three students who had leased the apartment a few weeks ago, no trace of the bombers remained. These three sat glued to the television, lapping up the details of the deaths they had caused, the long list of people killed or injured – kafirs and non-kafirs.
It was not for nothing that Asif had been codenamed The Recruiter by his controller.
NINE
The National Intelligence Advisor (NIA), G.K. Rao, was the first to reach the conference hall where the Core Crisis Committee was scheduled to meet that morning. The prime minister had called the meeting late the previous night, barely a few hours after the serial bombings at Ahmedabad. Since only the core group was involved, setting up the meeting took no time.
He is going to be really worked up , Rao thought. I feel sorry for the home minister… but he’s such an incompetent arsehole . A tired, exasperated sigh escaped him. Most politicians are plain idiots, a large number of them criminals. God alone knows why and how they get elected. Rao shook off the futile thought as he began to look through his notes in preparation for the questions that were likely to come up.
Rao was one of the first agents to have joined RAW. He was in his mid-fifties, short and portly, and wore round black horn-rimmed spectacles that had gone out of fashion a few decades ago. He was one of the few who understood the true state of Indian Intelligence and had to his credit several daring and critical operations, none of which would ever be publicly acknowledged. His biggest strength was his total lack of political bias or mentors. This, more than anything else, had made him acceptable across the political spectrum when the PM decided to set up the National Intelligence Command (NIC) some months ago and appointed Rao at its head as the NIA.
The tiny conference room was located just down the corridor from the PM’s offices in South Block. A large U-shaped mahogany table that could seat a dozen people dominated most of the room. At the open end of the U was a wall with a large plasma screen. Every person seated at the table could plug in his laptop and use the screen to project information onto it.
Rao had just finished hooking up his laptop when the Core Team members began to arrive. As expected, Narayan, the National Security Advisor (NSA), arrived first. He greeted Rao with a grim nod as he moved to the chair on his right.
Like Rao, Narayan was an old intelligence hand. A die-hard professional, he had survived a tumultuous four-decade long tenure without any political mentors, on the strength of his competence. Tall and elegantly dressed, he was a man of few words. But when he did speak, he chose his words with great care. Except for their capabilities and efficiency, the two men had less than nothing in common.
The door swung open again and the ministers of defence, home and external affairs entered. For a change, there was no small talk, only muttered greetings. An uneasy silence gripped the room. It only deepened when the doors flew open yet again and the prime minister walked up to his seat at the head of the table with a firm, almost angry gait.
He got straight to the point as he turned to the home minister with a question: ‘What have you got to say about the terror strikes in Ahmedabad?’
The home minister was about to respond when the PM cut him off. ‘The way we have bombs exploding all over the country, it’s almost as though we are at war.’
‘We are at war, sir!’ Rao’s voice was quietly emphatic. The PM gave him a cold look but Rao continued, unfazed. ‘Sir, we have been at war every single day since partition. In addition to the full-scale wars that have been thrust upon us, the Pakistanis have made sure we are perpetually engaged in endless conflict.’
‘Aren’t you overstating it a bit, Rao?’ The home minister seemed relieved as the focus shifted away from him.
‘Am I, sir? Why don’t we step back and look at the facts?’ Rao replied in a measured tone.
It was not for nothing that Asif had been codenamed The Recruiter by his controller.
NINE
The National Intelligence Advisor (NIA), G.K. Rao, was the first to reach the conference hall where the Core Crisis Committee was scheduled to meet that morning. The prime minister had called the meeting late the previous night, barely a few hours after the serial bombings at Ahmedabad. Since only the core group was involved, setting up the meeting took no time.
He is going to be really worked up , Rao thought. I feel sorry for the home minister… but he’s such an incompetent arsehole . A tired, exasperated sigh escaped him. Most politicians are plain idiots, a large number of them criminals. God alone knows why and how they get elected. Rao shook off the futile thought as he began to look through his notes in preparation for the questions that were likely to come up.
Rao was one of the first agents to have joined RAW. He was in his mid-fifties, short and portly, and wore round black horn-rimmed spectacles that had gone out of fashion a few decades ago. He was one of the few who understood the true state of Indian Intelligence and had to his credit several daring and critical operations, none of which would ever be publicly acknowledged. His biggest strength was his total lack of political bias or mentors. This, more than anything else, had made him acceptable across the political spectrum when the PM decided to set up the National Intelligence Command (NIC) some months ago and appointed Rao at its head as the NIA.
The tiny conference room was located just down the corridor from the PM’s offices in South Block. A large U-shaped mahogany table that could seat a dozen people dominated most of the room. At the open end of the U was a wall with a large plasma screen. Every person seated at the table could plug in his laptop and use the screen to project information onto it.
Rao had just finished hooking up his laptop when the Core Team members began to arrive. As expected, Narayan, the National Security Advisor (NSA), arrived first. He greeted Rao with a grim nod as he moved to the chair on his right.
Like Rao, Narayan was an old intelligence hand. A die-hard professional, he had survived a tumultuous four-decade long tenure without any political mentors, on the strength of his competence. Tall and elegantly dressed, he was a man of few words. But when he did speak, he chose his words with great care. Except for their capabilities and efficiency, the two men had less than nothing in common.
The door swung open again and the ministers of defence, home and external affairs entered. For a change, there was no small talk, only muttered greetings. An uneasy silence gripped the room. It only deepened when the doors flew open yet again and the prime minister walked up to his seat at the head of the table with a firm, almost angry gait.
He got straight to the point as he turned to the home minister with a question: ‘What have you got to say about the terror strikes in Ahmedabad?’
The home minister was about to respond when the PM cut him off. ‘The way we have bombs exploding all over the country, it’s almost as though we are at war.’
‘We are at war, sir!’ Rao’s voice was quietly emphatic. The PM gave him a cold look but Rao continued, unfazed. ‘Sir, we have been at war every single day since partition. In addition to the full-scale wars that have been thrust upon us, the Pakistanis have made sure we are perpetually engaged in endless conflict.’
‘Aren’t you overstating it a bit, Rao?’ The home minister seemed relieved as the focus shifted away from him.
‘Am I, sir? Why don’t we step back and look at the facts?’ Rao replied in a measured tone.
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