| 1625 hours, 29 October 2005, Khirki Gaon, New Delhi. |
| When the bus carrying Team One was turning right on the road going under the IIT (Indian Institute of Technology) flyover and the Maruti Esteem with Team Two was going over it, the Bajaj Caliber motorcycle carrying the two men of Team Three left Aftab Cyber Café. |
| Team Three had the shortest distance to cover to their target and so was the last to leave. The man on the pillion of the motorcycle carried another cardboard-lined, dirty-looking canvas bag with its lethal cargo. |
| Twenty-five minutes later, the two men of Team Three reached Sarojini Nagar and parked their motorcycle about fifty metres away , in one of the numerous lanes that radiated into the colony surrounding the market. The man riding the motorcycle remained seated as the pillion rider got off and handed the canvas bag to him. 'Hold it carefully,' he told the rider who remained seated on the parked motorcycle. Then he walked into the market. |
| A slight chill, the advance guard of a rapidly approaching winter, was perceptible in the air despite the dense crowds. The man walking towards the market did not seem to feel the cold. In fact he was sweating slightly. Despite the tension he felt he made sure he walked calmly. |
| The mass of humanity surging through the marketplace, which was bedecked like a bride for the festive season, was so large that it took him almost six minutes to reach the corner where three roads converged at the edge of the market. Here, traffic from all sides blended in splendidly chaotic harmony. It was a perfect, natural bottleneck. The two traffic policemen on duty were fighting a perennial and constantly losing battle to keep the traffic flowing in all directions. 'Keep moving! Keep moving, behen***ds!' They shouted in frustration; their harassment manifest in the rough manner in which they occasionally shoved the wayward pedestrian out of the way or spewed abuse at an errant driver. |
| The man stood around for about five minutes, leaning against the trunk of one of the many trees that lined the pavement, He surveyed the scene carefully, spending a few extra minutes to make doubly sure that no unscheduled activity waited to surprise them. Then he walked back to the man waiting on the motorcycle. 'All clear. Just the normal rush. Let's go.' |
| The other man was relieved to hear this. 'Good. Let's go.' He handed back the bag to the scout and kick-started the motorcycle. The scout waited for the engine to settle to a steady beat and then carefully got on, securing the bag in his lap. Only then did he nudge the rider. 'Carefully now.' |
| It was almost 1715 hours when the two men finally managed to navigate through the impossibly crowded market and bring the motorcycle to a halt near the pushcart selling chai and samosas at the place where the three roads converged. A huge crowd swirled all around them. They squeezed the motorcycle in between the other scooters and motorcycles already parked there. Collecting the parking token from the harried attendant they walked up to the samosa-seller about fourteen feet away and joined the hungry crowd around his pushcart. |
| It took a few minutes before they managed to attract the attention of the samosa-wallah and get him to serve them. The man carrying the canvas bag took it off his shoulder and pout it down casually on the ground before taking the samosas from the vendor. It was a perfectly natural action and would not have drawn any attention even if someone had been watching. As he paid the man he used his foot to push the bag as far out of sight behind the wheel of the pushcart as possible. |
| The younger man's wrist-watch showed 1725 hours when they walked away from the pushcart. The canvas bag rested unnoticed against the wheel of the pushcart at the feet of the hungry shoppers thronging around the cart. |
| As they walked the man who had been riding the motorcycle took a short detour and stopped by his bike. Pretending to check that it was properly locked he bent down and flicked a small hidden switch under the metallic boxes fitted on either side of the rear of the bike. Then he swiftly rejoined his teammate and they walked away from the marketplace at a steady pace. They finished eating their samosas as they walked. |
| LASHKAR Into the Heart of Terror Author:Mukul Deva Publisher: HarperCollins PAGES: viii + 366 Price: Rs 195 |
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