David Headley drove into the parking lot of the Arfa Software Technology Park and switched off the engine. He took the lift to the lobby, and after showing his visitor’s pass organised by Major Iqbal for their debrief meeting, walked across to the food court. Ordering a café latte he sat down on a wide leather upholstered chair and watched the hustle-bustle at the huge modern complex.
This building, towering over everything nearby with its height of 107 metres, was one of the landmarks of Lahore’s Ferozepur Road. The Major had asked David to come here, as its security features were extremely high-tech, with no scalable perimeter fences, and with state-of-the-art CCTV and RFID parking.
It was David’s second day in Pakistan; he couldn’t stay on for long with an Indian visa.
He glanced at his Seiko, it was 11.15 AM; he always arrived half an hour early for any meeting. This had been drilled into him during training. “Oh you are here early,” the voice of the Major came from behind David who swung around to see him smiling, a few feet away. “Was the traffic heavy?” the Major asked as he sat down opposite David and automatically reached into his shirt pocket for his pack of cigarettes.
“No, surprisingly there was no traffic at all,” answered David as he fished out his passport from his briefcase and handed it over to the Major.
“And what did you think about the security system here?” asked the Major, his eyes on the passport, flipping through it till he arrived at the page with the Indian visa. He took a minute to study it, and couldn’t stop the instinctive smile which flashed on his face. His pulse quickened as he studied the man opposite him, his eyes moving over David’s fair skin and mismatched eyes.
He thought – by the grace of Allah what I have here is a man with an American passport, American looks, a man who is fluent in English, Hindi and Urdu, intelligent, trained, and dedicated to the cause. He went back to examining the passport.
“I have managed to exclude my father’s name,” David said, “that way there is no Muslim connection reflected on my passport. The Pakistan visa, however, does carry his name, as Salim Gilani,” and he added, with his eyes twinkling, “but the idiots at the Indian Consulate didn’t notice that, they went ahead and issued the visa!”
The Major’s eyes narrowed, “How did you fix that?” he asked.
David shrugged expressively but didn’t answer. Major Iqbal dropped the topic, but filed it away in his mind for verification later.
“I think you’ll soon be going to Mumbai,” he said. David felt a rush of excitement as he heard this; now at last we are getting somewhere, he thought.
“You’ll be needing funds,” the Major continued, “I will drop by later at your home with a packet.” He stubbed out his cigarette and rose from his seat.
David had noticed that he invariably kept the duration of his visits to the minimum, and that he seemed to arrive even earlier than himself each time. He shrugged... well, the man was a professional, and David admired his tradecraft.
“See you soon then,” said the Major and walked away.
Ten minutes later, David finished his café latte and walked down to his car. Out in the city the traffic had increased he noticed – it was going to be a long ride home.
After two days his phone rang; glancing at the display he saw that it was Major Iqbal. “Hello,” he said.
“Are you going to be home this evening?” asked the Major, “I wanted to drop in a little something for you,” he continued, chuckling.
“Why, sure,” said David, “I’ll wait for you. Around 7 o’clock?” he asked.
“Yes,” said Major Iqbal, and cut the call.
He arrived promptly at seven, followed David into his study, and handed him a brown paper envelope. David opened it and shook out three bundles of US dollars; a count revealed an amount of $25,000! David looked up at the Major.
“You will need the money now,” said the Major, “you must establish a cover, get close to people,” he continued. “Whoever heard of a penniless gora,” he added laughing.
David laughed with him. “I will submit an account for all expenses,” he promised.
The Major nodded. “I will be giving you some Indian currency too,” he said with a wink.
David understood that the Major was testing him again. The Indian money would most certainly be counterfeit. He was aware that the ISI regularly infused fake notes into India, generally in denominations of Rs 1,000 and 500. During discussions with the NCO, Sajid and others, he had gathered that the cash was sent via several channels, the most effective through Bangladesh by the Islamic Chaatra Shibir (ICS), operating in bordering areas like Jessore, Khulna, and Narayanganj.
Here it was distributed, in smaller amounts, to groups of migrant labourers entering India through Bhubra, Bashirahat, Bongaon, and Malda. Thence, it filtered down to Jharkhand, Bihar and West Bengal, ultimately landing up in Mumbai, Delhi, Ahmedabad, and other cities.
David also knew that Dawood Ibrahim, head of the D Company and the mastermind behind the 1993 Mumbai bomb blasts that claimed hundreds of lives, also helped the ISI in funnelling this forged currency into India. He used the Muslim labour force, which regularly came in from Dubai to these Indian cities. In fact, David had met Dawood’s henchman, Aftab Bhatki, at a party, and understood that he was a major player in this racket, employing the railway lines connecting Bangladesh and nearby areas to transport the cash.
The whole racket was greatly assisted by the hawala merchants in Dubai and India. According to the local grapevine, as David understood it, most of them were Muslim and a very close-knit community. He had also come to know that many, who were engaged in the travel trade serving south India, facilitated the money exchange business which enabled them access to dollars via banks. These dollars were then funnelled back to Dubai, and finally found their way to Karachi and the ISI.
After Major Iqbal had left, David put the money in the wall-safe, and made plans to go to Muzzafarabad to meet Sajid Mir. Once there, he realised that Sajid was already aware that he had received money from the Major, and both, excited at the prospect of his first reconnaissance assignment, talked late into the night about the various aspects involved.
Sajid mentioned that one “Bashir” would help him to settle into the city. Apparently Bashir was the “Mr Fixit” for the Lashkar in Mumbai, and looking to migrate to Canada soon after the mission was completed. It would be lethal for him to continue in India in case the outcome was as successful as was planned. Canada would be Bashir’s reward.
A timeline of terror
1960: Daood Gilani is born in Washington, USA.
1961: Moves to Pakistan with parents, who separate soon after.
1977: Moves to Philadelphia to live with his mother.
1988: Arrested at Frankfurt Airport, when a routine customs check of his belongings reveals two kilos of heroin. Released in 1992.
1995: Spends six months in prison for probation violation.
1997: Arrested again for possession of heroin.
1999: Marries Shazia Gilani in Pakistan.
2001: Joins LeT.
2002 - 2004: Attends LeT training camps in Pakistan.
May-June 2006: Changes name from Daood Gilani to David Coleman Headley and gets Indian visa.
2006 and 2008: Conducts repeated reconnaissance of targets in Mumbai.
January 2009: Visits Denmark for reconnaissance of targets.
March 2009: Visits India for reconnaissance of targets in north India, Pune and Goa.
August 2009: Travels to UK to meet sympathisers.
September 2009: Visits Stockholm and Denmark for reconnaissance.
October 3, 2009: Arrested at O’Hare International Airport, Chicago.
On 14th September 2006, David landed at Mumbai’s Chhatrapati Shivaji International Airport, carrying his mother-in-law’s camera. Major Iqbal had given him Bashir’s phone number and other details, saying that he would receive him at the airport.
This was David’s first visit to India, although he had travelled fairly extensively, as Daood Gilani, on his earlier passport, to several countries including England, France, Germany, Sri Lanka and Maldives.
Bashir was a slim round-shouldered young man of 35, with sharp inquisitive eyes. He was obviously educated, and spoke flawless English. Within minutes he had arranged a taxi and escorted David to the south of the city where he checked into Hotel Outram near Sterling Cinema, in Churchgate. The hotel was owned by Mr and Mrs Kriplani.
He changed some dollars with the help of Abdullah, an employee in the hotel, and bought a mobile phone and a SIM card with Bashir’s assistance. Zaki had instructed David never to call anybody in Pakistan from any cellphone in Mumbai; instead he was to communicate with Dr Rana who would relay his message to them. David opened an account in the Hathway cyber café and in a couple of other cafés too, near the hotel, and purchased a few memory sticks from an electronics showroom next to a bookshop close by.
It had been decided that David would use the “ranger1david@yahoo.com” email id, and report all progress to Sajid and Major Iqbal. The reporting mailbox was designated “rare.layman@gmail. com.”
After returning to his room, David took a shower. The main challenge he figured, was to maintain his guise as an American national. Under no circumstances was anyone to realise that he spoke and understood Hindi or Urdu. He knew that he would have to be on his guard every moment of his stay in India. So, he thought, let me play the clueless gora.
Excerpted with permission from The Scout: The Definitive Account of David Headley and the Mumbai Attacks, Shirish Thorat with Sachin Waze, Bloomsbury.