Operation Deep Strike Read online

  Baldev did as he was told and then they made their way to the docks. Armaan walked purposefully followed by Baldev a step behind him. Armaan peered at the PNS Khalid. He had read the dossier on the submarine and knew its layout inside out.

  The sub was imported from the French, its original name being Agosta 90B. At a length of two hundred and fifty feet, the submarine was on the shorter side and it required only a crew of thirty-six to manage it. The submarine hatch was open and a few of the crew were busy with their work. A couple of officers were stationed on the platform adjacent to the ship. They would immediately notice if he tried to sneak in.

  If they confronted Armaan, they would immediately realize that he was an unknown face. And then the questions would start. A top-secret base like this would be known to only a few people, and these officers would know everyone associated with the project.

  That left him with only one option.

  And it was a dangerous option.

  Armaan would tell the officers a big part of the truth. A truth so shocking that it would grab their complete attention and they would believe him immediately. But there was a risk. On the off chance that they didn't believe him; it could result in their arrest, torture and eventual death.

  He had to be convincing. There was no other way.

  Armaan strode over to the two officers engaged in a discussion and observed the insignias on their shoulders. They were both Lieutenants. It was good, he outranked them. He noted the ID and spoke to the officer who had broken midway through a conversation with his colleague to look at him.

  “Lieutenant Mirza? I am Commander Makheja from Karachi.” Armaan spoke in an authoritative tone that brooked no nonsense. “Are you in charge here?”

  The man straightened and gave him his full attention. “Yes Commander. How may I help you?”

  “I have come here to review the security of this base. And I don’t like what I see.”

  “Begging your pardon sir, but we were not informed of your visit,” the Lieutenant said.

  “Yes, that's because I ordered them not to. I wanted to conduct a surprise check and see for myself how things stand. I will be honest, the security here is pathetic.”

  “Why is that, sir?”

  Armaan mentally nodded to himself. That's the way. Keep them unbalanced and on the defensive. “I have received a report that there could be a possible security threat to the PNS Khalid. Possibly from Indian spies.”

  “That can’t be possible.”

  Armaan continued as if he hadn’t heard the Lieutenant. “I would like to know the security protocols you have set, and how you would respond to a breach in security.”

  “You can rest assured sir.” The officer fumbled for words. “Our security protocols are of the highest standards. Everything from personnel security to data security follows a detailed validation process. We have had no incidents of a breach so far. That’s a testimonial to the integrity of our security protocols.

  Armaan grunted. “I’ll be the judge of that. What about the crew members? Have you noticed anything out of the ordinary about them?”

  “No sir. All of the crew members have been thoroughly vetted before they came aboard.”

  Armaan could see that the crew around the ship had stopped and started to glance at their way. He could see that the officer in front of him was trying hard to keep his composure. He tried not to steal a glance at Baldev whom he had warned to keep an impassive face.

  “I would like to personally discuss with the Captain about this threat alert. Where can I find him?”

  “He’s inside the sub.”

  “Lead me to him.”

  The officer led the way across the gangplank onto the submarine. He climbed the ladder and went down the hatch, with Armaan and Baldev right behind him. Since the submarine was docked, the Captain was not available in the Control Room. The officer passed the technicians sitting in front of large screen displays into a narrow passage that contained berths on both sides and they eventually reached the Captain’s quarters.

  Captain Younis Yusuf’s shoulders drooped as he read the internal memo on the screen. A few minutes ago, he had been happily looking forward to his retirement in a few days. Now, with a growing heaviness in his chest, he read the message again.

  The message conveyed that his Navy pension would be delayed by a few months due to ‘technical reasons’. The message further apologized for the delay and requested him to be patient.

  Yusuf shook his head. Why me, he asked himself. How could he be patient? He had opted for an early retirement so that he could fund his daughter’s marriage through his pension money. The marriage was only a month away. He had to arrange everything from Dholki to Nikah to Valima and now he wouldn’t have the money to pay for the occasion.

  His financial resources were meagre, and the only option left was to postpone his daughter’s marriage. Yusuf winced at the thought. His daughter had been looking forward to the marriage. She would be crushed. He wondered what would be the reaction of the groom’s parents when he would request to postpone the marriage. Would they agree? Or, would they call off the entire thing?

  As he stared at the screen, a thought struck him. What technical reason had delayed the pension? His retired colleagues had got their money without any hassle. Why him? Then he remembered how he had been outspoken in his views during the last quarterly meeting in Karachi. He had complained about the lack of maintenance spares for their ships and subs. While he hadn’t directly criticized his boss, the questions implied that his superior wasn’t on top of things. His muscles tensed as he remembered his superior’s anger-splotched face as he talked about how their navy was in the doldrums. He hadn’t given it much thought at that time. Now, as he read the message an umpteenth time, he had a suspicion that his outspokenness was the reason behind this delay. Did his superior decide to teach him a lesson for being too opinionated?

  Yusuf wanted to call Karachi and confront his boss. This was not an ethical way to punish him. If he had a problem with Yusuf, he should have talked to him directly. Yusuf’s fingers itched as he debated whether to call his boss. But he restrained himself in the end. He wasn’t sure if his boss was behind this. His call could worsen their relationship.

  The sound of footsteps broke his reverie. He turned around to see Lieutenant Mirza enter his quarters followed by two unknown men.

  “Captain, these two gentlemen from Karachi wished to meet you.”

  Karachi? The name of the city reminded him of his superior. He looked at the two men. One was a Commander and the other a Lieutenant.

  What do they want from me now?

  Armaan watched Captain Yusuf as Mirza informed Yusuf the reason for their presence. The Captain’s eyes grew wide as he listened.

  “Tell me gentlemen, how may I be of service?”

  “I would like to speak with you in private.” Armaan said, looking at Mirza.

  Mirza took the hint. “Please excuse me Captain. I have to check up on the crew.” He turned and left.

  Armaan watched him till he was out of sight and then spoke. “I have a suspicion about your Lieutenant. The security alert that we received; it could be him.”

  Yusuf’s eyes blazed red. “How dare you assume that one of my best men could be a traitor?”

  Armaan voice was low, but his inflection cut like steel. “Your man completely disregarded the protocols. When I arrived, he didn’t check my entry logs with Port Security. He didn’t verify my identity by calling up the Karachi base. All of it is very suspicious. I suggest that you keep a tab on him. He may be a mole.”

  Yusuf’s anger didn’t abate. “I agree that he has done grave dereliction of his duties. But it doesn’t necessarily mean that he can be a spy for someone else.”

  “We have received intelligence reports of possible data breach on this submarine. I wouldn’t be surprised if Indian spies are behind this.”

  “That’s not possible. This submarine is not susceptible to hacking. It is in an isolated
network.”

  “We are here to verify that,” Armaan said. “My colleague and I wish to keep this a secret so that the knowledge of the breach doesn’t get leaked if it’s true. I want to review your crew logs, and your data logs. This is an order from Headquarters.”

  “Very well,” Yusuf replied. “You can use the terminal in here. The crew rarely come in here.”

  “Thanks.” Armaan nodded, and then gestured at Baldev. “You got this?”

  Baldev nodded and sat in front of the terminal. “It will take me only a few minutes. I appreciate your help, Captain.”

  Yusuf looked at Armaan. “While you are here, would you like to check out our submarine?”

  “I would love to,” Armaan responded.

  “Follow me then.”

  The Captain guided Armaan to the next room. A couple of crew members were sitting in front of a console with their ears covered by headsets. “This is the Sonar room. The PNS Khalid has both bow mounted sonar as well as towed-sonar arrays that help us with anti-access and area denial A2/AD strategies. You should see the sub in action. We can repel any hostile forces.”

  Armaan looked around. “I have no doubt about that.”

  They moved over to the next room. Rows of torpedoes lined up both sides.

  “This is where the true strength of our submarine lies, the Torpedo room. We have four bow 533mm torpedo tubes with a range of 20 kilometres...”

  But Armaan was no longer listening to Yusuf, his eyes focused on the missiles kept next to the torpedoes. It wasn't what he had expected.

  The missiles were long and painted in white colour with a grey tip. But it wasn't the colours that caught Armaan's attention; it was a small lettering in English embossed along the side of the missile that read MBDA Exocet SM 39.

  Yusuf continued unaware of the turmoil in Armaan's head. “These are the Exocet anti-ship missiles. They have a range of fifty kilometres.”

  “I thought that the Babur-3 missiles would be used in the Khalid-class submarines. Is that not the case?”

  The Captain ran his hand on the Exocet missiles. “I also thought so, but the Babur missiles were designed for the Vertical-Launch Systems in our newer submarines. The submarines are being constructed as you may have no doubt seen in the naval base, but not fast enough. The submarines should have been built by now, with the Babur integrated in them providing us with the long elusive nuclear triad capability. When the leadership realized that the subs weren’t ready and we won't get a credible second strike via the Babur SLCMs soon enough, they asked us for our inputs. It was only during the testing stage that we came to know that the Babur wasn't designed for the Khalid-class subs. We needed an intermediate solution and the obvious proposal was to redesign the Babur to allow it to be launched from a torpedo tube instead of a VLS. The tests were successful, but the problem is the torpedo-launched missiles have resulted in a smaller attack range. After the tests, the missiles were sent to Sargodha for a rejig.”

  “Sargodha?”

  “It’s where they designed the original Babur as a Land-Attack Cruise Missile. The engineers over there are working with us to fix the missile range issue. I hope they will be able to help us quickly though I doubt it.”

  “Why?”

  “I will be honest. Between the Army, Air-force and Navy, we are treated as step-brothers. Our budget is the smallest of the three. In 1971, the Indian Navy blockaded our ports and our Navy couldn't respond. We would have done better if there had been someone to champion our causes and give us better warfare capabilities. But the Army Chief only cares about his Army. Our priorities fall way down the line. But over the years I've learned to take things in my stride.” Yusuf shrugged, “I think that's enough whining for today. Let’s get back to my quarters.”

  Armaan said, “Yes, my subordinate should have found something by now.”

  Armaan followed Yusuf but his mind was preoccupied. Beads of perspiration formed on his forehead even though the temperature inside the submarine was cool. He felt the steel walls closing in on him. The Babur-3 missiles were not here. It meant that their mission was incomplete.

  They had planned for both a software intrusion and a hardware interception. Baldev was working on the software end, but it would be of no use if they couldn’t modify the hardware components of the missiles. With the missiles relocated outside of the naval base, their mission had flopped big time.

  They retraced their steps back to the Captain's quarters. Baldev was sitting in front of the terminal. He turned at their presence.

  Armaan said, “Did you find anything?”

  “I checked the logs and there was nothing out of the ordinary. No patterns or anything suspicious to report. I suggest we check in at the base.”

  His words meant that the software part was done.

  Armaan turned towards Yusuf. “I am sorry to have bothered you with this inconvenience, but it’s my job, and we cannot take security lightly.”

  “No, that's fine. It’s reassuring to know that none of my crew is involved in anything suspicious. I knew it from the start, but it’s good to have someone give a validation. I will escort you outside.”

  “No thanks, Captain. We have taken enough of your time.”

  The Captain walked them back towards the hatch and Armaan and Baldev exited out of the submarine. They clambered down the ladder and walked across the gangplank. The two officers they had met earlier were busy conversing with a couple of crew members. No one gave them any attention. They quietly walked across from the submarine to the diesel station. Once they were behind the station and out of sight, Armaan looked at Baldev.

  “Did you insert the program?”

  “I plugged the device, and it did its work. Hitesh should be able to confirm. We now have to figure out where the missiles are kept on the base.”

  “I just spoke with the Captain. The Babur-3 missiles are not here.”

  “Not here?”

  “No, it’s been sent to Sargodha for further testing.”

  “Our mission is incomplete. What do we do now?”

  “Let's first get our stuff and move out of here.”

  They found their rucksack undisturbed tethered to a string at the edge of the wharf. They untied it and donned their wet-suits and slipped quietly under the water to return the same way they had come in.

  Chapter 11

  Quetta, Balochistan, Pakistan

  Gorbat Khan ran his fingers through his tousled hair absentmindedly as he looked at the computer screen. It had been a long day. Sure, most days as the Inspector of Quetta's Counter-Terrorism department were long, but today threatened to ruin his family life. Tomorrow was his son's tenth birthday and he had yet to buy him a present.

  Yesterday morning, he had told his wife, he would surprise the boy with a PS4, but that was before the attack on Gwadar port.

  Now, it had been thirty hours and he had not gone back home. He had spent most of yesterday at Gwadar completing an on-site investigation, going through surveillance videos and asking questions. So far, they had not found any leads yet. No organisation had claimed responsibility for the attack, but the politicians had already gone on air saying that it was the work of the Indian R&AW agency.

  Gorbat looked up at the clock. Thankfully, it was showing the right time. It was five pm. He remembered being annoyed that the clock had stopped for weeks and no one had bothered to repair it. Finally, in frustration, he himself had taken it to the local watch shop to be repaired. Gorbat was a punctual man, and he needed to know the precise time throughout the workday.

  The workday was officially over. He deserved a break. He needed time to relax and think with a clear mind. His men were still on the field searching for forensic evidence. He should call it a day. No one would chide him for leaving on time.

  But it was hard for him to log off. His men weren't fully trained to do the work. They had a paucity of resources. For a province like Balochistan that was rich in resources, but perennially poor; the CTD represented the pro
blems of the state accurately. Their department never had a dedicated trainer to train the staff on effective counter-terrorism strategies. They didn’t have enough people to man the shifts, with most of the local talent being called to beef up the Punjab Counter Terrorism department. And most troublesome of all, they never had any significant budget for their routine work. Today, they had run out of petrol, and since they didn't get the transport budget last week, Gorbat had to pay the money out of his own pocket. These people will turn our country into Somalia. He banged his fist on the table in frustration.

  The monitor blinked once and then went blank. It was yet another reminder of the doldrums their department was in finance-wise. When they had requested for computer equipment, they had been provided with end-of-life PCs from the Punjab CTD. The Punjabi team had received brand-new laptops, and the Balochistan police had received second-hand rejects.

  Gorbat sighed as he reached behind the monitor and fiddled with the cable that was connected to the monitor port. The screen flickered back to life, but he knew that the dangling cable would switch off at the slightest jerk. He looked at the screen trying to remember what he was doing a moment ago. His overloaded brain couldn't respond back with an answer. He needed to switch off his mind. He looked at the clock again. It was five thirty pm.

  Gorbat got up. It was the law of diminishing returns. After a point of time, the productivity wouldn't improve however much additional time he sat on the chair. He knew he had reached that point. He locked his computer and was about to get up when the desk phone rang.

  He looked at the device wondering if he should pick it up. If he let it ring, they would call his subordinates and he won't have to bother with the call. But the ringing tone pierced into his conscience. He couldn't sit back while someone had called his number. If they wanted to speak with his subordinates, they wouldn’t have called him. They needed his help.