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Mumbai Avengers by S. Hussain soundofheaven.info - soundofheaven.info Where can I download free comic books in pdf format? Where can I download free PDF format novels?. Home · Topics · Documents · Mumbai Avengers by S. Hussain soundofheaven.info Download Mumbai Avengers by S. Hussain soundofheaven.info Recommended. Avengers . Cover Title page. Mumbai Avengers S. Hussain Zaidi with. Gabriel Khan Dedication For Shabana, Farida, Fatema and Narjis — the four points of my life.

But then, it was suddenly announced that Ranjit Raina would be present at the rally, and the local partymen and netas went berserk. Catch the entire review here: Then they ask him or his wife all kinds of questions and get all the details. But despite knowing all this, they were against him. The team decides to avenge the Mumbai terror attacks.

So I ask you again: We have registered a case against them in a Pakistani court. There are charge sheets against these people. Of course we are pressing for justice! Our government is doing its best. When he replied, his voice was bitter.

Go and ask the woman who lost her husband and only child in the attack. Talk to the man who saw his entire family die in front of his eyes, but has survived and is now reduced to a wheelchair existence. Go and talk to the families of all the people who were shattered in one night. Go tell those people what your sense of justice is. Have you even spoken with any of them? I have. How else can we get justice besides doing what we are doing now? In our … quest for progress, what are we doing? We look at the Americans and the Europeans and the lives of all those who live in powerful, developed countries, and all we want is to do what they do, live our lives like them.

We ape them so much that we become empty carbon copies of them. But have I said anything wrong? Osama Bin Laden killed 3, of their people. How did the US reply? They declared war and turned a whole country upside down in search of that one man. No matter what the world said or how they labelled them. Think of Saddam Hussein. He was alive and procuring weapons of mass destruction, which the US felt was a threat to them.

So they sent their entire army in search of those weapons. That is their sense of justice, and everyone knows it. Unfortunately, since the idea had been conceived, the NCTC had met with a whole host of troubles, including jurisdiction and turf issues, and the chief ministers of several states were openly opposed to the idea. There were also a couple of retired military officers and Lt Gen.

Sayed Ali Waris was one of them, earning his place because of his extraordinary services to the country. They had met a number of times to discuss how to combat the constant threat of terrorist attacks, but every time the discussions had been directionless and had not brought any clarity.

In fact, this was the first time the matter had been put to them so succinctly — and so blatantly. Lt Gen. Now we want the NCTC. Since we ape them in every other way, we should do so in this matter too. Our sense of justice should be the same. To kill these three people in whatever way possible. The government of India needs to devise a way.

Think of Israel. What happened after those athletes were killed at the Munich Olympics? They eliminated each and every person responsible. Our citizens should know that whoever attacks us on Indian soil will be brought to book in whatever manner possible. He was joined in this sentiment by the RAW and army chiefs. It was becoming increasingly clear that most of them were completely against the idea.

Let them go scot-free? Should we let our country become a killing field? And as far as Israel is concerned, you know the situation. They have to survive in the Middle East, and to do so, they have to protect themselves. He had expected protest. He tried another tack. The Mossad did that. They went to Argentina and brought Adolf Eichmann back to Israel. He was tried and hung. They will do the unthinkable, the unimaginable, to bring their enemies to justice.

As for us, we keep getting bombed, because we are soft. That was the idea. But he had anticipated less resistance. They knew him, knew he was capable, competent. Few were as skilled as he was at strategizing, and he was a genius at planning missions. They knew that he must have worked on the idea before putting it to them, and that he was perfectly capable of carrying out the mission—to either kill or kidnap the three men—successfully.

But despite knowing all this, they were against him. Except the Opposition party members. This is about our right to protect ourselves.

Frowning, he took it out, and at just that moment the door burst open and a man rushed in. He went over to the home minister and began to whisper frantically in his ear. Involuntarily, he looked over at the general, who was smiling grimly, as he pocketed his cell phone. Everyone looked expectantly at the minister when his lackey stood back, but it was Waris who spoke. In a luxurious five-star jail.

The home minister stared at Waris, unable to say anything. Thirty- five years, and the sentence may be reduced later, or he may even be out on parole sooner. He was the one who caused so much mayhem in Mumbai, and he will still be out there. And our people, our widows and orphans, will still be weeping here. Ordinarily, a raan is supposed to nourish the person who eats it. But the raan that was to be the highlight of this evening was different.

It was designed to bring death. Umavi was a Ghazi, a stalwart of Islam, one who had despatched hundreds of Indian infidels to hell. And at that moment, Umavi was over the moon. Now was the time to celebrate! Only a few minutes earlier, he had struck a deal with a Saudi Arabian organization that had enabled him to pocket half a million dollars.

He could use the money to spread the spectre of mayhem and bloodshed across India: Umavi rubbed his hands in excitement as he paced the room, restless despite his victory and impatient to kickstart the celebrations.

It was also fitting that he had struck the deal here in Istanbul, the home of that dish. The hotel he had checked into, the Marmara Taksim, was one of the biggest and the best, and their food and hospitality were world-famous.

He had ordered several other delicacies as well, but his mouth watered in anticipation of the Royal Marmara Raan, even as his mind salivated at the havoc he would soon wreak.

In a room a couple of floors above his, two men sat listening very hard. That was why they had bugged the room just before Umavi had checked in. Now, as Umavi made the call to room service, the two men heaved a collective sigh of relief.

Things were going according to plan. They knew what they had to do. One of them, a towering hulk of a man with an intimidating scowl and an even more intimidating moustache, clicked open his briefcase. He took out a small box, smaller than his palm, and looked at it suspiciously.

Ray said it would. He gingerly touched a finger to the stuff and tasted it. He took a South-East Asian karambit knife from his suitcase, and tucked the curved edge of its claw into his belt, at the back.

He then surveyed himself in the mirror and nodded, satisfied with his look. Their mission was clear. They had to wait for the room service trolley to arrive, spike the raan while distracting the waiter, and return to their room without attracting attention.

There were two lifts on the floor, one at either end, and he had to take his post at the other one; this was till they figured out which way the waiter would come. They had their cell phones ready in their hands. When one of them spotted room service, he would signal to the other. His colleague had spotted the target.

He pocketed his phone and walked towards the other lift. As he turned the corner, he saw the waiter pushing his trolley forward, a bored expression on his face.

There were several dishes on the trolley, draped with a white cloth, all of them covered with large dome plate covers; the one in the centre was the biggest and therefore the one with the raan, he knew immediately. A few paces behind the waiter, he saw his leader walking quietly, his shoes silent on the carpeted corridor. It was now or never. The waiter saw the man in the yellow suit approaching him and quickly assumed a more pleasant expression.

He manoeuvred the trolley to one side, to let the guest pass. But the man in the yellow suit had other things in mind. He stopped directly in front of the trolley, looking at the waiter, and slowly smiled.

The waiter knew that smile, and knew what was coming. He slowed to a stop too. Where are you going? But let me take a quick look at you. Why cover it clothes. In the process, he completely missed what was happening behind him. The first man had stayed directly behind the waiter during the exchange, out of his line of sight.

Then he replaced the lid, pocketed the box, and moved back behind the waiter. But do visit me when you can. Room The waiter trotted off. Most of the Saudi Arabians who stayed at the hotel seemed to like his physique and lusted after him.

The two men met again in their room upstairs.

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Anyway, what happens when the fellow gets to Room ? His leader grunted again. He took the box out of his pocket and fingered it, looking troubled. Ray gave me twenty grams. I hope this thing works.

One of them lifted the lid of every dish, checked the seals of the water bottles and lifted the white cloth to check the trolley, while the other patted down the waiter. Finally, when they were satisfied, they nodded. Umavi looked at his guards over his shoulder, questioningly, and they nodded to him. He nodded back as they closed the door, and turned his attention to the waiter, who was now unloading the dishes onto the dining table and pointing them out as he did.

Not the raan, the curry. Taste the curry. Slowly, he dipped the spoon into the curry and savoured it. There was no telling what guests might ask for, but this was a first. He chewed it quickly, wanting to get out of the room and away from its eccentric occupant as soon as he could.

Umavi watched the man like a hawk, alert for any strange movement from him. But the waiter seemed fine. He waited until the man had gulped down the whole mouthful and then stood watching him for another minute.

Then, when nothing happened, he waved his hand. Now you can go. Thank you, sir. As the door closed, he rubbed his hands in glee. It was safe. Being a wanted man in several countries had made Umavi deeply cautious. Even in his satisfaction at having brokered a good deal, he refused to let his guard down.

But this time at least, it seemed his fears had been groundless. Sitting down at the table, he grasped the knife and cut himself a big piece of the raan. If he could, he would finish the whole thing; otherwise his guards could eat the rest. He stuffed it into his mouth and started chewing, eyes half closed, savouring the juicy morsel, the pure, unadulterated taste of it, remembering the last time he had raan, and realizing that this was infinitely tastier.

But a part of his mind was still on the meeting he had had that morning.

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As he swallowed the first morsel, a strange signal went off in his brain, but he ignored it. He started chewing on a second mouthful, and suddenly a thought occurred to him. Why would they want to give him half a million dollars when they had never actually met him? He swallowed the second mouthful. The men he had met were from Saudi Arabia, or so they had said. Their paperwork had proven this. They said they were very happy with the work Umavi was doing.

But how had they known about him in the first place? This was another question he had thought of earlier, but this time, it seemed more urgent. As he bit into the third piece of raan, he began to feel a bit breathless. When he swallowed, the food seemed to be stuck in his throat. Then suddenly, he started to choke. Alarm bells were now ringing in his mind: His head was starting to hurt from the lack of oxygen, and a blanket of darkness seemed to be descending in front of his eyes.

He spied the jug of water on the table and lurched forward, trying to grab it. But his body felt heavy and he fell to the floor, clutching at the table. His hand caught the big dish of raan and it fell to the floor beside him, making no noise on the carpeted floor. He realized that the meeting had been a sham, and that the men he had met had done this to him.

But what had they done? His heart was beating wildly and he felt as if someone was strangling him. Those men had killed him! But how? How had they done it? What was happening to him? All at once, he saw a crowd of faces in front of him.

Bleeding, crying, wailing, crippled people. These were the dead, the victims of his actions. But why were they crowding around him now? To escort him to his final destination? Then, through the crowds of the dead, his hallucinating eyes watched as a monstrous giant appeared.

His eyes were red, blazing with anger, and his contorted face was the embodiment of rage. But a black blanket began to envelope his vision. His body stopped twitching. His final, thwarted attempt at breathing failed.

In his suite on the ninth floor of the Marmara Taksim, the great warrior Umavi died, knowing who had killed him but unable to save himself. In the room two floors above, the two men got up. Their highly sensitive bugs had just informed them that Umavi had collapsed. Earlier they had planted a listening device outside the window, hanging by a thin thread not visible to the naked eye. The bug was supposed to relay the slightest of sounds in the room, including a shuffling of papers.

The taller man knelt beneath the AC duct and the shorter man climbed on his shoulders to reach it. He clung to the ceiling for a moment, then forced himself up through the opening. The taller man followed, though it was slightly more difficult for him. Especially since he could hear footsteps approaching. As the smaller man watched, his colleague silently went to the centre table in the living-room area, picked up a bowl of hazelnuts, and emptied more than half of them into his pocket.

Then he brought it down on the dining table. Within a few minutes, they were ready to get out. His guards will be here any moment! He mustered up all his strength and pulled his colleague up until his free hand could reach the ceiling. The tall man heard the footsteps right outside the door, and in one swift motion got into the duct. The door opened and the plastic covering of the air duct closed simultaneously.

The two of them left the same way they had come, as silently as before. His cries brought in the bodyguards, but they knew it was too late. They threatened the waiter, who was trembling in fright, and found out how Umavi had forced him into tasting the raan curry. Unbelieving, one of the guards knelt and cautiously licked a sliver of the raan, then put it into his mouth, chewed and swallowed it. Nothing happened, which left them totally bewildered.

The hotel authorities went into a tizzy upon discovering one of their guests had died. The body was taken to the local hospital, where a reluctant doctor was forced by the two bodyguards into venturing his opinion that the victim might have died from an allergic reaction.

The hotel employee who was with them conveyed this information to his seniors and soon, news of the death and its probable cause had spread, subject to official confirmation.

This was what the two men heard as they stood at the front desk half an hour later, waiting to check out. Umavi had died a natural death, brought on by a severe allergy. The post mortem had confirmed that it was a hazelnut allergy, and the hotel authorities also stated that the bowl of hazelnuts in his room was half empty. The smaller man was chatting with the concierge as he drew up the paperwork for their check-out. Around them, the commotion was rapidly escalating.

The mission was a success. The two men had been tense throughout, as this was a new method of killing for them. In a career that collectively spanned more than four decades, they had faced many combat situations, killed men with guns and knives and tanks and bombs. They were skilled in delivering death, but they had never used such a gentle method—something that they had both been highly sceptical about—as a means of killing.

The innocuous hazelnut powder, which they had tasted themselves, killed their target in less than a minute. The moment the two men exited the building, the bigger man took out his cell phone and dialled a number.

It was answered on the first ring. His colleague signalled for a cab and minutes later, they were on their way to the Ataturk International Airport, where a Turkish Airlines flight would take them to New Delhi. Sitting in his study inside his Delhi home, Lt Gen. There were two names left. The army man smiled to himself.

The odyssey of retribution had begun. Not that people here really cared—it was just another thing to adapt to, in their view. But when the lazy peace of their day was disturbed by the roar of a motorcycle, people stared at the miscreant astride it, some curious, some annoyed.

The rider was massively built, with a bushy beard and eyebrows obscuring most of his face, leaving only a fierce pair of eyes visible.

He weaved his way through the obstacle course of men and machines with obvious expertise, sometimes shouting when a particularly obstinate individual refused to move out of his way. Most of the men he passed assumed he was on his way to the rally and was late. They could have been right. He was on his way to see the man who would be speaking at the rally — to try and stop him.

A few local leaders were slated to stop by and mutter a few words into the microphone to an audience that would probably not even touch But then, it was suddenly announced that Ranjit Raina would be present at the rally, and the local partymen and netas went berserk. From a tiny ground they moved the rally to the Ranjit Avenue Ground, off Ajnala Road, and the anticipated audience swelled to an easy 20, Rumour was that she had instructed him to visit Amritsar to make amends for the grief he had caused the Punjabi populace.

The Sikhs had always been a patriotic race and had contributed vastly to the freedom struggle and post-Independence wars. As they were also onetime NDP loyalists, Mrs Raina knew she could not afford to alienate them; this sort of a remark should not have been made by a potential prime ministerial candidate.

Kang had found out about it just ten minutes ago, which meant that he had very little time, if any at all, to stop Ranjit from receiving that welcome. Kang had just entered his gym for a muscle-blasting workout when he saw his informant Bashir looking at him from the other end of the gym.

The price he demanded was unique: Once he had, Bashir would give him the tip. Even though Kang could easily have defeated Bashir, he knew the information he got in return for losing would be accurate. Today was no different. That was enough for Kang.

He was on his bike in the next ten seconds. He drove crazily through the narrow streets, not caring if he knocked someone down — though he knew that with his training guiding his reflexes, he would never hit anyone. The men in the Special Task Force might not be the most talked about security force in the country, but they were as well trained as any other officers.

It was 10 a. Kang knew that he would leave for the ground with his security any moment now. He revved his bike and drove harder, yelling at people to get out of his way. His voice held a slight note of panic now.

Three corners and six minutes later, he sighted his destination and knew he was almost out of time. Three cars and a few police motorcycles were lined up outside the bungalow and there were security officers milling around. As Kang approached, there was a slight stir of activity, and he realized that Ranjit must have left the bungalow; there he was, walking towards his car. Horn at full blast and shouting at the top of his lungs, Kang drove straight towards the cars.

He saw the alarm in the eyes of the security officers. At once, they raised their assault rifles and pistols — but relaxed upon identifying him. He was one of them. So, for the moment they held their fire, although they remained on alert.

Kang knew this and decided not to push his luck any further. A little distance from the cars, he screeched to a halt and dismounted. Not bothering to keep the bike upright, he let it fall and approached the men, staring down a dozen barrels.

You are not supposed to be part of this set up. What do you want? I have an urgent input and I need to speak to Mr Raina immediately. But I need to see him urgently. What do you mean by life and death?

We have adequate protection in place. What are you afraid of? Kang took a deep breath to steady himself. I have important information that Ranjit sir needs to know. I found out just this morning. Sir, I cannot let him go to that rally. No security is foolproof. Please, you have to trust me! There was a slight commotion behind the chief and suddenly Ranjit Raina walked into the fray, followed closely by five anxious bodyguards. Was it you shouting? Officer, let me tell you something. My life is always in danger.

I know that. These men around me know that. But I refuse to let that scare me. Iqbal Singh Kang. Every time I go to a rally or a meeting or out anywhere, I get concrete information, just like yours, that I will die. Does that mean I should stop going out at all? Before anyone realized what he was doing, he strode forward and stood in front of Ranjit, blocking his way. Dhillon clicked his fingers at his men and six of them came forward, muscles flexing as they holstered their weapons with the intention of hauling him away.

They underestimated him. Kang was a kilo behemoth who stood six and a half feet tall. He was also a professional wrestler with several gold medals under his belt. The six men trying to drag him away found this out the hard way.

Despite their efforts, Kang stood unmoved, yelling all the while for Ranjit to stay. Two more men came forward, and the odds shifted slightly in their favour. Suddenly Raina held up his hand and walked forward. The men paused and stood still, huffing. Can we go now? The three cars and a host of accompanying officers on motorcycles rode off in a cloud of dust. The Ranjit Avenue ground was massive, but the security forces were used to covering large areas. Under normal circumstances, the local cops would have been enough, but since Ranjit Raina himself was going to be present, nothing had been left to chance.

After all, with someone like him, it was impossible to be too careful. All the big guns had been called in: Everyone had arrived to make sure it was safe. Sniper patrol was in place, dog squads had sniffed around, and all paraphernalia had been checked and double checked. There were no loopholes. Not that they could see, at any rate. They were wrong. This was proved within a matter of minutes.

Raina had been delayed by a good twenty-five minutes, and instead of arriving at the podium at exactly He was greeted by a welcoming party, all carrying huge garlands. Raina kept accepting the garlands, letting them accumulate and then removing them and handing them to his aides, as was his wont at every rally.

He greeted the women party workers with a folded namaste, a bright smile on his face throughout. Behind him, Kang seemed to have been lost in the crowd, but he was watching everything like a hawk, his eyes darting here and there. The car park was too far, so that ruled out a car bomb. Then where?

Raina was the target, not the public. His informant had told him that much. Ranjit had moved past the entrance and, till he reached the stage, he would be surrounded by people. That left the makeshift corridor to the stage as the only possibility. The corridor was around sixty yards long, and ended at the steps up to the dais.

It was all too familiar. It was as if the old failure had taken place just now. Three white Ambassadors halted near the VIP portico of the secretariat.

Within minutes, Chief Minister Beant Singh emerged from his second-floor office, dressed in a spotless white kurta pajama, and began moving towards his car.

There was a bit of jostling as his security staff struggled to keep bystanders at bay. Kang, eighteen years younger and brimming with enthusiasm, was waiting outside on his motorbike. He parked the bike outside and was strolling towards the gate when he saw a figure moving purposefully towards the CM. The man was dressed in standard police uniform, but something about his movements seemed wrong. But most importantly, his movements suggested a purpose, a deliberate mission. Suddenly, Kang realized what he was seeing.

The uniformed man was no policeman. The man was only a few feet from the CM, and his hand was moving towards his pocket. He was a human bomb. I bought this book with the hope to read a pacy thriller , cliffhanger one which keeps me sit on the edge but the narration shattered all the attempts. Lines which let any defense enthusiast to glued with the book are missing!

Feb 12, Vishal Kale rated it it was amazing. The book is, from the start to the finish,single-mindedly focussed on only one aspect: There are no subplots, no needless twists and turns, and no mandatory love angle anywhere. That is the beauty of the plot; it is a lovely taut narrative, completely focussed in its core task with no diversions at all.

The concept has been rolled out extremely well, and comes across as totally feasible and practical; that is its main power. The story starts with a presentation by a retired Army General with a proposal to hit back at Pakistan; one which immediately meets with scepticism and mistrust from the political powers that be.

Catch the entire review here: Nov 09, Rahul Mohan rated it really liked it Shelves: The biggest mistake I did was watching the movie Phantom, directed by Kabir Khan which was based on this novel before actually reading the book. As I had a pile of books which I had bought but yet to read, I postponed buying this book every time I spotted it online or in a book store. The Diwali sale on Amazon offered me the Kindle version of this book for a price much cheaper, I could not refuse it.

The book finally made way to my Kindle and I started reading it. The film did not do any justice The biggest mistake I did was watching the movie Phantom, directed by Kabir Khan which was based on this novel before actually reading the book.

The film did not do any justice to the book in content or presentation. What could have been a multi starrer blockbuster ended up as an Indian Rambo version not hitting the mark. The book is about something that every Indian dream of. The concept is something absurd and out of box thinking which none of Indian agencies would dare to think of.

This time need people like Lt. General Waris and his A Team or the Mumbai Avengers who can spill the same terror make people think twice before they strike against our nation anymore. This book is highly recommended for those who love spy thrillers and patriotic heroism. You won't be disappointed.

Jun 20, Janmjay Thakker rated it it was amazing. Reading Mr Hussain Zaidi proves that he is that band of Muslims who proves all the conservatives wrong. Yes, this was the first book of this author i was reading, and guess what before completing it, i ordered other of his book 'dongri to dubai'. Really, he has a lots of courage. So much that he has written on the don dangerous as Dawood Ibrahim.

Coming onto this boo, the book starts with a topic. Hitting directly at the bulls eye, showing the weaknesses of our nation. Especially the beauraracy Reading Mr Hussain Zaidi proves that he is that band of Muslims who proves all the conservatives wrong.

Especially the beauraracy and the political class, which lacks courage to take decision and correct decisions. Its really a great read. Worth read, especially those who love their country a lot.

And it won't take you more than couple of days to read it if you read it at a stretch. Its a very swift writing and an effortless reading.

Well done Hussain Bhai. Mar 24, Sudhir R rated it liked it. It starts of well but losses it's plot the way India lost it's, after the independence, in terms of handling Pakistan from the day one.

Why take an example from America, I think we should use the plethora of Indian intelligence. The only thing is we should have the political will that America had in Osama's case. But then there is this vote bank which has to be taken care It starts of well but losses it's plot the way India lost it's, after the independence, in terms of handling Pakistan from the day one. But then there is this vote bank which has to be taken care of, which America didn't have to.

As a matter of fact Obama won by a fantastic margin. The bastards who are born and live in India still dream of Pakistani rule here in India someday Apr 05, Abhishek rated it liked it.

A filmy thriller, but entertaining nonetheless. A book even though on fiction coming from Zaidi saheb has a set of expectation. He has tried to stay true to them, to the best of his abilities. Story has some really convenient plot twists, which after once or twice starts to dilute the overall plot. If we have the expectation of a really good literature read, we might be disappointed. On the other hand, if the expectation is to read for fun, its much better than many of its peers!

Apr 30, Sadiq Kazi rated it liked it. The characters and the background of the plot is too real, with just the names changed from Lakhvi to Umavi and Headley to Bradley although the author slips at one place, at the beginning! This is strictly movie material as the plot that begins with facts moves on to become too fantastic.

You just end up wishing - if only this could become true. Jul 23, Kamesh Kumar N rated it really liked it Shelves: Fictional plots to kill the terror masterminds does not sound practical in some cases. Overall pace of the story is good and it rides solely on the patriotic feeling of India.

May 29, Sasmit Deshpande rated it really liked it.

Mumbai Avengers by S. Hussain Zaidi.pdf

I find his writing reminiscent of Frederick Fordsyths books. Easy quick read. Thriller with conspiracies involved with intelligence units. Though at times the pace is slow, but you won't lose interest. Rated it 3, but it's more like 3. The more pertinent question - should you read it? It is a page turner, but only because of its plot and not because of the writing style.

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The scenes and characters are typical, coming straight out of spy movies. But still, did I enjoy it? Mainly because the story line is connected to finding justice for the Mumbai attacks and the patriot inside wants to read the story of a highly skilled team of agents brazenly avenging the attacks without regards for their life.

Dec 06, Rajan Mishra rated it it was ok. I am still wondering why Hussain Zaidi decided to write up this book.

Too much dramatic and too easy plot convenience. It is a fantasy story which revolves around a lieutenant general and his alpha team of soldiers. The team decides to avenge the Mumbai terror attacks. The story was okay till this. Once they form a team, everything seems a cakewalk for them. Having read other works of Zaidi, this was an unexpected story from him.

It seems to be written off as a going-to-be-a-Bollywood-film story. This can be read up as a timepass book while travelling. Aug 02, Anil Dhingra rated it liked it Shelves: Zaidi is a good author. Maybe some will find this book also great. However, every incident and plot is too far stretched. Particularly in the second half Pakistan is shown to be full of imbeciles that just a handful of operatives can enter, stay, attack multiple targets and escape by the sea route.

More like a fairy tale. Couldn't wait to finish it. Jan 07, Vartika rated it did not like it Shelves: Hussain Zaidi should really just focus all his energy and time on non fiction works..

Mafia Queens was so powerful because of all the investigative journalism that made it. Feb 28, Jawahar Surti rated it it was ok. I picked up this book with high expectations since I loved the author's style in his non-fiction books. But it proved that a good journalist may not always be a good narrator of fiction. Too filmy, too contrived and too unrealistic. Might make for a masala bollywood movie. But utter disappointment as a fiction! It's a commonly talked about plot in which the author has considered potential counter action against terrorists acting against India.

There is a movie based on this book. Some ashes of WorldCat will not delete ongoing. There have no Videos in your search.

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