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‘It’s for your own good,’ he explained when Iqbal protested. ‘If we’re thinking of sending you for an infiltration mission, it’s better you remain under wraps as much as possible. You never know who you might meet in town and then run into again at an awkward moment.’

  ‘That’s true,’ Tiwathia seconded his boss, ‘some brilliant operatives have been blown by the most random encounters.’

  So the duo stayed at the base while Anbu and his intelligence team spent hours collating all the information they could lay their hands on about YPS and the Indian Mujahideen. When they came up against a particularly intractable source or an unusually tangled problem, Anbu called G.K. Rao, the NIA.

  ‘Why don’t you want to disclose the identity of the operative, Colonel?’ Rao asked. ‘Is there anything I need to know?’

  ‘No, Mr Rao.’ Anbu was candid. ‘I just don’t want to take any chances. You know how it is – the more people who know, the more the chances of a mess-up.’

  ‘That’s true! But are you sure that’s the only reason, or do you suspect a…’

  ‘Nothing of the sort, Mr Rao. You’ll be the first to know if my people spot anything amiss.’

  ‘That’s fine,’ said Rao. ‘But you do know the danger of sending in an unidentified asset? He will have no protection from the cops either… should that contingency ever arise.’

  ‘I know, but I think it’s a justified risk. We need to neutralize the Indian Mujahideen and destroy their source of funding and support before they become fully entrenched.’

  ‘Okay, as long as you’ve given thought to it. When do you want to send in your man?’

  ‘I never said it was a man, Mr Rao.’

  ‘Nice, very nice.’ Rao laughed, a low rumbling laugh. ‘I like your style, Colonel. I am sure your people will pull it off with the same panache with which you’ve carried out your previous operations.’

  ‘God willing! You agree about the target we’ve chosen?’

  ‘Absolutely! We need to destroy it before it grows and spreads its tentacles all over the country.’

  ‘I think so too.’

  ‘So, when does he go in?’

  ‘The operative,’ Anbu stressed the word, ‘goes in when I’m convinced that adequate training has been imparted.’

  ‘Don’t take too long, Colonel. You know how much we’re bleeding on this one. They need to be finished asap.’ With that, the call ended and the training began.

  ELEVEN

  Tiwathia was pacing the floor of the tiny but hi-tech classroom when Tanaz and Iqbal walked in. Iqbal smiled when he saw Tiwathia.

  ‘So you’re going to be the one training us? Great! It’s going to be fun then…’

  ‘Fun?’ Tiwathia’s voice was cold, his face expressionless. ‘Don’t think, even for a moment, that I’m here as your friend or that training is ever fun. In fact, it’s because you saved my life once and I consider you a friend that I’m going to make damn sure you train as though both your lives depend on it… which they do.’ He paused and took a deep breath. ‘Listen, the more you sweat in peace, the less you will bleed in war. And don’t ever doubt that you’re going to war. It’s going to be bloody and the first mistake you make may well be your last one. And this war, remember, has no rules. Bear that in mind when I push you to the very edge of your limits and then a little beyond.’

  ‘Vikram, I…’

  ‘Quiet, Iqbal!’ Tiwathia said sharply. ‘Don’t interrupt me again. As long as we’re in training, you’ll only speak when you are spoken to. And another thing – in this classroom it’s not Vikram, it’s sir… always sir.’ His voice softened a little. ‘There will be days when you hate me, days when you curse yourself for having agreed to this, but that’s all right as far as I am concerned. As long as I’m convinced here,’ Vikram tapped his heart, ‘that I have done my utmost to ensure you two come out of this mission alive. Clear?’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ Iqbal replied, automatically standing up a little straighter as his body responded to the Force 22 officer’s commanding tone. Tanaz merely nodded, slightly overawed by the interplay.

  ‘Good! I’m glad we have that straight,’ Tiwathia said brusquely. ‘And yes, there is one other thing we should clear at the outset. I want you to forget everything that was taught to you at those damn jihadi camps. Wipe the slate clean and take in what we have to give you. You won’t go wrong. This unit is the best of the best in the whole damn world and we take pride in ensuring that it remains that way. Now you have the ultimate honour of learning from the best. Is that clear?’

  This time both trainees nodded, the expression on their faces eager, the expression so typical of young recruits when confronted with their leader.

  ‘Good!’ Tiwathia nodded. ‘Let’s begin.’ He motioned to them to sit down. Just then, as though on cue, the door swung open and three officers in uniform walked in.

  Ankita Bhatnagar was a flight lieutenant in the Indian Air Force. She was just over five and a half feet tall, with an athletic build and a decidedly pretty face. She made an incongruous pair with the tall, burly Captain Manoj Khare. On the face of it, the two appeared to have little in common. However, both were capable of doing things with computers that would have given an Intel chip an inferiority complex. If Anbu had not pulled them out of the humdrum of regular army life, they would almost certainly have been seduced by some willing computer corporation.

  They were also fitness freaks, adept at a variety of martial arts and unarmed combat, and they craved a life beyond the ordinary. No one could be certain whether it was this obvious compatibility or their common love for computers that had drawn them together, but they were now inseparable and had been humorously nicknamed ‘Beauty and the Beast’ by their comrades in Force 22.

  Anbu had put the pair’s special computer and analytical skills to good use by appointing them as the Force 22 intelligence team. Over the years, Bhatnagar and Khare had evolved into dedicated intelligence junkies who had the drive and the capability to locate just about any kind of information and weed through any kind of evidence. Their stint with Rao when he was setting up the NIC had honed these skills considerably.

  The third officer, Lieutenant Commander Ranjit Dhankar of the Indian Navy, was also on attachment with Force 22. Hailing from a small village in Haryana that had for many years lent one son from every household to the Indian Armed Forces, Dhankar looked like the archetypal Bollywood villain – hulking body, hard eyes. He was definitely not the kind of person you would like to pick a fight with, even on your best day. Though an active Navy SEAL, Dhankar was just beginning to feel frustrated with his career when Anbu proposed that he join Force 22. He snapped up the offer immediately since, as far as he was concerned, there was no longer anything special in the Special Forces. If ever there was an officer in Force 22 who had exceptional mastery over every possible weapon and a doctorate in every known method of killing, it was Dhankar. During the November 2005 strike in Pakistan, it had been Dhankar with his tenacity and resourcefulness who had got his badly wounded buddy Deopa back from Karachi after they had executed their target.

  The trainees watched the trio of newcomers with interest, but before any of them could speak, Tiwathia gestured to the officers to take their seats and continued, ‘In the next few weeks, we’ll take you two through the entire gamut of physical training, weapon handling, bomb making, covert communications and basic field craft. In the beginning, of course, the focus will be on physical fitness since that is the bedrock of your training. That and the unarmed combat training will be handled by Lieutenant Commander Ranjit Dhankar.’ Tiwathia gestured towards Dhankar who was sitting coiled on the edge of his chair, as though ready to spring to action at the slightest provocation. The almost sadistic smirk that briefly showed itself on Dhankar’s already forbidding countenance made the two trainees exchange nervous glances. ‘Of course, due courtesy and care will be shown to you,’ Tiwathia threw a quick, somewhat uncertain glance at Tanaz here, ‘considering your… er… delicate condition. So yo
u will be excused from all physical training, barring some basic weapon handling that you may like to do – only if you wish to, of course.’ For the first time a trace of embarrassment creased Tiwathia’s face, as the hardened combat veteran crossed into unfamiliar terrain. Across the room, Ankita tried to keep the grin off her face as she watched Tiwathia struggle to keep his expression stern and professional.

  ‘Thank you, sir.’ Tanaz caught shades of Ankita’s mirth and could not control her smile. ‘Things are not so bad, at least not in the early stages.’

  ‘Yes, yes, of course.’ Tiwathia raced on hurriedly, eager to get away from the subject. ‘Keeping in view your insistence on taking care of comm and intel functions, Flight Lieutenant Ankita Bhatnagar here will bring you up to speed on all aspects related to communication, various intelligence functions and related tradecraft.’

  Ankita bestowed a brief, pleasant smile on the trainees.

  ‘Captain Manoj Khare will cover basic fieldcraft. And Dhankar and I will teach you weapon handling, and bomb making and handling.’ He paused, slightly out of breath after the long speech. ‘Any doubts?’

  The trainees replied with silent shakes of the head.

  ‘Good! Then we start the actual stuff at 0400 tomorrow.’

  ‘0400?’ Iqbal gave him an incredulous look. ‘That’s like four in the morning! Damn! Even the jihadis were not that bad – sir.’

  ‘And they are not half as good either, Iqbal,’ Vikram shot back. ‘Yes, four in the morning, and I expect you to be on time. Tanaz is exempt from that part of the training, so she can join us after breakfast, at 0800.’

  ‘Sir, yes sir!’ Tanaz couldn’t keep the grin off her face as she saw Iqbal’s crestfallen expression.

  ‘And now I’ll hand you over for the rest of the day to Captain Manoj Khare.’ With that, Tiwathia and the others left, leaving Khare alone with the trainees.

  ‘Tell me,’ Khare said as he came up to the front of the classroom. With his quicksilver smile and subtle sense of humour, Khare was an excellent instructor and a fluent speaker. ‘What do you think is the most important survival skill for an undercover operative?’

  ‘Presence of mind?’ Tanaz offered tentatively.

  ‘Yes, presence of mind is imperative,’ agreed Khare, ‘but even more important, or should I say, a forerunner to that, is observation. The trained operative is able to observe keenly, be fully aware of everything around him at all times and he – or she,’ he added hastily, ‘has to be able to do this without appearing to do so.’ He saw the puzzled look on the faces of his trainees. ‘Come, let me explain.’

  The duo trailed behind Khare as he exited the classroom and went to another room across the corridor. It was done up like the living-cum-dining room of a regular middle-class home. Halting at the far end, he waited till they were in the middle of the room and then asked, ‘What is around you here?’

  Iqbal and Tanaz surveyed the room, mentally inventorying it. After a few minutes, Iqbal began to name the items. Khare allowed him to finish.

  ‘That’s good, Iqbal, but you missed the apples in the fruit bowl on the dining table and the knife kept beside it. You missed those two chairs there and the set-top box below the television. You also missed…’ He listed nine other things that Iqbal had missed.

  ‘But how are they relevant?’

  ‘They are! Everything is relevant. That’s the point I’m trying to make,’ Khare stressed. ‘No matter where you are and what you are doing, you need to be fully aware of everything around you. That’s the most basic thing.’ He saw the bewildered expression on their faces and added a little more gently, ‘Trust me guys, it’s not that hard. You just have to train your mind to stop merely seeing things and actually start noticing them. Once you start doing that, it’ll soon become a habit and that’s what we want to achieve.’ He paused. ‘Always remember rule one – an undercover operative perpetually functions in a potentially hostile environment and has to be on guard at all times.’ M

  Khare waited till both of them had assimilated this before continuing, ‘That brings me to rule two – everything around you is a weapon, which is also why you need to be totally aware of everything.’ While Khare was speaking, his hands casually reached out for a matchbox that lay on the table next to him. As they watched, he crushed the matchbox with his fingers until one side protruded sharply. ‘This,’ he held it between his fingers, ‘is adequate to slice open the eye of the enemy and give you the moment’s respite you need in order to fight back if you are cornered.’

  His hand slashed out in a vicious arc, coming dangerously close to Iqbal’s face and making him wince and jump back.

  ‘The golden rule – to be aware is to be alive.’

  Satisfied that he had driven home the desired lesson, Khare dropped the crushed matchbox back on the table and said, ‘We will now start practising the art of observation. Today we’ll go through a series of rooms and you’ll start taking note of your surroundings.’ He led them out of the room. ‘And don’t worry, it may seem hard in the beginning, but as the days go by, your mind will start doing it automatically.’

  Khare was a calm and confident teacher. Over the next two hours he walked them through several rooms, talking to them, training their minds to start thinking along the desired path. By the end of the session, he was satisfied.

  ‘They are quick learners,’ he told Anbu after he had handed them over to Ankita. ‘I’m confident that in a couple of weeks they’re going to be as good as any of us or, at least, the best they can be at the end of such a limited training period.’

  Ankita Bhatnagar was waiting for them in a room that resembled one of those tiny shops that specialize in the repair of electronic appliances.

  ‘I gather from Captain Tiwathia that both of you have already undergone basic training in radio telephony,’ she began without a preamble the moment they were seated. ‘Is that right?’

  ‘I was trained by RAW,’ Tanaz replied. ‘I can handle most radio sets that are commonly used by the military.’

  ‘Me too,’ Iqbal added, ‘though it has been quite some time and I could do with a refresher.’

  ‘Don’t worry, guys, you’re going to get a lot more than a refresher,’ Ankita assured them. ‘By the time I’m done, both of you will be fluent in most known methods of communication and some pretty esoteric ones too. However, our primary aim is to ensure that you are able to use covert communication methods efficiently since they are the only ones we can rely on during a mission.’

  ‘Covert communication?’ Iqbal was nonplussed.

  ‘Stuff like dead letterboxes, coded messages, embedded messages,’ Ankita explained. ‘So that even if you are cut off from all normal modes of communication, or are under watch and unable to use them, you can still get a message out as and when you need to.’

  ‘Right.’ Both trainees nodded, quite impressed.

  ‘Good! Let’s begin with basic radio telephony.’ She handed a radio set each to them and sat down behind a third. ‘Your call sign will be…’

  ‘Babur,’ Iqbal said immediately. ‘That was the code name they gave me when I went with Sami and Vikram to get Salim.’

  ‘Fine! Babur it is. And you,’ Ankita turned to Tanaz, ‘your call sign will be…’

  ‘Anarkali,’ Tanaz said with a smile. Seeing Ankita’s quizzically raised eyebrow she explained, ‘When these guys came over to hunt down Salim, they had been codenamed Humayun, Akbar and Babur, so I figured I would be Anarkali. Fits, don’t you think?’

  ‘It sure does.’ They all laughed. ‘Just make sure the three horrors don’t bury you alive too.’ They laughed again.

  The training began, and continued right through to lunch.

  ‘You report back here at 1530,’ Ankita said as she dismissed them. ‘Vikram will be taking you out to the firing range.’

  Iqbal threw a quick look at his watch. It was already 1455 hours. Right! So they could look forward to a nice leisurely lunch.

  Tanaz noticed his expr
ession. ‘We live in interesting times,’ she muttered as they headed out for lunch.

  ‘Yeah, sure,’ Iqbal murmured back. ‘And if this is just the beginning, I can’t wait to see what happens next.’

  Ankita saw them off before she went back to Anbu’s office. ‘We won’t have any problem with either of them,’ she reported. ‘Tanaz is already pretty clued in and Iqbal seems to have a knack for it.’

  ‘So far so good!’ Anbu replied. ‘Let’s see how they fare with the others.’

  It was on the firing range that Tanaz really blossomed. Iqbal, who was no mean shot himself, was shocked out of his complacency by the fluency with which Tanaz handled weapons. With every possible weapon, from any possible range, she could effortlessly outshoot him.

  ‘I want you guys to pay special attention to these.’ Tiwathia handed them a brace of jet-black .22 pistols each, once they’d finished with the rifles.

  ‘Aren’t they tiny?’ Iqbal asked, pulling one out of the holster.

  ‘They may appear to be, but don’t have any doubts about the damage they can do. In fact, for close-in protection they are matchless, and you can tuck one away just about anywhere.’

  ‘Any special reason why you want us to focus on these?’ Tanaz asked, hefting the pair that had been given to her.

  ‘These are what you’ll be carrying on the mission,’ Tiwathia said, ‘so I suggest you zero them in and set your hands to them.’

  ‘Carry them as in…?’

  ‘They’ll remain with you as long as this operation lasts. I’ll show you how to tuck them away in unobtrusive places all over the house so that they’re easily accessible in case of an emergency.’

  That got their undivided attention and they spent the next few hours getting acclimatized to their .22s. By the end of the third day, they were wielding them fluently, with practised ease.

  ‘Tanaz is a natural,’ Vikram said admiringly to Anbu later that evening. ‘And the best part is that she is ambidextrous. You give her a weapon and she can shoot the hell out of the target from just about any position, and that too with either hand. With those .22s she can literally shoot your eye out from across the room.’ He grinned. ‘In fact, I think she has quite fallen in love with them. Iqbal was cribbing that she insists on having them in or under the bed at night.’