The Phoenix

by Bilal Siddiqi

  The Indian flag fluttered proudly in the wind. People bowed their heads in respect. The actor’s voice from the stage broke the two-minute silence. Aryaman, still sore from his recent confrontation with Eymen, limped towards the metal detector frames that were manned by police personnel, who stood between him and the swelling crowd that he was going to infect with a deadly virus.

  Aryaman’s eyes met those of a policeman. They nodded to each other, and Aryaman put on his hoodie. The policeman stepped back and turned off the metal detector as Aryaman went through. Aryaman read the policeman’s name as he moved past: Sanjay Rane.

  Although he had switched off the security system to allow Aryaman to pass, Rane went slightly against Eymen’s plan and frisked Aryaman when he saw that a fellow constable was casually looking over at him. Aryaman felt Rane’s hand go over the concealed vest. The frisking done, Rane cleared Aryaman and gently pushed him in towards the venue.

  Aryaman moved past the crowd, reluctantly walking towards the centre, where he was supposed to detonate the bioweapon. His unsure steps were being watched through a sniper scope by Eymen, who had perched himself atop a nearby terrace.

  Eymen’s instructions could be clearly heard through the earpiece that Aryaman was wearing: ‘Any funny business and a bullet ends you on the spot. And I don’t have to tell you what happens to your family after that.’

  Aryaman didn’t bother responding. He was going to do it. There were no two ways about that. He stepped on a poster that had the faces of the deceased printed on it with the words ‘Gone But Not Forgotten’, and he pushed past a group of children as he reached the centre.

  A middle-aged woman looked at him disapprovingly. She saw his bruised face, his glassy eyes, his salt-and-pepper stubble and his dishevelled, greying hair. And then she witnessed something she couldn’t decipher until it was too late. She watched him raise the detonator in his trembling right hand, drop to his knees and press the button. She heard a crack and saw fumes emanating from the man’s torso. Fumes that turned to thick and pungent smoke. She cried out, but it was too late. The damage had been done. Tears ran down Aryaman’s face. He had set the attack in motion.

  There was mayhem—the kind Aryaman had rarely witnessed. People began to scream and run haphazardly. The actor, who until a few moments ago had been talking about how Mumbai had risen like a phoenix from the ashes after the 26/11 attacks, was now being whisked away by security personnel into an armoured car. Aryaman was jostled and pushed to the ground by the frenzied crowd. He lay on his back as smoke emanated from the weapon attached to his body.

  A security team of four, all in hazmat suits, rushed towards him. They handcuffed and dragged him along the ground towards an armoured vehicle. Eymen, from his vantage point, alerted Asra, who was keeping a watch on Ehsaan.

  ‘The job’s done,’ Eymen said. He had Aryaman in the crosshairs of his sniper rifle.

  Asra’s voice crackled through his earpiece. ‘Good. Shoot him dead.’

  ‘No,’ Eymen said. ‘That defeats the purpose of having him do it. He must seem like a lone wolf.’

  ‘That’s what I told Ashraf,’ Asra said, a tinge of worry in her voice. ‘But this is a last-minute development. Ashraf instructed us to kill him after he sets the virus off. Said something about Aryaman being a major hindrance if he is alive. He didn’t say more but it seemed personal.’

  ‘But . . .’ Eymen seemed to hesitate.

  ‘Do it, Eymen! Ashraf is waiting at the exit point!’

  Eymen pulled the trigger . . .

  Aryaman felt the bullet hit him in the chest. His whole body recoiled in pain.

  The guards spoke into their walkie-talkies and alerted their cohorts, sending them in search of the sniper.

  The sniper, however, had by now donned a different disguise. Dressed as a pizza delivery-boy, Eymen was already out of the building, on his bike, en route to the rendezvous point decided by Ashraf. He called Asra again.

  ‘On my way to Ashraf. See you there. Aryaman’s dead.’

  Asra broke the news to Ehsaan, who had already accepted defeat. He knew there was no point waiting for a miracle. His fate had been sealed the minute Jyoti was killed.

  ‘How’s this for news, Mr Journalist.’ Asra smiled. ‘“Indian Spy Turned Terrorist Conducts Deadly Bioterror Attack on His Country”; or: “Lone Wolf Turns Traitor”. Hell, I could do this all day.’

  Ehsaan spat blood at her. ‘You will pay for this.’

  Asra smirked and kneeled next to him. ‘How? I would really like to know. Aryaman is dead. His wife is dead. Soon, the virus will spread through the city and then across the country. Everyone here is going to be dead. How will I pay for this?’

  Ehsaan closed his tear-filled eyes.

  ‘Oh,’ she continued. ‘I almost forgot. Aryaman’s kid and mother are going to die too. He carried out the attack and bought them just a few more days. The virus will reach them at some point, I believe. What a sad end for your friend Jyoti and her family. Her husband is always going to go down as the man who attacked his country. Not one who laid down his life for it.’

  Asra got to her feet and looked at her watch.

  ‘Anyway,’ she sighed. ‘It was nice knowing you.’

  Ehsaan saw her raise her pistol to his temple. He shut his eyes and heard the gunshot.

  A moment later, Ehsaan, his eyes tightly shut, realized he was still alive. He opened his eyes and saw that Asra’s pistol was on the floor and a stream of blood was gushing out of her hand.

  Randheer was running towards her, firing away. She looked for cover, rushed towards the electricity meter, turned off the lights in the warehouse and, using the darkness to her advantage, made her way to her vehicle parked outside. Randheer couldn’t find her. In any case, his first instinct was to run to Ehsaan.

  ‘They . . . They killed Aryaman,’ Ehsaan said as Randheer untied him.

  Randheer, still on the lookout for Asra, didn’t acknowledge him. And Asra had already driven off, her car kicking up a cloud of dust.

  ‘There is backup arriving for you,’ Randheer told Ehsaan, before hopping on to his motorbike and setting off after Asra.

  As Randheer sped to catch up with Asra, he put on his earpiece and called his men in Dehradun. At that point, Asra’s vehicle swerved violently—it hit a biker and sent him flying into a wall. It was a serious crash, but for Randheer, who thought that the biker would survive in all probability, catching Asra was the priority.

  Randheer’s men in Dehradun had received their orders, but they hadn’t yet responded. Randheer began to panic. He sped through the streets of Mumbai. His friend’s family was in danger, and it seemed like he had slipped up. He needed his men to save Aryaman’s family, or else he would never forgive himself.

  Dehradun

  The two kidnappers had taken their masks off. Their grimy, bearded faces were exactly what Aarti had imagined them to be like. But they were a lot younger than she had expected. They were getting their instructions from Ashraf Asif, and they drew perverse pleasure from turning on the television and showing Aryaman’s family the news as it played out. Aryaman’s face was plastered over all the news channels, with the word ‘terrorist’ below it.

  One of the news anchors yelled out an account of how the ‘terrorist’ was instantly shot dead by the police before he could conduct his second attack, which he apparently wanted to.

  ‘That cannot be my son,’ Aarti said, choking up. ‘It can’t. He can’t . . . He can’t do something as despicable as this.’

  Aditya’s face was red, and his eyes were swollen from all the crying. ‘I want to . . . I want to die too.’

  Aarti looked helplessly at her grandson. One of the kidnappers walked over to him and said with a grin, ‘You will.’

  The next moment, the door burst open. It was all over in a flash. Randheer’s men were quick to act. A swift volley of bullets ended the kidnappers’ lives in no time. Aarti, Aditya and the Aroras all screamed when they saw the blood, bits of bone
s and brains splattered all over the walls. Chor, who had been tied up, began to bark loudly.

  ‘We’re with Randheer,’ one of the men clarified as he untied the hostages. ‘Come on, we will drive you to a safe place. Sorry we didn’t make it earlier.’

  Mrs Arora had fainted. Aditya was taken away to be cleaned. There was blood—of the kidnappers—on his cartoon-print T-shirt. Aarti watched the dead bodies in stoic silence.

  ‘Ma’am?’

  One of Randheer’s men was offering her water. She thanked him and emptied the bottle.

  ‘They killed my son,’ she said.

  Randheer’s men said nothing. One of them picked up the phone and called Randheer. No answer. He left a voice message: ‘We have the family with us. Safe and secure.’

  Mumbai

  Asra pulled up outside the Mumbai Central train station and dashed in. Randheer followed her and began looking for her in what could easily have been one of the world’s most crowded settings.

  Asra had put her burqa on and was marching hurriedly towards the ladies’ compartment of a train bound for Gujarat. She checked her phone for a message from Eymen, who was on the train, as Ashraf had planned. Ashraf himself was already on a plane to Gujarat; he would be waiting for them there, arranging their passage out of India. His plan wasn’t the best, but it was the most feasible: an exit route via the sea, from the port of Gujarat.

  As he ran through the swarm of people, Randheer’s eyes chanced upon a trail of blood on the floor. It led towards the Gujarat-bound train that had just started moving. He decided to take the chance and sprinted after the moving train, jumping on board.

  He pressed a button on his earpiece, made a call to Bipin Sharma and began to move cautiously through the juddering compartments.

  ‘Sir,’ he said. ‘I’m on a train going towards Gujarat. The assailants are on board, I believe. I think they are going to leave the country via the Gujarat port. I suggest you alert those security agencies.’

  ‘I will make sure they don’t get that far,’ Sharma said.

  The armoured vehicle carrying Aryaman was speeding towards the Mumbai safe house that Bipin Sharma had arranged for the operation. The plan was outrageous, but so far it had worked. Aryaman’s ‘death’ had never been a part of it, but they had taken it in their stride and improvised. It was all for the best, Aryaman thought.

  He sat up in the vehicle with the help of the policemen. The one who was at the security gate of the memorial event, Sanjay Rane, was also here. He held up the vials that contained the actual bioweapon. Aryaman pulled his bulletproof vest off and saw the slug lodged in it with a wry smile.

  ‘Sir,’ the cop driving the vehicle said, pointing at his GPS navigator. ‘We have got a new location from Randheer Sir. We have been instructed to go down that route.’

  Aryaman leaned forward and watched the blip that indicated Randheer’s location.

  ‘Hurry,’ he said. ‘It’s a moving train!’

  The cop nodded. ‘We will have to follow it by getting on the tracks. There’s a railway yard up ahead. I will take the vehicle through that.’

  Aryaman gave him the go-ahead. The other cops, who weren’t in on the plan, looked astounded. The car travelled at great speed towards the train.

  ‘Sir,’ one of the cops addressed Aryaman. ‘So the gas that you set off there wasn’t the virus?’

  Aryaman sighed. He looked at Sanjay Rane, who took this as his cue to offer an answer.

  ‘Basically,’ Rane said, ‘there was a lady who planned this attack. She tried to bribe me to allow Aryaman Sir into the venue and to overlook the fact that he had the vest attached to him. I agreed and took the money. But I reported it to my seniors immediately, who then put me on to a certain Randheer Sir. Randheer Sir told me to let Aryaman Sir through but discreetly pass on to him the vials with a harmless liquid. This was part of their larger plan to nab the terrorists. When he came up to me, we exchanged the vials, so he could detonate the right ones.’

  ‘I had a bug on me,’ Aryaman said. ‘I wore it when I went to meet this Eymen guy, so that Randheer and Mr Sharma could listen in and know my every move. That enabled them to arrange for the other vials in the nick of time. So the gas that we detonated isn’t really harmful, but the terrorists think their job is done. And that I’m dead. They’ll be in for a surprise, for sure.’

  Aryaman picked up a carrying case and placed the vials of the actual virus into it. When he locked it, he felt a sense of relief. He had been updated by Sharma about his family’s safety too. Now all that was left to do was to catch the bastards behind this and bring them to book.

  ‘Sir,’ the driver turned to Aryaman. ‘We have the train in sight. Hold on, it’s going to be a bumpy ride!’

  Aryaman made a call to Randheer. After the third ring, he answered. His voice was low, as he was carefully scanning the passengers, hoping to find Eymen and Asra.

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘We are catching up with the train, Randheer. Why don’t you make it stop? There’s a railway yard up ahead. We will evacuate the civilians and find Asra and Eymen.’

  ‘Sounds like a plan,’ Randheer said and proceeded towards the train driver’s cabin. ‘Close in once I slow the train down.’

  Aryaman loaded his pistol and readied himself for what was to follow.

  The train came to a halt. The passengers peered through their windows to see what was happening. Aryaman and the policemen got out of their vehicle.

  ‘Get the civilians out of here,’ Aryaman said to the cops. ‘Get them out of the premises. We can’t risk them being caught in the crossfire between us and the terrorists.’

  Aryaman tiptoed towards the train. He saw Randheer and motioned for him to enter from up ahead. The cops began to evacuate the passengers. But Eymen and Asra were nowhere to be seen.

  ‘Shoot at sight,’ Aryaman said. ‘No point taking them prisoners.’

  Aryaman and Randheer communicated through their earpieces as they searched the train. The cops had cleared out most of the civilians, many of whom were noisy and cranky and cursed the ‘government’.

  ‘No,’ Randheer responded to Aryaman’s order. ‘We must bring them in if we can. Don’t make this personal yet, Aryaman. I know they almost killed your family and you. But the intelligence we could extract out of them is invaluable.’

  Suddenly, all the lights on the train went out.

  ‘Fuck,’ Aryaman said. ‘That must be them!’

  A volley of bullets was sprayed towards Randheer. He dropped to the ground and rolled out of the train. He didn’t know whether it was Eymen or Asra, but he was pretty certain that going in blind would lead to death.

  On hearing the gunshots, Aryaman climbed to the top of a carriage to get a better view. He saw that the policemen were having a tough time keeping the crowd calm, but they seemed in control.

  Randheer spotted Asra jumping out of the train and rushing towards the perimeter wall. He pursued her, vaulting over the wall after her and leaping across the rooftops of some rickety sheds.

  Back in the yard, Aryaman saw Eymen creeping towards the police vehicle. But before Aryaman could alert anyone, Eymen pulled his gun out and shot the driver dead. Aryaman yelled in horror.

  Eymen pulled the body out of the car and got into the driver’s seat. He set off in the direction Asra had gone in. Aryaman leapt towards the roof of the car and landed on its top. Eymen started swerving the car to propel Aryaman off the roof. But Aryaman held on tight, straining every sinew in his arms. Finally, Aryaman saw his chance and opened the door. He swung into the car, landing a kick on Eymen’s jaw.

  The vehicle careered out of control and rammed into a parked train carriage. Shards of glass and metal flew through the car after the collision, injuring both Eymen and Aryaman. A sharp metal rod had pierced Aryaman’s thigh. He bellowed in pain. But Eymen had suffered only minor cuts and gashes from the broken glass.

  Aryaman hobbled out and climbed into the back of the armoured vehicle. Eymen follow
ed him and kicked the rod sticking out of Aryaman’s thigh, making him growl in agony.

  Aryaman moved away from Eymen and, standing on one leg, tugged the rod out of his thigh. Eymen closed the door of the vehicle.

  ‘Still got fight left in you, Aryaman?’

  Eymen slammed him against the metal wall. ‘By turning up here, you have infected all the civilians in that train. And me, too. But I don’t care. I will kill you before I die. Besides, that pretty girl will hand me the antidote once you aren’t around to protect her.’

  Eymen began to strangle Aryaman, who spluttered and grinned until Eymen released his hold. Aryaman fell to his knees and picked up the case with the vials containing the virus.

  ‘The real gas was never detonated.’ Aryaman smiled, holding up the vials.

  Eymen was stunned.

  ‘We pulled wool over your eyes,’ Aryaman said, his face soaked in blood. ‘All that you did was in vain. That policeman you shot is our only real casualty. And for his death, I will make you pay.’

  Aryaman smashed the rod on Eymen’s temple.

  ‘Maybe if you had conducted the attack yourself, you might have pulled this off. But you chickened out. And that’s where you failed,’ Aryaman spat out.

  He began to pummel Eymen mercilessly. Doubling up to save himself, Eymen managed to wriggle free of Aryaman’s grip at one point and got his hand on one of the vials.

  ‘I will take you with me, Aryaman,’ he said, smashing the vial against the door panel.

  The vial cracked open and there was smoke as soon as the liquid came in contact with the air. Eymen was already on the verge of fainting.