, Pakistan Prime Minister Naved Sharafat has been reprimanded by America. The entire world has expressed grief and their displeasure at Pakistan for harbouring terror groups on its soil. America is most vocal and has already declared that they will be stopping the “Aid for Terror” fund that they have been sending to Pakistan over the last few years because they feel that the money is being used to do just the opposite: F=Fund terror in India. The British Prime Minister has said that today Pakistan stands isolated in this world.’
General Pervez switched to a local channel. The Pakistani news reader said, ‘Our prime minister was ridiculed at the UN. It was only yesterday that he appealed to the world, asking them to wake up to the atrocities the innocent civilians of Kashmir are being subjected to by the Indian government. And it was only yesterday that he told the world that Pakistan wants peace in the region. And then the Uri attack happened. Our prime minister has lost face; we are being called a terror state and the Financial Action Task Force (FATF) has already put Pakistan on the blacklist.’
General Pervez laughed loudly, thumping the arm rest of the sofa he was siting on and murmured, ‘What will you do now, Naved?’
Just then, the hotline on his table started ringing. General Pervez looked at the display screen to see who was calling, grinned and picked up the receiver. ‘Janaab, how are you? How is the UN? How is New York?’ he asked sarcastically.
‘Why did you do it?’ Naved hissed. General Pervez could sense the anger in the PM’s voice but played on. ‘I don’t know what you are talking about, janaab.’ He feigned ignorance.
‘You planned this, didn’t you? I stand here, parroting your mullah’s speech while you two destroy my credibility. Thanks to you, we are blacklisted now,’ said Naved. A day before, Naved stood at the UN, reading a scripted speech written by Hafiz Salahuddin—the head of JuD—admonishing India’s attitude towards Kashmir. A day later, two home-grown and trained terror modules of the JuD crossed the Line of Control (LoC) into India and set the army base of the Indian BSF on fire, killing eighteen soldiers while they were sleeping. Those who tried to escape got blown up when the explosive dump got detonated.
‘Don’t worry about black and grey lists, janaab. We have a stronger ally in China; they will fund us,’ he replied.
‘Yes. I am sure they wanted this, too. This stronger ally of yours sat twiddling its thumbs when the shit was hitting the ceiling, you dumb nitwit,’ Naved exploded.
‘Handling allies is the job of the government, janaab,’ the general slurred.
‘Yes. And your job is to take money from this ally and fund Hafiz to send terrorists to India.’
‘They are not terrorists; they are jihadis. Don’t you know that Islam says: If you are not a jihadi, you are not a true Muslim.’ During the terror attack, the Indian BSF retaliated and all the terrorists got neutralised. For General Pervez, they were martyrs. What was important for him was that they took eighteen BSF soldiers down with them.
‘Islam does not say anything like that, you jerk. That is your mullah’s interpretation. Go, wag your tail and report to your master now,’ Naved banged the phone down.
A furious Pervez Khan flung his whiskey glass at Naved’s picture which was hung as a part of protocol on the far right wall. It hit the wall and shattered into pieces. ‘I’ll destroy you even as I destroy India with a thousand cuts, you pig!’ he shouted. Then he picked up his cell phone and dialled a number.
Meanwhile, the anchor continued: ‘The gun battle and the subsequent combing operations at Uri lasted seventeen hours. The international media have already started saying that the evidence collected by the Indian agencies point to the JuD, headed by the global terrorist Hafiz Salahuddin, and the call intercepts reveal that the handler was none other than Hafiz himself. RAW has said that they have clinching evidence which proves that the conspiracy was hatched in Quetta under the supervision of Hafiz and executed by the JuD terror modules. The Indian Defence Minister Manoj Parrikar has said that they will not take this lying down any more. The Indian Prime Minister Damodar Das has gone on record stating that India will respond at a time and place of their choosing.’
‘You can do nothing, DD. As long as we have nuclear capabilities, no one can touch us. Your predecessors did nothing and you will follow suit,’ thought General Pervez as he waited for his call to be answered. A couple of more rings and finally a heavy voice answered, ‘Ji, Janaab.’
‘Salahuddin Saab. Congratulations!’
‘Inshallah, we will do better next time, brother. A hundred of our Shaheeds are getting ready. In a short time, the kefirs will see what real vengeance means.’
‘Inshallah,’ replied General Pervez. After discussing a few more issues, he disconnected the line.
While the general hit the bed, a few hundred miles away from Rawalpindi, in Quetta, on the Pak–Afghan border in Pakistan’s Federally Administered Tribal Areas (FATA), global terrorist Hafiz Salahuddin stepped out of his bungalow into the hot sunny morning. The heavily guarded bungalow was called ‘Hafiz House’ and was built on a 1-acre plot. Twelve hundred yards away from the house ran an electrified barbed wire outer perimeter. Six hundred yards from the house was an inner perimeter which was also wire-fenced. A lone ranger positioned 20 feet above on a turret operated the flood lights at regular intervals to cover the entire plot. Pakistani rangers stood guard with AK47s at every corner. He had three rangers patrolling the bungalow from the outside, one on the turret, three inside the bungalow and another ten floating in and out of the bungalow based on his needs. The arrangement with the army was that they were free to pull these ten reserves whenever they needed them for any emergency or VIP operations but seven rangers were dedicated to Hafiz. He was the second international terrorist who was being given protection by the Pakistani Army. The first one had been Osama bin Laden; the American seals nailed him a few years ago.
‘Allah u Akbar,’ Hafiz whispered, looking at the blue sky. He had a smile on his face.
In a few weeks, his band of jihadis would wreak havoc in Delhi.
4
It was 6:30 in the morning and the sun was already up when the Panther’s Ghosts sat in the living room of Veer’s bungalow in Pune. Each one was carefully going through a thick dossier, absorbing every detail. The only sound came from Lala who kept shuffling his feet out of restlessness as he sat in a corner, sipping on his black coffee and looking at the clouds. He was restless because he had already gone through the dossier the previous night and had nothing much to do now. The dossiers contained a detailed description and analysis of every single activity of the JuD. Arvind joined Lala in the balcony as the rest of the Ghosts went through their dossiers.
‘Wasn’t so long ago when we concluded Strike 1,’ he muttered looking at the same clouds.
‘And now, we are getting ready for Strike 2,’ replied Lala looking up.
Once everyone was through, Arvind walked back and took his seat at the head of the table. He waited for Lala to join the rest of them and began by saying, ‘Now that you guys know everything in the dossier, let me also give some additional information that is not in it. After the Pathankot attack, because of international pressure, Pakistan had put Hafiz Salahuddin under house arrest for about six months and proclaimed that the JuD, the terror group run by him, does not exist anymore. We now know that it continues to exist under a new name: Falah-e-Insaniat Foundation or FIF. Anyway, once the pressure eased, everything went back to normal. After China supported Pakistan at the United Nations Security Council (UNSC) and said that Pakistan is really working hard on eradicating terror from its soil, instead of acting against the terror groups, Pakistan reaffirmed official support to anti-India terrorist groups by not extending a presidential ordinance that put Hafiz Salahuddin’s JuD and the FIF on a terrorist list. Like us, Afghanistan and Iran are also on the radar of these terror groups. Hafiz and Pervez hate Naved because they feel Naved panders to us.’
‘Is it true?’ Raj asked.
‘Well, Naved is neck-deep in corruption charges. If he loses the election this time, he will go to jail. The Panama Leaks haven’t helped either. His survival depends on coming back to power with the Army, the ISI and the mullahs under his control.’
‘And that will never happen,’ said Geeta.
‘It could; if India helps him,’ said Arvind.
‘Why would he ask India to help in the first place? We are their enemies,’ said Raj.
‘Well, Naved follows the philosophy that the enemy’s enemy is a friend. He knows if he wants to win the elections and consolidate power, he needs the Panther. Though Pervez and Hafiz suspect his leaning towards the Panther in times of crisis, it did not stop Naved from accepting the Panther’s invitation for his swearing-in as the prime minister of India. I think Pervez is now convinced that Naved is up to something, so he has kept him under the 24x7 ISI watch list. But let me first give you the larger picture so that you all are able to connect the dots easily.’
