The Phoenix

by Bilal Siddiqi

  Aryaman grabbed the hazmat suit he had worn earlier and kicked the door open. Though Eymen tried to grapple with him and hold him in, Aryaman managed to escape, slamming the door shut on Eymen.

  Coughing hoarsely, Aryaman staggered towards the sheds.

  At a distance, he saw a bunch of cops. By now, he had the hazmat suit on. It was stained with his blood. With much difficulty, he began to hobble towards the cops. Then he fell to his knees and crawled towards them. He saw Asra’s lifeless body on the ground. But he wasn’t prepared for what he saw when the cops moved out of his way and helped him up.

  Randheer was dead. A bullet through his forehead.

  Aryaman couldn’t hold back tears. Besides him, Randheer had been the only surviving member of the Phoenix 5. He cried uncontrollably, holding his friend’s hand. The cops stood away. Sharma arrived at the scene and watched on, silently, with tearful eyes.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he muttered. ‘I . . . I’m sorry.’

  Aryaman passed out. The virus was doing its job.

  20

  Five weeks later . . .

  It felt like he was back to where he didn’t belong. The dreaded Quarry in Lakshadweep. He didn’t have the strength to open his eyes. He felt hollow, almost as though his insides were non-existent. His muscles didn’t comply, despite his greatest efforts to move them. This is what death felt like, he thought. But he wasn’t quite dead yet. Maybe—another thought occurred—he should have been dead. End this madness once and for all. His wife, his mentor, his friends . . . All of them . . . Randheer too . . . All dead. And he was here, stuck in a limbo, trying to fight his way out.

  ‘He’s awake.’

  Aryaman heard a woman’s voice. It was Avantika.

  He used every last ounce of his strength to lift his head from the pillow and open his eyes. Avantika stood alert before him, almost leaning in, her hands pressed against a sheet of toughened glass. Aryaman looked around. He was in a glass chamber. On his left, a couple of feet away and in an identical chamber, was Eymen Arsalan. Aryaman had needles sticking into his arms, feeding the antidote into his bloodstream through an intravenous drip.

  Eymen was awake as well. He stared at the ceiling listlessly, and his body was motionless save for his chest’s continual and irregular heaving.

  ‘Aryaman,’ Avantika said. ‘You were exposed to the virus. The antidote has taken a while to kick in, but your body is showing signs of rapid recovery.’

  ‘How long has it been?’

  ‘Five weeks.’

  Aryaman saw Bipin Sharma enter the room with Aditya and Aarti. After making an attempt to sit up, Aryaman fell back on his bed. When he saw his mother and son weeping, his eyes began to well up. But he had no time for emotions right now. He turned to Eymen.

  ‘Why is that bastard still alive?’ The question was directed at Sharma. ‘What happened to Randheer?’ Aryaman asked agitatedly.

  ‘He had set off after Asra, the other operative,’ Sharma said. ‘Asra had climbed on top of the roof of a shed and was running along to find a safe spot to land at. Randheer chased her. She shot him in the stomach and he began to lose blood rapidly. He caught up with her and emptied his cartridge at her. But before he could make another move, she got a final, clean shot at him. And then they both fell to the ground, where you saw them. We arrived at the scene too late to help.’

  Aryaman was writhing in pain, letting out short, helpless sobs. He then heard a chuckle. Eymen was looking at the ceiling, grinning away. Aryaman jumped out of his bed, knocking down the drip stand, and moved towards Eymen’s chamber with animal ferocity. But he soon realized that he was locked in his own cage, powerless to cause any harm to Eymen.

  Aryaman noticed Eymen’s bloodshot eyes and twisted smile. He noticed the similarities between Eymen’s skin and his own. They had both gone completely pale, and their veins, purple and varicose, showed all over their bodies. They looked skeletal—like shadows of their normal selves.

  ‘Open this door,’ Aryaman growled to nobody in particular. ‘I am going to end this son of a bitch once and for all.’

  Sharma gestured for Aarti, Avantika and Aditya to leave. He waited until they were out and said, ‘We retrieved Asra’s phone. She was working for Pakistani intelligence and her handler was Ashraf Asif. Well-known in our circles. Wily old fox. But here’s the thing: there is a mention of a location Asif, Eymen and Asra were supposed to go to after the attack was conducted. They chatted about meeting someone they referred to as the Scorpion.’

  Aryaman processed the information.

  ‘We have kept Eymen alive so that we could find out where this meeting was supposed to happen.’

  ‘Fuck that,’ Aryaman said and broke into a violent bout of coughs. ‘Let’s just kill him and find Asif some other way.’

  ‘That’s what I wanted to talk to you about, Aryaman,’ Sharma said with an air of dejection. ‘He has offered a deal. That we don’t kill him and he tells us where Asra was headed.’

  ‘He could be playing us,’ Aryaman said. ‘Set us on a wild goose chase. Or into a trap. How can we trust anything he says? He was planning to be a suicide bomber himself before this. He doesn’t care if he dies!’

  ‘And then he chickened out and left you to do the job, Aryaman. He’s a coward bargaining for his life. In the end, all of them are exactly that. Cowards.’

  Eymen didn’t seem to move, but he could hear the entire conversation.

  ‘If he knows where Asif Ashraf is headed, we can trace the Scorpion,’ Sharma continued. ‘It’s worth a try.’

  Aryaman let out a sigh and shook his head. ‘Does the country know that the attack was not real?’

  ‘Not yet,’ Sharma said. ‘We are feeding information to the media that we want put out. We’ve said that the virus hasn’t been spread beyond a two-kilometre radius, and that we have secured everyone at a facility. It’s inconvenient for them, but it will be short-lived, and they will be okay once this is all over. We are setting up bogus vaccination camps and quarantine procedures. We need Asif and this Scorpion bastard to believe their attack has been successful before we nail them.’

  Aryaman knocked on the glass to get Eymen’s attention. And Eymen, with great effort, turned to look at him. He seemed feeble, and his wounds from their fight at the railway yard were still raw.

  ‘Do you know why you are lying there shrivelled up like a prune?’

  Eymen said nothing.

  ‘Because you did not have the courage to see the attack through. Had you not bailed on your plans and had you conducted the attack yourself, our country would have been in the midst of mayhem. Even if you wouldn’t have lived to see it, your objective would have been complete.’

  Aryaman got to his feet, shaking but trying to steady himself. Eymen looked on with a blank expression on his face.

  ‘Left to me, I would tear through this wall and finish you off. But that’s not the right thing to do, especially since the lives of many more are at stake if Asif Ashraf and the Scorpion are around. So tell us where they are . . .’

  Aryaman’s voice trailed off.

  ‘. . . and I let you live,’ Sharma completed his sentence. ‘We continue to administer the antidote to you until we decide what legal procedure we take with you. But I ensure you, we take the death penalty off the table.’

  Eymen closed his eyes. Maybe death was an easier way out, he thought. Why be at the mercy of these Indians? But then . . . Defecting to their side would still guarantee him a life. And at that moment, life was all he wanted. He wanted to live. He was certain of that. They could call him a coward if they wanted.

  ‘If I tell you,’ Eymen said, ‘you promise you won’t kill me?’

  Aryaman didn’t respond.

  ‘I want something in return for you to make good on that promise,’ Eymen continued. ‘I want a lawyer in the room. A witness and someone from my country. And it has to be taped.’

  Aryaman let out a short, derisive laugh.

  ‘Agreed,’ Sharma said
. ‘In two days, when you can both leave the chamber, we go through with this procedure.’

  Eymen glared at Aryaman defiantly.

  ‘Guess you’ll have to live with the fact that I am being spared for the greater good.’

  Aryaman sat on the edge of his bed, trembling, a volcano of rage about to erupt in him . . . But he said nothing.

  Two days later . . .

  Aryaman was feeling much better. Avantika had declared him fit and helped him out of the chamber. She then drove him out of the secure premises.

  ‘This has been a nightmare,’ she said. ‘But, is it all done, Aryaman?’

  ‘It’s never done, Avantika.’

  ‘I meant, for you.’

  There was genuine concern on her face. Aryaman looked at her and then out of the window.

  ‘I never get to decide that myself.’

  He saw a pack of cigarettes near the gear knob. When he picked it up, Avantika clucked her tongue and gestured for him to put it back. ‘You’re just about fine to be able to function normally,’ she asserted. ‘Definitely not fine enough to smoke though.’

  Aryaman tossed the box back in its place. The car stopped outside a small temple. Avantika stepped out and led Aryaman to Aarti and Aditya, who had been waiting for them.

  Aryaman embraced his mother and son. ‘I’m sorry you had to face all that.’

  ‘Don’t be,’ Aditya said.

  ‘You have weathered greater storms,’ Aarti said, running her fingers through Aryaman’s hair.

  They entered the temple for the prayer service that was being held here for Randheer. Walking past the mourners, they sat beside a smiling picture of Randheer. Aryaman had tears in his eyes.

  The priest started chanting a prayer in Sanskrit. ‘This is all because of me,’ Aryaman said under his breath, and Avantika heard him.

  ‘You need to stop blaming yourself, Aryaman. This isn’t your cross to bear.’

  ‘He had nobody,’ Aryaman said. ‘An orphan. Amarjyot Sir trained him to be the able agent he became. But he loved us intensely. His longing to be able to call someone his own was what made him join this mission. He had no stake in it.’

  Aryaman stared at Randheer’s jovial face in the photograph.

  ‘Randheer laid his life down for his friend and for his country,’ Avantika continued. ‘You do what you do for a larger cause, don’t you?’

  Aryaman turned to Avantika.

  ‘So make the most of what you have,’ Avantika said, placing her hand on his. ‘There are people who care for you.’ As she said this her gaze shifted to Aditya and Aarti.

  ‘I’ve heard there’s a little dog who has joined your family. I’m sure he’ll love you too.’

  Aryaman smiled. He held Avantika’s hand tightly, and they looked into each other’s tear-filled eyes.

  ‘You have been extremely brave through this,’ he said. ‘You deserve some rest. Would you like to . . .’

  She peered at him in anticipation. ‘Would I like to what?’

  ‘You can fly down to Dehradun with my family,’ he said. ‘I’d like you to get some time away from all of this. And then, maybe when it is all done, we can meet again . . . This time, like two normal people.’

  ‘I would like that,’ said Avantika, smiling gently.

  Aryaman saw Bipin Sharma’s official sedan pull over outside the temple and went over to receive him. ‘Well, you’re early.’

  Sharma shrugged. ‘Still not done with your quips, are you?’

  Sharma handed over a file to Aryaman, who opened it and began to read the documents forthwith.

  ‘Eymen spilled the beans,’ Sharma said. ‘Told us everything we needed to know. Most of it was stale information we—you—had gathered along the way. But there is one crucial thing that . . .’

  Aryaman had finished reading the transcript. He shut the file and handed it back to Sharma. ‘So Asif and the Scorpion are meeting this week in Thailand?’

  ‘Seems like it,’ Sharma said, lighting a cigarette, which Aryaman eyed longingly.

  ‘And are we keeping our promise? Can we kill him now that he has told us what we needed to know.’

  Sharma didn’t answer. ‘Do you want to go to Thailand and fish them out?’

  Aryaman closed his eyes. He couldn’t get the image of Randheer’s lifeless body out of his mind. He had to complete this. This chapter that had started with Jyoti’s death and ended with Randheer’s. He had to do this for the sake of his mentor, Amarjyot.

  ‘I will,’ Aryaman said. ‘I will end this.’

  ‘Good,’ Sharma said. ‘Once you finish it off, we kill Eymen too.’

  Aryaman nodded. ‘I need you to put out reports that reach Ashraf, saying that I have broken out of custody, that I am a fugitive. I need him to live with that looming fear.’

  ‘By the way, we will require a codename,’ Sharma said, placing a hand on Aryaman’s shoulder. And I have one in mind.’

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘Of the five, you are the one survivor,’ he said. ‘So we should go with the Phoenix.’

  Aryaman smiled. ‘Cheesy, but I like it.’

  Phuket, Thailand

  Ashraf Asif was extremely pleased with himself. And rightly so. He had conducted one of the biggest attacks on enemy soil using one of their own citizens. He couldn’t call it entirely his brainchild, since the Scorpion was pulling the strings from the shadows and helping him with resources that the PIA wouldn’t readily sanction. But it was done. The PIA was pleased beyond measure.

  They viewed Asra’s death as collateral damage. There always was some, and that didn’t irk them too much. Definitely not to the extent of dampening their spirits. Mumbai had not yet recovered from the attack, and the operations at the antidote vaccination camps were predictably chaotic for a city that had long burst at the seams in terms of the population.

  Ashraf stopped before a beautifully constructed Buddhist temple and watched a few monks talking to each other jovially. Walking through the colourful market on Thalang Road, he thought about what lay ahead of him. The PIA was set to promote him to the top post in the coming years. And whatever shortcomings they might have in the money department, the Scorpion would more than readily compensate him for the mission.

  His future seemed secure. He would be among the top brass of the Pakistani intelligence, and he was definitely not going to come cheap. He was loyal to his country, but he held money in a higher regard. That’s why he had joined hands with the Scorpion in the first place. He would stack away the money in his offshore account, but he would never betray his country.

  The Scorpion was all set to meet him. And that could only mean greater things were in store for him. Ashraf wasn’t sure what the Scorpion’s ultimate motive was. But today he was going to unearth that answer too. He needed to know who it was that the Scorpion was in cahoots with. It was about time.

  Having been a spy for so many years, Ashraf knew when he was being tailed. He looked in the mirrors at stalls selling cheap sunglasses to see if anyone was following him.

  But Aryaman himself was no rookie. He knew Ashraf would be less wary of those walking in front of him, especially in a crowd as dense as this. Aryaman used the same tools—mirrors at stalls and on bikes—to monitor Ashraf’s movements. Finally, Ashraf entered a run-of-the-mill hotel; it wasn’t the one he was staying at.

  Aryaman examined the property. He needed to enter through another gate. Walking in right after Ashraf would raise suspicions. Aryaman went into a narrow bylane and arrived at the back of the hotel. He scaled the wall and saw a bellboy, who stood near the back door, smoking in silence.

  ‘I’m going in,’ Aryaman spoke into his earpiece. He jumped into the backyard, and just then the bellboy, startled by his presence, turned to run back inside. Aryaman pointed his gun at the bellboy and put his finger to his lips.

  ‘Don’t run,’ he said. ‘I just need your uniform.’

  The boy was trembling all over but did as he was told, taking off his clothes.


  ‘Thanks. And sorry for what I am about to do to you. But you will wake up in about an hour.’

  Aryaman hit him on the temple with the back of his gun. The bellboy lost consciousness and slumped to the ground. Aryaman dragged him to the large trash container, opened its lid, and saw entrails of fish and prawn shells scattered among bulging bags of trash. His face contorted at the stench as he dropped the boy into the bin. He left its lid ajar, so that the boy wouldn’t suffocate.

  Now dressed as a bellboy, Aryaman entered through the back door with an employee’s key card and walked quickly towards the reception, keeping his head down. He spotted Ashraf climbing the stairs, already two storeys up. A guest at the front desk snapped her fingers at a trolley full of suitcases, indicating that Aryaman take them to the room. He took the trolley and followed her into an elevator. Aryaman pressed all the buttons from the third floor up, so he could get a visual on Ashraf.

  The elevator stopped at every floor. The woman was beginning to seem irritated, but Aryaman ignored her and watched out for Ashraf. Finally, he spotted him on the sixth floor. The woman wanted her luggage taken to a room on the eighth floor. He turned to her, snapped his fingers and pointed at the luggage.

  ‘You’re gonna have to take it yourself,’ he said and stepped out. Ashraf had entered the room at the end of the corridor, locking the door behind him.

  Aryaman spoke into his earpiece. ‘Sixth floor. Going in.’

  He tiptoed towards the door. His gun was at the ready, and he was about to break in when the door swung open. It was Ashraf, pointing a gun at him.

  ‘Come on in,’ Ashraf said. ‘The Scorpion has been expecting you.’

  As Aryaman entered the room, Ashraf kicked the door shut. Their guns were pointed at each other.

  ‘Welcome, Aryaman.’ A tall, imposing figure walked towards him. He seemed surprisingly young. And his face—not one you would’ve associated with someone who ran a shadow organization. He looked more like a desk agent.