Reprisal

by Mark David Abbott

  “How’s it going?”

  Ankit wiped his lips with the back of his hand and set the glass down.

  “It’s okay. We’ve established a routine. The men have somewhere to rest.” He shrugged. “Not much more we can do at the moment.”

  “Is he in?”

  “Upstairs.” Ankit raised his eyebrows toward the floor above. He picked up his glass again and lowered his voice. “Best place for him.”

  Rajiv gave a half smile and nodded slowly. He sipped his chai as Ankit watched, waiting for him to say something. Rajiv frowned and looked down at the floor.

  “Look, it may be nothing, and I don’t want to waste your time.”

  “Waste my time?” Ankit raised an eyebrow, waving his hand around the house. “What do you think all this is? I have eleven men on permanent standby, protecting a single man from a vague unknown threat. If you know anything, at least give me something to work on. Otherwise, we should all go home.”

  “Yes.” Rajiv stood up and walked over to the window. looking at the men sitting outside. Turning back, he said, “Captain...”

  “Ankit.”

  “Ankit, there are... rumors on the grapevine that the man Patil is worried about is actually here in Bangalore.”

  “Rumors?”

  Rajiv hesitated. “Some of my informants.”

  Ankit nodded slowly. “So, it’s not just a figment of,”—he nodded toward the ceiling—“his imagination.”

  “It could still be, but it’s better to be safe than sorry.”

  “Indeed.” Ankit leaned his elbows on the table. “How reliable are these... informants?”

  Rajiv walked back to the chair and sat down.

  “As reliable as anyone who would sell out colleagues for money.”

  “Hmmm.” Ankit frowned. “Any other information?”

  Rajiv thought for a moment. “No.”

  Ankit leaned back in his chair and stared at Rajiv.

  “Well, it shouldn’t be too hard if he is, in fact, here. He’s not Indian, so we just need to keep all foreigners away from Patil.”

  “In theory, yes.”

  “Good. Simple.”

  “If I hear anything else, I’ll be in touch.” Rajiv stood up.

  “Thank you, Rajiv.” Ankit stood and walked around the table. “I’ll walk you out.”

  Rajiv walked toward the door but stopped as Ankit asked, “Why would a foreigner go to all the trouble of coming to India to harm Patil? In fact, having worked for,”—he again nodded toward the ceiling and lowered his voice—“him for a while, I’m surprised there isn’t a queue of our own people lining up to get rid of him.”

  “Yes.” Rajiv chuckled. “And many others like him. Our glorious leaders.”

  “Things will be different when we’re running the country.” Ankit put a hand on Rajiv’s shoulder and winked.

  “That’s a job I’d never want.” Rajiv grinned.

  “No, maybe you’re right. Come...” He opened the door and guided Rajiv out. They stepped out into the sunshine and walked toward the front gate. Rajiv looked toward Surya’s bodyguards.

  “What are they like?”

  “Useless,” Ankit scoffed. “They share a brain cell between them and just get in the way.” He drew closer to Rajiv and muttered, “And we daren’t leave any of our equipment near them.”

  “The one on the right is well known to us. A fine upstanding citizen.” He winked at Ankit. “I wouldn’t complain if you used him as a human shield.”

  Ankit burst into laughter, causing the men to turn and look. He clapped Rajiv on the back and held out his hand.

  “Thank you for the advice.”

  Rajiv shook his hand, again marveling at the strength of Ankit’s grip.

  “Good luck, Ankit. Stay safe.”

  Rajiv stepped out the gate and waved to his driver. As the car pulled up in front of him, he turned and looked back at the house. He hoped he had done the right thing.

  55

  Pournima hadn’t hesitated in offering John a place to stay, even insisting he take the single bedroom. John had refused, telling her he would be happy to sleep on the floor in the living room. Besides, as he explained, he would come and go at odd hours, and the less he disturbed the girls, the better.

  They had talked for a couple of hours, John explaining what he had been doing since leaving India the first time. He left out most of the gory details until he got to the story of what happened in Oman. There he told her why he was back, why he was hunting down Surya Patil. After hearing John’s story, Pournima agreed he was doing the right thing.

  “People like him think they can do anything to people like us, Mr. John. They have so much power, they think they are untouchable. There will never be any justice for men like him.” She paused as she watched Geetanjali playing on the floor. “What happened to his son and his friends...” She turned to look at John. “I know that was you. It was right, Mr. John. It had to be done.” Pournima turned to face her husband’s photo. “I know Sanjay will have appreciated what you did.” Turning back to John, she continued, “And now, you must finish the job. Otherwise, you will never be able to live in peace.”

  “Thank you, Pournima.” John smiled sadly. He hadn’t wanted to get her involved, but he was left with little choice.

  “I will help you, Mr. John, however I can. My Sanjay would have wanted it.”

  John took his leave once Saumya returned home, and Pournima busied herself preparing dinner for the two girls.

  Now, as he climbed back into his car, he thought about how, despite the horrible things that had happened to him—the deaths, the unnecessary pain—there were always good people around when he needed them most.

  Starting the engine, he pulled out into the heavy evening traffic. Now, he needed to sort the car out.

  Heading away from the Laxminagar Slum, he drove with no fixed direction. He was looking for a more middle-class area, somewhere with a higher ratio of private car ownership. He took a few random turns until he saw what looked like a housing sub-division built behind a public park. Turning off the main road onto the side street, he drove slowly, scanning the properties, ignoring the small apartment complexes, which usually had a night watchman and sometimes, even a security camera. An individual house might be easier, although he was worried about dogs. Ideally, what he needed was a car parked on the street, the same make and color. Simple. John grinned, feeling better after his chat with Pournima. He had got this far, no point in giving up yet.

  He crisscrossed the streets of the sub-division but found nothing suitable, so he headed to the next suburb. It was two hours later, tired and fed up, when he finally found what he was looking for. Persistence always paid off. A white Hyundai hatchback was parked on the street. The bonus, it was parked between streetlights. John drove to the end of the street and pulled over. He looked at his watch. It was still too early, too many people around. He would need to wait. Winding the windows down slightly, he reclined his seat and closed his eyes. Might as well get some rest while he could.

  56

  Waking with a start, John sat up and looked around, his heart racing, not sure where he was or what had woken him. Rubbing his eyes, he looked at the dimly lit suburban street as the sleep left him, remembering why he was there. He also remembered what had woken him. Shit! He had been dreaming—about Adriana.

  They were sitting in a cafe in Lisbon, watching people stroll past on the cobblestone streets. Adriana sat close, resting her head on his shoulder as the sun filtered through the leaves of the jacaranda trees lining the footpath. Two young parents pushed their child past in a pushchair, and a lady with her hair tied in a scarf attempted to sell roses to the diners at each table. They heard the screech of tires as a black Mercedes van pulled up to the curb in front of them, and the side door slid open. Six men dressed in black, their faces hidden by balaclavas, jumped out and surrounded John and Adriana’s table. John pulled Adriana behind him as one by one, they removed their balaclavas and
grinned at him. He recognized them all—Surya, Fatty, Bones, Swami, Hassan, and Bogdan—men he had killed. As one, they each drew a handgun and pointed it at John’s head. It was Adriana’s scream that had woken him.

  In contrast, the street John was parked on was quiet, nothing moving, not a sound. He took a couple of breaths and got his breathing and heart rate under control, then checked his watch; just after one a.m. He had been asleep for hours. That explained his sweat-soaked shirt and raging thirst. He reached over to the passenger seat and picked up the plastic water bottle. Opening it, he took a long gulp, then checked his mirrors. The street was still empty, and most of the house lights were off. Now was as good a time as any. Draining the bottle, he tossed it into the passenger footwell, then made sure the interior light was set to off before opening the door. Stepping out, he eased the door closed and walked around to the front of his car, removing a pocketknife from his cargo pants before squatting down. He selected the screwdriver and unfastened the front plates, then did the same at the back. Taking one more look around, he stepped onto the footpath and slowly walked back down the street to the white Hyundai, the number plates held close to his body in case anyone saw him.

  Reaching the other car, he squatted down and removed the plates replacing them with his own. He figured most people wouldn’t even realize their plates had been changed, so he would be safe for a while. He did the same at the rear, then quickly walked back to his own car. He paused as a dog at the end of the street barked, but it quickly lost interest and went back to sleep. John squatted down and affixed the replacement plates to his vehicle, then climbed back into his car.

  Starting the engine, he pulled quietly out onto the street, glancing in his mirror to see if anyone had seen him. The street remained quiet. He breathed a sigh of relief. If the police saw the car and ran the plates, the registration would match a white Hyundai.

  John allowed himself to smile. He had a place to stay and, for now, his transport was sorted. For a day that had started badly, it had ended well.

  57

  The loudspeaker from the mosque in the slum woke John. He cursed and blinked his eyes open, turning his wrist to look at the luminous hands on his G-Shock; four thirty a.m. He had only been asleep for two hours. He cursed again and turned onto his side. Who in their right mind gets up at four thirty a.m. to pray? Yet another reason religion wasn’t for John. He closed his eyes, and within minutes was fast asleep again.

  At six, he was woken again by the call for the second prayer of the day. Giving up on sleep, he removed the single sheet that covered him and sat up. Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, he checked his watch. Pournima would be up in half an hour to get the girls ready for school. It would be better if the girls didn’t see him sleeping on a mattress on the living room floor.

  After scrubbing himself off with a bucket of water in the tiny bathroom, he got dressed and rolled up the bedding, stowing it in a corner beside the television. He heard sounds from the bedroom, and after a little while, Pournima emerged, her hair piled up in an untidy bun on top of her head. She seemed surprised to see him up already but smiled.

  “Good morning, Mr. John. Would you like some coffee?”

  “Good morning. Yes, thank you.” He needed it.

  John, Pournima, and two sleepy girls breakfasted on fresh steamed idlies and mint chutney, washed down with filter coffee served in small stainless-steel tumblers. It was simple, delicious food, served with love. John’s heart melted when he thought how often people who have so little can be so generous, while those who have everything, people like Patil, were so evil.

  Breakfast over, John watched the little girls head out the door to school, dwarfed by their huge backpacks filled with schoolbooks. Education was so valued in India. At that moment, he vowed, whatever happened to him, he would always ensure the girls’ education would be taken care of.

  Later, John drove for an hour to a shopping mall on the other side of Bangalore. He had a few things to get and wanted to ensure neither Rajiv nor any of his men would spot him.

  John picked up some new clothes, his cargo pants needed a change, then purchased a new dress for each of the girls and a sari and matching blouse for Pournima. It was the least he could do, considering the kindness she had shown him. Finally, he purchased a box of samosas, something for the girls to snack on when they returned from school, then headed back to Pournima’s home. He’d had little sleep and needed to rest before preparing for the evening.

  58

  This time, John didn’t risk parking close to the hotel and hadn’t wanted to take a taxi or rickshaw from the slum in case the driver remembered him later. Instead, he parked in a residential area three blocks away, then hailed a rickshaw to take him to the Vijaya Palace. He checked his watch; seven thirty—perfect.

  Ramesh, the bartender, had let it slip that Maadhavi Rao habitually visited the bar at seven p.m. every evening. It sounded to John like she may have a drinking problem, but he wasn’t one to judge. He just wanted access to Patil. He would arrive in five minutes, and by then, Maadhavi would be one or two drinks down and should be relaxed. John adjusted his shirt and brushed some dust off his pant leg. The new clothes he had bought earlier in the day—a smart shirt and pants and a pair of leather shoes—were more in keeping with the interior of a five-star hotel, rather than his hiking boots and cargo pants.

  The rickshaw pulled up in the porte cochere of the hotel, and the tall mustachioed doorman made to shoo the driver away until he spotted John sitting in the back. A lot of hotels didn’t like rickshaws entering their grounds, a vehicular snobbery, but John didn’t want to use Uber or any other form of taxi, rickshaws the only form of public transport unlikely to have any GPS tracking. The less anyone knew of his movements, the better.

  John paid the rickshaw wallah and stepped out. The doorman welcomed him like a long-lost friend, despite his transport, and guided him to the metal detector. John went through, retrieved his wallet and keys from the scanner, and entered the hotel lobby. The flower arrangement had changed, a three-tier display of white orchids filling the lobby with the sweet scent of vanilla.

  John returned the greeting from the hotel reception staff and walked past them to the bar, pausing at the entrance and quickly scanning the room. Like most hotel bars, it wasn’t exactly buzzing, but that suited John. A couple of tables were occupied, soft jazz was playing in the background, and two-thirds of the way along the bar, a woman sat alone, wearing an expensive sari, a thick cascade of glossy dark brown hair falling across her shoulders. As John approached the bar, he glimpsed long, manicured fingers and a fine gold watch on a slim wrist.

  He sat three stools away from her and smiled at Ramesh.

  “Good evening, Ramesh, how are you?”

  “Welcome back, Sir. I’m fine, thank you.” Ramesh smiled and rested both hands on the bar. “What can I get you, Sir?”

  “A Botanist and tonic, please.”

  “Of course, Sir, lots of ice, a slice of orange, and a copa glass.”

  John grinned. “You remembered.” John caught Maadhavi’s eye, reflected in the mirror behind the bar, and turned to her, smiling.

  “I’m very particular about my drinks.”

  Maadhavi smiled politely but said nothing, returning her attention to the half-full martini glass in front of her.

  John made himself comfortable, reaching for a handful of nuts from the silver bowl, and popped them in his mouth—salted almonds today. Ramesh returned with his drink, and John took a sip.

  “Perfect, thank you.” He gave Ramesh a thumbs up, and the barman grinned with satisfaction.

  John took out his phone and pretended to study it. He had no plan, his only goal for the evening to get closer to Maadhavi Rao, and hopefully, through her, get close to Patil, bypassing his security. He picked a news site and idly scrolled, pretending to read but all the while, thinking of his next move. He didn’t want to frighten her off or appear as if he was trying to pick her up.

  He took a lon
g sip of his drink. He would probably need a few more before he relaxed. He was so out of the “chatting up women in a bar” scene, he didn’t know what to say. It had been so long since he first met Charlotte, and with Adriana, things had happened so naturally, he hadn’t had to think about it.

  He risked a quick glance in the mirror. Maadhavi was still staring at her drink, tracing a pattern in the condensation on the glass with a long elegant finger, deep in thought. She was a very attractive woman—great bone structure, beautifully groomed—but she didn’t look happy. She seemed filled with deep sadness as if something was really wrong with her world. Still, it wasn’t his problem. She was a means to an end. His drink almost finished, he raised a hand to get Ramesh’s attention.

  “Same again, please, Ramesh. You made it perfectly.” John smiled. “Oh, and please have one yourself.”

  John caught Maadhavi watching him in the mirror, and she quickly looked away. Turning toward her, he said, “Excuse me.”

  She turned her head toward him.

  “Would you like another one of those?” John pointed to her almost finished martini. She studied him for a moment, then nodded.

  “Thank you, that’s kind of you.”

  “My pleasure.”

  John nodded to Ramesh, who had been watching the exchange. He didn’t say anymore to Maadhavi or even look in her direction. He didn’t want her to think there were any strings attached to the drink. Instead, he went back to studying his phone while Ramesh prepared the drinks.

  Ramesh slid a fresh gin and tonic in front of him, and John waited until he placed the martini before Maadhavi before picking up his glass. He nodded thanks to Ramesh, then turned toward Maadhavi. Raising the glass in front of him he gave what he thought to be a disarming smile.

  “Cheers.”

  “Cheers. Thank you.” She smiled but only with her mouth, her eyes still sad.