“Know the man?” Kamidalla stowed his rifle safely behind the backpack. Pathanya removed his battlefield computer from the backpack and powered it on. “Former spear team member. Used to be in the position you occupy now when we were in deep shit inside Bhutan.”
“Aha.” Kamidalla noted with a smile. “Part of the Thimpu shield trio!”
“The man saved my life out there. I would have bled to death on that god-forsaken ridge near Barshong if he hadn’t gotten me out.” The two men held on as the aircraft rumbled down the runway and lifted into the skies above Ladakh.
“Then why didn’t you bring him in for our previous joyride into enemy territory?” Kamidalla asked out of curiosity. He noted that he was perhaps asking one too many questions. But it might be a long flight and there was not much for him to do to pass the time…
Pathanya didn’t look away from his laptop: “SOCOM had him assigned to some other task force.”
“So what changed?”
Pathanya stopped what he was doing and faced Kamidalla: “this war is about to start soon. Our missions is no longer to nab a terrorist leader or some other piece of shit. This is going to get real messy real fast. I want pathfinder reinforced with experienced men before the army’s demand for men begins to start sapping resources at SOCOM.”
“Like last time?” Kamidalla asked.
“Yeah. Like last time.”
“In here, sir.” Ansari strained his eyes as he followed the soldier into the darkened corridor. He looked around and saw the source of the bleak neon lighting overhead. Closed doors on either side had numbers on them. The one at the very end was guarded by two military-police guards on either side, heavily-armed for the fact that they were inside a secure military facility. Ansari noticed the holstered pistols on their belts. The two guards snapped to attention as Ansari walked up to the door.
The doors and rooms here were supposed to be soundproof. Yet Ansari could hear the muffled guttural screaming of a man inside. He turned to his escort: “What the hell is going on in here?”
The major from military-intelligence kept a neutral face and unlocked the door, motioning to Ansari to enter. Ansari hesitated. Did he want to know what was happening here? At some level he knew what to expect. The counter-insurgency personnel at military-intelligence were not known for kid-gloved methods. Especially when it came to the hardcore members of the Islamic jihad waging war in the valley against Indian forces.
So why was he here to begin with? Surely he could have waited for the disseminated intel to come though? No. Basu had “advised” him to go see for himself the determination with which his service was pursuing the Mumbai attackers. Basu was known to come across as a mild mannered, balding old man with white hair. Almost like a school headmaster. But there had been something deeply menacing in his words to Ansari. And that had gotten Ansari’s interest.
Ansari exhaled and gently opened the door.
The large room behind the door was lit up in the same bluish ceiling neon lights as the corridor outside. Cameras on every ceiling corner focused on the center of the room. Ansari saw a badly bruised and bleeding Muzammil on the floor, laying to the side of his chair, which had also fallen on its side. His spilled blood showed up as bluish-black in the lighting. An army captain in fatigues was on one knee, punching the man on his face with bare knuckles. Four other soldiers stood nearby, their batons and pistol holsters visible. Ansari looked to the side to see some of Basu’s men also in the room, checking their notes. Nobody seemed to be particularly concerned about their source receiving savage blows to the face…
“Okay, captain. That’s enough for now, I think.” Ansari’s escort said as he walked in behind Ansari and closed the door to the room. The army officer on his knee turned around to face the senior officers in the room and got to his feet. On the floor, Muzammil began to crawl away desperately, using nothing but his fingers to pull himself.
Ansari felt disgusted. His face showed it. He turned to the guards standing near the crawling terrorist: “You! Get that man up! Now!”
The soldiers hesitated and looked to the major, who nodded. They moved to pick the man up by his shoulders and put the chair upright. They then placed Muzammil on the chair. It seemed like he would simply fall off it again.
Ansari walked up to Muzammil and stood two feet away, observing the wretched mass of flesh and bones now left in front of him. It took him some time to associate this man with the pictures he had seen of him just days before. This same man had been shouting at the top of his voice for jihad against India. The mastermind of the attempted nuclear strike on Mumbai.
The murderer of thousands of civilians.
“Did you ever think,” Ansari said as he brought Muzammil’s head up with his left hand, “that you would ever see the inside of an Indian prison?”
Muzammil looked at Ansari, his eyes sore and red. But he said nothing.
“No, you didn’t, did you?” Ansari continued. “You must have thought that you would send thousands of your young boys to die by our bullets, but never face captivity. Didn’t you?” Ansari then jerked the man’s head back to its slump state. “Did you think we would just let you get away after what you did?”
Muzammil mumbled something unintelligible, so Ansari turned to his captors: “at least leave the man able enough to speak! Good god!”
“What do you know about god?” Muzammil said finally, barely speaking the words. Ansari turned around and looked at the man, who still staring at the floor. “So. He does speak! I was beginning to have doubts!”
“Allah is witness to my suffering,” Muzammil continued. “He protects the faithful and the pure. Do what you must.”
“Impressive,” Ansari noted. “As it turns out, I am also deeply aware of the Holy Book. And His teachings. And you, represent neither.”
That got Muzammil’s attention enough for him to face up at the man in front of him. He stared at Ansari for several seconds. “You claim yourself a Muslim?”
“I don’t just claim it. I am one.” Ansari stated authoritatively.
“And yet you fight for the pagans?” Muzammil asked in genuine surprise. “Anyone who fights alongside the Hindus and against his Islamic brothers is not a true Muslim.”
Ansari smirked. “Do you honestly expect people to believe that your attempts to wage war and kill innocents are about religious purity? I am a Muslim but I was born on this land and I will fight scum like you to ensure nothing happens to it or the people who live here. You and I will both answer to Allah for our sins in the afterlife. But my faith is not dependent on interpretations of irrelevant mortals. Only He can judge us, lest you forget!”
Muzammil continued to look at Ansari for several seconds and then stared back at the floor. Ansari was about to turn away when the terrorist leader spoke again: “why did you come down here? You could have just left me to your Hindu dogs in this room.”
Ansari turned around and punched Muzammil to the side of his face that shoved him off the chair and to the floor. The man spat out some more blood from his mouth and gasped in pain. Ansari stepped forward over the writhing man on the floor: “You and I may share the same faith. But do not mistake it for a weakness. I came here to see the face of the man who has brought death to thousands of my countrymen. Of all faiths, of all ages.” Ansari then bent on one knee near Muzammiclass="underline" “I also came here to let you know that we have already killed all of your commanders in front of your eyes. But we won’t stop there. Oh no, we are going up the ladder, my friend. All those who supported you will find themselves next to you. Just you watch.”