3. 2
And yet a little tumult, now and then, is an agreeable
quickener of sensation; such as a revolution, a battle, or an
adventure of any lively description – George Gordon Noel
Byron, (1788–1824), British poet
Byron's Letters and Journals, vol. 3, entry for November
22, 1813, ed. Leslie A. Marchand (1973-1981)
5. 4
Contents
Preface................................................................................. 5
The Midas Incident ............................................................. 7
Adventure in the Siachen Glacier ..................................... 20
The Apparition of Daulatabad .......................................... 31
Escape from Somalia ........................................................ 38
Flight IA-222: The Saga of a Hijack................................. 50
The Great Escape .............................................................. 59
The Rodent Minutemen .................................................... 71
The Rise and Rise of James McIntyre .............................. 76
Race against Nuclear Extermination................................. 91
6. 5
Preface
Lord Byron, the English poet, wrote that “….a little
tumult, now and then, is an agreeable quickener of sensation;
such as a revolution, a battle, or an adventure of any lively
description.” Taking away the humdrum of life but imbuing it
with contemporariness is the primary objective of this book.
While we all need to move away from the humdrum
and monotony of daily life, yet, by no means, should we
immerse ourselves totally in a dream world. The world
around us is vibrant and full of stories. We only need to see
events and knit stories around them. This serves a twin
purpose of education and partaking of events around us,
albeit in a theatrical garb.
Chills, Thrills & Frills originated as short stories that I
wrote for three years as part of my creative writing
curriculum in high school in the United States. Hence
Western names brush shoulders with Indian ones. In my
finishing years in high school, piracy in Somalia, bombing of
the Indian embassy in Kabul, the dastardly attack on Mumbai
on 26/11 came to the fore. It was also the time when
President George Bush was being criticized for unlawfully
holding and torturing suspected Jihadi militants in the US
Navy’s Guantanamo Bay prison. I would silently watch body
bags of US soldiers arriving in the US from Iraq and
Afghanistan on television, to grieving but adulating crowds. If
9/11 fired the world’s imagination, 26/11, attack on our
Parliament and thriving nuclear stockpiles in our immediate
neighbourhood, brought terrorist violence home to disrupt
7. 6
our ancient civilization. If terrorists are lionized by their
supporters, civilized society must equally idolize the heroic
exploits of men and women who foil the destructive designs
of terrorists of all hues and conviction. At the same time, life
must go on, with technology and knowledge standing tall
with industry, humour and imagination, all being strong
bases of our civilization.
Chills, Thrills ‘n Frills touches the lives of people in
four continents in a variety of ways. It provides a chilling
reminder of destruction by individuals and threats our
society faces in the form of terrorism and piracy. It lionizes
those that thrillingly and valiantly fight for the preservation
of civilized society. Even as it dramatizes current events, the
book also seeks to provide comic relief and fertile
imagination – frills - two fundamental bases of our society.
I am thankful to my teachers, Ms. Kristin Collins, Mr.
Christopher Titchner, Mr. John Cabascango and counselor,
Mr. Steve Whitt, all of Athens Drive High School, Raleigh,
North Carolina, USA who stoked my creative juices. Last, but
not the least, my gratitude is due to my parents, Jia and
Shantanu Basu, for their active encouragement and
forbearance.
I hope young teens and adults desirous of reliving
their childhood find this book interesting.
New Delhi Kunal Basu
30th June, 2011
8. 7
The Midas Incident
Legend has it that
the Aegean Sea named after
Aegeus, the father of
Theseus. Legend has it that
Aegueus drowned himself in
this sea when he heard of
the death of his son. In
ancient times the sea was
the birthplace of two ancient
civilizations – the Minoans
of Crete, and the Mycenaean
Civilization of the Peloponnese. The city-states of Athens and
Sparta followed among many others that constituted the Hellenic
Civilization. The Aegean Sea was later invaded by Persians and the
Romans, and it’s numerous islands inhabited by the Byzantine
Empire, the Venetians, the Seljuk Turks, and the Ottoman Empire.
The sea that lies between mainland Greece and Turkey has two
historic islands - Crete and Rhodes- on it.
The gentle waves of
the Aegean Sea make for the
ideal cruise. The
mesmerizing sunrise,
brilliant days, the majestic
sunset on the waves hold
viewers spellbound and
adds life to years. Internet
and celluloid visions were
being projected in the minds
of Fred, Jim, Tony, Tim, Charlie – The Big Five (as their 82nd
Airborne Division commander called them) and their canine
9. 8
mascot, Caesar, as they walked up the gangway to MV Midas at the
picturesque Greek port of Thessaloniki in Greece. They were away
from the Iraq war front and looking forward to the cruise to Crete
and Rhodes.
Wiping his forehead with the armlet of his shirt Tim said
“Oh to be in Paradise!” Charlie and Tony chorused “You bet!”
In the background blew the ship’s horn welcoming all on
board. The crew served bubbly and sparkling Aidani, Athiri and
Sideritis (Aegean wines) that added spirit to the Five’s voyage of
leisure ‘n discovery.
“Ship ahoy!” – the MV Midas raised anchor and gracefully
moved away from Pier 57 and into Small Kara Bourmou Point and
towards the Paliosyaya light buoy.
Inside a stateroom with four large portholes, Charlie sank
into the couch. “Man! This is life!!”
Fred stood by the porthole and intently stared at the azure
waters of the Aegean. It was time to relax and get ready for the
welcome Greek cocktails and dinner by Captain Stavropolous, a
genial and large cherubic Greek with a booming voice and a bare-
all smile.
“I can’t wait to savor the
Greek culinary legends.” It was
evident the derby in Fred’s belly
was gathering speed.
“We’ll lend a hand” Tim
and Jim, shouted to the serving
crew. “Velcum on borde. Sank
you for your help” (sic) Alcandar
and Alannis, the deck hands, said as they waved back to Tim and
Jim.
10. 9
The trays finally arrived and the tourists made a beeline
for them. There were dolmades, tiropites, spanakopites with tzatziki
sauce and avgolemono soup for appetizers. Stavropolous’
optimistic appetite came in handy as he explained the tzatzaki
sauce as “a yogurt, cucumber and garlic dip to be served chilled on
its own or with pita” and added that is tasted great on a gyro.
Pastitsio, roast lamb, moussaka to the accompaniment of gyro and
pilaf followed. The sweetness of baklava, diples, kataifi and
loukuomades rounded off the evening.
The Five lazily floated around on the deck, breathed in the
refreshingly saline air and had their first full view of nature’s
Aegean bounty. The serenity and tranquility punctuated by the
gentle lapping of waves against the Midas’s bow was nothing short
of sheer magic. It was as if nature was showing an audio-visual
lullaby and beckoning the viewers to preserve their energies for
the splendors of Crete and Rhodes.
“Man, am I tired?” said Fred trying, in vain, to stifle, what
seemed to be the final call to bed.
A sleepy “I’m about to crash” followed by a “Y-a-a-a-w-w-
n-n-n” from Jim was the final signal to retire for the night.
Charlie, the One among the Five, walked into the stateroom
to find Caesar curled up on Charlie’s bunk with nothing but a gentle
hiss and a “s-s-n-n-o-o-r-r-t-t” emanating from his desert-tanned
but shiny aquiline nose and a peaceful, almost angelic, look on his
face.
“Heave to!” Charlie screamed to yet another gentle canine
snort. Disgusted but bone tired, Charlie lay back on the couch and
in milliseconds had drifted off. Overcome by somnolence, wrought
by living on the edge in Iraq and the hearty Greek meal, a ‘sea’
change from army 3B (beans, bacon and bread) rations, the Five
11. 10
did not notice tiny specks in the sea that whose wake grew more
prominent as they neared the Midas.
On board the first dinghy, Pedro
Gonzalez asked his men to get ready to
board the Midas.
“Remember, we must not use our
radios or even talk in a raised voice after
we leave this dinghy. Surprise is the key to
our success.”
On board the second dinghy ‘Mad’
Mike Hoare briefed his group. “We shall
spread two men to each corridor, six to the
wheel house, and four to the navigation bridge and two each to the
engine and telecommunications rooms.”
Sensing the tension building up in his men, all
mercenaries, ‘Mad’ Mike warned them, “First the tear gas….. no
killing passengers unless they threatened or were carrying
arms……. Women and kids are not be harmed…….ship’s lights to be
turned off and radio seized.”
“Thump…thump…..thump……H-i-s-s-s-s-s-s-s” of a stun
grenade.
A huge “A-a-c-c-h-h-
o-o-o!” and the Five and
Caesar were wide-awake.
Smoke filtered into
the room as Charlie barked,
“Action stations all!!!!!”
Soon clouds of
smoke inside the stateroom broke the Rip van Winkle slumber of
12. 11
The Five. First, the soft sounds, then smoke………….the alarm bells
rang and the men rushed to take position – survival as the war on
terror had taught them depended on your reaction time. The night
pajama-clad army was ready to move, albeit a quarter too sleepy at
midnight.
The steady whine of the Midas’s engines had slowed to a
lower pitch and suddenly stopped. The ship was no longer moving.
“My guess is we are under attack”, was Tim’s reaction.
“You gotta be joking!” was Jim’s incredulous reaction. How
could the sea of tranquility turn into the sea of conflict?
“We ain’t got no guns….no ammo….only ourselves”
muttered Charlie. “It’s us against the attackers…………we must do
it………..let’s go!” shouted the usually timid Jim. “If we can’t do
something to help, then who would?” wondered Fred his mind
going back to Iraq.
Much as they tried, the heavy oak door of their stateroom
refused to open. The Five and Caesar were locked inside as the
electronic lock had jammed after the lights were turned off on the
Midas. They were trapped!
The first gunshot rang out in the corridor outside the
stateroom followed by the sound of rushed footsteps and what
sounded like muffled foreign prattle. Someone shrieked followed
by the sound of sharp clicks. Doors were being broken open.
Suddenly it all stopped. Peace had returned. Maybe it was a case of
passengers or crew getting drunk and then cursing each other. Or
maybe it was a lovers’ tiff that had almost ended in tragedy.
Suddenly, the Midas seemed to change course rapidly
gathering speed as the hull shuddered so much that Fred and
Charlie knocked their heads on the wall eliciting a “@#$%&****!”.
13. 12
The lights faltered and finally the ship’s siren sounded. The
booming voice of the captain sounded the alarm – our ship had
been hijacked by mercenaries who were holding passengers for
ransom and robbing them off all their valuables.
“We are under attack by unknown intruders……….please
remain calm………we are changing course for…..! “, screamed
Stavoropolous as he was obviously cut off mid-sentence.
A loud whistle from the public address system and the next
announcement was made, this time in a deep threatening alien
voice, “This ship has been taken over by Three–O Delta Force. We
demand the release of our jailed compatriots in Guantanamo Bay
within the next 12 hours, $100 million and two Sikorsky choppers
to fly us to safety. If our demands are not met, we will kill a hostage
passenger every hour. We have conveyed our demands to the
President of the United States, the Prime Minister of England and
the Chancellor of Germany. Long live …………!”
A passing agitated deck hand muttered to Charlie through
the porthole of the stateroom, “Stavropoulos and his co-pilot are
being held hostage at gun point on the ship’s steering deck and
there are heavily armed men at all the vantage points on the
Midas.”
Suddenly, a pall of gloom overwhelmed passengers who
had gathered on the deck as three stretchers filed past with bodies
of hapless passengers who had attempted to resist the intrusion.
“These guys mean business…..so do we……..” thought
Charlie as the revulsion of the killings hit home.
Tim had obtained a map of the ship from the captain’s
office and the Five stood over it with pencils in hand. Caesar
mounted guard, just in case. There were no commanders and no
arms and the Five were the commanders and the executors.
14. 13
“Jim, Fred and Caesar will take the steering
room while Tony will head for the wireless room and I
take the engine room,” said Charlie. The others voiced
their concerns about the exit from the stateroom
without being seen.
“The ships lights are out but the full moon will
give the intruders visibility and expose our positions,”
said a concerned Fred.
They decided that each of them would go out through a
porthole to their designated posts every ten minutes. All of them
were armed with baseball bats, helmets and some baseballs, forks
and knives, cans of body powder and shampoo pouches that would
now be their instruments of war!
One by one, the Five crept out. Caesar followed last, and as
if by intuition parked himself on top of the steering deck door
ready to pounce. The occasional cloud obscured the heavenly
cheesecake (Moon) while the lapping of the waves against the bow
camouflaged the bare feet pitter-patter of the Five’s movement.
The wind was rising and the sound of the waves was increasing
steadily. The shadows of the
intruders guarding the
observation deck were visible
to the Five as they gingerly
made their way under the
bridge and into their
designated spots.
The key was to take
over the steering deck.
“I’m in position” whispered Jim to Fred from behind the
communications antenna tower. “Roger” replied Fred from atop the
15. 14
other exit from the steering deck as they sprayed shampoo on the
deck outside the door of the deck.
They both heard an almost inaudible growl sounding like
“Roger” from an almost invisible Caesar. Stealthily, Fred advanced
to the nearest window of the deck.
With only his forehead and eyes
visible above the window line, Fred was
astonished by what he saw. He softly
whistled to Jim and both peered into the
deck. In the corner sat a handsome
middle aged man in Captain’s attire with
the badge of Stavropoulos on his jacket
– the only difference was he was gagged
and bound to a chair which, in turn, was
tied to a the antenna post base. A large
man glowered over Stavropoulos and
repeatedly hit the real captain. As he
turned around, Jim and Fred had the shock of their lives – it was
their Captain Stavropoulos. The man was an impostor!!
Stavropoulos and an intruder were seated across table playing
cards with the pirates and sharing the bar among themselves. Amid
loud guffaws, they were laying bets on what they would do with the
ransom!
Suddenly there was a flutter. As Fred and Jim looked
sideways, they stared into the barrels of two AK-56 assault rifles.
“Holy God! Do they have X-ray vision?” cursed Jim.
“On your feet with your hands up!” commanded a
balaclava-clad face as his mate got the handcuffs ready. Suddenly
the balaclava-clad’s rifles were airborne as the two figures toppled
over on the deck rooftop, over the handrails and into the sea! The
wind was growing in strength and the ship was rocking more.
16. 15
Caesar has taken the first chance and “G-r-r-r-o-w-l”
pounced on the first man and thrown him off balance.
“Dios Mio!” shrieked the second intruder as he let go his
rifle and similarly toppled into the now choppy sea. Caesar was a
soldier after all!
Tony’s journey to the wireless room was less eventful.
“Verdomp”, the Afrikaans was clear as an intruder
struggled for balance as the ship rocked. “Hou jo bek”, came the
reply from another unseen Boer.
From inside the wireless room came the familiar crackling.
Tony heard a guttural, “Das glaube ich
nicht………natürlich……..wie viele?” as he shivered with excitement.
Having done a stint at the USAF’s Ramstein base, Tony had
a chilling fear that this was the order to execute more hostages. It
was time to move into position. Tony maneuvered himself into
place over a ventilation shaft and removed the steel grille. The
shaft was cold and sticky with moisture.
“Of course, the can of powder will silence my passage
through this shaft!” he thought as the powder stuck to the walls of
the shaft and dried the moisture.
The funnel like shaft was dark and forbidding and Tony
had a fear of the unknown at the other end. Slowly, he got inside
the shaft and then fell into a short free fall. He landed squarely
behind the owner of the guttural German voice and with a swift
blow to the side of the head with the baseball bat, felled the
German.
“Mayday………Mayday!” Tony transmitted.
17. 16
“We hear you, over” was the familiar Yankee drawl. “This
is the USS North Carolina. How may we help you?”
Quickly Tony ran through the events as the Captain of the
US Navy ship listened. Help was on its way and would be with the
Midas before dawn. Tony had accomplished his mission.
Tossing a few baseball balls carelessly around the floor to
catch the intruders off-balance, he thought, “Phew! What a game!”
Battling against time, Charlie had charged down two flights
of stairs, three gangways and two ventilation shafts. He waited with
a baited breath as he saw two guards standing in front of the
engine room control panel. The ventilation was directly atop the
panel. If only he could………….. Charlie took the plunge! He landed
straight between the two guards with a whoosh and a dull thud.
The guards lost their balance and fell to either side of Charlie. Their
AK-56s were lying within easy reach of Charlie. It was now or
never!
With his training in judo and a two baseball bats in his
hands, the bats left Charlie’s hands simultaneously careening
across the room at lightning speed felling both the guards. Then
Charlie executed two perfectly angled sharp flying kicks and
knocked the guards out.
“Time to give the engines a rest” Charlie thought as his
fingers gingerly thumbed the big red buttons on the control panel.
Pressing a green lever,
Charlie heard a loud clang as the
ship’s anchor rolled down the side
and into the depths of the sea.
“We’re going nowhere now
till help arrives thought Charlie.
18. 17
The Midas, however, was not at peaceful in itself although
the engines had stopped whirring. Hearing the whirr of the engines
stop and all the lights on the Midas come on, the intruders on the
steering deck came out with their AK-56s and grenades in hand.
The watch intruders on the observation deck were also miserably
exposed. Before they had a chance, Fred and Jim opened fire with
the AK-56s that they had taken from the two guards who had
drowned in the sea.
One by one, all the intruders came out on deck. As they did,
the shampoo ammunition came in handy to ensure they could not
run on a slippery and wet deck. The younger passengers kept
watch with sticks and rods from the Midas’s stores that they had
broken into.
As the intruders came out, they tripped over wire traps
Fred and Jim had set up. Caesar was the military policeman on-
board. His ferocious look struck terror as saliva dripped down the
sides of the mouth, as if a tiger readying for the kill! Now the final
assault on the steering deck was all that remained for winning back
the Midas.
The leader of the intruders came out of the deck holding a
Beretta .38 to the temple of the bogus Captain Stavropoulos. The
‘Captain’ looked genuinely scared. Gone was his geniality and big
laugh.
The leader barked to his compatriots, “To the dinghies….to
the dinghies” little knowing what or who awaited them in the
rubber boats.
Suddenly, out of the darkness, came a familiar chpp-chpp-
chpp of chopper rotors and several huge searchlights lit up the
Midas’s deck. There was a loud ka-boom then a huge waterspout
erupted from the sea followed by another one. Little canisters flew
over from nowhere and enveloped the ship.
19. 18
A voice over a public address system said, “We have
surrounded the ship. There is no escape route. We are boarding the
ship. Our sailors have orders to shoot to kill intruders.”
At once millions of smaller lights
lit up outlining the silhouettes of two US
Navy destroyers and two support ships as
the German intruder leader gasped, “Mein
Gott!!”
“Gotterdammerung”, the leader
of the intruders was in pain as tears
welled up in his eyes with the tear gas
fired from the heavily armed sailors from
the USS North Carolina.
The choppers dropped more
sailors on the deck and very soon, a full-scale gun battle erupted.
The remaining intruders beat a hasty retreat. They went over the
sides of the ship into the cold water and rescued by young
passengers waiting for their prey in the dinghies. As the intruders
fell into the water, they were pulled over into the dinghies and
roughed up before being handed over to the sailors.
At dawn, the weather
cleared up. Apollo’s chariot
streaked across the heavens as
the sun rose on a clear spring
morning. The Midas was free
again. Rhodes and Crete awaited
our arrival. As CNN, BBC, Turkish
and Greek TV and radio stations
made heroes of us, we landed in Crete to a hero’s welcome.
Necessity was indeed the mother of invention as we recalled our
21. 20
Adventure in the Siachen Glacier
The tall peaks of the
Himalayas are a source of
inspiration for all climbers. The
legends that surround Mount
Everest, Makalu, Kanchenjunga
and Godwin Austen imbue these
peaks with a holy spirit, the
embodiment to God on Earth.
For the Gurkhas, the mountains
are a way and part of life. For Indians the mountains symbolize a
natural defense against the cold of the north while the dizzying
heights are associated with the Abode of the Gods. Standing 29,000
feet tall is Mount Everest, the king of all that it surveys. The others
are a shade lower between 25,000 and 28,000 feet. Against this is
Mont Blanc at about 17000 feet and Mount McKinley about 20,000
feet.
Amid the majestic Himalayas are nestled several glaciers,
the largest of which is the Siachen at a height of over 22,000 feet.
Survival presents a divine challenge as temperatures go as low as
minus 60 degrees. The 78 km long Siachen glacier lies between the
Saltoro Ridge line to the west and the main Karakoram Range to
the east. The Saltoro Ridge originates from the Sia Kangri in the
Karakoram Range and the altitudes range from 18,000 to 24,000 ft.
The major passes on this ridge are Sia La at 20,000 ft and Bila Fond
La at 19,000 ft. It is in this area that Indian and Pakistani armies
have been facing each other for over a quarter of a century in
almost eyeball-to-eyeball confrontation.
May 15, 2006 was a relatively warm day at the Siachen
Group HQs of the Indian Army. The battalions were at peace on
22. 21
either side of the border.
Football and volleyball were
the favorite pastime of the
soldiers. Exercise was the
key to survival. However,
excess could cause cardiac
arrest or a fatal case of
pulmonary edema. It was on
one bright morning when the
wireless communication system suddenly came alive with an
urgent message.
“Are you reading me 0476? This is a crash message. Please
ask your Commanding Officer to attend immediately. Over”
The alarm had been sounded and Brigadier Gill rushed to
the communications center to take the message.
“Ten heavily armed militants have been reported
attempting to cross the border 5 miles from Post 0575. These
militants are wanted for hijacking of an Indian Airlines aircraft to
Afghanistan in 1998. Request immediate deployment and arrest
the militants who are classified Most Dangerous. Over”
Brigadier Gill ordered all the officers to the command post
immediately. Gill repeated what he had just heard to all the officers
present in the room. The council of war was to decide on the action.
“Gentlemen we need to put together four officers and 20
skiers from subordinate ranks to form a special platoon. This
platoon will be supported by snow scooters and two Air Force
choppers. A special Gulfstream jet with imaging equipment will
also arrive here tomorrow at 7 am to track the militants.”
23. 22
Evidently, Gill wanted officer volunteers. As he strode
down the line of officers, Gill picked a young Colonel, a Major, a
captain and a 2nd Lieutenant to lead the platoon.
Colonel AK Sharma was in the Glacier on his second
posting. Tall and well-built, he commanded an infantry battalion in
the plains. A great volleyball player Sharma was also the resident
poet. In his late thirties, Sharma was an explosives expert whose
expertise lay in controlled explosions in glacial regions. Although a
man possessed of a fierce temperament, Sharma was a very
popular commander and most solicitous of his troops. Having
completed his undergraduate degree, Sharma followed his family’s
patriotic call to the forces. Sharma spoke several languages, from
his postings in various parts of India, and was thus a natural choice
for commanding the platoon.
Major SK Verma, an
engineer by profession had
served the Indian Army’s Corps
of Engineers for the last fifteen
years. Like Sharma, he too had
paid heed to his father who had
served as a Colonel. Verma was
in his early thirties and
specialized in laying bridges
across the treacherous snow fields and crevasse of the Siachen
Glacier. A father of two school kids, Verma was a prize winning
student in school and university. He also counted badminton and
table tennis as his favorite pastimes. He had a disrespect of artillery
and infantrymen who he thought represented a lower form of life
blessed with substantially lower IQs than engineers.
A champion polo player, Captain MK Singh, was a
strapping and handsome 6 ½ feet tall infantry officer. His expertise
was in search and rescue missions in snow bound areas. A keen
24. 23
student of geography, Singh was in the cartographic branch of the
infantry. Singh was a bachelor and the lead guitarist at the Infantry
School. A man of unimpeachable integrity, Singh was also a
homeopathic practitioner for a hobby. Singh was a keen animal
lover and an environmental conservationist. He was highly
regarded for his knowledge of the Himalayan snow leopard.
2nd Lieutenant Rita was the only woman in the team. A
physician by profession, Rita had been specially trained to attend
high altitude sickness like pulmonary edema. A brilliant student at
medical school, Rita won many awards for her surgical skill and
lung transplant expertise. She was a tough girl who volunteered for
service in the Siachen Glacier about which she had heard so mush.
She was also inspired by news items that stated how soldiers
would die a painful death from edema in the area.
Flying at high
altitudes requires
aircraft to land and be
airborne as soon as
possible owing to the
vicissitudes of high
altitude weather. It
had snowed
continuously for the
last 48 hours. The white glacier sparkled brilliantly with a fresh
layer of snow. With thirty feet of snow, the crevasses had filled up
and the task of crossing them was even more perilous now. The
wind blew a fine coat of dust on the officers and men who wore
heavy goggles to prevent snow blindness. The wind gushed at over
80 mph on a bright clear morning. Tractors and dozers were at
work shoveling the snow from the runway and heliport. They
seemed like bugs on the vast barren and forbidding landscape.
25. 24
At 6 am the Gulfstream jet landed followed by five air force
choppers. In less than five minutes, they had departed with the
men on board. On board the first chopper were the four officers
with parachutes and skis. The chopper also carried four snow
scooters and medical equipment. The other choppers carried more
equipment and the platoon’s men.
As the choppers flew, Rita broke the silence “We will need
to move fast. The air is rarefied so all of us will have to put on
oxygen masks whenever we feel breathless. Call me if you need
help.”
Major Sharma continued to observe the grim landscape.
Suddenly the radio crackled. It was the Brigadier on board the
Gulfstream.
“Ten men hiding in crevasse, 5 miles NNW, 12 o’clock.
Move fast and cut them off!”
Inside the Gulfstream, Brigadier Gill saw the faces of the
militants on his LCD panel. They were heavily armed with AK-47
self-loading rifles and Katyusha rocket launchers. Time was of the
essence before the weather worsened.
The choppers changed
course and the officers and
troops were parachuting down
in another 15 minutes. After all
landed Colonel Sharma took a
head count. “Captain Singh and
five soldiers will move from the
NW” he said. Another five under
Major Verma would advance
from the North while the Colonel and 2nd Lieutenant Rita would cut
off the southern escape route with 10 men.
26. 25
“All efforts are to be made to capture the terrorists alive.”
High above there was drama. Suddenly a plume of white
smoke shot up, followed by three more. The terrorists were firing
at the chopper and the Gulfstream.
“Team change course for…..immediately”, Squadron
Leader Stephen ordered.
The choppers hurriedly changed course for their home
base while the Gulfstream gained height to move out of the range of
the Katyusha rockets. The terrorists were determined men and
would cross the border. However, they had not reckoned with
Colonel Sharma’s equally determined platoon.
“Move….move…..move!” Colonel Sharma sought to
galvanize his officers and men after a quick briefing. “If those guys
get across it’ll be severely damaging for the government and
……………” his voice trailed off as he remembered the attack on
India’s Parliament by terrorists in 2000.
As he lowered his ski goggles, Sharma clipped on his skis,
tightened his back pack, put the oxygen respirator in his mouth and
was gone downhill at lightning speed. Major Verma and Captain
Singh followed suit. The sky was getting cloudy. It was 10 am and
they had to get to the terrorists before 12 pm when the weather
was forecast to pack up. The 24 men and women were specks in a
desolate and frozen landscape.
As Colonel Sharma arrived, he heard voices from the
crevasse.
“We have barely an hour to cross into Kashmir. The
weather is fast packing up. If we don’t take a chance and move, the
Indian troops will get us”, said Abdullah.
27. 26
The voice sounded familiar to the Colonel. Of course! It
was the same deadpan voice that had come over the wireless when
the aircraft was hijacked to Kandahar a decade ago. They had hit
pay dirt! Sharma imagined receiving his promotion and an award
from India’s President at a glittering ceremony at Delhi’s
Presidential Palace.
The ice was coming
down fast and the sound of
the wind reminded
Lieutenant Rita of
Hitchcock’s graveyard
scenes. In two groups of five
men each, the troops covered
the northern escape route to
Kashmir. They had moved
mortar and tear gas guns into place and were awaiting the position
of the other two teams. Sharma and Rita kept talking in hushed
tones to their men who were now ready for the assault. It was
11:15 am.
Major Verma’s unit did not have a smooth sailing. One of
his troops had slipped into a crevasse, lost his snow scooter,
broken his leg and had to be dragged out. “Please leave me behind.
The terrorists will escape if we delay” the soldier cried aloud.
For Verma his unit was his extended family. How could he
leave an injured soldier to die on the battle field?
He radioed Lieutenant Rita for help, “We need help”.
Skiing like she had never done before, unmindful of the
deep crevasses en route, Rita dashed from her position with her kit.
28. 27
“We cannot do without the second unit. The terrorists will
try to escape north back into Pakistan if this unit did not reach in
another 15 minutes.”
With extra help, Verma and Rita and the soldiers hoisted
the snow scooter from the crevasse, put the injured soldier on it
and asked him to carry and run the unit’s wireless system. No man
could be wasted! In another 15 minutes Verma’s unit was in
position. The terrorists escape route back to Pakistan had been
blocked! The Bren guns were in position as were the infra-red
imaging device equipped self-loading rifles. Each soldier checked
his infra-red glasses and other imaging equipment and readied for
the assault.
Inside the crevasse Jameel was getting desperate. He
addressed Abdullah in an impatient tone. “Abdullah, there is no
more time left with us. I am almost frozen. Our water and food has
run out. Either we move immediately or else we are destined to die
here.” Shahid agreed, “Jameel is right. Either you move or we’ll
move out.” The other seven men agreed with Jameel. Abdullah’s
fierce red eyes popped out as he felt the growing resentment
among his men. He decided to get out of the crevasse and enter
Kashmir.
In the meantime, Captain Singh was having trouble with
one of his snow scooters. The unit finally decided to abandon the
scooter and proceeded on
skis. The ice was coming
down fast and their
instruments showed a wind
speed of 80 mph. The sky was
heavily overcast. He checked
his compass and watch. “We
should be arriving at the site
in another 5 minutes”, he
29. 28
thought. It was 11:25 am and the snow was already 20 feet deep.
The radio sets of all the units crackled simultaneously as
Brigadier Gill signed in. He was still hovering over the site at an
altitude of 60,000 feet in the Gulfstream jet.
“There is movement in the crevasse. Yes! I see them now.
They are following the NW edge of the crevasse and then moving
north toward Kashmir. Major Verma and Captain Singh to your
stations please! Stand by!!”
Colonel Sharma shivered as he remembered the terrorist
attack on India’s Parliament. Lieutenant Rita was by his side
cradling a self-loading rifle. Sharma looked at Rita. Gone was the
doctor. Instead there was a patriotic soldier ready to defend her
country.
The call for the assault could not have been more
mistimed. From his perch high up in the sky, Brigadier Gill saw the
snow storm coming. There was as little as 15 minutes. He had to
order military action now.
“If the terrorists escape, I’ll be dismissed, tried and jailed.”
The very thought of dishonorable severance from a family
tradition sent shivers down his spine. He picked the radio’s
microphone.
“Captain Singh, warn the terrorists that they are
surrounded and any attempt to escape would be futile. Major
Verma should fire a warning burst from the Bren gun while Colonel
Sharma should lob a mortar shell into the crevasse.”
The orders were dutifully followed.
As the first mortar raised a snow geyser, heavy gunfire
erupted from the terrorists. The terrorists were firing blindly in the
snow.
30. 29
“Lay down your arms and surrender. There is no avenue of
escape. We have you completely surrounded. Any further gunfire
will be met by us.”
The gunfire died down. The terrorists seemed to have
taken the message. Suddenly, a terrorist emerged from the
crevasse with his hand in the air, as if in surrender.
Colonel Sharma stood up from his hiding perch. “Time to
act!”
Out of the blue, Sharma felt a piercing pain in his left
shoulder and then another one on his right thigh. Rita realized
what was happening. She crawled up to where Sharma had fallen
and dragged him to safety. Sharma had been hit by terrorist fire.
The platoon was without its Commanding Officer.
“Unit 1 to Unit 2, request Major Verma take over this
operation. CO hit and injured” was Rita’s message to all the other
units.
Suddenly, it dawned on
Verma that the single
surrendering terrorist was
nothing but a ploy to allow the
other terrorist to make a bid to
return to Pakistan. “It was now or
never” thought Verma as he
radioed all the other units to
come to full combat made and
storm the crevasse. Two hours later, five of the ten terrorists were
in the custody of the Indian Army. Five others had been killed by
retaliatory gunfire from the Indian troops. The units had achieved
their mission successfully.
31. 30
High up in the sky, Brigadier Gill was mesmerized by the
sudden action of his officers and men as he sat glued to the LCD
screen that carried high-definition infra-red video of the encounter.
The snow storm was subsiding as the sun slowly “rose” on the
horizon. “Choppers to move into position for troop evacuation!”
ordered Gill to the five choppers that had been awaiting his orders
to evacuate the officers and men.
“Mission accomplished, Sir!” Gill proudly reported to the
Secretary of the Interior and the Secretary of Defense.
As the tired officers and men waited close to the crevasse
for evacuation, the sun came ‘out’, a rare event after a heavy ice
storm. For the old timers, this was a ‘first’ in the last two years. On
the horizon five blips were visible. The rescue choppers had
arrived! The platoon would be grateful for an early evening and a
hearty dinner at their camp. By 4 pm the troops had returned to
their field camp while Sharma was attended to in the medical
inspection room and flown to base camp by the same choppers for
bullet removal surgery.
India was safe for the time being. For how long was the
question uppermost in Brigadier Gill’s mind as he joined his men at
dinner.
“Would someone spare a thought and good wish for the
valiant men guarding the country’s borders?” Gill thought aloud as
led the toast to his troops.
32. 31
The Apparition of Daulatabad
The city of
Aurangabad in Western
India dates back to 100
BCE. Ten miles from
Aurangabad is the
fabled fort of
Daulatabad constructed
around 1187 AD; today
its ruins mount a lonely
vigil at the gateway of
the Deccan plateau, the
entry to Southern India.
At the top of the fort is the Mogul Pavilion, a hilltop palace that is
strategically located and projected imperial presence and authority
in its heyday. The rock face of the mountain itself was said to have
been sheared flat to prevent armies climbing it. There are dams on
either side of the mountain, connected to a spring water source,
with big tanks of water. In the event of any invasion, one of the
doors opened and the water level would rise rapidly over the moat,
cover the approach bridge and drown the invaders.
If they were able to cross the moat, invaders next faced the
darkened maze under the building that was full of dead ends,
pitfalls, and hidden traps. There is a series of hallways constructed
such that if the defenders built a fire at one end, the winds would
'suck' all the heat and flame in a giant firestorm through the
hallway, incinerating the attackers. Sadly, its ruins no longer attract
tourists.
Although neighborhood residents are full of historical
tales, the one that sounds most intriguing is of a hydra-headed
33. 32
monster – of humans swallowed alive, children a hot favorite with
the monster circulate in the tiny neighboring hamlet. Rumors speak
of this monster, part human, part animal that has inhabited the
hilltop palace for over 500 years. Locals also believe that the
monster is made of body parts of invaders who lost their lives
while attacking the fort. It was to this fort that Robert and Michael
ventured with a 20-strong group from the adventure club of their
school. They were however, like all brave hearts, loath to believing
it without experiencing it – the others looked forward to the
barbecue. After all, horror tales were a fundamental instrument of
perpetuating myths targeted to dissuade prospective invaders and
enhancing the invincibility of forts.
There was not a soul in sight as they ascended the flight of
worn-out stone steps. It was already 4 o’clock and the sun was
setting on the western horizon. It would be dark in another hour.
We finally reached the ruins of the palace. The sandstone walls
were crumbling and tall wild grass grew in the cracks. The setting
sun cast a golden glow on the structure as the shadows lengthened.
In the distance several hundred square miles of golden land was
visible.
The two descended the
steps into the largest chamber of
the Pavilion with thick rope
restraints around their waists and
wearing head-mounted lights
strapped on their heads. The lights
flashed inside the cavernous depths
of the Pavilion, creating a myriad of
strange silhouettes, until one came to rest on what appeared to be a
ruby and a sapphire, side by side. Intrigued by the unusual
combination Robert and Michael decided to investigate.
34. 33
The stones embedded in a soft material. There were some
more stones, all of which were a distance of about 6 inches from
the other, all embedded in a soft scaly surface. The trouble with
trouble is that it comes without any notice. Suddenly, dust and
small stones started falling around them and there was a loud
crash as a wooden beam that held up the steps, their only hope of
escape, collapsed, leaving us dangling from their waists. Below
them clouds of dust erupted as though an earthquake were
happening. It was time to get out and run for their lives!
They barely managed to get out of the Pavilion alive as the
entire building collapsed like a house of cards. Blindly running
down the dilapidated steps, they reached the arched gate where
the cooks and the rest of the group had set up the barbecue. The
appetizing aroma of the spices in the kabobs, the char grill smoke
from the oven gently wafted up as we washed and got ready to
enjoy the barbecue in moon and candle light.
Suddenly a red
and green light glowed in
the moonlight but at a
distance. More lights
were popping out in and
around the same place,
and the lights were
moving downhill and
very fast at that! The
flashing lights of an
aircraft at the
neighboring airport were the only other source of light that night.
The kabobs were hot and many and their appetites large. Few
heard the loud rumble not too far away. Michael saw it first – a
huge boulder rolling down the hillock and crashing down the steps,
headed straight for them!
35. 34
The hilltop granary
erupted in a mushroom
cloud and with the clap of
what sounded like thunder.
“G-r-r-r-r-r-r……….w-h-o-o-
s-h”, with the sound of a
giant airliner, an apparition
loomed high on the hillock
where the granary had
previously been! As the clouds of dust settled, the ground under
their feet quaked as an apparition began its slow descent down the
hill. There was a numbing deathly silence, as the inevitability of
meeting the Maker became apparent to the group, as it stood
transfixed by the sight of the charging monster.
The full moon bared the face and figure of the apparition. It
was at least as tall and furry as a grizzly bear with a large forehead
and six distinctively shaped heads. There was a large cancerous
growth in the middle of each forehead with a rash of pimples
obscuring the hairline. Each had thick chocolate lips that would
effortlessly accommodate a Subway foot long at once. The creature
was salivating and spilling green
saliva as it ran downhill. The
eyebrows were huge, something
like an oversized hairbrush with
the bristles jutting outward. The
saucer-like eyes that bulged from
their sockets had a deathly blue
ring around them. There were not
two, not four, but twelve sets of
eyes, each red or green that rolled
violently, mostly without any
focus. Their brightness lit up the
path ahead.
36. 35
The ears were
triangular and droopy as if
those of a Bassett hound
though double their size. Its
arms, six of them, were at least
six feet long with triceps of
Triple H, Undertaker and Matt
Hardy (of WWE fame) together
on each. The twelve fingers on
each hand resembled huge
corncobs with long overgrown claws mounted on flailing hands
that were bigger than a 16-inch pizza. The creature had a potbelly
and kept beating it with two hands at a time. The legs were strong
and muscular with the solidity of a stone pillar, although bow
shaped because of which it often stumbled as it ran. There were
cuts and bruises where maggots were nested. The feet were the
size of a pay loader’s bucket with long toes ending in sharp curved
claws. The apparition had a strange green radioactive hue around
it. The monster was charging down the hill at breakneck speed,
headed straight for them! The green halo lit up its path and showed
the stark fear of Armageddon on frozen faces. Surprisingly, its voice
was more a simultaneous but speedier moo of about a dozen cows
while the body odor would have shamed the entire collection at the
San Diego zoo. Its demoniacal bearing, run-don’t walk gait, the
devilish halo around the body and eyes from the Empire of Evil –
was it Satan?
“Would the maze of tunnels bail them out as they ran for
dear life? Would they survive?” the questions came to them as
Michael and Robert tried to divert the monster while the rest of the
group mustered courage and sprinted downhill to Daulatabad and
the safety of their school bus. The tunnels were pitching dark and
the setting sun was playing games as sunlight streamed through
the portholes on the roof. There was centuries’ old wild growth and
37. 36
mold along the walls and a dank and putrid smell – maybe it was
the cadavers’ night of rising! As Robert and Michael raced through
the undergrowth, they came to a hexagon with neat tunnels
branching off from it. “Which one should we take?” Robert pointed
to the one diametrically opposite to the one where we stood. Both
of them hoped against hope that the monster would lose its way in
the maze. There were five more choices of tunnels but then the
threatening mooing of the monster and its bad breath was too close
for comfort as the duo made its way into the nearest tunnel.
It was dark, the light batteries were running low as Robert,
and Michael blindly careened through the tunnels with nothing
more than their instincts to keep them on course. In the distance,
the tunnels seemed to be ending as green moonlight showed. As
they neared the end of the tunnel, the green light seemed to go off
and on.
Were their tired eyes playing games with them? Relief was
at hand, as they could see the dim lights of the tiny hamlet of
Daulatabad below them; or so they thought as they exited the
tunnel, breathed in the unpolluted air of the hills, and flopped
down onto the flat beds of rock nearby.
Good things of life never last long. Their nightmare was
just beginning as they found themselves looking at moonlight with
no moon in sight! Lights seemed to flash in the sky at irregular
intervals, but that is not the way stars twinkle. It all looked and felt
weird – until they glanced skyward. Lo and behold, the monster
was glaring down at them, salivating, as if at the sight of delicious
Peking Duck and Stroganoff in an imaginary moonlit restaurant! Its
arms were elastic and had stretched one each inside each tunnel at
the hexagon while its extendable eyes parked in the portholes, as it
watched Robert and Michael try to escape in vain – and perhaps
even deriving some sadistic entertainment from the humdrum of
38. 37
its life in the Pavilion. They had been playing hide and seek with
the monster to its delight!
Horrified at the specter of being dinner for the monster,
Michael slithered down a slope and found a resting place nestled
between four flat but tall rocks. He was tired and his eyelids were
heavy as he sank into the crevice. A less than lucky Robert never
felt the pain as the giant picked him up like a ninepin into his arms
and marched back home for dinner, the moo now shrill, as if
proclaiming victory, much like one of the ancient imperial residents
of the Pavilion.
The group had pushed its luck too far and paid the
ultimate price as Robert bid farewell to his earthly existence. It was
not a whale of an idea to awake a sleeping giant from his
millennium stupor.
“Would something like this happen if a rogue Rip van
Winkle were around?”, Robert thought as he graduated through the
thick lips, passed through six alimentary canals, and finally settled
into afterlife in the eternal warmth of the giant’s gargantuan belly.
39. 38
Escape from Somalia
Cape Town, South
Africa, July 15, 2008 – the
30,000-ton displacement
giant American luxury
cruise ship Glory of the Sea
was cruising in the genteel
waters of the Indian Ocean.
The ship was a veritable city
on the high sea. Towering
30 levels from its keel, the
ship had every conceivable luxury. If there were a hundred
staterooms, there were theme lounges, bars and restaurants and
two casinos, ballroom floors, mammoth dining halls and even three
barbecue corners. For smokers there were hookah bars and for the
more health-conscious oxygen bars and organic food restaurants.
To keep passengers fit, the ship boasted four large gymnasiums
and three swimming pools. Passengers could even go scuba diving
or fishing in the ship’s inflatable high-speed dinghies. The Glory of
the Sea offered a 7-day cruise from Cape Town with a stopover at
Mombasa in Kenya and in Port Louis, Mauritius. It traveled over
two thousand miles and provided a weeklong fiesta to those who
could afford it.
“A-a-h…to be home, again!” Dressed in an immaculate
white linen suit and designer sunglasses, 35-year old Achilla
Theodosius, the Greek king of perfumes took in the sight of the
great ship at the Cape Town docks. The handsome Zeus-like
designer was looking forward to his annual vacation.
Adrienne Walter was a no-nonsense travel writer in her
mid-forties with the stentorian look of a high school matron.
40. 39
“Visit us once, you’ll wish you could remain there forever,”
the Glory of the Sea’s flyer had aroused her curiosity.
“Well… well, what have we here?” her cynical remark as
she went up the gangway and met by a cheerful “Welcome on
board!” from Marco Paulo, the squat and powerfully-built Captain
of the ship.
In his fifties, Marco perhaps
knew every fish and sea creature in this
part of the Indian Ocean in the three
decades he had been playing the seas. A
strapping seven-footer with a lithe
body frame and dressed in his smart
white and gold tunic, Ray-Bans and
rolling his trademark Cohiba, Marco
was reminiscent of General Macarthur.
“W-h-e-e- e, it’s him!” followed
by loud clapping from onlookers
patiently waiting for a glimpse of their
hoi polloi to pass on their way to the gangway.
Lee Enfield, Hollywood’s superstar of Escape from Wall
Street and Ascent from Bankruptcy and American Rescue, had just
won his umpteenth Oscar award at Caesar’s Palace for his “brilliant
portrayal of human emotions in times of crisis.” His Adonis looks,
alligator-leather shoes, well-worn tee and faded jeans, were closely
coordinated for that groomed look that enticed his female audience
and much to the consternation of males. He needed the right tan in
time for his next blockbuster Closure to Foreclosure.
The moneybags filed in, some as one, others in twos and
threes. John Maynard Keyneson, the Czar of the financial industry
in the land of UStopia drove up in his Seville preceded by an SUV
each of Special Service commandoes. Keyneson thought in terms of
41. 40
billions but produced trillions in state-sponsored philanthropy as
only Merlin could have. In his sixties, Keyneson was ramrod
straight and tougher than his medium frame showed.
Accompanying him was Mini Ben, the industry’s name for UStopia’s
central bank. They were like inseparable twins, be it in mounting
major search and rescue operations of extinct banks and insurance
groups. “A-h-h-h! Time for a break”, muttered Mini Ben as he
strode up the gangway in his austere black suit and polka-dotted
blue tie. It was with such high-profile passengers that
Mogadishu, July 16, 2008: “Allah –ho- Akbar, Allah!” The
call of the Mulla (cleric) to the muezzin (faithful) resounded on
conical loudspeakers mounted on the mosque’s minarets. The
mosque was located in the historic downtown Bakaara Market and
not too far from the former resort of Gezira Beach, one of the most
beautiful Indian Ocean beaches. Rafiq Azam, thirty and something,
dressed in flowing robes, beard that obscured his handsome face,
entered the mosque through a side door that led into the Maulana’s
(Head Cleric) office.
“Salaam-aley-kum”
Rafiq wished the Maulana.
“Aleykum-salaam”, the
Maulana reciprocated
Rafiq’s good wishes. More
“Salaam-aley-kum” and
“Aleykum-salaam” followed
as other members of the
Indian Ocean Marine
Syndicate filed into the
small room. The Syndicate was a euphemism for a band of sea
pirates who specialized in capturing ships and looting them or
holding them for king’s ransoms. In recent times, their booty
42. 41
included 15 ships in less than three months and a Saudi
supertanker. And their strength was growing.
Rafiq addressed the Syndicate’s members, “Brothers today
we have good news to share. The Glory of the Sea is en route to
Mombasa.” Loud cheering broke out as the leaders thumped the
table in delight.
“How much is 500000 multiplied by 250?” quizzed Azim.
Certified grade four failed in elementary school, Azim however, had
made a fortune from the Somali cottage industry called piracy.
“Azimbhai (brother) can you not remember bigger
numbers, say 2500000 and then multiply that by 250? Pervez
evidently did not approve of Azimbhai’s grocer mentality. With the
Glory of the Sea even $5 million per passenger was attainable,
indeed the ultimate objective.
Rafiq continued, “The Glory of the Sea will enter Somali
territorial waters at ten tonight and remain there till 7 am
tomorrow…………We shall board her. May the Almighty bless our
mission. Allah-ho-Akbar!” as the men departed to get their men
ready for the assault.
Keyneson and Mini
Ben stretched out on deck
chairs, with a tall martini each
by their sides. On the rear
deck, Lee Enfield had a captive
female audience as he dived
into the pool. “O-o-o-o-h-h-h-h-
h!” The feeling of his female
audience was palpable.
Adrienne disapproving of such vulgar shows of masculinity, had
rolled up her bath sheet and moved to the upper deck from where
she had a bird’s eye view of the ocean with dolphins following the
43. 42
ship. “May I have the pleasure of a dance, Ma’am?” Captain Marco
was the usual charmer as he invited a 20-something Giselle, heir to
a fast bankrupting American shampoo fortune, to an impromptu
salsa on the upper deck.
Off the Somali coast 9 pm. –
two rubber dinghies docked with the
Glory of the Sea. Twenty men in black
combat livery came aboard. Wearing
Kevlar vests, carrying Heckler & Koch
machine pistols and carbines with
thermal imaging helmets and grenades
dangling loosely from their belts, the
platoon of heavily armed Naval Seals
spread out on the decks, engine and
communication rooms of the ship.
Vice-Captain Russell Crow was at the ship’s wheel when he
noticed flares to the starboard of his ship. More flares were lighting
up the night sky. “Action stations!” his voice blared on the public
address system on the empty decks.
There was no one who would hear.
Uninhibited merrymaking, mirth
and song had taken over as the
Glory of the Sea held its first ball
that evening.
“Captain, may we have on
deck for a minute?” Marco took the
call on his walkie-talkie. The
ambient sound was so loud he could
not hear. “Is everything under
control?” an anxious Marco quizzed
Crow.
44. 43
Anxiety brimming over, Marco discreetly exited the
ballroom and then rushed up to the foredeck to join Crow.
“We’re being attacked by pirates! Full speed ahead!”
Marco’s tone had changed from his usual geniality to a stentorian
tone. He assumed the wheel while the navigator furiously charted
the course as small dinghies with pirates on board bobbed in the
sea barely two miles away.
Having traversed dangerous waters, Marco knew just what
to do in such crisis. “The passengers mustn’t know” was his first
reaction. Dealing with a pirate attack was bad enough. It was close
to midnight; revelry had died down and all passengers were in bed.
“Activate the electronic locks in all the corridors!” Marco’s
first concern was the welfare of his billion-dollar human cargo.
“Aye, aye Cap’n”, Crow reported compliance.
On the decks, Navy
Seal Colonel Pat Smith saw
the flares. “All men to your
positions. Keep your guns
uncorked and on rapid fire
mode,” he barked on walkie-
talkie to his men. The US Navy
had suspected that the Glory
of the Sea was a likely target
of attack and Admiral
Belafonte in Washington DC
had given the clearance for the Seals to board the ship. The grenade
launchers and mobile surface-to-surface missile pods were in
position.
45. 44
The ship swayed madly on the high sea. It was a dark
moonless night and the sea was choppy. The powerful bows of the
giant ship cut through the waves like a knife through butter.
“W-h-h-u-m-p!” as the first pirate grenade landed on the
foredeck.
Master Sergeant Tory Kline, the platoon’s explosives
expert caught the grenade in an explosion-resistant bag and hurled
it back into the sea raising a fountain of water as it exploded
underwater.
“The pirates are catching up!” Marco ordered the Chief
Engineer to increase speed to 30 knots per hour, five knots below
its maximum speed.
On board the first pirate dinghy, Rafiq uttered a profanity
as he caught on to Marco’s game plan.
“Do not fire your grenade launchers on the foredeck or the
sides because we need to take the ship back to Mogadishu.”
The erratic path of the ship intrigued the men. They had
not reckoned with its speed. They were also running short of diesel
in their outboard motors.
“It is imperative the ship is boarded in the next two miles.
Otherwise we have lost her.”
For the first time in his decade long pirate career, Rafiq
was not confident of his abilities.
“Faster…..faster….even faster..!”
In the fourth dinghy, Azim exhorted the outboard motor of
the dinghy and opened the throttle fully. The dinghy seemed to
jump out of the sea as Azim thought of the humiliation that would
come his way.
46. 45
“I’ll not be able to face my friends. It’s a shame if the Glory
of the Sea gets away,” was the first thought that came to him.
In Somalia, the prestige of a pirate depended on the
number and riches of his ‘catches’.
The ship shuddered as it picked up speed. Most passengers
were now awake with the violent movement and could see the
bright flashes of lights in the darkness outside through their
portholes.
“Ladies and Gentlemen, please lock the entry doors of your
rooms and do not exit from them. We are being pursued by Somali
pirates and expect to foil their attack.”
Marco hoped and prayed his passengers would listen and
not create panic.
Colonel Smith on the rear deck and Private Toy Morgan
opened out their arsenal as five other Seals joined them. Suddenly a
plume of white smoke, followed by ten more billowed from their
missile launcher.
“Hai Allah!” the
unmistakable shriek of
agony and desperation from
the first two pirate boats was
sign of a successful hit.
Rafiq looked back to
find the third and fifth boats
sinking into the depths of the
ocean as helpless men cried
for help from sharks. “May
Allah give us strength”, he prayed fervently to the Almighty. His
social position was no different from that of Azim.
47. 46
There were four more boats to take care of. Suddenly, as if
in a reflexive action, the pirate boats broke up and headed for the
sides of the ship at a greater speed than before!
Colonel Smith radioed to Captain Marco, “There are at least
50 heavily-armed pirates of board the boats. We can’t hold them off
it they come alongside!”
Suddenly the huge ship veered to the right and then, in an
arc, to the left. The pirates were barely 500 yards behind the now
zigzag-racing ship. They now opened fire from their AK-56.
“A-a-h-h-h!” cried Pvt. Morgan hit by pirate fire.
The pirates were almost alongside the ship now. The
commandoes needed help from passengers to hold off the pirates.
At the least they needed reinforcements that could handle the
carbines and smoke grenade launchers.
“Ladies and gentlemen, we need five able-bodied
passengers on the main deck immediately. Those of you who have
military experience please come forward.” Marco had finally
sounded the alarm.
It was an unusual combination of a movie superstar, two
bankers, a Greek playboy and a travel writer who came forward.
Enfield had served in Afghanistan until recently while the bankers
had seen action in Vietnamese jungles and faced the ferocious
Vietcong. Achilla had served the UN peacekeeping force in Cyprus
for some time as part of a Greek draft. Adrienne would assist the
ship’s navigator with her knowledge of the Somali coastline.
“Billionaires are lazy and moneyed fat pigs!” Marco ate his
words as he saw the bankers’ agility.
It was difficult to retain one’s balance on the wildly rocking
and swaying ship now.
48. 47
“C-l-a-n-g” A boarding claw caught the safety rail on the
port side with three pirates precariously hanging from it. Colonel
Smith sounded the alarm as the Keyneson and Mini Ben deftly cut
the boarding cable with two axes as the pirates fell into the ocean.
“C-l-a-n-g” Another boarding claw landed on the starboard.
Achilla and Ben were instantly up. “Let’s go for them!” Lee cried as
they lifted their carbines on the side of the ship and opened fire on
five hapless pirates at the end of the cable.
“Three degrees left!” On foredeck, Adrienne was in
command as she guided the navigator who fed in the coordinates to
the ship’s computer. “Five to the right. Now keep her straight.”
Adrienne was heading the ship out to deeper sea beyond
the range of the pirate boats.
Azim and Rafiq were incredulous at the ship’s erratic
movement. Never had they witnessed such a huge ship take such
evasive action.
“W-h-u-m-p” Despite his injured shoulder, Private Morgan
had managed to get the smoke grenade launcher into position. The
remaining six boats seemed to have endless diesel on board as the
cat-and–mouse game continued. Colonel Smith and five other Seals
had meanwhile, got the missile launchers into their new positions.
“W-h-u-m-p” A
fountain of smoke rose from
where the first pirate dinghy
was. Rafiq was momentarily
as the flash grenade exploded
in his boat. Azim too was
taken aback by the second
grenade. Then in rapid
49. 48
succession all the pirate boats seemed to have plumes of smoke
coming out from them.
Marco swung The Glory of the Sea three degrees to the left
as Adrienne told him. This brought the pirate boats on the
starboard within visible range of Colonel Smith’s missile launcher
pods.
“W-h-o-o-s-h………Boom!” The first grenade hit its first
target, then its second and finally the third. The boats vanished in a
jiffy with flailing arms of their occupants as they sank to their
watery grave.
Lure of a multi-billion dollar ransom kept Rafiq and Azim
going. They were down to less than 30 men and the diesel in their
boats would run another mile. Azim and Rafiq once again prayed to
the Lord for success.
Adrienne’s successful venture on the port side of The Glory
of the Sea proved more difficult to replicate. Azim and Rafique now
approached the ship from the post side that gave them ample time
to board the ship before it could return to its portside swing.
“Mamma Mia!” Marco’s cry of agony brought the bankers,
Achilla and Lee up on the foredeck.
With his mathematical skills, Keyneson calculated that it
would take 150 seconds before the ship could veer back to the port
side. Mini Ben, Lee and Achilla were huddled over the navigator’s
table with Adrienne.
“Voila!” Achilla exulted like Archimedes.
As the pirates threw their boarding claws, the Glory of the
Sea suddenly rushed at their boats.
50. 49
“Hai Allah!” screamed Azim and Rafiq as the port side of
the ship hit the boats with such impact that the boats went flying in
different directions to the accompaniment of hysterical screaming.
As the ship raced out of the danger zone, it was party time
on board again. They had indeed outrun the pirates and escaped
from them. Deep down below Marco was a disturbed man as he
thought, “How many more attacks shall I endure before I retire?”
51. 50
Flight IA-222: The Saga of a Hijack
Edward Fox, XYZ News Service, New Delhi April 25, 2008
Editor’s Note: This feature is based upon extensive interviews and
first hand information available to our correspondent who was
waiting at Amritsar airport to take a flight to Pakistan.
“Flight IA – 222 from
New Delhi to London was
hijacked by a group of armed
men at 11:00 am today.”
The CNN
newsreader’s face was
deadpan as she stared
Brigadier Ave Mallick in the
face.
“Ten heavily armed
hijackers claiming allegiance to the Kashmir Liberation Army
hijacked this aircraft at 3:00 pm as it flew over the Pakistani city of
Karachi.”
Having kept his evening drink aside, the Brigadier stared
calmly at the TV screen as the newscast went on, “The hijackers
have demanded that the aircraft be refueled either in Karachi or in
Bombay. Pakistan has refused permission. The plane is thought to
be running low on fuel.”
52. 51
The red lamp glowed on the scrambler telephone as
Mallick answered.
“The Prime Minister has convened an emergency meeting
of the Cabinet. You are required to attend. A car is on its way to
pick you up,” said the voice at the other end. Mallick answered, “Sir,
I’ll be there!”
The Prime Minister had convened a meeting of the
National Security Council to attend which the Brigadier had just
been directed.
A battle hardened veteran who had won the nations’
highest honors for gallantry and valor, the Brigadier commanded
the elite National Security Guard’s anti-hijack response team.
Standing at just under 6’4”, Mallick’s hair was brushed back and his
battle fatigues fitted his lanky and muscular frame beautifully. A
baritone voice, in school Mallick was a master debater, a kung fu
enthusiast and earned a black belt in judo. He had won several
sharpshooting events at the Olympics and Commonwealth Games
and the trophies lined the shelves in his living room. Mallick was a
born commander and a master strategist. This was not the first
time he was coming to face-to-face with a hijack situation.
“Good afternoon
gentlemen”, said the Prime
Minister as he motioned the
National Security Council
members to take a seat.
“The hijackers need fuel.
They have enough to keep
the aircraft flying for
another two hours.
Pakistan has refused refueling. The plane is therefore heading back
to New Delhi and is expected to land here in another 45 minutes.
53. 52
That aircraft must not be allowed to take off again.” The Prime
Minister sighed, “Try and save as many passengers as you can.”
The importance of the message rang loud and clear in the
Brigadier’s ears as he rose from the table. The Prime Minister had
just given him a free hand to decide on how he would mount his
rescue mission. As he walked down the corridor outside the
Defense War Room, the Brigadier had made up his mind on the
course of action he would take.
“I’ll not let the hijackers get away. It’s an issue of our
national honor!” he thought as he entered the War Room.
The War Room in
the Defense Ministry was
larger than the average
soccer field with television
monitors hooked up to
satellites monitoring the
skies of India and its
neighbor. After a flicker,
the images showed IA-222, a Boeing 777, come into sight.
“We are rapidly running out of fuel. We can make another
300 miles at most. Amritsar (in India) is the closest airport. Please
make arrangements to land there immediately.” The pilot, Captain
Allen, was indeed desperate.
The Brigadier’s mind raced back to his home town,
Amritsar, where he had started life as a humble farmer’s son. The
green fields, the hot sun and the gay colors people loved to be
clothed in. A hot flash passed through his head, “I can’t allow the
aircraft to land in Amritsar and then take off. I have to stop the
plane.”
54. 53
He was now flying in a Sikorsky H-60 compound chopper,
a technological marvel that had just joined the elite force. Six more
choppers brought up the rear with the rest of the response team.
“Evacuate the passenger terminal and clear the skies in a
300 km radius from Amritsar”, barked the Brigadier to the air
traffic controllers.
To the airport manager the Brigadier said, “All entry into
the airport may be stopped immediately; car parking lots cleared
and fire tenders and ambulances on standby.”
The city commissioner also got his instructions, “Keep a
ward at the hospital clear, emergency operation theaters and blood
transfusion units ready and call back doctors and nurses from
home.”
The local police chief was
told, “Your reserve armed police force
is to surround the outer perimeter of
the airport and stop all traffic on the
interstate highway adjoining the
airport. The commando team will
move into the airport when I arrive.”
The Brigadier had earned his
laurels for his razor-sharp mind and
lightning fast reflexes in taking
command over a situation. “Time to
get my team organized,” thought the
Brigadier as the choppers landed on the tarmac and instantly
returned to the air force base. The Brigadier thought this was a
good way of lulling the hijackers into thinking that there was no
police deployment for them at Amritsar. As his team fell in line,
Mallick briefed them.
55. 54
“Group Alpha will take position and cover the aircraft as it
lands and taxies toward the passenger terminal. No firing unless I
order!” Mallick’s instructions rang loud and clear in the empty
terminal building.
“Group Bravo will take position in the next five minutes
behind the fire tenders and follow them up to the aircraft, but not
open fire. They will continue to take cover behind the tenders. Now
move, men, move!!” The Brigadier was tense.
“Group Charlie will drive up in ambulances and refueling
maintenance vehicles to the aircraft and slowly, but soundlessly,
deflate the tires of the aircraft.”
Mallick was sure that his “boys” as he called them would
not make a mess of things. This was not the first time they were
going through this stressful situation.
“The Team Commander must have a clear view of his
forces and the field of action”, thought Mallick as he headed toward
the air traffic control tower.
“How much longer till the plane lands?” the Brigadier
quizzed a controller.
In front of the controller there were circular radar
monitors backlit in green. A blip on the screen indicated the path of
IA-222. “Sir, IA-222 should be landing in about 10 minutes,” a
controller piped in.
“Time to set the traps!” mused Mallick as his hand rested
on the lever that would set off the klaxon, the final signal for his
men to assume positions.
The other hand controlled the arrester barrier lever.
“IA-222 is coming into land, Sir,” said a controller.
56. 55
Mallick understood the tension in each man in the tower.
Captain Allen was steering the aircraft into landing position. The
plane seemed to rock but then it leveled off. It gently touched down
on the tarmac, taxied toward the terminal building, and came to a
standstill.
“This is Commander Ghazi
Baba of the Kashmir Liberation
Army”, the voice was unmistakably
that of the man who had escaped to
Pakistan on the last hijack attempt.
He’s had the temerity to
return! Mallick was livid with rage but
kept his calm.
“We need the plane to be refueled, food and water to be
provided and the services of a doctor on board for the next flight”
Ghazi Baba was clinically precise. “We also want three of our
colleagues imprisoned in Delhi’s maximum security prison to be
brought here and emplane with us. You have three hours. No one
armed forces should approach the aircraft.”
Mallick relayed the message to the Prime Minister’s office
in New Delhi and sat back to await a response. Two hours went by
and there was no response. Instead the SATCOM received on his
wrist glowed red. The signal had arrived! No prisoners would be
released; the aircraft was to be refueled and got ready for release!
For the first time in his life Mallick was beside himself with anger.
“Omigosh! It never struck me.”
It dawned on Mallick that the Prime Minister wanted him
to show the aircraft being refueled and then mount an armed
rescue mission on it. The aircraft would not take off. Mallick’s
groups had ensured that with flat tires.
57. 56
Suddenly, three shots rang out from the aircraft as Ghazi
Baba’s voice came on the intercom, “We are waiting for our
comrades. I hope they are on their way.”
Mallick, a seasoned negotiator, said he was waiting
instructions from the Prime Minister’s office. “The aircraft is being
refueled and we are awaiting food and water to be loaded if you
will allow the caterers to board the aircraft!”
Ghazi Baba smelt a rat and said, “OK. But these men will
put their arms up as they approach the aircraft. My men will check
them for weapons and then we will let them board.”
Mallick agreed and four men from the response team
approached the aircraft. Suddenly, the aircraft’s front door opened
and two armed men fired at the four men on the tarmac. At the
other end the food lift had raised itself to the rear door of the plane
as the air hostess stood forward to dock the lift to the plane.
Mallick pressed the SATCOM
receiver on his wrist and the red
buttons glowed on the wrist of every
man in the response team. The men
scrambled up the food lift and entered
the aircraft. Firing broke out in the
aircraft and screams of passengers
could be heard. The four unarmed men
on the tarmac took the opportunity to
retrieve their firearms and rigged a
ladder to the front gate of the plane.
“Watch out! They’re carrying explosives strapped to their
waist belts!!” The airhostess was shrieking. A flying kick from a
commando had felled the first one. The second one raised his AK-
58. 57
47 to fire but the commandoes through the front door felled him
with a volley of gunfire from their Glock pistols.
“The captain, they’re holding him hostage in the cockpit!”
The steward was anguished. The aircraft’s engines were
staring up again as Ghazi Baba forced Allen to restart the engines
and make a vain bid to take off with the doors open! Nor did he
know the plane had flat tires!!
Mallick had reached the
action front and unnoticed
climbed up to the roof of the
aircraft. Slowly and steadily, he
advanced toward the cockpit
armed with a Glock pistol and
two stun grenades. He had
reached the cockpit and was
about to point his Glock to blow a
hole in the window when a white flag was thrust out the window in
surrender. Mallick had seen such subterfuge earlier and did not
hesitate as he lobbed both the stun grenades into the cockpit.
Seeing the some come out from under the cockpit door, the
response team broke the door down. There was a gunshot and a
bullet entered the control panel of the plane. As the smoke cleared,
the team members saw Ghazi Baba had denied them their prize. He
had put a bullet through his head. After all, life wouldn’t be too kind
with him on Indian soil.
The Brigadier and his team had once again saved the day.
There were no casualties and the plane was free and relatively
undamaged. He had managed to send a strong signal to future
terrorists. The phone rang. “Congratulations Brigadier and a big
thank you for the effort. The country is beholden to you.” The
Prime Minister was beaming.
59. 58
Brigadier Mallick stared into the setting sun as he stroked
his salt and pepper goatee. He was getting old.
He wistfully remembered Douglas MacArthur’s “Old
soldiers never die. They fade away.”
Maybe it was time for him to fade away, seek retirement
from the Guard and tend his fields in his beloved home town of
Amritsar from where he began life leaving behind a safer world for
us.
60. 59
The Great Escape
Moscow on
January 12, 2005 woke
to a dismal grey sky
and usual sub-zero
temperature. Six feet
high snow covered the
vast Central Park of
Culture and Rest and
the bordering
Neskuchniy Garden.
The Moskva river was frozen and a haven for ice skaters. Moscow
seldom rose before eight in the morning and today was not any
different from other days as Officer Jones completed his mission.
The Chechen guerilla menace and its participation in
criminal activities all over the world worried Jones’ employer, the
National Security Board. The Chechens seemed to have access to
endless amounts of money for their nefarious activities. It was time
the source of funds were located and destroyed. It was for this
purpose that Officer Jones landed in Moscow on the coldest night of
the year, a fortnight back.
“Your name please?” The
immigration officer at Shermetyevo Airport
asked for Jones’ passport. “What is the
purpose of your visit and how long will you
be staying in Russia?”
The questions came like staccato fire from a
machine gun.
61. 60
“James Martin. I am a human resource consultant for the
United Nations and will be here for a fortnight on official business”
was Jones’s matter-of-fact reply.
Apparently satisfied with his replies, the officer returned
Jones’ travel documents.
Jones stepped out of
Shermetyevo and asked the cab
to drive to the Alfa Hotel facing
Red Square. Arriving at the
hotel, Jones strode up to the
reception.
“Good evening Sir. How
may I help you?” The check-in
clerk seemed to have
memorized his lines as he faced Jones.
“Good evening. I have a booking in the name of Martin,
James Martin.” Jones only hoped the clerk had not received the
usual routine alerts from the KGB.
“Aah, there you are. May I have your passport?” Jones’ wait
got longer as the clerk seemed to peer at every page and compare
his face with that on the passport several times.
“Here you are Sir.
You have Room No. 192 on
the top floor. Have an
enjoyable stay.” Jones
thought the clerk had
forgotten how to smile.
Up in his room,
Jones fixed himself a stiff
martini. He had traveled for over 15 hours without a stop from
62. 61
New York. He opened his brief case and took out a long leather
case. Inside the case was a powerful rifle telescopic range measure.
As dawn broke on a brilliant white city, Jones surveyed the
magnificent Red Square and the majestic Kremlin from the hotel
window.
Pip…pip…pip Jones’ mobile phone crackled as he received
a short message. 12#7($321^%) the message read. Jones decoded
the number. He was now ready to contact his local liaison at the
embassy. Jones carried a powerful stealth transmitter that could
connect worldwide wile disguising the signals emitted.
They went on an early morning reconnaissance trip. The
traffic was increasing as thousands of cars lined Moscow’s streets
as Jones and his liaison, George, walked down an alley off Red
Square.
Beep……beep……beep Jones’ transmitter was beeping as it
detected Wi-fi signals carrying the same code as the one he had
received earlier that morning on his mobile phone.
He had located the illegal Chechen headquarters in
Moscow. “I must get to work now,” he thought to himself as he
asked his liaison to leave him alone.
“90087654321…………90075095312…………90054569865
…….” The numbers made no sense. “There’s got to be more than
these numbers”, thought Jones.
Not to attract attention, Jones waited for four days before
moving out of the Alfa and hiring a top floor room at the Borodino,
adjacent to the Chechen headquarters.
“The signals ought to be clearer now,” thought Jones as he
rigged his almost invisible signal booster antenna next to the
hotel’s large windows.
63. 62
He fixed himself a coffee and switched on his transmitter.
The signals were perfect! It was a matter of time before he
understood the mysterious numbers.
“Wait! Something was happening.”
“110.21.31.41…..110.32.31.45…… 110.41.32.31……..” The
screen of Jones’s notebook sprang to life with IP addresses. “It still
does not make any sense.” Jones was frustrated.
The backroom boys in DC had done their homework well.
The IP addresses corresponded with those of Swiss banks while the
long numbers were account numbers. They had cracked the
mystery of Chechen funds! The codes needed to be taken out of the
Chechen computers, copied onto a CD, which would then be
relayed to Switzerland to block these accounts and issue Interpol
red corner notices for arresting the owners of these accounts. More
than a dozen countries were eagerly waiting for these codes as
their citizens were involved.
“The Chechen building looks
forbidding and sealed on three sides”
Jones’s best efforts were therefore
directed to the distance in the rooftops
of the Borodino and The Chechen
building next door.
Using laser measuring
equipment, Jones had calculated the
distance between the rooftops.
Pretending to breathe in fresh air, Jones had obtained the
Borodino’s permission to visit the rooftop every morning for half
an hour. On his third trip, he noticed a large shaft opening recessed
into the roof of the Chechen building. There were radio masts
cautiously peering out from the recess.
64. 63
“There’s got to be a way in. And that’s my way out too”,
thought Jones. “But how do I get into the building?”
The McDonald’s on the first floor of the Chechen building
and the Citibank branch on the second floor provided Jones the
perfect entry point for reconnaissance.
“Good morning, Sir. What can we offer you today
The cheerful attendant at the counter took Jones’s order of
sausages, bacon and a cheese omelet with toast and a strong coffee.
Having placed his order, Jones moved around the restaurant and
discovered a service elevator to the kitchen.
Moving at lightning speed Jones crouched inside the
cramped elevator as it began its upward journey. Clang! As the
elevator arrived and the doors opened, Jones found himself in the
kitchen. Stealthily he got out unnoticed and hid himself behind a
large barrel. There was a door at the other end.
I must get to that door, thought Jones as he lugged his
satchel on his shoulder.
“Phew!” Hiding between kitchen counters, barrels and
banks of freezers, Jones reached the door. Much as he tried, the
door would not open!
“It’s locked!” The thought that this door hid something
sinister behind it occurred to Jones as he reached for the piano
wire in his satchel.
C-r-r-r-r-r-r….Click!
The door opened into a dark stairwell. On the other side
was the hustle and bustle of Citibank. Through the locked glass
door, Jones watched clients go about their usual business.
65. 64
“That’s my avenue of escape, if I get out alive” Jones was
lying bundled on the floor next to the door while using the piano
wire to unlock it.
C-r-r-r-r-…Click! As the lock opened, Jones stuck the wire
into the lock so that no one could lock it.
Jones ran up the stairwell crouching on every landing and
listening for human voices.
Bang!
What sounded
like a shot was actually a
door opening and then
closing on the fourth
floor. Hurriedly Jones
opened a closet in the
landing and slipped
inside it.
“Amazon, Danube and
Rhine are awaiting
instructions”
Three narrow-eyed and powerfully built men came out the
door.
“They are standing by and will wait for another 24 hours
for our instructions.”
Much as he tried to decipher what the rivers signified,
Jones was unable to figure out. Pip…pip…pip.. Jones sent the
information to DC on his stealth transmitter.
Pip…pip…pip.. came the response in five minutes.
66. 65
“The rivers are groups in Brazil and Germany and the long
numbers are their bank account numbers!”
Jones was on the right track. His transmitter showed
unusually strong Wi-fi signals and recorded high IP activity with
hundreds of IP addresses being picked up by his gadget.
“Something big is brewing. I gotta get in and disable the
codes” Jones thought furiously.
Jones had no mishaps as he climbed the next three floors.
“Entry Prohibited. Unauthorized entrants will be prosecuted.”
The sign on the soundproof metal door on the top floor’s
landing looked ominous.
“There must be an alarm system on this door.”
Thinking fast, Jones slipped inside a closet opposite the
door and jigged the dials on his transmitter. Pip….pip…pip… the
transmitter was at work detecting radio signals and then disabling
them. The dials on the little machine returned to their zero marks
and a green lamp glowed. Jones was ready to go.
C-r-r-r-r-…Click! The
heavy metal door unlocked as
Jones peered though the crack
inside.
What he saw
bewildered him. There were
rows upon rows of computers
and printers each one in its own
enclosure with the server
hidden behind bulletproof glass. Fierce-looking operators staffed
these terminals while guards armed with AK-56 rifles stood over
them. Frequently, supervisors would move from terminal to
67. 66
terminal. Each supervisor had a yellow badge dangling from his
neck. There was a narrow corridor through which the supervisors
moved and that led to the door through which Jones was presently
peering.
“I’ll have to help myself to a supervisor” Jones slipped
inside the large hall and waited with baited breath for his prey.
C-r-r-a-a-c-c-k! Jones broke the man’s neck. “There’s no
guard at the door” Jones dragged the limp body out of the door and
into the closet.
He stripped the man and put on his uniform. However,
there was a problem.
“How do I replace the photo on the man’s I-D card?”
The geeks in DC were farsighted. Hidden in the transmitter
was a photo-quality camera and printer complete with a laminator.
Hurriedly Jones operated the machine. Abdul Karim Vasilliyev read
the new card. Jones had a new identity.
As he left the closet, Jones found a
large hook on the roof of the building.
Phut…! Using his miniature rescue
claw and cable, Jones fired the claw gun that
hit the hook and clamped tightly to it. All he
would now need to do was to press the little
button on his watch and the cable would
reel out from the claw as he made good his escape.
Jones opened the door with his biometric card and walked
in. “Dobroe utro (good morning)”
The first guard gave him a nasty look but nonetheless
wished him. Jones walked down the first aisle and stopped at a
terminal. The operator looked up and smiled as Jones spoke in
68. 67
native Russian. Jones tapped into the system. The IP addresses
were all there! Jones made his favorite thumbs-up to the operator
and made his way toward the server room.
“I’ll have to get into the server room ASAP.”
Jones was accosted by a Chechen guard. He had a close
hard look and then picked his card and compared Jones’s face to
the photo on the card. The boffins in DC had done their job well.
The guard let go as Jones walked into the server room.
The server room was visible on three sides surrounded by
plate glass. There was a fire alarm about three feet away and
sprinklers around the cubicle. Guards kept pacing up and down the
corridor as Jones used his biometric card to gain access to the
database.
Jones switched on his
transmitter and quickly
transferred the data to it. It was
taking until eternity as the
green lamp glowed.
“Time to close down
the system” Jones touched two
open wires together and smoke
arose from the short-circuited wires. P-e-e-e-e-e…. The fire alarm
sounded as the electricity supply faltered, the lamps flickered and
the sprinklers came on. With the CD and transmitter in his satchel,
Jones decided to make his escape move. The servers were disabled.
The guards were screaming. There was chaos.
“Watch out! That guy’s escaping!” The guards warning
brought many more chasing after Jones as he exited the main door
and pressed the button on his watch.
69. 68
W-h-o-o-s-h..!
The cable from the claw raced down from its perch as
Jones swung and caught it. Jones slithered down the cable as shots
rang out in the stairwell and the guards ran down the stairs.
Jones alighted at the ground floor and walked into the
McDonald. He asked for his order and walked out with the bag and
into his hotel.
S-c-r-e-e-c-h! “Jump in.”
A blue BMW Mini
squealed to a halt as men in
black overalls emerged from the
Citibank exit of the building. It
was the liaison man from the
embassy at the wheel. Black
Cheika limousines were emerging from the underground parking
lot.
R-o-a-r as the Mini set off with its tires squealing. The
office hour traffic was just starting and they had to get to the
abandoned airfield where an unmarked stealth fighter jet awaited
them.
Weaving through increasing traffic, the Mini took sharp
turns as the Chaikas followed it. Speeds exceeded 100 miles per
hour. The staccato burst of machine gun fire was audible.
C-r-r-a-a-s-h-h!
The rear glass of the Mini collapsed as the first bullets from
the AK-56s hit home. Their pursuers were closer than they
thought!
70. 69
The Mini tuned into a narrow alley to shake off its
pursuers who followed it. Suddenly a city bus emerged from
another alley and partly blocked the road!
“Omigosh, we’re done for!” Jones thoughts went to his
family in Pittsburgh.
The Mini banked to its left, touching the river embankment
and neatly slid past the bus and onto the highway. It was 5:15 in
the evening and the traffic was getting denser with every passing
minute. The aircraft would land at 5:30 pm as dusk settled over
Moscow.
The Mini suddenly took a wild left turn skidding violently
as it did so. In front there was a wide open field with a cleared
landing strip. The Cheika limousines had managed to come after
them and were now barely 500 yards from them when the aircraft
landed.
Machine gun fire rent the air sending out hails of bullets as
the aircraft stopped.
R-a-t-a-t-a-t!
The aircraft’s gunner trained his guns on the Cheikas as
men in black fell out with guns firing wildly in their vain attempt to
stop the escape.
Huffing and puffing Jones and his local liaison ran across
the last 100 yards, zigzagging as they ran to avoid the hails of
bullets fired from the Cheikas.
“Hurry, we have no time to waste.”
The young pilot’s anxiety was palpable as he dragged both
men on board. The plane took off safely as the Cheikas reached the
landing strip.
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“H..m.m.m.m.m….that was enjoyable,” smirked Jones to a
smiling pilot as the plane switched on its afterburners and flew
across the border into South Korea where a hero’s welcome
awaited Jones.
Jones had made the world a safer place to live in.
72. 71
The Rodent Minutemen
Clad in a bluish-grey jacket with an elephant
motif on the back, Dolly Golly seemed worldly wise
when she came to kindergarten class on the first day
of the New Year. She had silver hair teamed with a
red jumpsuit and topped with torch-lit red Van Gogh-
like hair. Round her neck hung a large parrot-green
key that looked more appropriate for entry to a
Scottish castle than for a humbler dwelling – Golly
was doubtless royalty, we thought as we took her in.
As she assumed her seat, something moved inside her
jacket pocket, first on the right and then on the left
until two thin strands of hair seemed to jut from the
back of her neck. For Molly Pudgy and Polly Smudgy, the family
hamsters, this was their first day in class too. Twang! Suddenly the
two strands of hair disappeared from her collar line. Ginny was an
engineer! Molly and Polly had just answered their mistress’s call to
heel with none too gentle tug on their hindquarters as they were
reeled in.
“Rats!”, an edgy Holly was in utter disbelief; ‘twas the
clarion call to seek revenge for Molly and Polly.
Scarcely had lesser mortals witnessed a blitzkrieg by
royalty.
“Z-o-o-o-o-m-m-m-m-m”, the classroom seemed to fill with
smoke and the screech of tires of flying Lamborghinis and Ferraris
and the roar of their engines as Holly waved the checkered flag.
“W-h-i-n-e – r-o-a-r….”, the Grand Prix was on!
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Molly and Polly rushed out of their jacket pocket garages
just as a Minuteman missile would leave plumes of smoke and fire
as it took off from its silo and sought its prey. The only difference
was that it was not Russians but
common Americans the rodent
Minutemen had targeted.
Polly banked sharply as she
screeched to a halt below Ms.
Looney’s instruction desk. Polly
surveyed Pearl Harbor, as Admiral
Yamashita would doubtless have
done six score and seven years ago.
Here was Polly on the
cathead…..now she wasn’t! She had
moved to starboard and then on to
the foremast.
“Tw..e.e.e.e.e.e.e.e.t”, a
deafening whistle saw Molly rush out in the great tradition of Le
Mans, loop her way to the poop deck and thence, on to the main
mast. Polly and Molly’s eyes met.
There was telepathic contact between them as they
paused, like Horatio Nelson at Trafalgar two centuries ago.
Battle plans laid out, strategy planned, munitions stocked,
and targets identified, the sea of kindergarten graders surveyed
with the contempt of Fagin for Oliver and the supreme authority of
Douglas MacArthur. The audience was transfixed and stunned into
abject surrender as the spectacle unfolded. At once, it was a re-run
from the Brothers Marx, the sinister designs of Hannibal Lecter and
the ruthlessness of Jason Bourne. The choice we had was between a
laugh of relief, a sigh of resignation or scream for help. Clearly,
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Horatio Nelson had more choices, trapped between the devil and
the deep sea!
Ms. Looney’s graphic description of Noddy and the
dinosaur and Archie and the Grizzly pepped us even as we
remembered how our hearts had jumped out when Dad pretended
to be the friendly neighborhood ghost on last Thanksgiving.
Motionless on the main mast with a clear view of the Crimean
killing fields, Polly and Molly had clearly firmed up their strategy.
All it needed was the shrill call of duty to cause cardiac arrests
among the victims.
All Polly and Molly now needed was the go-ahead from
their Supreme Commander, Field Marshal Dolly Golly.
“Revenge is an act of passion; vengeance of justice. Injuries
are revenged; crimes are avenged” - Samuel Johnson’s dictum
clearly appealed to Dolly as she assumed the mantle of Queen
Admiral of her Fleet.
Holly’s innocent “Rats”
was noblesse oblige and could not
pass even for a minor slip of the
tongue. For Saladin and his fanatic
forces awaited them in the guise of
kindergarten kids as the First
Crusade commenced.
“Action stations!”
commanded Admiral Golly and then surveyed her cowering
victims.
“Atten-shun,” as Molly and Polly hunched themselves on
their hindquarters.
Like tigers on the prowl in the mangroves of the Bay of
Bengal readying themselves at the sight of an approaching but
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unsuspecting juicy human prey. The class was indeed in an infernal
setting with the flames building up and the only avenue of escape
ten floors below and accessible only through the window.
The blitzkrieg began exactly as
the clock chimed ten in the morning. If
it was Sally on the poop deck, ten more
on the main deck, five at the cathead,
Ms. Looney at the forecastle, we were
all within easy striking range. Dolly’s
coup d’etat caused Ms. Looney to cower
under the illusory safety of her
instructor’s desk.
“Go!” Commander Dolly’s
command to Polly and Molly sounded
like a whiplash on our faces.
“V-r-r-o-o-m”, the rodent
brigade as the rodent brigade crossed the start line.
A strong breeze blew in the classroom, albeit with a whine
close to our ears. Each millisecond added to our woes as clouds of
crushed and chewed paper, felt pads from dusters and chalk sticks
ground to dust.
“E-e-e-e-e-e-…..” the ceaseless wail Maria let out as Polly
wove through the neat little bun on the back of her head. Her hair
was a mess. How would she go home?
No battle is won without surrender by the commander of
the vanquished side. And so it was now a cringing Ms. Looney’s
turn as Molly and Polly turned their venom on her.
At once the classroom was transformed from a battle field
to an ice hockey arena as Polly and Molly assumed stations on
either side of the desk where a terror-stricken Ms. Looney had
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sought refuge. It seemed both rodent commandoes were
recharging their batteries before their final assault. There was pin-
drop silence as we waited for the cataclysm to start.
The assault came precisely as the clock struck noon. But
wait what was this?
“H-a-al-l-l-p-p-p..” the anguish in Ms. Looney’s voice was
unmistakable. A slipped with its heel partly having doubled for
Molly’s lunch snack slowly emerged from under the table. “Polly
couldn’t be far behind “we thought.
We weren’t wrong. Polly came out from under the table
clutching what appeared to be an oversize hairclip! Indeed it was.
Looney’s instrument of coquetry that struck terror in our hearts as
she paced up and down the classroom aisle and picked the chalk
sticks perched on that clip to throw pieces at the hapless
somnolent class.
“A-a-a-h-h-h-…. I’m blind!” shrieked a disheveled Ms.
Looney emerging from under her desk with her arms stretched, as
if in supplication of mercy.
Silence descended on the classroom as the triumphant trio
– Dolly, Polly and Molly – much like the Duke of Wellington
surveyed the fields of Waterloo over two centuries ago. And now
who says the meek shall not inherit the earth?
77. 76
The Rise and Rise of James McIntyre
James McIntyre was the sort you
would not see every day on the streets of
London. Standing 6 feet and three inches
in his socks with an unassuming
demeanor, was the world’s best class
Formula One driver. Dressed in his
Castrol and BP driving overall he was a
photographer’s delight when he posed
with his Mercedes MP4-23. He rubbed
shoulders with the greatest drivers in the
world who formed part of Team McLaren
– Heikki Kovalainen, Lewis Hamilton,
Pedro de la Rosa and Gary Paffett. McIntyre’s steely blue eyes
reflected the determination to excel and to win. Barcelona in April,
Monte Carlo in May, Hockenheim in July, Monza in September to
Shanghai in November – as the shutterbugs clicked Team McLaren,
James’s mind was already traversing the Grand Prix tracks.
Le Mans, 1987 – a spry though sleepy six-year old, James
McIntyre – yawned as his parents, David and Jane, cheered the
British drivers in the 24-hour driving ordeal which was perhaps
the world’s toughest race. Racing through the streets of Monaco,
the cars beat the wind as man and machine competed. Then
something happened! The car that David had designed and David
Brabham had driven won the race and the two-million pound prize!
James stirred out of his slumber and as he saw Brabham and David
accepting the trophy from Princess Grace of Monaco, a glimmer of
hope that one day he too would get a racing trophy flashed in his
mind.
