Without revealing his particular interest, Argento scanned the area and assessed the bearded man for weapons and gadgetry. Nothing apparent, but that jacket and the loose clothes could hide a gun locker…
Murree, Pakistan
Tuesday 8:17 a.m.
Basheer was their young escort to Aziz Mirza’s hideout. He handed them walking sticks for the uphill trudge through the snow. Mehrunisa had earlier excused herself and utilized a washroom down the corridor.
Now, stepping out into the cold after the warmth of the wood-fired room, she rubbed her hands before rolling her pashmina muffler fashion around her neck. It had started to snow, the flurry adding to the ethereal beauty of the place. They followed Basheer who had walked ahead and was waiting at an incline under a deodar tree. With his raised stick he indicated ahead to a forested area of tall pine and birch trees. Quietly they set up the slope after him, the walking stick proving effective as it dug into the top layer of soft snow before hitting the frozen ice below. Mehrunisa estimated there was at least three feet of snow on the ground. The air was thin, sharp and icy with each inhalation.
She looked at Raghav, who was attempting to navigate the terrain with his usual brisk efficiency, but failing. He had grown up in a hot and humid region in the south of India and looked as comfortable as a camel in the Tundra. Mehrunisa’s growing up years were spent mostly in Italy, and skiing in the Alps during winter holidays was a family pursuit. Papa had taught her skiing – an image zoomed in front of her eyes, a heavily-bandaged man, his wrists and ankles taped to the chair in which he sat, oddly attired in a suit of fine wool. Her suddenly moist eyes blurred the falling flurry into gobs of cotton wool.
Around them the faint light was getting brighter. Everything was eerily quiet, the hush of the falling snow snuffing any other sound. Basheer was now winding his way through a dirt track that led uphill through thick forest.
‘How much further?’ Raghav asked.
Basheer looked back, his brow raised. ‘Tired already? You city folks are not used to the mountains, especially when they are covered with snow. Though this time snow has arrived early.’
Raghav scowled and tapped an index finger against his wrist.
Basheer shrugged. ‘Ten-twenty minutes. Depends how fast you walk.’ With that he took off again, scampering up the incline, bent forward like an animal.
Raghav muttered beneath his breath as he attempted to keep pace. The sight of his quivering moustache amused Mehrunisa. Basheer had disappeared around a bend and as they followed they saw a small clearing. In front of the clearing rose a high jagged mountain.
Basheer stood akimbo. ‘This is as far as I can take you.’ He pointed to a large stump in the middle of the clearing. ‘That is where I drop the supplies, twice a week. After that I head back.’
An incredulous Raghav said, ‘This, here!’
Basheer shrugged, looking ready to turn any minute and begin his descent.
Mehrunisa was chewing the inside of her lower lip as she contemplated the area around, when she saw Raghav tense up. He brought a finger to his lips; his two companions understood immediately and followed Raghav’s gaze as he scanned the area around. Then they heard it too, a sound like a twig snapping beneath a foot. Raghav’s eyes locked with Mehrunisa and he gestured to her with a flick of his fingers: Basheer and she were to head towards the trees at the bottom of the cliff. With his gun held in front of him he walked slowly until he was positioned in the centre of the clearing, the gun pointed towards the path they had just walked up from.
Snow fell softly, its gentle sweep exaggerated in the imposed quiet of the air. And yet, there it came again, another sound like a snap of a branch, this time louder. Raghav’s shoulders were taut, his eyes trained on the opening. Mehrunisa followed his gaze, her right hand cradling the pistol in her waist belt. Several tense moments passed in which she wondered if she would be able to use the gun if required. Anticipation beaded her upper lip and the hand above the pistol was clammy. Then Basheer’s laughter broke the silence like a hammer hitting a glass vase. Raghav recoiled, his gun pointed at their young guide who had stepped forward holding his stomach as he guffawed loudly.
Mehrunisa caught his shoulder and shook it fiercely. By now Basheer had tears streaming down his cheek as he pointed a finger in the direction of the clearing. They followed it. Their shoulders sagged with relief.
A fat snow monkey was perched on a truncated branch of a pine tree. His muddy, grey coat was flecked with snow. That camouflaged him as he snapped a branch of the tree, stripped the bark off with its teeth, then discarded the branch on the ground. A snap and a snip.
Mehrunisa blew air out with relief as Raghav raised his brow sheepishly. Snow monkeys were native to the Himalayan region; no wonder Basheer was beside himself with mirth. Now, still giggling, he waved goodbye as he trudged back to the monastery.
Islamabad, Pakistan
Tuesday 9:01 a.m.
R.P. Singh woke up with a jolt as the bus shuddered to a stop at a traffic signal.
He peered out of the dusty windowpane and figured they were on the outskirts of Islamabad. His watch showed nine o’clock. Since worry wasn’t helping he had forced himself to sleep – a tough day lay ahead. As he stood up to stretch his legs, he reckoned the twelve-hour journey had awakened bones in his body he was unaware of.
Twelve hours after, would Mehrunisa still be in Lahore? The bus would halt at Islamabad for a half-hour break. He would use the time to connect with Pradhan, maybe use a public telephone booth if his–
His phone rang. Crouching in his seat, Singh listened to Pradhan’s tense voice intercut with static. In his mind’s eye he saw dense smoke that shifted to reveal bloodied soil, dismembered bodies and stunned faces. Mehrunisa had survived the assault, but it was only the first…
The bleak sky matched the pallor of his face as he trudged to the driver to consult him on motorcycle rentals. Change of plans. Instead of continuing south to Lahore he was to head eighty kilometres north of Islamabad to Murree – a bike would give him the flexibility he needed. The assailant was on her heels and Singh was in a race against him.
Murree, Pakistan
Tuesday 9:19 a.m.
The mountain loomed in front of them, steep, stony, bare of vegetation. It was daubed with snow, thickly in parts, except for the relentless peak that loomed over them. It made for an unlikely hiding place. And the inclement weather would make it impossible to stay warm – unless Aziz Mirza had made a second home in a cave. Raghav had the same thought as he turned from his examination of the cliffside.
‘Likely, Aladdin’s in his cave.’
A narrow dirt trail wove its way precipitously up the cliffside. The approach was steep and Mehrunisa led the way. Thankfully Raghav’s old-fashioned notions of propriety did not make him a chauvinist and he was happy to let her take charge where she had expertise. She used her stick to test the ground in front before stepping forward. ‘Look for darkened or shiny spots and avoid them,’ she instructed. ‘Those are ice patches, slippery.’
The slow trudge was exhausting and dangerous. The mountain rose steeply on the left, to the right was a sheer drop, leaving them with little space to manoeuvre on the slippery trail. Would they find Aziz Mirza in a cave, trapped there by a genie of his own making? The Sajjada Nasheen had been helpful but Mirza might not be. What if he refused to divulge anything? Worse, didn’t buy their story in the first place? How would Mehrunisa convince him that she was her father’s daughter – yes, how, when she herself had difficulty processing that thought? The rumination was not helping and she brushed it aside. She stuck her tongue out to see if it would catch a snowflake. Soon the inside of her cheeks was icy and she clamped her mouth shut and contemplated the powdery snow softly piling up. They had been walking for half an hour, time in which they had encountered no one, not even another monkey. A breeze had picked up, its wheezing growing stead
ily as they climbed higher. Ahead was a sharp bend and a whistling sound. Rounding it, they were surprised. The mountain banked deeply to the left and the ledge opened onto a plateau beyond which lay a natural cave. A brisk wind lashed flurry and pitted the fallen snow.
Raghav had his gun in his hand as they approached the cave. The mouth was six feet wide, equally tall, its jaw fringed with icicles. Inside, Mehrunisa shone her torchlight. The cave opened out considerably and the roof was at least ten feet high. But there was no one inside and a close inspection showed no sign of habitation.
‘Strange,’ Raghav muttered. ‘He can’t just disappear.’
‘What do you mean?’ Mehrunisa asked.
‘Well, if Basheer drops supplies at the bottom of the mountain, Aziz Mirza has to be able to access them quickly. Which means his hideout is located nearby. Now we’ve trudged up half the mountain and this is the first spot where someone can actually seek shelter, both from the weather and intruders. But,’ he swung his left hand in an arc through the cave, ‘as you see, it’s empty.’
‘Perhaps there’s another cave,’ Mehrunisa shrugged. ‘One less obvious.’
‘Where?’ Raghav quizzed.
Mehrunisa swung her torch using the powerful beam to cut through the dimness. The cave was a natural one, its rock walls rough, the floor uneven – no sign of anyone having resided there recently. She started to perambulate along the inner perimeter of the cave, shining the torch in a sweep from the floor to the ceiling as she went. Raghav walked beside her, peering closely. At the rear of the cave something caught her eye. Once again, she shone the torch on the floor, bending down for a closer inspection. The spotlight picked out crevices and folds in the uneven rock floor. Within a crevice something moved. She swivelled her head, beckoning Raghav to look.
He joined her in the scrutiny. Slowly Mehrunisa moved the circle along as she tracked something on the floor. A large black ant, and in its limbs was a white grain.
‘A grain of rice!’ Raghav exclaimed. ‘That can only mean–’
‘Aziz Mirza is nearby.’
They resumed their reconnaissance of the cave, a slow and deliberate sweep of the walls, the ceiling, and the floor. It turned up a dud. No ledge on any wall, no crevice that stored anything, no jar or container that would reveal that the cave was in use. Once again Mehrunisa focused the light on where she had first sighted the ant scurrying along. She tried to follow the ant’s trail backwards to its source. It led her to the edge of the floor. She moved her hand alongside it. A depression! She traced it with her fingers, the torchlight insufficient in the tenebrous recess. The depression widened and now she could move her hand through the space. Mehrunisa sidled along the cave floor, trailing her hand in the crevice below. It grew wider until it reached the corner where it became a hole large enough for a person to slide through.
She turned to Raghav. ‘Remember what the Sajjada Nasheen said: Aziz Mirza is underground. Literally.’ She pointed to the floor.
Raghav crouched as Mehrunisa shone the torch in the gap. His probing fingers found what seemed to be a step. He wriggled forward and plunged his arm inside. A ladder seemed to be hewn into the rock wall below. He added Mehrunisa’s torch beam to determine its depth. Sure enough, the floor of the cave yielded an underground expanse. How deep, he couldn’t figure. He hurried outside and returned with a rock he dropped into the gap. They heard a clink as it fell. ‘Probably a few metres. Let’s explore it.’
The torch in his mouth, pistol tucked in his waistband, he proceeded to lower himself into the space below even as Mehrunisa shone her torch upon him. Raghav counted the steps of the steep rock ladder on his way down. Ten. Then his feet seemed to have reached the bottom of the ladder. He stretched his foot in an arc – solid ground. Looking up at Mehrunisa, he shouted, ‘I’ll be back.’
Mehrunisa watched anxiously as Raghav disappeared from view. Several tense minutes later, a torchlight shone up from the crevice. She peeped over. ‘It’s an underground cave,’ Raghav’s voice sounded hollowly from below. ‘Can’t see much though. Lower yourself down, count ten steps as you come.’
Mehrunisa followed Raghav into the cave below. She found herself in a damp musty space where the two powerful torchlights were weak and useless against the pitch dark. She screwed her eyes, trying to see her way into the darkness. She quaked as a voice boomed.
‘Hands up!’ The enclosed space reverberated the command. ‘Try anything funny and I’ll shoot you dead.’
Dead, the echo went.
Kabul International Airport, Afghanistan
Tuesday 10:10 a.m.
PIA announced a further delay of the flight to Lahore. When Argento made enquiries he was informed that a runway needed repair. As Argento pondered the information, he was aware that he continued to be under surveillance. Long Beard was tracking his movements.
Who was he? Had he seen him somewhere?
But dressed in traditional Afghan garb, the long end of the turban over his left shoulder, he could be anybody… He didn’t seem to be unduly bothered with the delay, lounging as he was in a chair in the departure lounge, now four rows across.
The man didn’t look like he was planning an attack. In which case, perhaps he was conducting plain surveillance. For whom? In any case, there didn’t seem any need to heat up the situation right then. He would continue his low-key counter surveillance and see what else he could glean.
The key thing was he had Long Beard in his crosshairs.
Murree, Pakistan
Tuesday 11 a.m.
Raghav and Mehrunisa were rooted, arms above their heads as they blinked hard and attempted to configure the man whose warning had arrested them in their steps. In a few minutes a powerful beam came on that lit up the dark cave. It was from an emergency light that was a foot high and hoisted on a hook on a wall. As they squinted and attempted to adjust to the swathe of light, they saw a huge figure standing a couple of metres ahead. He was either very fat or swaddled in thick thermals.
‘Who are you?’ he boomed.
‘I am Mehrunisa, the daughter of your friend Harry.’
The man stayed silent. Finally he spoke, quiet venom in his blustery tone, ‘Is this some sort of joke? The Harry I know has no family.’
Mehrunisa sighed, loud enough for the man to hear. ‘Well, he does. He just chose to forget it.’
‘Very convenient. So what brought on the memory recall?’
‘The accident in Dras, where you lost a President and my father had a concussion that brought his memory back.’ As the man made an impatient noise, she said, ‘I know, it sounds strange but then, you are hiding in a subterranean cave under a snowed-down mountain, so how strange is it?’
‘Your point is?’
‘It comes with the profession, Mr Mirza, this hiding from the real world.’ Even a deaf man would hear the bitterness in her voice.
‘Daughter?’ The man quizzed in puzzlement. ‘Well, certainly a well-hidden one I’d say.’ He half-snorted. ‘And this,’ he pointed with his gun to Raghav, ‘I presume is Harry’s son.’
‘Look, you have to believe me,’ Mehrunisa gesticulated with her hands. Mirza indicated with his gun that she keep them up. She complied. ‘Begum Ameena, your wife, sent us here.’
He digested the revelation slowly as he studied them in the light that was focused on them leaving him in the shadows. After a while he spoke. ‘This gets curiouser and curiouser. Why don’t you start from the beginning and tell me who you are and what brings you here? And while you are at it, keep your hands where I can see them.’
Mehrunisa proceeded to tell Aziz Mirza of her meeting with Harry’s boss and the instructions to reach him in order to extract where the Kohinoor was hidden. Her meeting with Begum Ameena, the attack on the bungalow that followed, and how they had escaped unharmed.
Aziz Mirza heard her out without interruption. ‘I did get a m
idnight missive from the Sajjada Nasheen informing me about the attack. And I thanked God that Ameena is safe. These men are ruthless, they will stop at nothing. And now, you might just have led them here.’
‘No!’ Mehrunisa exclaimed. ‘We were not followed.’
‘How can you be sure? You are what – an art historian!’ He snorted again. ‘Age is catching up with Jag Mishra, that wily sermoniser!’
Raghav spoke up now. ‘We watched our backs all the way up.’
Aziz Mirza shrugged. ‘Perhaps. At least you are an agent.’
Her arms were in excruciating pain as Mehrunisa said, ‘Look, can we bring our hands down, please. This is not very civilized.’
‘Civilized!’ Aziz Mirza sniggered. ‘You have to be Harry’s daughter. The only agent I know who goes into battle dressed in a suit. Ha! Civilized. You think this,’ he swung his free hand in an arc around the cave, ‘is civilized? For a rat perhaps.’ He shook his head and flicked his fingers at them to lower their arms.
‘So, you are interested in the Kohinoor?’
‘It is our only hope,’ Mehrunisa said as she pummelled her forearm to get the circulation going.
With a raised brow, Mirza asked, ‘To save your father or the nation?’
‘Both.’
Mirza stroked his bearded chin as he meditated upon something. ‘Tell me, what exactly did you say to my wife that convinced her to believe you? What secret missive did Harry have for her? Hunh?’
Mehrunisa hesitated. The begum had said her husband was unaware of the brief liaison she’d had with Harinder Singh Khosa. And at that precise moment Mehrunisa needed Aziz Mirza to cooperate – affronting him would lead nowhere. ‘Zamzama,’ she offered, and waited.
THE HUNT FOR KOHINOOR BOOK 2 OF THE THRILLER SERIES FEATURING MEHRUNISA Page 13
