March 3, 2001 A Private Airstrip, North of Khartoum, Sudan 03:00 Hours
The heat in the Sudanese desert wasn't like the heat in Sindh. It didn't just sit on you; it tried to inhale you.
In the tall grass bordering the runway, two men lay motionless. One was a veteran of the ISI's S-Wing, a man who had spent a decade setting up cells in Kabul. The other was a RAW operative from the Special Frontier Force, a mountain warfare expert who had once hunted the man lying next to him.
Tonight, they were sharing a thermal scope and a single objective.
"Target confirmed," the RAW agent whispered in Hindi. "Three IL-76 transport planes. No markings. They're loading the raw ore now."
"Wait for the signal," the ISI officer replied in Urdu. "The 'Bureaucrat' wants a surgical strike, not a massacre. We hit the logistics, not the lives."
They were part of the Joint Task Force 'Humsaya'—a unit that didn't exist on any paper in Delhi or Islamabad. Aditya had personally selected them, bypassing the traditional chains of command. He hadn't asked for their loyalty to a flag; he had asked for their loyalty to a future where their children didn't have to lie in the dirt of a foreign country.
The Objective: The Gold Vein
The UAE's extraction of Sudanese gold was the secret engine of their regional influence. By funding local paramilitaries, they kept the mines open and the prices low. This cheap gold flooded the Dubai souks, creating the massive capital reserves they used to bribe Indian politicians and Pakistani Generals.
If the supply line broke in Sudan, the "Sweetness" in the Gulf would turn to salt.
Back in Islamabad: The God View
I sat in the darkened "War Room" of the ISI headquarters, staring at a satellite feed. Beside me, General Mahmood looked like a man watching his own religion be rewritten.
"You've put a RAW agent and an ISI officer in the same foxhole, Sir," Mahmood said, his voice trembling slightly. "If this leaks, the government falls by morning."
"If it works, Mahmood, the 'Government' of the Cartels falls by morning," I replied, my eyes fixed on the screen. "Look at the logistics. Those planes are the only way out for that gold. The UAE hasn't built roads because roads can be taxed. They use air corridors because they think they own the sky."
The Strike: 03:15 Hours
On the screen, a small flash erupted at the edge of the runway.
It wasn't a massive explosion. It was a series of shaped charges designed to do one thing: melt the landing gear and shred the tires of the heavy transport planes.
Within seconds, the three massive aircraft were belly-down on the tarmac, their fuel lines severed, leaking kerosene into the thirsty sand. They weren't destroyed, but they were grounded. And in the Sudanese desert, a grounded plane is a coffin.
"Phase One complete," the radio crackled.
"Move to Phase Two," I ordered. "Upload the manifests."
This was the "Bureaucrat's" true sting. The joint team didn't just blow things up; they hacked into the transport company's local server. They didn't steal the gold; they stole the Digital Audit Trail.
The Fallout: The Dubai Panic
"What did we get?" Mahmood asked.
"The names of every shell company, every 'consultant' in Delhi, and every 'General' in Rawalpindi who has been receiving a percentage of this specific gold vein," I said, a cold smile touching my lips.
I turned to Shaukat Aziz, who was waiting in the corner with a laptop.
"Shaukat, the gold prices in the Dubai spot market will start to flutter the moment these planes don't take off. When they do, I want you to leak these manifests to the Financial Action Task Force (FATF) and the International Gold Council."
"Under what name, Sir?"
"Under the name of a 'Whistleblower from the Dubai Dredging Company,'" I said. "Let them eat their own."
The Realization
I walked to the window of the War Room. The sun was beginning to rise over Islamabad.
"For fifty years, India and Pakistan have been the 'muscle' for other people's interests," I said to the room. "We fought their proxy wars. we took their 'aid' to kill each other. But tonight, for the first time, the muscle and the brain worked together."
I looked at the satellite feed one last time. The joint unit was already vanishing into the desert, heading for a safe house managed by a local Sudanese group I had "audited" into my service.
"The UAE choke point just tightened," I whispered. "And the 'Devil in the Turban' and the 'Devil in the Saffron' are about to find out that their paychecks have been cancelled."
I picked up the hotline.
"Vajpayee-ji," I said when he answered. "The 'Sanskriti Express' just got a new bodyguard. The gold supply is cut. Now... let's talk about the 'Silk Road' convoy."
Author's Note: The Transnational Pivot Aditya has successfully shifted the battlefield from the borders of Kashmir to the heart of the Global South's resource war. By using a joint RAW-ISI team, he creates a "Shared Secret" that binds the two intelligence agencies together—not through love, but through the ultimate bond: Mutual Complicity.