Free LASHKAR by Mukul Deva Page A

view of the impending Diwali and Eid festivals, there was a huge crowd at the bus station. Everyone was rushing to get home before nightfall. Almost every bus leaving the terminus was filled over capacity. The two men moved slowly through the crowd; they were on the look-out for buses that started from the station.
    ‘Generally all buses refuel before they start a fresh run.’ The older man remembered their agent-handler briefing them.
    ‘That means they will have filled fuel tanks…good for us,’ one of the Lashkar had commented with a smirk. ‘The more the diesel the bigger the impact of the explosion, right?’
    The handler had given the man a contemplative look . ‘Good thinking, except for the fact that for quite some time now all public transport vehicles in Delhi run on CNG (Compressed Natural Gas). The older type of buses have six CNG tanks, two on either side of the bus towards the rear section and two fitted right at the back of the bus. All of them are fitted on the underside. See…’ He had pointed out the positions of the CNG cylinders on the photograph of a bus he was holding up. ‘The new buses are longer…they have a higher capacity and these ones have eight CNG tanks fitted on them. Here.’ He pointed them out on the same photograph. ‘There are three on either side and two at the rear. The long distance ones have three at the rear, but you’re not likely to encounter these at any intra-city bus station. You must try to target the bigger buses and try to place the bag under any of these seats.’ He had pulled out another photograph of the inside of a bus and pointed out some seats . ‘Remember, you must try for the aisle seats. They are the ones where you have the maximum chances of detonating the CNG cylinders…not the window seats.’
    ‘Why? What’s wrong with the window seats?’ The same man who had spoken earlier asked again; he was trying to retrieve some lost face and feel a little less stupid.
    ‘A large part of the blast gets wasted on the outer walls. In any case you want the explosion right in the thick of the crowd…not to the side.’
    The older of the two men, the one who had moved to the right flank of the bus station, saw a new model Delhi Transport Corporation (DTC) bus heading his way. It was empty and seemed about to be getting ready for a fresh run. He was right. The bus scheduled to ply on route number 505 pulled into an empty slot a few feet away from him and people started boarding it even before the bus conductor got on.
    The older man was one of the first to get onto the bus. He made his way unerringly to the seat directly above the CNG tanks fitted on the left side of the centre of the bus. It was one of the seats recommended by the agent-handler and also the one closest to the exit door. Despite the fact that the entire seat was empty the man took the aisle seat. Before sitting down he carefully eased his bag under the seat, taking care to push it as far out of sight as he could.
    Within minutes the bus had filled up. Soon all seats were taken and the aisle was packed with standing passengers. As if on cue the driver and bus conductor hopped on. Almost instantly he heard the familiar thumping sound on the side of the bus and the loud, ‘chalo, chalo…ticket, ticket…’ as the conductor gave the driver the all-clear. The bus juddered to a start as the driver gunned the engine and with a loud meshing of gears began to edge it out of the heavily-packed terminus.
    Barely had the bus begun to move when the terrorist casually leaned forward. Reaching down, his fingers found the side of the bag and located the small lever recessed in a cup that shielded it from accidentally being pressed. He pressed the lever till his fingers registered a faint but distinct click. He waited for a few seconds then he abruptly got up and muttering vague apologies pushed his way down the aisle to the rear exit. He managed to get off just as the bus was pulling out of the terminus,