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  ‘We had better not be late or you will find out soon enough,’ the senior subaltern replied grimly. ‘He’s such a perfect cunt.’

  Raghav’s loud peal of laughter surprised his driver. It also returned Raghav back to the grim reality of the fast fading night. His smile died away as a renewed sense of urgency assailed him. He knew the ops clock was ticking damnably fast. There was much to be done.

  A dozen men. Let’s start with that and hope for the best.

  Satisfied with the decision he picked up his mobile again and began to call a series of numbers. By the time the driver turned off the road and hit the dirt track leading off to his Satbari farm Raghav was done. Including the three Ratnakar had recruited he now had eleven men on tap, eight converging to Delhi and three reporting to Ratnakar in Pune. If all went well they would be in position in another three, max four hours.

  That gives me enough time to sift through the intel once more and decide on an action plan.

  An even dozen, including him. The jingle from the old Western, The Dirty Dozen, played in his head, bringing another sarcastic smile to his lips. He was still smiling when his car came to a halt outside the farmhouse

  Now to set up the command post and plan the deployment.

  They had some targets to secure.

  And some more to hunt down.

  Raghav was looking forward to it. It had been a while since he had gone manhunting. And he sensed this one was going to be a tough hunt.

  Aren’t they the best ones?

  He realized how badly he had missed the adrenaline rush.

  His smile turned cold as he leaped eagerly out of the car. Flexing his fingers he strode into the farmhouse. There was an unmistakable spring in his step.

  FOUR

  BARELY A DOZEN miles away, another tense ops conference was in full flow. The three-bedroom apartment in the Vasant Kunj DDA complex was neither as spacious nor as luxurious as Raghav’s massive farmhouse, but it was adequate for the four men gathered there.

  At this late hour the upper-middle-class South Delhi colony was largely asleep. Barring an odd house here or there and the omnipresent security lights outside every apartment door the darkness of a moonless light held the colony in its grip. Street lighting was sporadic and barely dented the darkness.

  Not that the conferring foursome suspected anything, but as a precaution, the TV, tuned to MTV, was switched on, ensuring it masked their conversation from prying ears.

  None of the jubilation, which normally follows in the wake of a successful mission, was present. They all knew that they had only won the first skirmish, but the main battle lay ahead now.

  ‘If everything goes as per plan, this is where he will be sitting when he has his morning tea.’ Krishna used the laser pointer to tap the quartet of cane chairs in the sitout of the bungalow displayed on the 17-inch screen of his Mac Book Pro.

  Arrayed around it, Karan, Kashif and Kulwant nodded in unison. It was a safe assumption. In two weeks of surveillance the target’s routine had not altered except that one day when he had presumably been sick and not come out of the house. Acceptable odds.

  ‘We already know about the security guard at the main gate and the second one, the backup, who sleeps on the first floor. But,’ Krishna threw a long look at Karan, his second-incommand, right from their K-Team days, ‘but now that we have warned them we can be sure there will be a lot of cops around.’

  ‘Come on, sir,’ Karan gave his usual schoolboyish, disarming grin. ‘You’re still not blaming me for that are you?’

  ‘You know I’m not.’ Krishna returned his smile. ‘That’s done and dusted. Once we take a decision we all abide by it, for better or worse. I did have my reservations about giving such a clear warning about our next three targets, but I see the point you guys want to make; we’re not some common criminals and it’s not only fair to warn the bad guys, but I also agree that carrying out the hits after warning them will really put the fear of god in these scum. But you know my concern guys, it also ups the ante for all of us.’ His gaze circled the trio. ‘You guys have families . . . responsibilities . . . All of you still have lots of things to take care of. And it’s not as if the good old army has left us rolling in money.’

  Krishna controlled his anger, something he was finding hard to do, especially since they had embarked on this mission. It irked that people who stood in harm’s way to protect the nation, went uncared for once they had ceased to be useful.

  While corrupt politicians and civil servants, safe in their airconditioned offices, hiding behind bodyguards paid by the hapless taxpayer, amass obscene fortunes.

  The rage had been building up in him for too long. Ever since he had come to know that his brother-in-law, an Indian Air Force pilot, had lost his life in a meaningless crash caused by spurious parts supplied by Hassan, that bastard of an arms dealer, in connivance with Rajappan. It had angered him when both walked away from the scam scot-free. He had barely begun to reconcile with this when came the news of Rajappan’s involvement in the 2G Spectrum scam. His being let off by the court on frivolous grounds, followed two days later by the news that Hassan, charged by the income tax office for evading hundreds of crores in taxes, had also been released on bail, was the straw that broke the camel’s back. This had been the rubbing of the proverbial salt on Krishna’s wounds. He had really lost it that day.

  Karan had been shocked when he landed up at the colonel’s house that evening about a month ago, something all of them from the K-Team were used to doing, dropping in on each other unannounced every now and then. For a few drinks, and a lot of conversation. They had done it so many times during the years that they had served together that it had become second nature to them . . . yeah, old habits do die hard.

  Karan had never seen the colonel like this before, not since that day when . . . he’d pushed away the horrible memory. And that is saying something. K-Team had traversed many really rocky roads together. And standing shoulder-to-shoulder Colonel Krishna Athawale had withstood everything that every battlefield had thrown at any of them with the placidity of the Rock of Gibraltar.

  By the time Karan had left him late that night, or rather early next morning, the colonel was almost back in control. Almost. And they were both a bit high . . . not drunk of course . . .

  ‘Commandos never get drunk . . . only pleasantly high,’ Krishna had reminded Karan as he saw him off to his car. They were both still guffawing when they finally staggered into their beds.

  Unknown to Krishna, the very next evening, Karan had called a mini-conference of war at his place. There were three others from the K-Team living in Delhi. All three of them landed up. No option really, that’s what the K-Team had always been all about . . . was, even now . . . you showed up when any one of the mates was in trouble. And Karan had said the colonel was.

  Now Krishna Athawale was special. Not just Karan, even Kashif and Kulwant would kill for him . . . in fact they would die for him equally willingly. After all, neither of them would have been alive if it hadn’t been for Krishna.

  Also, after what had happened during that final operation to recapture flight IC 814 from the hijackers, none of them could shy away from the fact that K-Team owed him. Big time.

  As the evening wore on, the mood had grown sombre. By the time the first whisky bottle had been demolished a general plan had begun to emerge. The plan crystallized as the alcohol level in the second bottle receded and their long-bottled anger escalated. It didn’t take long for Kamlesh in Pune and Kevin in Mumbai, present virtually on Skype, to throw their hats in the ring.

  All five of them were back in conference the next evening again.

  This conference was free from alcohol and deadly serious. These were men who had been in combat too often to take it lightly; they knew the cost of frivolity in such matters was always unacceptably high.

  Not one of them had displayed any doubts. Yet not one of them had been eager to broach the issue with the colonel.

  Again, it was
Karan who had drawn the short straw. Willingly. The colonel and he had batted at the same crease on many missions, including Kargil. And he was the secondin-command. And they all knew the colonel was fond of him.

  Even then it had been a close call.

  When Karan spoke to him the next day Colonel Krishna Athawale’s explosive, ‘Are you guys crazy?’ had taken several hours to mellow down.

  It was well past the witching hour on the third night that Karan and Kashif had finally been able to convince the colonel.

  ‘You know it, sir. Nothing is ever going to change. These bastard politicians, no matter which party they belong to, are all the same. They are only interested in lining their pockets.’ Karan set the tone for the evening.

  ‘You tell us, sir, if the opposition is clean why did they not bring the Bofors accused to heel when they were in power? How come nobody ever talks about the Bofors scam now? How come nobody got punished? How come none of the money ever came back to the country?’ Kashif entered the fray smoothly.

  ‘It’s obvious that deals were struck . . . you stay off our backs and we will stay off yours when we are in power. It doesn’t matter which party is in power, sir, our country always loses.’ Karan again. ‘Nothing will change, unless we force the bastards to.’

  ‘But that is the point my friends.’ Krishna was no pushover. ‘Don’t you realize that killing a few corrupt people will make no difference in the long run? Not unless we are able to provide a suitable alternative. The ones who replace them will be cut from the same cloth.’

  ‘That may not happen this time, sir,’ Karan countered. ‘There are more than enough honest, willing activists who have answered Hazarika’s call. By creating a vacuum at the top we may well provide the catalyst required for a new set of leaders to seize power.’

  ‘Maybe.’ Krishna pondered that. ‘Maybe not. Who is to know?’

  ‘Precisely.’ Kashif nodded. ‘Who is to know? Neither will we unless we try.’

  ‘But guys, wrong is wrong, no matter what the motive?’

  It took several hours before they finally managed to chip away at Krishna’s defences and get through to him. The latent anger festering inside him all these years came to their assistance. And the fact, that somewhere deep inside, he also felt they were right. For over sixty years these politicians had raped the country shamelessly and mercilessly.

  ‘And what about you guys?’ Krishna had expressed his final, most pressing concern. ‘All of you have responsibilities to fulfil. And all of you need to remember that even if we succeed, there will be no reward.’ He looked at each of them one by one. ‘At the end of it all there is likely to be nothing waiting for us . . . except may be a jail cell . . . or even an anonymous grave.’

  ‘Does it matter, sir?’ It was again Karan who turned the tide. ‘Karmanye vaadhikaarasthay maa phaleshu kadachana, maa karma-phala-hetur bhur maa te sangho ‘stv akarmaani.’ He expertly intoned the verse from the Bhagvad Gita, which he had heard Krishna recite so often. Karan was aware that Krishna set great store by this book. ‘Sir, weren’t you the one who always told us that we have a right to perform our prescribed duty, but we’re not entitled to the fruits of our actions. That we should never consider ourselves the cause of the results of our actions, and never be attached to not doing our duty. Weren’t you?’

  Krishna held his gaze, but he could feel Karan getting to him.

  ‘Tell me, sir, am I wrong? What’s different here? Why should we still not act and do our duty without worrying about the result or the reward?’

  There had been silence in the room then. A solid, tense silence. It even reached out to Kevin and Kamlesh, who were again present virtually on Skype. Finally, Krishna had nodded. As if to say, so be it.

  ‘Well.’ Krishna gave a grim smile. ‘If you guys have made up your minds to do this, then I guess someone has to ensure you do it properly. And live to tell the tale.’

  They had all laughed at that. Not very enthusiastic laughs, but even that helped lighten the moment. It was only then that the planning had begun.

  Krishna sensed that Karan was lost in thought. He tapped the Mac Book’s shiny aluminium body, tugging him back to the present. ‘You know I’m only worried about you guys.’

  ‘Don’t worry about it, sir. This is a stand-off strike. We can handle it. The cops won’t even come to know where we are.’

  ‘Almost nine hundred yards, Karan.’ Krishna confronted him. ‘I know you could do it in the old days, but it’s been a while now. You think you can still hack it?’

  ‘Nope!’ Karan laughed. ‘I know I can.’ They all joined in as Karan pistol-pointed his finger at the man on the Mac screen. ‘That dude is so dead.’

  ‘And then tomorrow?’ Krishna queried softly, wanting them to acknowledge the danger. Aware that complacency was the one big enemy they had to avoid. ‘And the next one? Have no doubts, it is going to get increasingly difficult.’

  ‘You know that K-Team has been through worse, sir. We’ve always pulled through.’ Yet again Karan. The perennial optimist. ‘Let’s focus on this one and worry about the next when tomorrow comes.’

  ‘Right!’ Krishna nodded. Knowing that once the dice had been cast it was better to stay positive and cross each bridge as they came to it. No other way to go forward. ‘I want you to be extra careful, Kulwant. You see anything out of sync and you guys pull out and let us handle it. We will be right there on the other side.’ Kashif and he would be providing backup for this one. ‘I do not want Karan out on a limb.’

  ‘But of course.’ Kulwant grinned. ‘Can’t allow anything to happen to Karan. The bugger owes me a crate of beer.’ That got them laughing again.

  Krishna watched the men, relieved at the uplifted mood. Yet, sharply aware that casualties are inevitable in every battle, he could not help wondering if they would all be back the following night. No matter how good, no warrior lasts forever. And death needed only just that one tiny window of opportunity.

  He briefly wondered which of them would fall first. And how he as their designated commander would respond.

  ‘Wonder how Kevin and Kamlesh are doing?’ Karan’s voice intruded on his thoughts. Before anyone could answer, Karan was dialling Kevin’s number.

  Krishna watched the two NDA course mates banter. Masking the handset Karan confirmed to Krishna, ‘Kevin’s carrying out the final recon in Mumbai, and Kamlesh is in Lucknow.’

  Krishna nodded. He had expected no less. K-Team had done this several times already, but the final recon is always the final recon, best conducted thoroughly.

  As soon as they completed the task tomorrow, the four of them would join Kamlesh at Lucknow. And after finishing up there they would then move to Mumbai, for the third and, hopefully, the final target.

  If all of us make it out alive.

  Pushing away this nagging worry, which plagues every commander on the eve of every battle, Krishna got the trio back to his Mac and ran over the drill once more before calling it a night. Then, after they left, he did the same with Kevin and Kamlesh on the phone. That stilled his pre-combat anxiety. Somewhat.

  When he checked his watch it was almost one. He knew he had to be up by six and get Sachin ready for school. Well, not actually get him ready; at ten he was big enough to do that, but just generally be around and give him company at the breakfast table . . . Sachin liked that. Krishna did too. It was something that he, brought up in a boarding school, had missed. It made him all the more determined to ensure his son did not.

  Krishna hit the bed eager to catch some sleep, but, once again, life was not going to be kind to him. Sleep came only slowly.

  And with it came the horrible nightmare . . . that had been a part of his reality since that terrible day when . . .

  *

  ‘IC 814 has been hijacked.’ Krishna blanched as Karan, manning the Crisis Centre, called him.

  Just a few hours back Krishna had dropped Pooja off at the airport. Able to do so simply because he too had been headed for the
airport; the K-Team, along with two other teams from the 19th were on anti-hijack duty that day.

  Dropping the handset Krishna raced for the Crisis Centre. When he blew in the rest of K-Team was already there, huddled around the radio set. Those who hadn’t done so were now strapping on their battle gear.

  ‘It’s about half an hour out from Delhi.’ Karan called out when he saw Krishna rush in. ‘The hijackers are taking it to Kathmandu.’

  ‘Pooja is on that flight,’ Krishna blurted out, stricken.

  ‘Mother of God!’

  They all knew that Pooja, his wife, was an air hostess with Indian Airlines. They hadn’t known that she was on that particular flight. The silence in the room was painful.

  ‘Don’t worry, sir. It’ll all work out,’ Kulwant muttered, not knowing what else to say.

  Tension escalated with blinding speed, every second passing excruciatingly painfully.

  ‘What have the hijackers asked for?’ Krishna asked finally.

  ‘They want Kasab freed.’ Karan replied.

  Ajmal Kasab. The Pakistani killer from the 26/11-terror attack on Mumbai, who had been captured alive by the cops.

  ‘Why the fuck haven’t they hanged the bastard? After all these years they want to . . .’ Karan lashed out, voicing what they were all feeling. ‘Fucking government. After all these years . . . they just don’t get it.’

  ‘814 has reported engine trouble.’ The Crisis Centre radio crackled out. ‘It’s being diverted to Lucknow. Response units prepare to move out.’

  Then everything passed in a blur of movement.

  Weapons. Spare magazines. Flak jackets. Radio sets. Flash and bangs. The rush for the waiting jet. A roar of engines. Then the steady drone as they slashed through the air; faster, much faster than the lumbering civil airliner they were going out to meet.

  The thump of wheels impacting tarmac.

  Silence.

  The cracking open of the aircraft door.

  Lucknow airfield lay before them. A beehive of activity.

  All three anti-hijack teams were in place when IC 814 hove into view. A faint trail of black smoke streamed out from the port engine. Becoming thicker and more prominent as the aircraft dropped height and came closer.