Title: ‘I got an Israeli...my Pak boss said you fool, you’ll get us killed’
Author: MANOJ MITTA
Publication: The Rediff on The Net
Date: Oct 10-13, 2001
URL: http://www.indian-express.com/ie20011010/top1.html

This was a four part series

How Black Tuesday suspect Omar Sheikh was sent from Pakistan to New Delhi to free Jaish chief Masood Azhar—all the details, in his own words

NEW DELHI, OCTOBER 9: IT’S a 35-page note handwritten in English, gathering dust for over five years in the capital’s Patiala House courts. Now it could play a key role in the Black Tuesday investigation.

For, the author of this note is Omar Sheikh, a British national of Pak origin who studied at the London School of Economics and was one of the three militants released by New Delhi in the Kandahar hijack drama in 1999. The FBI is exploring leads that Sheikh could have been involved in the transfer of $100,000 to Mohammad Atta, one of the hijackers in the September 11 attacks in the US.

Sheikh’s note, written in Tihar and part of the records in his TADA case, describes, in almost diary-like detail, how he went about his ‘‘kidnapping mission’’ in India at the behest of his superiors in Pakistan.

His mission: to kidnap a group of foreigners in India and then demand, as ransom, the release of several Kashmir militants, the most high-profile being Maulana Masood Azhar. The mission failed, Sheikh was arrested but five years later he got what he had come for. With Azhar, he was on a plane to Kandahar, delivered to the Taliban by External Affairs Minister Jaswant Singh.

Beginning today, The Indian Express runs excerpts from Sheikh’s note.

ON July 26, 1994, I arrived at Indira Gandhi International Airport. I came by PIA and the plane had left Lahore at 3.00 pm. I went by autorickshaw to Connaught Place. My instructions in Pakistan had been to spend the first night in some good hotel and then contact the two phone numbers I had been given the next day. I was to ask for a ‘‘Farooq.’’ Maulana Abdullah (a Harkat operative in Pakistan) had given me these instructions over the phone.

When I got to Connaught Place, I stopped a passer-by and asked which was a ‘‘good hotel’’ to stay in. He mentioned a few names—one of which was Holiday Inn. I chose to go to this because the name was familiar.

I registered under my own name and gave my passport number. The bill was an astounding $ 210/night. I did not know I had picked the most expensive hotel in town—I thought all Delhi hotels were this expensive and that my money would soon run out!

Therefore I decided I had better contact Farooq straightaway. I phoned both numbers from the hotel. Both answered there was no Farooq there. This worried me even more and I debated whether to contact Maulana Abdullah in Islamabad but decided against it since it would have been grossly against principles to phone head-office from a hotel...

Sultan (an accomplice) took me to a guest house in the Jama Masjid bazaar area. After we checked in, Sultan became much more friendly. I asked him if Mr Zubair Shah (the chief of my mission) had arrived and he said not yet but he would soon. He said he had been very pleased to hear of him coming since they had fought many battles together in Afghanistan.

Back in the guest house, we chatted for a while. Sultan was from Punjab in Pakistan and had instructed several of the lads I had been a co-instructor with. I asked him about conditions here and he said they were not going well mainly because Farooq and he were not getting on—they didn’t know who was in charge between them and they didn’t have clear directions from Pakistan. I asked them what they had in terms of weapons and he said that he had an AK-47 and a couple of pistols. He said that Farooq had a couple of pistols and some grenades also. I asked him where the stuff had come from but he was evasive. Later on I learnt that they had come from Kashmir—but by which route or other details I do not know.

I managed to persuade Sultan to take me to where he lived—the Ganda Nala house in Nizamuddin. At that time Sultan, Farooq and Nasir, a chap who had come via Nepal from Pakistan in order to go to Kashmir, were staying there. We sat down and discussed what our steps should be. Sultan and Farooq wanted to wait until Shah-Saab arrived before starting anything.

I said we should seriously consider buying a house in Delhi. They said that the money that had been sent to them from Pakistan had been taken by some Aswat Darr—who had betrayed after the arrest of Maulana Masood. I said I wanted to see him. They reminded me that the instructions they had received from Pakistan were that I was supposed to do the job I was sent for, namely kidnapping, and not interfere in what they were doing.

(Over the next one month) every place I visited, I analysed from various points of view—as a ‘‘future conquerer’’ as I fondly imagined myself to be, as a social scientist, a traveller, noting down the intricacies of a new country and as an introspector. I went to mosques and madrassas and talked about ideas pertaining to Jihad.

Among the madrassa students, I felt there was great potential for an Islamic movement to emerge but the great obstacle was that the students were generally not capable of independent conclusions—they concluded what their teachers told them to.

Nailing the Pak Lie

http://www.indian-express.com/ie20011011/op1.html

The second part of the extracts from prison notes reveals how the Black Tuesday suspect got his first hostage

MANOJ MITTA

In September-October ’94, Sheikh combs Delhi to kidnap foreigners as part of the conspiracy to force the release of Jaish chief Masood Azhar. He catches a Briton but loses an American

The beggar at Nizamuddin

The next day, I was at ISBT when I saw a foreign chap wandering about. I asked him where he was going. He said Dehra Dun. I quickly made up my mind. My experience with Akhmir had shown that journeys together gave an excellent opportunity to initiate friendships. So I said, ‘‘What a surprise — I’m going there too!’’ and got with him on the bus. His name was Richard and he was a British student who had arranged to have teaching experience at Doon School, Dehra Dun. He will be a teacher there now. By the time we got to Doon School, I had not only initiated a friendship — I had put forward the idea of spending time together touring India. I spent the night at Hotel Relax at Dehra Dun but failed to start up a conversation with the foreign couple staying there.

Back to Delhi, Shah saab told me to leave the tourists aside and look for foreigners under the protection of the Indian Government as he called them i.e. diplomats and engineers based here.

One night Nasir said he was moving out. He left. I had the room to myself. Now, since I had been in India, the sight of emaciated beggars everywhere particularly round the (Nizamuddin) Markaz had posed a serious dilemma for me. I had never seen so much poverty first hand in my life before. But I had soon realised that superficial help was only perpetuating the problem — most of the money they received was spent on cigarettes or charas. But they were genuinely needy people. Anyway, that night I decided that since I had the room to myself, I would offer to share it with an old one-legged man who sat outside the Markaz. I went and brought the old man to the room. We had dinner and I was enjoying one of his stories when Farooq arrived. He declared that the old man had to leave the house. I tried to reason with him but he said that my ‘‘antics’’ were putting everyone in risk. I lost my temper, packed up my stuff and left — taking the old man with me — and telling Farooq I was sorry I had such a cowardly set of companions.

I had taken Salahuddin and Siddique to meet Shah saab at Jamia mosque. Shah saab talked to them in turns. He had told me that they were suitable for sentry duty over whoever was kidnapped. My search for foreign employees based in India took me to the Chanakyapuri side. But I didn’t see much scope since security was tight — even to my optimistic eyes.

A house in Saharanpur

It was about the third week of September when Shah saab told me in a Jamia Masjid meeting to bring Salahuddin and Siddique early the next day. He said that he had finally managed to arrange a house in a remote area in Saharanpur where the neighbourhood was Muslim and undeveloped to the extent that it was unlikely to have an effective system of informers. Siddique and Salahuddin were to be left in the house and be on the ready. I was to go and see the house and cook up a story accordingly to entice people there the same way as I had bought the Israeli. Sultan would be taking us there and would have two pistols with him — so we have to be alert on the way.

We got to Saharanpur, the four of us, and from the bus stand we went by cycle rickshaw to a place called Katha Keri. From there it was a short walk to the house. When I saw the house, my heart sank. How the hell was I supposed to bring a foreigner all the way here? And that unnoticed by the local people? Salahuddin was aggrieved at the prospect of himself having to stay virtually prisoner there for may be weeks to come. Siddique was jumping up and down in joy and making little gestures with the pistols. Sultan beamed at me and said, ‘‘Like it?’’ ‘‘No,’’ I said sharply. He was surprised. I didn’t bother to start to explain. I’d explain to Big Man himself. But then I cheered up. This wasn’t far from Dehra Dun and I’d give ole Richard a shot any day. So I told Sultan I wouldn’t go back with him to Delhi and would go out ‘‘on the hunt’’ straightaway.

A prospective teacher

I stayed the night with Sid (Siddique) and Sal (Salahuddin) — and set off for Dehra Dun the next day. I met Richard at the school and he had got over his cultural shock and was involved with school activities such that he couldn’t take time off to visit my ‘‘relatives’’. After Richard refused, I went onto Mussoorie, the hill-station and checked most of the hotels there but due to the agitation at that time, there were no foreigners there at all. I stayed at a hotel in front of the mosque there. Next morning, I went to Woodstock School — an American school situated even higher up — and applied for a job as a teacher. I did this partly because if I got it, I could easily bring one of my co-teachers down to visit my ‘‘relatives’’ and partly because I wanted to see whether cutting short my academic career had greatly affected my competitiveness on the job-market. I had an interview with the vice-principal and I didn’t get offered the job!

So I returned to Saharanpur, spent another night there and then returned the next day to Delhi. I went to Kale Khan as instructed where Farooq met the next morning and took me for the first time to Shah saab’s hideout. It was between Jamia Masjid and Turkman Gate. I told him that I had had no success with Richard and that I was fed up this friendship business — especially with a house in the middle of nowhere like that and that we stop wasting time and grab whoever we needed. He told me to be patient — he was just in the process of purchasing a van (I mentioned that we could have borrowed one a long time ago) and in any case, he was waiting for the reports of the other channels before he made a final decision.
We finally came to a conclusion. I was to have one final thrust at befriending foreigners and if there was no result by the end of four days, we would carry out the snatch option.

So, next morning I left. I went by cycle rickshaw to Turkman Gate and took an autorickshaw to Paharganj. There I checked in at Ankur Guest House (I can’t remember by what name but I said I was from Bombay). I sat around at the four or five cafes in that stretch, slowly sipping or eating something and gradually developed a knack for opening up conversations. I would introduce myself as an Indian-blooded British national who was thrilled to come to India for the first time since he had left as a child. Then I would go on to tell them that my uncle had died and because of some grievance against his son, he had left his village on my name. Given that the feudal system had died out in India for a long time — it seems amazing that the story was greeted with such credible enthusiasm but the newly-arrived traveller to India yearns to hear extraordinary stories which will increase his insight into this strange and colourful culture.

“The American realised we were leaving the city... Shah pulled out a pistol and looked at him the way cat does a mouse”

http://www.indian-express.com/ie20011012/op1.html

‘I had to put the burqa on the American since there was a checkpost on the way to the house in Ghaziabad’

MANOJ MITTA

After kidnapping three Britishers, Omar Sheikh and his team then zero in on an American. This hunt forms the third part of the extracts from Sheikh’s own account of the 1994 abortive mission to secure the release of Maulana Masood Azhar, now chief of the Jaish-e-Mohammad

I manage two more hostages

That night we arranged to meet the next evening at Hare Krishna. Next morning I told Shah saab at the Markaz that I had two Britishers on the pipeline, did he want them? He answered affirmatively and we arranged to meet next morning when I would hopefully have made the arrangements.

That evening I went to Hare Krishna restaurant, met the two guys and casually mentioned I was going down to my village the next day, would they be interested in accompanying me? They agreed and I arranged to meet them the next morning in the hotel they were staying at (the name of which I can’t remember). So next morning, at the Markaz I told Shah saab and he had the van arranged in a couple of hours.

We met at the petrol pump behind the Markaz and set off. The van parked outside Delhi Railway Station and I went inside to fetch the two guys, guitars and all. So we set off to Saharanpur, the two, the driver and myself and it was almost exactly like the first time (with Rhys) except that I didn’t talk about revolutions on the way — we discussed more complicated issues like women.

At Saharanpur, the door was opened by Siddique. He saw that I was accompanied by two guests and so he immediately called the others to attention telling them the Maharaja was here. There was Sultan, Salahuddin and Maulana saab. The same drama as before happened except that this time there was an AK-47 in the picture — brandished by Sultan. I don’t know how it got there. The two were shocked to see Rhys, who we’d talked about on the way. Rhys was rather pleased that he was no longer alone.

The last try for an american

Next day, after taking their passport details and reassuring them as best as I could, I returned to Delhi. I met Shah saab that evening at the Markaz and informed him of what had happened. He said that I should make one last thrust for an American. He told me that he’d arranged a house in Ghaziabad (near Delhi) and so it should be easier for me. I told him I’d go the next morning to Vasant Kunj and check out Michael. Our meeting was fixed for the following afternoon.

Next morning, 18th October, I popped down to Vasant Kunj and this time managed to go inside the apartment and met Michael. He was a mousish sort of chap and I perceived that it would be virtually impossible to convince him to go anywhere.

So, when I met Shah saab I requested him that we could only do a grab-job on Michael. He said that I would first have to do a complete reconnaisance, which included observing the Vasant Kunj area at different times. We decided Amin would meet me that evening and take me to the Vasant Kunj area on the motorbike.

After the meeting, I went down to the Paharganj area. My mind was fixed on the Michael-task so I didn’t try terribly hard to browse round the foreigners there. I just sat at a cafe opposite the Ankur Guest House and ordered a drink. The person in front of me started talking to me and with a shock I realised he was American.

This was Bela Nuss. He was staying at Ajay Guest House and was about to leave India. He was a lonely sort of fellow who found in me someone he could talk to. I told him I was staying at Galaxy Guest House and after the conversation in which we agreed to meet later, I went and booked a room at Galaxy under the name of Rohit Sharma from Bombay.

In the evening, I met Amin at the Markaz and he had with him the motorbike. We went to Vasant Kunj and I noted down what was going on and also the nearest police staton. I decided that morning was a better time for the job. I returned to Paharganj to find that Bela had left a message for me saying that we should meet the next day in the afternoon.

Next morning, I made my way to the Markaz and told Shah saab that we could postpone the Michael programme since I had another in prospect. In the afternoon, I met Bela and we went and had dinner at some pizza place in Connaught Place. I told him I was having dinner at an Indian family’s house the next day and asked him whether he’d like to come along. He was delighted.

Next day I met Shah saab at the Markaz. He took me for the first time to the room in Nizamuddin behind the tomb. Farooq and Amin were present. Amin was sent to get dinner. I let Shah saab know that the chap was set up for that evening. Shah saab then sent Farooz to buy a burqa. He told me that I had to put it on the American since there would a check-post on the way to the house in Ghaziabad.

I slept for a few hours while Shah saab and Farooq went and made arrangements. They were going to lock me inside but I promised I wouldn’t leave the house. When Shah saab returned, he said the driver would be there in a couple of hours.

He had decided that he and Siddique would be involved as well — they would thumb a lift on the way.

I felt a stinging blow on my back and I looked around to see the policeman swinging his rifle at me. I turned and BANG!

http://www.indian-express.com/ie20011013/op1.html

I felt the anger drain out with the blood. It was the end... of one era and the beginning of another

With four foreigners in custody, Omar Sheikh sends ransom notes to the embassies and the media. But an unexpected encounter with the police foils the plan. The concluding part of Sheikh’s diaries is about the collapse of his 1994 mission to secure the release of terrorists including Masood Azhar

A photo shoot

I went to the house and told the guys there that I had come to take photographs. Some hours later, after sunrise, Maulana saab went and bought a newspaper. He and Khan saab stood in the background, veiled, with the newspaper and AK-47. Sultan took the photos — six of them.

I went back by train and arrived at Shah saab’s house absolutely exhausted. Farooq was there with him. He told Farooq to take the camera to Ghaziabad and get the same of the American.

I had slept a few hours when Farooq returned with the photos. Shah saab and I then sat down to make adjustments to the letters for the photos. Our deadline was 72 hours, starting from midnight (26th October).

I went off to Kashmiri Gate and speed-posted one letter. Then I went to Daryaganj and faxed another, asking the owner of the shop to turn his back since the contents were confidential.

Next day, I went with Farooq and posted the remaining letters from Connaught Place. Then I returned to Shah saab’s. It was going to be a waiting game, said the Big Man. I was forbidden from leaving the house so I settled myself down to catch up with my Arabic.

For the next couple of days, I stayed with Shah saab. Farooq had gone off somewhere. Amin was with us and would do errands like fetch dinner, etc. Each morning Shah saab went off and came back saying that he had phoned Pakistan and the comrades were still not freed. On the 29th he said that the threat would have to be carried out, so I wrote out the letter to the BBC, VOA, Hindustan Times and British and American embassies.

Shah saab added some more names to confuse the authorities even more. Next day, which was a Sunday, Shah saab instructed me to go to Meerut and post them (in case the authorities put watchers at Kashmere Gate and Connaught Place). I was on the way to ISBT when I decided it wasn’t worth wasting all that time so I got off at Kashmere Gate, took a quick look around to see if any security zones were there, went in and hurriedly got the letters posted all except the ones to the BBC and the HT — since Shah saab and I had agreed they should be hand posted in case the authorities are watching the post at the press organisations.

I deliver the letters

Next morning, I set off with the last two letters. At Shah saab’s instruction, Amin was behind me watching to see if everything went OK. I went to Nizamuddin East but found that the BBC office had moved. A chap there gave me the new address: Rafique Marg. So off I went, Amin behind me, and gave the letter to the rather nice girl at the reception. ‘Tell the Editor I want an answer by 3 p.m.’’, I said thinking tonight she’ll be telling the whole world that this big, monstrous, terrorist-looking sort of chap came to me in person and...Tomorrow I’ll ring her up and say ‘Actually, my dear, I’m not like that at all...

I left the building speedily and went to HT in K G Marg. I found my way to the Chief Editor’s office—he wasn’t there himself so I gave the letter to his public affairs manager and asked him to give it to him. To my consternation, he started opening it. I speedily withdrew from the room and ran down the stairs (I only just refrained myself from sliding down the banister!) and out of the entrance and across the traffic-jammed road where Amin was. We got into a rickshaw and I told him to go to Okhla since Shah saab had instructed me to go to my Okhla hideout and show it to Amin also. On the way, when we got to Nizamuddin, I spied Siddique. So we got off, greeted Siddique and the three of us got on a bus for Okhla. I went to that place in Haji colony which I’d had for over a month but had hardly used. Amin left, Siddique stayed.

For my part, I thought, it was finally over, success or failure lay with Him above. Siddique and I wandered about the nearby roads and talked philosophically and not so philosophically. We talked about Afghanistan, Kashmir, Bosnia, and England. We talked about Shah saab and the other comrades and the great days we had had in Inda, the jokes that would be remembered for years to come. He told me about the girl back home he was engaged to, I told him about the one I wasn’t engaged to. We talked about the comrades who’d be getting free any day now... now their families would meet and what they’d be likely to do next. So evening came.

It was just after sunset that Shah saab and Amin arrived. Shah saab told us to get ready. Amin left, Shah saab then said that the American had stopped eating and that we were to go and convince him that it was a matter of a few days only.

We left the boarding house and went towards Jamia Millia. Shah saab asked me as we walked whether it had gone all right and I replied in the affirmative. He cautioned me not to talk about pertinent matters in front of the driver.

The driver and the van were waiting near Okhla ... We got in and sped off toward Ghaziabad. We got down there and instructed the driver to return at 9 o’clock. We got off on the main road and had turned into the lane that takes us to the house when two armed policemen came towards me and asked gruffly who we were and where we were going. I thought it was a routine patrol and asked what the matter was. The policeman swore at me and tried to drag me to one side by the collar—at which I (got) furious and started hitting him. The next thing I remember, I felt a stinging blow on my back and I looked around to see the other swinging his rifle at me—my comrades had disappeared. I turned towards him and BANG!

I felt the anger drain out with the blood. I thought it was the end.
It was the end...of one era and the beginning of another.