Mission Valentine

February 13th / SP Marg, NCA Headquarters, Delhi – 5:00 PM

NCA (National Counter-terrorism Agency) Director Kalyan Mishra was pacing restlessly inside his chamber. As yet, no news of his team had been received, and he had no idea what the final outcome would be. Impatiently, he checked his mobile phone once again. No—nothing at all. Sitting down in his chair with a sense of frustration, he reopened an email he had received three days prior—it had originated in Kabul. The email’s attachment was, in fact, a pamphlet. The Taliban regime had issued a *fatwa* declaring that anyone attempting to celebrate Valentine’s Day tomorrow would face dire consequences. A high-ranking Taliban leader would "sever their head," and the entire world would watch the execution live. Although the pamphlet offered no specific details regarding the identity of this top leader, Mishra was all but certain of who it was. Maulana Abubakr—formerly of Al-Qaeda—was currently present in that very location; he had already received a classified intelligence report confirming this. He was in the process of reorganizing and restructuring the Taliban. If only they could somehow locate him...! A faint sound snapped Mishraji out of his reverie—a WhatsApp notification! He snatched up his mobile phone eagerly. No—there was no news for him. Someone in his college friends' group was announcing that today was "Kiss Day"—the Day of the Kiss. So it was; a bitter smile flickered across Kalyan Mishra’s face. His team, too, was observing "Kiss Day"—a kiss of death!

*******************
Same Day / Al-Tariq Madrasa, Kandahar, Afghanistan – 7:00 PM

As the pressure of a foot bore down upon the wound on his back, Soumya let out a groan and opened his eyes. Standing before him was a man of massive build. Yet, it was not his physique that caught the eye first, but rather the prominent scar slashed across his left cheek.
The man ran a hand over the scar once. Then he spoke: "Who are you? What is your name?"
Soumya offered no reply; such a response would have been entirely superfluous. Instead, he tried to make sense of the situation. He had been abducted from the market and brought here. This was a room located at the rear of a madrasa. He was shivering uncontrollably from both the pain and the biting cold. The temperature right now was 8 or 9 degrees; surely, by the middle of the night, it would drop close to zero. If he...
Receiving no answer, the man flew into a rage; he delivered a powerful kick to Soumya’s back. How dare this *Hindustani* boy defy his decree? To actually put up a notice in the market announcing a Valentine’s Day celebration at his own restaurant!
In a voice burning with fury, he spat out, "I can tell just by looking at your face that you’re an infidel. Not only have you come to *our* country to do business, but on top of that, you pull stunts like this..."
The man kicked him again. Then, in a vicious tone, he declared, "Tomorrow is your last day—just like six years ago, on February 14th, when we eliminated forty of your country’s soldiers in Pulwama. I will slaughter you with my own hands—in front of the entire world. Tomorrow will be the last Valentine’s Day of your life."
A faint smile flickered across Soumya’s face as he whispered, "Yours, too."
Driven mad with rage, the man slammed the butt of the pistol he was holding violently against Soumya’s head. Blood began to flow, and Soumya lost consciousness once again.

**************
February 14th / Same Location – 8:00 AM

Today is February 14th—Valentine’s Day. They are sitting hand-in-hand at Millennium Park, right by the riverbank. A gentle breeze stirs his companion’s hair, causing it to brush softly against her cheek. This particular spot is relatively secluded, and Soumya decides to seize the opportunity. He leans in, attempting to press his lips against the cheek beside him—but he fails. The cheek pulls away, accompanied by the sound of a sweet voice teasing, "What do you think you’re doing? You absolute brute!"...

A sharp, jarring blow to his shoulder jolts NCA Agent Soumya Roychoudhury out of his dream and back into reality. He is not in Kolkata; he is in Kandahar, Afghanistan—a territory under Taliban control. He has been forced to kneel. A video stand sits directly in front of him. Standing behind him is a hulking terrorist with a scar across his cheek—Abubox. The "Hindustanis" have wreaked havoc upon their cause; today, he intends to broadcast the gruesome demise of one of their own to the entire world—live. Soumya smiled inwardly; the mouse had stepped into the trap. He knew that if anyone dared defy the *fatwa* against Valentine’s Day, the Al-Qaeda terrorist Abubox would abandon his long-held hideout and emerge into the open to personally slaughter the offender—and that was precisely what was needed. Renting the shop in the Kandahar market, hanging the notice announcing a Valentine’s Day celebration—it was all part of the plan. Everything had unfolded perfectly; now, only the final act remained. Soumya opened his eyes and gazed toward the mountains ahead. Was something moving? In the morning light, a metallic glint caught his eye. *Yes—it’s time.*

Abubox hesitated for a moment. How should he kill this *Kafir*—with a bullet, or...? He reached for the pistol at his waist, then withdrew his hand. Instead, he drew his *kukri*. This—this was what he would use to slaughter him.
Abubox raised the blade, but to his astonishment, Soumya turned his head and looked directly at him.
"Do you wish to say anything to the world for the last time, you Hindustani dog?"
"I have but one thing to say."
"What is it?"
"We leave no loose ends when it comes to enemies of India like you."

Before Abubox could fully grasp the meaning of those words, a red dot appeared on his forehead. Soumya burst into unrestrained laughter. Ajanta Mukherjee: an NCA analyst—his partner. Tracking the GPS beacon embedded in Soumya’s belt, she had arrived at this location the previous evening. Then, to ensure the success of the plan's final phase, she had spent the entire night—gritting her teeth against the sub-zero cold—crouching behind the hillock overlooking the madrasa. That red pinpoint was the sniper's bullseye.
"Goodbye, Abubox!" Abubox had no time left to think; his brains were blown out by a bullet from Ajanta’s Heckler & Koch rifle, and the Al-Qaeda terrorist embarked on his journey to hell. In the blink of an eye, Soumya sprang into action—the pistol he had snatched was in his hand. And then...? Struck by a rapid succession of bullets from the front, the remaining four terrorists lost their lives.

Only then did Soumya finally breathe a sigh of relief. Then, with a smile, he waved toward the mountains. Exactly two minutes later, an army helicopter picked them up. From the sky, they both saw together that a terrorist base had been destroyed.

"Are you okay?" Ajanta asked with tears in her eyes, seeing Soumya's wounded face. Soumya gently touched her fair cheeks, which were bruised from the cold. Then......! After a couple of minutes, Soumya somehow freed Ajanta's hand from the embrace with a smile and picked up the satellite phone and made a call: Sir, AGENT SHATRUGHNA reporting. Target neutralized. We are okay, Mission Valentine Accomplished Successfully."

(End)