the tunnel through the Russian server.
8
Mumbai: Thakur Village, Kandivali, 27 November
P ost the encounter with the Indian Army, Shezad and his men had been escorted to Baramulla town by the insurgents. They had hidden in a basement of a house belonging to a powerful Hurriyat leader for three days and one by one travelled to Jammu by road using public transport. In Jammu, they had been put up at the farmhouse of a senior politician who was a closet separatist. His election was funded by the ISI and was thus a useful cog in the wheel. His personal assistant (PA), who was actually a Pakistani ISI agent, handed over tickets and identification documents for each member to use on their flight. He flew with them to Mumbai to ensure that there was no problem either at the airport or later on the flight. Once they landed in Mumbai and walked out of the terminus, they saw a 40-plus slightly balding man waving a sign which said, ‘Welcome, Mr Sukhramji and family’. The PA touched Shezad’s arm and gestured towards the man holding the sign. Shezad thanked him and then walked over alone to the man holding the sign while his men continued to wait with the PA in the reception area. Both of them walked away from the reception area to a slightly secluded place near a South Indian restaurant outside the arrival area. Shezad gave him half a piece of a tornhundred rupee note. It had been handed over to him by Colonel Khan in Chetral just before they had left. The man promptly produced the other half and it matched. Shezad had inspected it for a moment and then shook hands with the man. Rather relieved, Shezad bought a cigarette from the small kiosk next to the restaurant. It was an old trick but still dependable. The PA had quietly melted into the crowd and disappeared probably to his flight back to Jammu and his men were waiting alone. Shezad signalled them to follow him.
They drove in a swanky new Mahindra Scorpio. Amin, the agent, was not the talkative type and kept to himself. It took them 30-odd minutes to reach the apartment. The five men who had travelled on foot, by bus and a plane were finally settled in a three-bedroom flat on the sixth floor. Soon as the team had settled down, Amin would fly out to Dubai and back to Karachi from there.
The apartment was in the Kandavali suburb of Mumbai. Situated cheek by jowl to the Sanjay Gandhi National Park, it was a comfortable three-bedroom space. One could even see the national park from one of the balconies of the house.
The men shared two bedrooms while the Major had a room to himself. They were now clean-shaven and looked like young college boys on vacation. If they had been born in different circumstances, they would possibly have been in college; none except Shezad was older than 25 years of age. The clever Izaz was from Multan, funny-man Musheef was from Lahore, Tariq, only 19, was from Peshawar and the oldest−24-year-old Jameel was from Rawalpindi. Only Jameel knew that this was a suicide mission; the rest thought that they would survive and become heroes. All of them had left their families more money than they would ever be able to earn through an honest life’s work.
Locked up in the flat, the first three days went off rather well; they slept and they slept some more. Musheef slept for almost 24 hours at a stretch. For the first few days, the sleeper agent had arranged pre-cooked meals and fresh fruits in the refrigerator. Now the men took turns cooking and cleaning the place. Shezad maintained military discipline in the dwellings. A normal day started with a pair of them going for a twenty-minute walk or run at 0530 hours. They exercised for hours in a small gym in what was supposed to be a dining room. All of them avoided travelling more than twenty minutes away from the flat. They walked to a nearby market couple of times to get groceries. They prayed once a day, except for Tariq who said his prayers five times a day. The windows had thick curtains to keep away nosy
8
Mumbai: Thakur Village, Kandivali, 27 November
P ost the encounter with the Indian Army, Shezad and his men had been escorted to Baramulla town by the insurgents. They had hidden in a basement of a house belonging to a powerful Hurriyat leader for three days and one by one travelled to Jammu by road using public transport. In Jammu, they had been put up at the farmhouse of a senior politician who was a closet separatist. His election was funded by the ISI and was thus a useful cog in the wheel. His personal assistant (PA), who was actually a Pakistani ISI agent, handed over tickets and identification documents for each member to use on their flight. He flew with them to Mumbai to ensure that there was no problem either at the airport or later on the flight. Once they landed in Mumbai and walked out of the terminus, they saw a 40-plus slightly balding man waving a sign which said, ‘Welcome, Mr Sukhramji and family’. The PA touched Shezad’s arm and gestured towards the man holding the sign. Shezad thanked him and then walked over alone to the man holding the sign while his men continued to wait with the PA in the reception area. Both of them walked away from the reception area to a slightly secluded place near a South Indian restaurant outside the arrival area. Shezad gave him half a piece of a tornhundred rupee note. It had been handed over to him by Colonel Khan in Chetral just before they had left. The man promptly produced the other half and it matched. Shezad had inspected it for a moment and then shook hands with the man. Rather relieved, Shezad bought a cigarette from the small kiosk next to the restaurant. It was an old trick but still dependable. The PA had quietly melted into the crowd and disappeared probably to his flight back to Jammu and his men were waiting alone. Shezad signalled them to follow him.
They drove in a swanky new Mahindra Scorpio. Amin, the agent, was not the talkative type and kept to himself. It took them 30-odd minutes to reach the apartment. The five men who had travelled on foot, by bus and a plane were finally settled in a three-bedroom flat on the sixth floor. Soon as the team had settled down, Amin would fly out to Dubai and back to Karachi from there.
The apartment was in the Kandavali suburb of Mumbai. Situated cheek by jowl to the Sanjay Gandhi National Park, it was a comfortable three-bedroom space. One could even see the national park from one of the balconies of the house.
The men shared two bedrooms while the Major had a room to himself. They were now clean-shaven and looked like young college boys on vacation. If they had been born in different circumstances, they would possibly have been in college; none except Shezad was older than 25 years of age. The clever Izaz was from Multan, funny-man Musheef was from Lahore, Tariq, only 19, was from Peshawar and the oldest−24-year-old Jameel was from Rawalpindi. Only Jameel knew that this was a suicide mission; the rest thought that they would survive and become heroes. All of them had left their families more money than they would ever be able to earn through an honest life’s work.
Locked up in the flat, the first three days went off rather well; they slept and they slept some more. Musheef slept for almost 24 hours at a stretch. For the first few days, the sleeper agent had arranged pre-cooked meals and fresh fruits in the refrigerator. Now the men took turns cooking and cleaning the place. Shezad maintained military discipline in the dwellings. A normal day started with a pair of them going for a twenty-minute walk or run at 0530 hours. They exercised for hours in a small gym in what was supposed to be a dining room. All of them avoided travelling more than twenty minutes away from the flat. They walked to a nearby market couple of times to get groceries. They prayed once a day, except for Tariq who said his prayers five times a day. The windows had thick curtains to keep away nosy
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