It was like any other Government building in New Delhi, paint peeling off in places, window air conditioners sticking out of every window like sore notes in a sad mix of British Era design and modernity. What set the building apart was the array of high tech communication equipment fitted on the roof top. Various sizes of Dish Antennas pointed at satellites far up there in the sky. Receiving millions of bytes of data every minute and running it down through miles and miles of cables to Servers, which were then filtered, dissected and examined threadbare by the best of Country's brains.
This was the nerve centre of India's counter espionage, The HQ of Intelligence Bureau.
Sitting in the conference room, facing a massive 10 feet by 6 feet screen was the Director, surrounded by his group of deputies, giving him inputs for the daily briefing of PMO Prime Ministers Office.
As the Deputy Chiefs started to leave, the Director motioned Misra to stay back. Misra was Deputy Director Technical Division. All the smart young brains working in the office reported to him.
Yes Sir,
Misra, one of my best agents, Agent Cp380 wants to quit field and take up an office job. I want you to arrange a desk job in the office and a Type IV accommodation in the Government Quarters.
Yes Sir. If you give me an address, I will have my men help in moving the furniture and stuff.
The Director scribbled an address on a post it and pushed it across his desk.
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Misra walked into his office and summoned the secretary in. He handed her the note with address. " Tell Supdt Ranbir to organize accommodation and shifting."
It was all done in the next few days. Shifting to a Government Accommodation, setting up the furniture, other essentials that a normal family requires, TV Fridge etc, all on Government of India expense. A minor dent in the economy in return for walking on the dark side for the country. A well deserved retirement. The agent had a month off, before taking up any form of duty.
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In another Government building a thousand miles away, in Islamabad, the ISI director was holding his daily meeting.
Balochistan, NWFP, Kashmir, Jiye Sind, Arms to insurgents, Politicians...all routine matters were being deliberated by the most powerful men in Pakistan. They had unrestricted funding, unrestricted by prevailing laws, and answered to No One.
At the bottom of the agenda was fresh intelligence that had come in from India, been analysed and ready to be archived or actioned.
Col.Shahbaaz, the Chief of India operations briefed the others present in the room," Agent Cp380 has surfaced in New Delhi. Agent Cp380 was a very high value asset of IB and had hit us hard in Kathmandu where we lost 4 agents. 3 dead, 1 Disabled. We are going in for a kill".
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The kill Order went down the very next day.
As a young boy in courier uniform rang the door bell. His hand was already in the bag, clutching a fully automatic pistol with silencer. As soon as the door opened he drew his hand out and squeezed the trigger long enough, to allow 5 bullets to escape the muzzle in rapid succession. They hit the man straight in the chest. He fell backwards into the room. The courier boy took one look at the shirt turning red on the chest, put away his weapon, closed the door and walked away. He could hear a woman scream from inside the house, as he reached for his cellphone.
Parcel delivered to Customer. Well received. He texted.
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All hell broke loose at the IB HQ. An attack in the family accomodation. It was an unwritten rule amongst rival Agencies. Only field agents were valid targets when undercover. File pushers in office jobs were not to be harmed. They could be cultivated, bribed, blackmailed, charmed, honey trapped into helping the enemy.
But shooting down in cold blood was a strict No Go area.
The code had been broken. And there would be repercussions.
Misra had his secretary, Supdt Ranbir and his two lackeys who had helped set up the accommodation arrested. They were interrogated for a week, subjected to brutal torture.
Misra was summoned to the Director's office. There seems to have been some new development, thought Misra. The Director had other sections working on this case as well. His own failure to come up with an answer rankled Misra as he walked into the Director's office.
The Director was alone in his room.
As a Director he had seen a lot of Ops go bad as the enemy got better of him at times. Thats how the game was played. You win some, you lose some. But this was too close, in his own city, to be waived away. His brow furrowed as he brooded over the feedback from Misra.
"There is a leak, Misra. We have to find it", the Director said after a long pause.
" We are working on it, Sir," Misra replied.
"Sir, any new development", Misra asked.
The Director sighed, ," He died an hour ago. He was tough, to have survived a week with five bullets in his chest. We will have a condolence meeting in the Conference Room tomorrow. Assemble the entire staff there. We will deliberate on a befitting reply. We will also brief them on new security measures for the family, now that the enemy has opened a new front."
Everyone knew that a counter strike would be ordered. But the shrewd Director had ordered a strike on the very next day of the hit. The groundwork had been completed by the agents already present in the enemy territory. The hit squad was well on the way.
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It was a small room of Customs and Immigration at the Attari border near Amritsar. As soon as Suhail dressed in a Pathani suit walked in, the custom officer withdrew two passports from his drawer.
"Two passports, One on one free offer", chuckled Suhail.
He was the chirpy, easy going guy, who made friends easily. Hardly the guy you would expect to be an Indian Intelligence Field Agent.
In response, the Customs officer nudged his head in the other direction. Suhail turned around and saw a burqa clad woman sitting there.
" I have a rookie", beamed Suhail.
" Get a hold on yourself", admonished the Intelligence Officer who doubled as Customs officer at the border outpost.
" Do you realize, the importance of your mission. She is your cover. Your wife, code name Samaira. Take care of her and bring her back. This is her first field trip across the border".
Suhail, walked across the International Border, towards Wagah. His papers were examined by the Pakistani Immigration officer. He was a Pakistani citizen, on a trip to India to be married to his Third Cousin. He was back with his bride".
She had to take the harder route because of Indian passport. Strip search by lady constables, interrogation by Intelligence Officers. It took some time.
Suhail nervously paced around as the stern Immigration officer looked on. "Anything bothering you", he asked.
Suhail quipped, " Can't wait to get home".
The Immigration officer guffawed as Suhail winked at him. The tension was broken. It should be all right now.
From Wagah border, they took a public transport to the Lahore Bus stand. They alighted from the bus, collected their meagre belongings, shopped for a few daily need items and then took a rickshaw and went straight to Suhail's house. This would surely throw off any body tailing them.
Suhail unlocked the house and stood by the doorway with one arm extended. "welcome home dear wife."
" You just won't improve", interjected a male voice.
The local asset was waiting for them.
Samaria took off her burqa. Suhail just stared at her. She looked stunning. Her yellow ochre kurta and fuchsia salwar lit up the entire room. Her black tresses flowed down like cascading waterfalls over her shoulder, with a few strands sticking to her face, mischievous, begging to be removed. Her lipstick faded from the long journey, but still red enough to light up Suhail's eyes.
He decided then and there, he would take good care of her, get her home, marry her and never leave home for the rest of his life.
The local asset again rudely interrupted Suhail's day dreams, " Get some rest, we have a hard nut to crack".
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Later in the evening, when the street was bustling with people, it was safe to step out.
The local asset took them to another safe house. As they made their way to the basement, the local asset flicked a switch at the bottom of the stairs.
It was largely empty save for a man blindfolded, gagged and tied to a chair in the centre. A large lamp burned directly above his head. His shirt had been torn open and there were blood stains on his clothes and his face.
Samaira was still standing on the last step, unnerved probably by the scene unfolding in front of her.
Suhail, reached for her and guided her to the centre of the room.
For the next three hours, Samaira watched as Suhail interrogated, Enticed, laboured with the captive ISI officer.
Finally the prisoner wilted and gave up the information they wanted.
7860978608
The cell number of Falcon
Code name for Col.Shahbaaz, the Chief of India Ops in ISI.
As a sweating Suhail led Samaira to the stairs, the local asset, pulled out his gun and shot the prisoner from point blank range.
Suhail, embraced Samaira protectively as she recoiled.
" You are not cut out for this. I have a better assignment for you", said Suhail with a twinkle in his eye.
They rushed back home and crashed into their respective beds.
The number was transmitted to IB in New Delhi. It was put under surveillance straight away. Powerful IRS satellites in geo centric orbit miles and miles above Islamabad, tracking and transmitting the real time location of Falcon.
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It was breaking dawn when they reached Islamabad. Samaira in jeans and Denim top, covered in a burqa. Suhail in a Pakistan Army Uniform with Major written all over him. The local asset in a Pakistan Army Sergeant uniform.
All the way, Suhail had talked non stop to Samairah. The local asset slightly on the edge, and visibly annoyed wanted to offload him half way. But it was Suhail who was the man for the job.
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Col. Shahbaaz had just left home for his HQ, when he received a text.
Package Delivery. Customer feedback received. Satisfactory.
Col. Shahbaaz took a U turn in the middle of the road, causing a few other drivers to slam their brakes and come to a screeching halt.
He was in a hurry. The HQ can wait. The news had to be delivered to somebody more important than the HQ.
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The ICU main door had caution notices pasted in bold.
NO SHOES ALLOWED
NO OUTSIDERS ALLOWED.
A nonchalant Col Shahbaaz just walked passed the door. The hospital Attendant took one look at the Army Khakhis and lowered his gaze.
Col Shahbaaz walked briskly as his standard issue Pakistan Army boots created an echo in the quiet ward with every step. He was not bothered about what was going on around him. He was could barely conceal the good news that he carrying inside his heart.
He came to Room No. 7 and walked straight in.
"My dear brother, I wanted to convey this news personally. I so badly wanted to see the reaction on your face. Are you ready?" said Col Shahbaaz with arms outstretched like a magician working up his audience.
The heavily bandaged man lying on bed, was taken aback slightly at the unannounced visit by the Colonel. And the exuberance on the Colonel's face, an expression he had seen so often since his childhood, whenever his elder brother was on the verge of winning any game.
Capt Ejaaz propped himself up on his elbows. "Yes Bhaijaan, whats it?? Have you found a wonder drug for my wounds."
"Yes, its a wonder drug", said Colonel Shahbaaz, "Our boys have hit a target in New Delhi. The Indian agent who hit you in Kathmandu has been taken down."
Col Shahbaaz paused, like the magician, waiting for the arena to resound with a thunderous applause from the audience.
...instead there was a pin drop silence.
Capt Ejaaz sat with a blank expression in his bed.
Col. Shahbaaz, a tad disappointed, looked on at his younger brother. The clock kept ticking, ...forever.
Then a single tear made its way past the one unbandaged eye of Capt Ejaaz and started moving down the cheek. Soon he was sobbing uncontrollably.
Col.Shahbaaz wouldn't have tolerated such a naked display of effeminacy from an ISI officer. But this was his younger brother. The baby brother, he had reared and protected as his own child. He instinctively reached out and held his brother by the shoulders.
Capt Ejaaz stopped sobbing as his voice turned into a snarl, "More than the wounds, my pride hurts. MY PRIDE HURTS. Oh! To be bested by an enemy agent, and that too a woman. I wanted to die. I feel so ashamed of myself".
Col Shahbaaz, stepped back, " Woman?? What woman?"
Ejaaz lost some of the scowl on his face, " who did your boys hit, brother".
"Agent code Cp380...is a woman??" The Col took another step back. "Oh I think there has been a mistake."
The pain returned to Ejaaz's wounds, " Mistake ??... BIG Mistake. Now she will come after you."
"Oh, Shut up,"shouted an indignified Col Shahbaaz. "What makes you think she will come here."
Capt Ejaaz sank back into his propped up pillow and said, " What makes you think, she isn't here already".
The resigned look on his brother's face was the last thing Col Shahbaaz saw. In the next very instant he saw Ejaaz's face jerk backwards and blood spattered all over the hospital whites and the wall behind him.
Col Shahbaaz turned around and his jaw dropped.
She looked beautiful.
God has hardwired Men's brains in a strange way. One look at a drop dead gorgeous woman and all other functions of the brain just shut down. A few feet away his younger brother lay dead with his brains blown out . Standing in front was the killer holding a Smith and Wesson Automatic with a silencer.
And all he could think of was...
She is Beautiful.
Col. Shahbaaz did not get the time to close his lower jaw. She did it for him. She had arched her back and unleashed a kick, that brought her heel smack into his jaw with brute force. It lifted him clean off the floor and hurled him a few feet back, flat on his back.
Lying sprawled on the floor, the pain in his jaw bone forced all the near dead brain functions to reactivate. He looked at her with horror in his eyes. She is here to kill.
He was not carrying a weapon. He was sitting behind a desk for 10 years now and was no match for a field agent. He looked around frantically for anything that he could use as a weapon.
He looked at the metal stand holding the IV bottles for his brother. His very dead brother won't need any more IV fluids.
The Intelligence Agencies train their agents in various techniques, to hide in the shadows, use of fire arms, using communication devices, tailing, survive in close quarters situations...
Each agency thinks what it is doing is unique. In fact they are all same. The likelihood of one agent guessing what another might do is very very very high.
Today was no exception.
Col.Shahbaaz's brain had weighed the odds of going for the metal stand and just moved his hand, when a bullet tore through his wrist, severing all nerves controlling any motion in that hand.
" BITCH", bellowed Col.Shahbaaz in agony, holding the limp hand in the other one, trying to stop the bleeding.
In response, she pulled the trigger once more, as he felt his left knee cap shatter. The pain was so unbearable, he threw his head back and howled with all the strength he could muster.
No one outside the room could hear a thing. The rooms in ICU are designed to keep the germs out and the sound in.
"MOLE", she said.
He looked at her with bloodshot eyes. The pain was making it difficult for him to make sense of anything she was saying.
No lengthy dialogues, no venting of spleen, no sermons on why he deserved this retribution. Just another soft squeeze on the trigger. That's all.
The bullet shattered his right knee cap. The howling started again, as she repeated the question. " MOLE ?"
As she stepped out of the Room No.7, there was Suhail standing there, another man suffering from the open jaw syndrome.
A few moments ago, as they had approached Room No.7, he was planning to storm the room, guns blazing, like a cowboy. That would impress her for sure.
The sequence of events had overtaken him so fast, that all he could do was stand and watch. She had flung off her burqa, grabbed the gun from his holster, removed the silencer tied into her hair bun like a clip, shoved him aside, and walked into the room. All within seconds. If this wasn't real life, he would have pressed the rewind button and watched her move like a butterfly in slowmotion, again and again.
Now as she stepped out of the room, he took a peek inside through the ajar door. One man lay dead on the bed with his brain decorated on the wall behind him. Another, in Khakhi uniform lay dead on the floor.
She pressed her painted nail of the index finger into his jaw, and it closed as he gulped.
" You are the legendary Agent Cp380", he stammered as his transition from an out to impress teacher, to a besotted school boy was complete.
Prerna smirked as she pulled on her burqa. The BITCH from Col. Shahbaaz was a complement. She liked it. The LEGENDARY from her infatuated agent felt lame. Go be somebody else's puppy, she thought.
"Quick march, rookie," she ordered,"we have to get out and contact base".
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The Director was holding the condolence meeting with his Deputies, when his cell buzzed. He picked it up and read the text.
He stood up, took a cursory glance across the room, then proudly announced," Falcon is down, the Chief of India Ops in ISI is dead. And we have the name of the mole too".
No one blinked. Somebody died on the other side and now somebody is going to die on this side.
" Misra, how dare you betray your own country and your own people. For a handful of money, you compromised the safety of our agent, the pride of our organization. She almost lost her husband in the attack. Just so you know, he is not dead. He is recovering. The wrong intel was just to bring the Falcon and the Mole out into the open", the Director barely audible as he spat it out.
Misra stood rooted to the spot as other Deputies moved in behind him.
The director raised his hand and continued, " No, he is not to be arrested. She was very specific on that."
"She wants him to run..."
