RIP Page 7

  Krishna saw the emergency teams race along with the aircraft as it hit the tarmac and finally screamed to a halt at the far end of the runway. Obviously the hijackers were going to keep it parked there, till they decided what they wanted to do. The engine failure must have seriously derailed their plans. They must have expected to be safely out of Indian airspace by now. Landing here must be compounding their stress.

  Krishna flinched. Stressed men were dangerous men. More likely to pull the trigger. He knew the next few minutes would be critical. If they did not do their jobs properly, hostages would die. Or, equally terrible, find themselves in some unfriendly, foreign country. For a moment he wondered which, since Afghanistan was no longer an option.

  Anywhere in Pakistan.

  The answer was logical and drove shards of anger through him. Pakistan was now openly rogue, no longer much bothered by international opinion. Not since Osama, hidden blatantly by the Pakistani Army, had been discovered and killed by the Americans. That had shocked the Pakis. And blown the lid off their complicity. The world could ignore it no longer.

  Krishna knew it would not go well for the hostages if that happened. Especially Pooja, if they came to know she was an army wife. He suppressed the icy shiver that threatened to unsettle him. Not now! The commando needed to be at the top of his game.

  He watched as IC 814 finally rolled to a stop. A minute later the emergency vehicles pulled back, the hijackers obviously wanting to ensure a clear safe zone around them.

  ‘They’ve asked for another plane.’ Crisis Control again. ‘We have negotiated the release of half the hostages in return for that.’

  Which half? Krishna wanted to scream. Reminding himself why he was here, he took a deep breath and fought back his escalating anxiety.

  ‘We feel that would be the best opportunity to take them out.’ Control tugged the soldier back to grim reality. ‘Your views, Colonel?’

  Krishna’s trained eyes took in the target . . . the area around . . . raced through the scenario . . . evaluated options . . . the man worried about his wife was shaky, the warrior evaluating his battle plan was not . . . this was his raison d’étre. He arrived at a decision with a snap.

  ‘Two teams ready for assault during their move from one plane to the other.’ Krishna could scarcely recognize his voice; it was cold and collected, displaying nothing of the anxiety boiling inside him. ‘One team inside the new aircraft, in case we do not get a suitable chance during the move.’

  A really long pause. The discussion at the other end, obviously intense.

  ‘We agree with you, Colonel. But be advised, the lives of the hostages are of paramount importance.’

  I know that you moron. One of them is my wife. A silent frustrated scream.

  ‘Roger that Control.’ Still cold and clinical. The soldier clearly in charge. Turning, Krishna called up the team leaders and began to give orders.

  K-Team drew the short straw; they would be the ones in the new aircraft. Much as Krishna was aching to swing into action at the earliest, drills were drills.

  They moved. Swiftly. Silently. Like a well-oiled killing machine.

  Forty minutes slithered by.

  Finally.

  Through the windows of the replacement aircraft Krishna watched the first set of hostages emerge from the hijacked aircraft. The hijackers, all four of them, had made the passengers form nice tight knots of fifteen to twenty people; within each knot one of them moved, safe from prying eyes and deadly snipers.

  The untidy knots of humanity beetled across the runway. On both sides, teams of men waited; deadly men, trained to move silently and kill swiftly. Just waiting for the chance. But it never came. The hijackers were criminals, but not stupid. Smart enough to cover themselves well. Yet not smart enough to think about what may lie ahead.

  ‘It’s ours,’ Krishna whispered into his headset. ‘Standby. Two minutes max.’

  Three sharp clicks, as K-Team acknowledged. Guns cocked. Safety catches slid off. Adrenaline-heightened senses fanned out. The rose-tinged aroma of air freshner sprayed recently inside the aircraft. The shuffle of people approaching the aircraft. The occasional guttural command barked out by a hijacker. The escalating whine of a jet engine in the distance as some other flight readied for take-off. The faint bang of a vehicle door. Every single thing impacted their senses, and was rapidly analysed by K-Team as they waited.

  Karan and Kulwant were in the mid-section. Kamlesh and Kevin held the tail section. Up front, backed up by Kashif, Krishna was near the cockpit. All of them were dressed in the blue overalls of maintenance men. No flak jackets to secure them. Nothing to alarm the hijackers; except the tiny, but deadly Uzis in their hands. And the backup pistols thrust into their belts, against the small of their backs. There would be no time for re-loads. In any case, if re-loads were required they all knew they were in trouble.

  One tense hand on the trigger of their Uzi. The second clutching a flash and bang stun grenade.

  Seconds began to tick down. Slowly.

  The hijackers and the hostages inched closer. And closer.

  They reached the foot of the stairs.

  A continuous creaking, swaying, thudding sound as people began to mount both metallic ladders.

  Then they were at the doors.

  Both doors swung open simultaneously.

  And suddenly, time was racing forward, like Pelham gone berserk.

  K-Team held its breath as the first set of hijackers entered the aircraft. They needed all four on board before the attack could begin.

  Nerves stretched to breaking point now.

  Then all four were on board.

  Now!

  ‘Zorawar,’ Krishna hissed into the headset.

  Along with the code word to commence strike, the flash bang in his hand was cast forward.

  Just like that, the operation attained critical mass.

  The flash bangs exploded with mind-numbing roars.

  Breaking out of the protective crouch, to ensure the grenades did not affect them, K-Team thundered into action.

  Guns roared.

  Krishna saw the man in front of him taking aim at Karan and Kulwant, who were engaging the hijacker on the other side and had their backs to him.

  Two instant, instinctively aimed shots.

  The hijacker fell. Karan spun around at the shots. Saw. Acknowledged the colonel with a fleeting, grateful grin.

  But there was no time to think.

  From the corner of his eyes Krishna saw another hijacker erupt from between the passengers. His weapon was raised. Pointed straight at Kashif. Both fired simultaneously. The hijacker missed. Krishna didn’t. The man went down spewing blood.

  Sixteen seconds. Just sixteen short, but seemingly endless seconds.

  And it was over.

  All four hijackers were down. And two hostages.

  Pooja was one of them.

  There were no tears in his eyes as Krishna cradled her body in his arms. She did not look dead at all. Barring the shocked expression her face was still free of any blemish. In fact, barring the tiny bullet hole in her chest there wasn’t a scratch on her.

  The shock had yet to sink in. He only began to cry when he was back in the solitude of the jet that had flown them here. Loud, anguished cries. That tore him apart.

  But the worst was yet to come.

  Kevin rushed in. ‘It was one of our bullets.’ He did not need to say more. The misery and anguish mirrored on his face said it all.

  That is when Krishna disintegrated.

  FIVE

  ‘DAD! DAD! WAKE up.’ Krishna struggled to pull himself out of the throes of the nightmare as his eyes fluttered open. Then he saw the worried look on Sachin’s face and reality returned like a cold shock. He sat up with a jerk.

  ‘I’m okay, son.’ But Sachin could see he was not. Now no longer padded by sleep, the cruel barbs of his memories pin-cushioned him. Krishna was still struggling to break free from the nightmare. In his head he could still hea
r himself screaming, trying to remember each and every bullet he had fired in those fateful sixteen seconds. Trying desperately to pull them back.

  ‘Sure, dad?’ Though not fully aware of the demons plaguing him, Sachin reached out and caressed his father’s cheeks, an understanding far beyond his ten years of age etched on his face. ‘You really miss mummy, don’t you?’

  ‘As much as you miss her, son.’ Krishna hugged the boy close.

  ‘I do miss her, but you have never allowed me to feel her absence.’ Sachin hugged him tightly.

  Krishna felt the boy’s tears wet his shoulder. They tore at his heart. He held him closer.

  How can I ever tell you that it could have been my bullet . . . Krishna’s tears mingled with Sachin’s. His hug tightened.

  For a long while, time stood still.

  ‘Come on Sachin. It’s time for school.’ Finally working up a smile he gave the youngster an encouraging pat. ‘You have a big match today buddy.’

  ‘True.’ Drying his tears Sachin jumped up and ran to the bathroom. ‘Race you to getting ready.’

  By the time they ran down to the car and Krishna dropped Sachin off to the school bus, the ten-year-old’s exuberance at the football match he was going to play that day had buried the tears of the morning. Life had reasserted itself.

  ‘Rohini will be here if I am late,’ Krishna called out to him as Sachin hopped into the bus. Rohini their part-time maid was heaven-sent. She lived in the jhuggi-cluster just outside their colony gates, and was ever-ready to fill in for Krishna when he got caught up at work or was travelling. ‘Break a leg. And score many goals kid.’

  ‘I will.’

  ‘Tell me all about it in the evening.’

  ‘You bet.’ Thumbs up from Sachin as the bus began to move.

  If I am still alive.

  The unspoken thought echoed sharply in Krishna’s head as he watched the bus take the corner. Shelving it he checked the time as he strode back to his car.

  Six fifty-two.

  Good. He was well in time.

  Gunning the engine, he pulled out into the slowly increasing traffic.

  K-Team was waiting.

  As was RIP’s second target.

  Krishna knew that Karan, Kulwant and Kashif would also be heading the same way. He also knew that in light of the warning they had given on TV, so would the cops.

  He could feel his body grow taut. Combat mode was setting in. And fear or confusion began to recede. Soon they would be left behind. As they always were once the assault line was crossed.

  The traffic was still to build up.

  Krishna accelerated. Heading for Faridabad.

  *

  Unknown to Krishna, several other people were also heading for the same destination in Faridabad.

  Four clicks away, three of Raghav’s men had also been tasked to secure the same target. In fact they had started out from the Satbari farm much earlier.

  Well before K-Team reached, the enemy trio was in position; two men with a sniper rifle on a rooftop overlooking the target’s house and one in a parked car across the road. They had no idea how the RIP would strike, or even if they would strike at this target at all. But they were ready. As were their other teammates at the other targets that Raghav had deemed worth securing.

  Their orders were clear.

  You see anyone moving around suspiciously take him out.

  Raghav’s sniper, Mahinder Singh Mann, scanned the area around the target’s house. Partha, his spotter-cum-backup kept an eye on the other rooftops through his binoculars. Armed with a pistol, Vikrant the third man, positioned on the road, ran a random, intermittent patrol.

  All three men were alert, but aware that they could be here for the long haul, not as alert or focused as they should have been.

  *

  Raghav grimaced as his mobile rang and he noted the calling number.

  ‘Yes, sir.’ Doesn’t the moron have anything else to do?

  ‘Where are you?’ For the nth time Karunakaran asked him. ‘Have you reached the . . .?’

  ‘Yes, sir. I’m right here. I can see the general pacing around in his balcony.’ Right across the park from him, in Sector 22 of NOIDA, was General Ray’s house; one-time prime accused in the Kargil coffins scam. The general was at his house instead of marking time in jail, only because the minister involved with the scam was one of Karunakaran’s cronies, hence he was not allowing the file to be cleared. If the general went down so would several people in the cabinet. Unacceptable.

  Another of Raghav’s men was covering the rear of the house and a third one was perched on the high water tank towering over everything else, about four hundred metres away, keeping watch with a sniper scope.

  Also visible were half a dozen cops strung around the house; part of the security deployment rushed into place by Vinod. The coffins scam had been grabbing extensive media footage recently, which is why Vinod considered it a priority RIP target. Raghav shared the same view.

  Reviewing the deployment of security personnel, Raghav was satisfied; anyone making a bid on the general’s life would need to go through a whole load of firepower. He hoped the RIP would make their play at this target.

  It would be a fucking duck shoot if they did.

  ‘What about the others?’

  Controlling his irritation with an effort Raghav replied. ‘We have both the guys in Mumbai and Pune covered. Also the admiral in Golf Links and the judge in Allahabad.’ He had already briefed him thrice since morning, but . . . what the hell, those who pay the bills have the right to bitch.

  ‘I hope the RIP does not decide to target one of the others,’ Karunakaran mused. Rather pointlessly since he knew that, with the limited manpower available to Raghav, this was the best he could do. In fact, even this was a huge stretch for him. ‘Oh well, I guess we will have to rely on the cops for the rest.’

  ‘True.’ Raghav exuded conviction. ‘But I’m confident these are the most likely candidates for them to target.’

  However he was happy when the call ended and he could go back to watching the target. Despite the confidence he’d displayed to get Karunakaran off his back, Raghav knew it was a long shot. Barring the degree of media attention the targets received, he had nothing other than intuition to base this on. The doubts plaguing Raghav escalated with every passing moment.

  Who will they hit? How? Where will the hit come from? When? Twenty-four hours is a very long time.

  He tried hard to put himself in the shoes of the RIP attackers. Soon gave up, realizing it was futile.

  Let’s see whose side Bitch Luck is on today.

  Despite everything he grinned. Suddenly he was feeling lucky.

  *

  Vinod was not feeling exceptionally lucky right then. Karunakaran had been on his case also, almost every hour, on the hour.

  When does the jerk sleep?

  Vinod knew that at this moment Karunakaran was heading for the Doordarshan studios, since he was going to be on the Breakfast Show, as a part of the PM’s exercise to woo the public and let them know that his government was being proactive in this matter. Also, to pacify the political class, whose complacency the RIP had rudely shattered.

  Vinod sighed as the phone rang again.

  ‘That’s right, sir,’ he reassured Karunakaran. ‘We have deployed an inspector with five constables at each of the possible targets . . . yes sir, all eighty-seven possibilities that we could come up with.’ He wondered whether Karunakaran was even vaguely aware of the kind of turmoil his orders had caused in literally every corner of the country. Or the extreme responses Vinod had been at the receiving end of, especially from those who had been tasked to be protected.

  He had barely gotten off the phone when it rang again. Controlling the impulse to throw it at the wall he answered.

  ‘It’s me, sir, Inspector Thakur,’ the caller said, a trifle diffidently, aware that he was talking to one of the top cops in the CBI. ‘I’m sorry to bother you but Mr Madan Sharma would l
ike to talk to you.’

  Vinod ran through his list of possible targets rapidly. He had placed the name by the time the inspector handed over the phone to Sharma; the judge who had allowed . . . No, Vinod reminded himself with a wry smile, allegedly allowed a powerful politician’s son to walk free, despite adequate evidence that he was the one who had shot that model in a Delhi farmhouse party. All because she had refused him a drink.

  One stupid glass of whisky! That is all her life had been worth to that stupid bastard! Without realizing it, an angry headshake. What the hell is the world coming to?

  ‘What is all this nonsense Mr Bedi?’ Sharma’s gruff voice intruded on his thoughts. ‘Why have you sent these policemen to my house? Why would this group, this RIP . . . or whatever they call themselves, want to harm me? I find this most insulting . . . I have done nothing wrong that should . . .’

  Forcing himself to stay calm, Vinod went through the motions of satisfying the judge’s guilty conscience and massaging his ego. This was the twenty-fifth such call he was fielding since they started deploying security at the houses of possible RIP targets. Many of the possible targets were affronted that their integrity and honesty was being challenged; a not very illogical deduction since the RIP was only going after the corrupt. But Vinod also noticed that none of them had declined the security cover when given the choice. Neither did this one.

  But it took seven long minutes for Vinod to pacify the judge’s ruffled ego. He had barely put down the mobile when it beeped as a text came in.

  Will be at my mother’s house for a couple of days since you’re so busy right now. Namrata.

  Vinod could sense the anger masked by those bland words. He could not believe she was being so childish. Suddenly angry, he reached for the phone to call her. Before he could do that it rang again.

  *

  ‘Six cops just arrived.’ Karan’s voice echoed in Krishna’s headset as Kashif and he navigated the last few steps and reached the rooftop of a high-rise apartment building overlooking the target’s house.

  Marred by a bunch of overhead water tanks and DTH dish antennae, the roof was devoid of life. Though Krishna could see a couple of men moving around on the adjacent roof; around one of the water tanks placed on it. They seemed to be fixing something, or repairing it.