For years Sharab's group, the Pakistan-financed Free Kashmir Militia, had been striking at select targets throughout the region. The modus operand! for each attack was always the same. They would take over a house, plan their assault, then strike the target. At the moment of each attack whichever cell member had remained behind would telephone a regional police or military headquarters. He would claim credit for the attack on behalf of the Free Kashmir Militia. After that the FKM would move to another home.
In the end, the isolated farmers whose homes and lives they briefly borrowed cared more about survival than about politics.
Many of them were Muslim anyway. Though they did not want to cooperate and risk arrest, they did not resist the
FKM.
Sharab and her people only struck military, police, and government offices, never civilian or religious targets. They did not want to push or alienate the Hindu population of Kashmir or India, turn them into hawkish adversaries. They only wanted to deconstruct the resources and the resolve of the Indian leaders. Force them to go home and leave Kashmir.
That was what they were trying to do in the bazaar. Cripple the police but not harm the merchants. Scare people away and impact the local economy just enough so that farmers and shoppers would fight the inflammatory presence of Indian authorities.
They had been so careful to do just that. Over the past few nights one member of the party would go to the bazaar in Srinagar. He would enter the temple dressed in clerical robes, exit in back, and climb to the roof of the police station.
There, he would systematically lift tiles and place plastique beneath them. Because it was in the middle of a night shift, when this section of the city was usually quiet, the police were not as alert as during the day. Besides, terrorist attacks did not typically occur at night.
The idea of terrorism was to disrupt routine, to make ordinary people afraid to go out.
This morning, well before dawn, the last explosives were placed on the roof along with a timer. The timer had been set to detonate at exactly twenty minutes to five that afternoon.
Sharab and the others returned at four thirty to watch from the side of the road to make sure the explosion went off.
It did. And it punched right through her.
When the first blast occurred Sharab knew something was wrong. The plastique they had put down was not strong enough to do the damage this explosion had done. When the second blast went off she knew they had been set up. Muslims had seemingly attacked a Hindu temple and a busload of pilgrims. The sentiments of nearly one billion people would turn against them and the Pakistan people.
But Muslims had not attacked Hindu targets, Sharab thought bitterly.
The FKM had attacked a police station.
Some other group had attacked the religious targets and timed it to coincide with the FKM attack.
She did not believe that a member of the cell had betrayed them. The men in the truck had been with her for years. She knew their families, their friends, their backgrounds. They were people of unshakable faith who would never have done anything to hurt the cause.
What about Apu and Nanda? Back at the house they had never been out of their sight except when they were asleep.
Even then the door was always ajar and a guard was always awake. The man and his granddaughter did not own a transmitter or cell phone. The house had been searched. There were no neighbors who could have seen or heard them.
Sharab took a long breath and opened her eyes. For the moment, it did not matter. The question was what to do right now.
The truck sped past black-bearded pilgrims in white tunics and mountain men leading ponies from the marketplace. Distant rice paddies were visible at the misty foot of the Himalayas.
Trucks bearing more soldiers sped past them, headed toward the bazaar.
Maybe they did not know who was responsible for the attack. Or maybe they did not want to catch them right away. Perhaps whoever had framed them was waiting to see if they linked up with other terrorists in Kashmir before closing in.
If that was the case they were going to be disappointed.
Sharab opened the glove compartment and removed a map of the region.
There were seventeen grids on the map, each one numbered and lettered.
For the purposes of security the numbers and letters were reversed.
'All right, Ishaq,' she said into the phone, 'I want you to leave the house now and go to position 5B.'
What Sharab really meant was that Ishaq should go to area 2E. The E came from the 5 and the 2 from the B. Anyone who might be listening to the conversation and who might have obtained a copy of their map would go to the wrong spot.
'Can you meet us there at seven o'clock?' 'Yes,' he said.
'What about the old man?'
'Leave him,' she said. She glanced at Nanda. The younger girl's expression was defiant.
'Remind him that we have his granddaughter. If the authorities ask him about us he is to say nothing. Tell him if we reach the border safely she will be set free.'
Ishaq said he would do that and meet the others later.
