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267 pages

English

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When you are trained to endure the harshest of climates, the most hostile of situations, to survive where no ordinary man can - there's little difference between you and the terrorist you are trying to kill. Little, except which side you are on. Suvir and Murad - both victims of circumstance, both numb with the pain of haivng lost their loved ones - choose to do things differently. While one becomes the most feared of terrorist, the other joins the Special forces. Their face-off is a flight to death as one is out to carry out a major terrorist operation in Delhi and the other has been specially called in to foil the attack... Moving breathlessly, through rugged terrain, this edgy thriller will not let you rest till the very last page!

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Thriller

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Publié par	Penguin Books Ltd
Date de parution	01 avril 2012
Nombre de lectures	1
EAN13	9788184756319
Langue	English

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JUGGI BHASIN
The Terrorist
Contents
About the Author
Dedication
Prologue
The Terrorist
Epilogue
Author s Note
Acknowledgements
Copyright Page
PENGUIN METRO READS
THE TERRORIST
Juggi Bhasin was one of the first television journalists in India who joined Doordarshan News in 1987. He has many landmark news coverages to his credit including the demolition of the Babri Masjid in 1992. He has also been a senior anchor for Lok Sabha Television. He moved to Mumbai in 2007 to be with his wife, a senior banking professional, and son. Besides writing, he is passionate about acting. Over the years he has worked in theatre with several well-known directors in Delhi.
Juggi can be contacted at juggibhasin@gmail.com .
To Sonu, my wife, because she has always believed in me, Karan, my son and my inspiration, and my mum, Inder Mohini, who taught me what it means to stand up against the odds.
Prologue
There was a crack followed by a hissing sound in the chilled evening air as the launcher ejected its load and a grenade shot past the abandoned building and exploded in the safe house. The explosion blew open the front door and set on fire the wood panelled house, which was devoured in the incendiary attack within seconds. Another rocket exploded at the entrance and then salvo after salvo of gunfire raked the outer fa ade. Everyone scrambled to the floor taking cover behind columns and heavy furniture. But a hail of lead ripped through the exposed front, pockmarking the walls, leaving no room for escape. There was no entrance at the back, the front side of the house lay completely exposed and the fire was savaging the rest. Suvir and his men and the Wani family were completely trapped. Towards the side there was a largish window, untouched so far, but still within the range of Dogra s men firing from the other side of the bridge. A diversion was needed to make the escape towards the reconnaissance vehicle parked adjacent to the house.
Nusrat Wani made up her mind. She would provide the diversion with her life. She felt drained of any breath or joy for life. She just wanted to close her eyes and drift away. She got up, embraced her mother for the last time and Asiya lunged after her, perhaps sensing that Nusrat would pay any price to protect them till the end. Her fingers locked on to her fleeing sister s arm but Nusrat s will was greater and she freed herself from her sister s grasp and, to the shocked horror of everyone in the room, ran towards the approaching wall of fire. She emerged from the column of fire outside the house and ran to the bridge linking the gutted safe house to the rest of the Rainawari locality.
It was a moment frozen in time. A young girl on the bridge consumed in flames, her pheran torn to bits, her waist-length hair streaking wildly in the chilled evening air, the flames rapidly licking and peeling her pale skin, her locks finally beginning to catch fire. The complete horror of her self-immolation temporarily silenced the guns from across the bridge. On the bridge, Nusrat looked up at the evening sky, her hands stretched heavenwards, her Madonna-like face, forgiving and calm at the same time. She stood on the bridge for an eternal moment as if she was a tortured, flaming saint and then a ring of fire completely enveloped her and her blackened, charred body toppled over the bridge and fell in the waters of the canal below.
In her death Nusrat gave the kiss of life to those around her. Bashir and Suvir forced the hysterical Wani family out of the window and into the recon vehicle. From the back of the vehicle Asiya wept and held out her hand as if by a miracle her sister would come and hold it. She followed to the last as the sacrificed body of her sister swept away in the dark waters of the canal and finally disappeared out of sight.
Then the guns opened up once again. Shells from the other side slammed in and burst after burst of machine gun fire tore through the last, crumbling defences of the gutted safe house. But Nusrat s suicidal run had saved her family. Tikki was already backing the vehicle into a by lane away from the line of fire and for the first time Suvir and his men were matching fire for fire with their Tavor assault rifles.
From the corner of his eye Suvir saw another rocket-propelled grenade chart its insidious course towards them. But Tikki had already backed out of the lane at great speed and as the RPG exploded harmlessly some distance away, Tikki swung the recon vehicle onto the narrow dirt road leading out of the locality.
They shot out of the trap, out of the locality, and at the back of the vehicle Nusrat s father held his wife who had collapsed from the strain. The old man, like a somnambulist, kept repeating, Even as a child she knew how to give. She only gave us.
The recon vehicle plunged into the night to the new safe house.
1
Day 1 Army Debriefing Centre, Delhi Pre-lunch Session
The squat, single storey barracks behind the Dhaula Kuan officers recreational club was the unlikely venue for a debriefing session of disgraced Captain Suvir Suri. A three-man panel of senior army and intelligence officers was given the task of assessing the young army officer who almost single-handedly had pushed the insurgency-hit Kashmir valley to the brink of complete disaster. The former CO of the Special Forces training camp at Vairengte in Mizoram, Brigadier Dhaliwal, was the point man for the debriefing. The two other officers generally preferred the Brigadier to do the talking while they silently evaluated the junior officer sitting in front of them.
Suvir s clean cut, chiselled face with deep set dark eyes, a permanently pale complexion and a wiry, tall frame betrayed no emotion. He braced himself for the debriefing. He knew he was one step away from facing a general court martial. Perhaps the decision had already been taken. Maybe this entire exercise was a mere formality. Brigadier Dhaliwal reshuffled his notes to begin the debriefing. There was tension in the room almost as if icicles were hanging from above.
Captain Suvir Suri, said the Brigadier, his voice low and even. I face a dilemma here. How does one judge an army officer who, on one hand, has shown extraordinary courage in the face of deadly fire and, on the other, great callousness by creating an explosive situation for the civilian authorities in Srinagar?
Brigadier Dhaliwal s words hung in the air. Suvir did not respond to the comment. The Brigadier spelt out the charges.
Captain Suri, you stand accused of disobeying a direct order from a senior officer. Not only that, you also opened fire at para military forces from our side. We are also looking at reports of your psychiatric evaluation. There is a possibility that you could be dangerously imbalanced, perhaps even psychotic.
There was a trace of emotion in Suvir s face. Brigadier Dhaliwal s eyes glittered behind his bifocals.
Should I respond to the charges, Sir? asked Suvir.
Please do, Captain. But we will start at the very beginning. Talk to us about the Special Forces training you received at Vairengte. Take my colleagues here through a quick recap of what Vairengte was all about. That is where your problems began, right? There were a series of incidents in that six-week training course. Correct?
Brigadier Dhaliwal leaned back in his chair.
Understand, Captain, that this is a last chance for you to come clean. You are looking at the very real possibility of facing a court martial and being dismissed from service. And perhaps even facing rigorous imprisonment, he added as an afterthought.
A blizzard of images went through Suvir s mind-the ubiquitous roar of helicopters taking off, the gut-wrenching whine of machine gun fire and the emotional see-saw of a love affair that left behind it more pain than joy. Suvir looked at the panel closely and began to recount events that had occured more than a year ago.
Forty officers from different units and regiments had been selected from across the country for a six-week counter terrorism course at Vairengte. The best of the very best were selected for this elite course. They had been chosen so that they could develop skill sets in Vairengte that would transform them into deadly fighting machines. For the uninitiated, the first three days out there were nothing less than a journey in pure hell. Every trainee was severely and deliberately tested. There is complete consensus among those who have passed through the gates at Vairengte that one should have a stomach lined with iron filings to take in all that is thrown at the newcomers in the first few days.
The entire batch had arrived by late evening on a day when the humidity was pushing record levels. Many in the batch were bone tired from catching connecting flights and trains and travelling rutted roads to reach camp. They had barely entered camp when two one-ton army trucks roared in front of them, next to the office block.
The batch was herded into the trucks and taken deep into a bamboo forest in pitch darkness. There they were abandoned in a forest clearing and were told to march back to camp without any navigational tools covering a distance of more than seventy kilometres. The way back was through an unexplored, dense jungle. There were no well-known trails or markers to guide the batch. Most of them hadn t had a bite in the past twenty-four hours.
When the trucks left, the sky above cracked open, pelting a shower that descended on the trainees like a ferocious beast. The downpour was so vicious that it hurt them as if they had been hit by a hail of sharp, small rocks. They ran for cover under the trees. The machine gun-like hail sluiced its way through their T-shirts and cotton wear, hammering them with its persistence. It rained continuously for seven hours.
When the rains stopped, an army of mosquitoes took over. They attacked the unsuspecting trainees with rapier cut-like bites. The whole batch was soaked, cold and hungry and