Operation Chaos: A Gripping Action Thriller Read online

  Operation Chaos

  Himanshu Rasam

  Acknowledgements

  I would like to thank my parents for supporting me in all my endeavours and being my source of inspiration.

  I want to thank my dear friend, Sushrut Thorat, for encouraging my writing style and helping me with loads of other things including editing and structuring. This book would not have reached this stage had it not been for Sushrut.

  I want to thank Amrita Satapathy Ma'am for being my support system and guiding me throughout the process of writing and editing. I can't stress how much I value your help, Ma'am. Every review and suggestion I got from you made me a better writer.

  Thanks to my friends- Preeti, Monia Tadu, and Abhinav Krishnan for giving me those valuable tips and thorough feedbacks. Thanks to Aishwarya Mandlik for putting those long hours in meticulously editing the story.

  I would also like to thank the team of 'Seven Seconds Collective' for their help with the cover design and posters. Thanks to Supriya Wakil Ma'am and Swaroopa Belapure for the help with the Sanskrit translations.

  Last but not the least: I beg forgiveness of all those who have been with me, helped me with this novel and whose names I may have failed to mention.

  A glimpse of what's in the story:

  Copyright ©Himanshu Rasam(2015). All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used, reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage or retrieval system, without the written permission of the publisher, except where permitted by law, or in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Prologue

  Intelligence Bureau Substation,

  Delhi, India.

  Time - 18:27 hrs

  'The time is upon you... '

  The voice was weak and stammering.

  'It's time you pay for your actions.'

  A definite gasping could be heard. The voice diminished to a weaker tone.

  'I want you to suffer. You'll be hurt and you'll be put to pain-'

  But the last words stood out loud and clear.

  '... EVERY.SECOND.'

  Bleep.... Bleep.... Bleep

  ''That is all we have, Sir. The call terminated at this point,'' the operator responded, taking down his headphones.

  Another officer in a blue formal shirt poured in the details. ''It was tapped on one of the Class Red lines. We received it about four minutes ago, Chief!''

  The head of the Indian Intelligence's field unit churned out the possible theories regarding this mysterious call in his mind as he rotated a glass paperweight lying in front of him. Placing his hands on the table and maintaining his calm, he looked up at the officer in the blue shirt. "Have you traced..."

  "We are working on it, Chief," the officer's response was crisp.

  Prakash Mehta was in his late forties, but still in good shape. His closely cropped black hair already greying at the temples and his solemn intelligent face suggested that certain indefinable something about him common to all senior intelligence officers. After completing his early days in the army, he was recruited in the intelligence. The fifteen years of hard work, bullets in his shoulder and his ability to handle some complicated investigations had given him the necessary expertise to head the field operations unit of the bureau. To the department, he was 'The Chief'.

  Prakash replied in a deep and curt voice. ''So we have another 'threat' call. You know the drill, officer- trace it, follow it and update me if anything important turns...''

  Without any warning, the door slammed against the back wall as a young officer sprinted in the Chief's office waving two yellow sheets in his hands. His face was white and his fingers trembled as he pointed at something on the sheets.

  ''Chief!'' he gasped for air, ''You are not going to believe this. We traced the location of that call...''

  He stopped for a deep breath. His breath was still ragged, his eyes bulged, but he was trying to gather himself as he continued, ''... and we triangulated the coordinates of that place. The call was made from somewhere inside the premises of the Presidential Residence.''

  The next second was silence.

  ''The Rashtrapati Bhawan, Chief!!'' The young officer repeated in a mild shout.

  And the next second was chaos.

  Chapter 1

  BLACK CATS- Classified Operation

  Thar Desert, Rajasthan, Western Frontier, India.

  Time - 18:34 hrs

  The vibrating clangour from the six-piston engine set your teeth on edge and made an intolerable assault on cringing eardrums. The chopper rotors roared in the sky and its shadow slithered like a snake over the sand dunes. In the cold, bleak and dark compartment at the back of the pilot cabin were ten metal framed canvas seats bolted to the floor. Huddled on those seats were the nine personnel who would soon face their toughest assignment yet. Captain Ashish sat beside the man who was going to lead the mission- a man who had the utmost respect and infallible obedience of every man riding in that helicopter. The chopper lurched as it hit an infrequent air pocket; Ashish grabbed the bar above his seat to steady himself. However, the man sitting next to him was as completely at home in his environment as the most contended oyster in his shell. Quite clearly, Commander David D'costa found the shuddering vibration as soothing as the ministrations of the gentlest of masseurs, the roar of the rotor blades positively hypnotic and the ambient temperature just right for a man of his taste. With a cupped cigar in his hand, Commander David leaned calmly against the seat and gazed thoughtfully into the middle distance. He clearly remembered the details of his mission supplied by the Headquarters a few minutes ago.

  'Intel reports suggest that a group of terrorists have been spotted near the coordinates 26° 59′ 06 N, 71° 00′ 05″ E by some informers. Our investigating team has confirmed the reports. Your mission is to secure information about the activities of those terrorists and their intentions. You are cleared to breach in their sectors and the use of a standard class of weapons is approved. Intel says they are more than ten people, but that report is not yet confirmed.'

  This was one of Commander David's 'going to hell' situations. Not that he hadn't been in some ugly scenarios earlier, but presently with a team of only eight commandos, not much ammo and no backup, the operation seemed almost impossible. Nevertheless, the seal on his left chest pocket reminded him that he was a Black Cat commando- a member of the nation's elite special task force. Underneath the black uniform that he adorned, lay an uncommon beast ready to tear the enemy apart with his bare hands. Chosen from the best of NSG commandos and trained in the most dangerous terrains; these Black Cats were the most skilled assassins in the country. Combining their forces with the country's other special operations squads such as the Paratroopers and the MARCOS, they had carried out numerous successful operations in Jammu and Kashmir as well as other parts of the country. There, of course, had been certain incidents where they had failed to deliver their best, but they had learned a lot from their failures. And this was a mission he did not want to fail. Failure meant death in this mission.

  Maybe the element of surprise will help us, thought David.

  He broke off, fanned the smoke-laden air to improve visibility and asked his pilot. ''How much time?''

  ''3 minutes from the location, Sir.''

  ''Take us as close as you can. Stay low and standby for air support.'' David then turned and said, ''Sergeant Harish, stay in the chopper for sniper support. We might need you.''

  ''Sir!''


  ''Alright everyone- Lock and Load. Night visions on standby. Two minutes.''

  David adjusted and locked his CornerShot. He was ready to take on whatever awaited him in the shrouding darkness of those dunes.

  Chapter 2

  Chief Prakash Mehta was stunned by the news he had just received. The message on the tape had sounded ghastly.

  ''I want every officer, every available asset we have to reach the Central Secretariat right now,'' he thundered.

  He turned towards the officer in the blue formal shirt standing next to him.

  ''Sharma, I want the Head of Security at the Bhawan on the line. NOW.''

  He took out the Berretta 92A1 from his drawer and loaded it. It was quite infrequent for his beloved Beretta to see the light of the outside world, let alone being fired upon a target with Prakash Mehta's finger on the trigger. Picking up the radio on his desk, the Chief called in his best officer.

  ''Roshan, get all the men you can and set up a two kilometre perimeter around Rashtrapati Bhawan. Get me a Code Red clearance in five. Arrange for a chopper surveillance over the Central Secretariat if possible, and I need the exact location of the origin of that call ASAP.''

  Pulling on his bulletproof jacket, the Chief jogged out of his office. The intelligence bureau sub-station was now in a state of controlled chaos- agents gathering their ammunition and artillery, technicians fiddling with computers trying to extract more details about the call traced. Formed in 1887, the Intelligence Bureau, also known as I.B. served as India's internal intelligence agency and was reputedly the world's oldest intelligence agency.

  Prakash Mehta and his subordinates got into the SUVs waiting for them in the basement and rushed towards the traced location of the call; screaming out the sirens.

  ''Sir, the Head of Security at the Rashtrapati Bhawan on the line,'' said Sharma, as he passed the Chief his cell phone.

  Prakash Mehta took the call, clenching the phone tightly in anxiety.

  ''Good evening, Sir. I am Ashraf Khan, the Head of Securi-'' started the voice on the other side.

  ''No time for introductions, boy. I will only say this once and I do not like people who question me back. We just intercepted a threat call from the premises of the Rashtrapati Bhawan. I want you to first secure the President, then assemble your men and search for that caller. My team and I are on our way there. Until we get there, secure all the exits and evacuate the building. However, do not let anyone out of the premises. I would need them for questioning.''

  ''Sir, the President is on his tour of the country. I will pass the message to the officer in-charge of his security. Securing exits now,'' Ashraf kept his reply to the point.

  Prakash Mehta felt a bit relieved.

  That is one good thing- the President is not at the Bhawan. Now who the hell is this caller and what could be his intentions?

  Many questions crossed Prakash Mehta's mind as the vehicle fought its way through the traffic jammed roads of Delhi. A pedestrian crossing the streets nearly missed being hit by Prakash Mehta's car. The SUV screeched to a halt just inches from the pedestrian. The driver honked the horn. But the passerby didn't appear to care about it.

  Typical Indian pedestrians! Prakash exhaled in anger.

  Minutes later, the convoy with the SUVs sped onto Rajpath- their sirens blaring through the quiet evening sky.

  We are almost there. Hope they have found the caller!

  The Chief checked with the Head of Security at the Rashtrapati Bhawan again. They had secured the exits, but the search was still going on. The President's Security Officer, accompanying the President in Assam, had been informed. Prakash Mehta's team at the I.B. headquarters was still tracing the exact co-ordinates. Some unidentified jamming signal was slowing them down.

  The huge gates of the Presidential palace now came into view. The monument's Mughal architectural designs, Persian art forms and the European architectural styles were clearly visible as they approached the magnificent gate with four elephant statues upon the two side pillars. The Head of Security of the Rashtrapati Bhawan- Ashraf Khan was at the gate to meet Prakash. Two cannons near the guard posts added a historic feel to the monument. Ashraf climbed in the SUV and reported the happenings to Prakash Mehta.

  ''We have covered almost all of the grounds and the Mughal Gardens. Now we are moving to the buildings. I have sent separate search teams to the eastern and western wings.''

  Another officer radioed in to the Chief. ''Sir, we have set up a 2 km perimeter. Awaiting further orders.''

  ''We don't know exactly how our mysterious caller looks, but keep checking their IDs. Detain any suspicious personnel,'' the Chief replied.

  Their vehicles skidded to a halt in front of the Jaipur Column and the agents promptly scattered in search of the anonymous caller. Chief Prakash Mehta started walking towards the main building.

  Prakash knew that this search was like searching for a needle in a haystack. It was almost impossible to arrest the culprit if he had already fled the premises. That very moment, there was a beep on the Chief's phone. It was a message from his tech-team.

  Incoming Message: Call source traced. Signal tracked from the west wing.

  ''We have lead now,'' the Chief said, turning to Ashraf. ''Direct your men to the west wing. I hope it narrows down our search.''

  Ashraf ran towards the stairways leading to the Presidential residence. He switched on the 'talk' button of his Walkie Talkie. ''Every one converge their search to the western block. We have information that...''

  What happened next second wasn't even remotely anticipated.

  A blast of sound reached him first, an almost physical assault upon the eardrums. A tenth of a second later the shock wave blew Ashraf off the ground, launching him forward. The explosion shook up everyone and everything. The SUVs blasted like dynamite sticks, splattering sheets of metal, which flew everywhere. Fire and smoke shot high up into the air.

  Chapter 3

  DRDO: DEFENCE REASEARCH AND DELVELOPMENT ORGANISATION

  PRESS CONFERENCE

  Homi Bhabha Auditorium, DRDO HQ,

  Delhi, India

  Time - 18:30 hrs

  ''Today, I have called this press conference to proudly declare that we, along with our Russian partners NPO Mashinostroyenia, have successfully completed the phase 1 of the hypersonic version of the BrahMos.''

  Claps, cheers and applause flooded the auditorium as Dr C. Kapoor presented an animated design of the hypersonic version of the BrahMos missile on the screen.

  The news reporters could not contain their curiosities for long after the formal introductions. The questions started coming in like darts-

  ''Sir, what exactly was the phase 1 of the project?''

  ''Sir, when will the phase 2 start?''

  ''What is the speciality of this missile?''

  Dr. Kapoor, the managing director of the BrahMos Project loved being in the spotlight. He thrived on those flashes from the cameras and questions from the press. He started explaining everything in detail. Extreme detail.

  ''On August 20, 1998, the US Navy in an attempt to destroy the Al-Qaida training camps in eastern Afghanistan and hoping to capture its leader Osama Bin Laden attacked the training camps with the best cruise missiles of the US artillery-the Tomahawk missiles. The Tomahawks, which fly over a speed of 550 mph- about 0.8 times the speed of sound or 0.8 mach, took about 2 hours to travel the 1100-kilometer distance over the Arabian Sea. Unfortunately, Bin Laden had disappeared by then-missed almost by an hour.

  Many other similar scenarios have created a necessity for faster missiles with a larger destruction impact. Presently, BrahMos is the only supersonic cruise missile in service in the world.''

  He paused briefly. A new wave of cheers and applause shook the auditorium.

  ''Even the American Tomahawk is only 0.8 mach whereas BrahMos can reach up to 2.8 mach which is around 924 meters per second. Efforts are going on in many countries currently to achieve supersonic speeds. But our join
t venture with Russia has now graduated to the hypersonic domain where we would be using ScramJet engines instead of RamJet. This would expand the operating range above four mach. The phase 1 of the project was to design a surface-to-surface hypersonic cruise missile, which we have successfully completed!''

  Cheers and appreciation flooded in while the clicks of cameras continued. The other scientists and technologists on the dais held their heads high with pride.

  ''Sir, would you please elaborate on the Russian assistance you had during this project?'' another question popped up from the crowd.

  Mr. Kapoor stared at the young reporter with satirical eyes- elongated and sly. Why the hell are you more worried about the Russians? Nevertheless, he continued by putting up a fake smile.

  ''As we all know that ‘Project BrahMos’ was born on February 12 1998 when an intergovernmental agreement was signed in Moscow by the President of India and Russia’s first Deputy Defence minister, which paved way for ‘BrahMos Aerospace’-the joint venture entity between India’s DRDO and Russia’s NPO Mashinostroyenia. The name decided for this project was 'BrahMos' which is a combination of the names of two great rivers- Brahmaputra of India and Moskva of Russia..."

  He felt a vibration in his right pocket.

  It's probably just another 'congratulations' call. He had been receiving many since the morning.

  ''... The aim of our partnership was to design, develop and manufacture the world’s only supersonic cruise missile system- BRAHMOS. The first time we successfully launched BRAMHOS on June 12, 2001. The missile...''

  The vibration stopped.

  ''The missile has gone through a number of modifications since then along with many trial tests...''

  Again, he could feel his cell phone vibrations against his thigh.

  ''... We have also induced it into the Indian Army and Navy. The work on the hypersonic version began in 2008 and since then our team...''