Normally, Carl would not have asked but, over the last three days that they had been taking the detour, Gillian had been picking up his macchiato from a Starbucks en route. Gillian would save nine minutes if he took the old route. He nodded his approval. Carl whispered into the earphone and the motorcade moved on.
Gillian looked out of the window and then glanced back at the FedEx package lying next to him. Nikki had handed it to him on the way out. It was addressed to him but the label with the sender’s address was missing. Inside was a 6-inch model of a bicycle. It looked like something one would pick up at a flea market. It was strange that someone would send it to him. His onsite security team had cleared the package for explosives or any other potentially dangerous substance. Gillian pulled out the delicately crafted cycle. He would have appreciated it much more had it not been for the intrigue surrounding the manner in which it had arrived. He brought the cycle to eye level. Was he overreacting? He wasn’t sure.
The Mercedes raced along. It was approaching a stretch of the road, which had been cordoned off a few days ago. Up ahead, on the other side of the bend, parked by the side of the road, resting against a hillock, he could see a bicycle. A larger version of the miniature that he held in his hand. He looked to the right. The grassy and near perfect landscape had been somewhat damaged by the workers’ digging. They seemed to have filled in the pits hurriedly and left. Very unlike the work that the subdivision contractors normally carried out. He made a mental note to take it up with the city council. That’s when it suddenly, struck him—the package from nowhere, small bicycle, big bicycle, unprofessional ditches . . . It was a set-up!
‘Stop!’ he screamed.
Carl slammed the brakes as the first car in the convoy crossed the cycle resting against the hillock. But it was too late.
Whatever else Gillian may have said was lost in the explosion that followed as the Mercedes crossed the cycle.
The armoured Mercedes was flung high up into the air before it crashed to the ground, spun over, and came to a flaming halt on its side. Chances of finding a survivor inside it were as likely as finding Osama Bin Laden dining at the White House.
Join us now!!
To join mail us here:
[email protected]
2
New Delhi
The Prime Minister’s Office was abuzz with activity even at 10.30 p.m. on a Friday night. The prime minister was at his desk, clearing last-minute files. He was leaving for the US that night, to be treated for Stage-1 prostate cancer, a condition that had been kept under wraps from the media. He wanted to make sure that work continued uninterrupted in his absence.
There was no great advantage in getting the surgery done in America. However, had he got himself admitted to the All-India Institute of Medical Sciences in Delhi, he would have been subjected to minute-by-minute media scrutiny.
The prime minister’s principal secretary, who held the rank of a minister of state, was next to him.
‘How many to go?’ the prime minister asked, clearly exhausted.
‘Last few papers, sir. Madam has also arrived,’ the secretary said, referring to the prime minister’s wife.
‘Where is she?’
‘In the other room, sir. The Black Cats are also on standby to accompany you to the airport,’ the secretary informed him, handing over a docket from the finance ministry.
The prime minister read the letter containing the shortlist of candidates being considered to replace the incumbent governor of the Reserve Bank of India.
‘When does the governor’s tenure end?’ he asked.
‘In six months, sir.’
‘So we have time.’
‘Yes, sir, we do.’
‘Great. Put this shortlist on hold. Tell the Hon’ble finance minister that we will take a call once I am back from the US.’
‘Sir.’ He nodded. ‘I will make a suitable notation and return the papers.’
‘Thanks,’ the prime minister said, smiling at the secretary. ‘And politely inform the Hon’ble finance minister that I will not be a party to him trying to install his muse in the governor’s chair. I need a new shortlist.’
The secretary smiled.
The prime minister got up and walked to the door. He turned and said, ‘Not a word of this in writing. Only verbal. Please make sure!’
Join us now!!
To join mail us here:
[email protected]
3
Mumbai
It was late by the time Swami parked his car in the basement and rode up the elevator to his sixteenth-floor apartment. A strenuous job as the head of retail banking at New York International Bank kept him away from his wonderful family—two beautiful daughters, adoring wife Kalpana, his mother and their Labrador. This was his universe. When he looked back, he had the satisfaction of seeing his family embracing the values that he had stood for every single day of the last forty-five years of his life. Swami was hardworking, sincere, committed. His team at work was fond of him and his family simply adored him.
Swami had joined NYIB as a management trainee, right after completing his MBA from IIM Ahmedabad in the late 1980s. He had worked his way up the extremely stressful corridors of power at NYIB. Luck had also played its part. In Swami’s first week at the bank, Aditya Rao, the then country head, had handpicked him along with two other trainees, Sundeep and Kalpana, to kickstart the retail banking initiative. After the initial awkwardness, a whirlwind romance had ensued, and Swami had married Kalpana, the only daughter of Gujarati parents. Kalpana’s career took a backseat after that as she began setting up her domestic dreamland.
Together, Aditya, Swami and Sundeep had formed a fabulous team of high-intellect, super-charged go-getters who were the envy of everyone. All had been hunky-dory until a few years later when Sundeep fell prey to the lust for power and ambition and went astray. Womanizing, the blatant misuse of power and financial avarice caused Sundeep’s downfall, that too when he was well on track to head the bank one day. It had taken all of Aditya’s guile and goodwill, particularly the relationship that he enjoyed with the global CEO of NYIB, to keep Sundeep from committing professional suicide. The entire episode had brought the three of them closer. Aditya was like a parent to the other two men. He was a divorcee who lived alone. Not much was known about his family. Knowing how fiercely protective he was about his privacy, no one asked him either.
At the dining table that night, as Swami was having dinner with Kalpana, his mother walked up to him. ‘Mangala had come some time ago,’ she started off.
‘Hmm . . .’ Swami just nodded. He raised his left hand and pointed upwards.
‘Yes, yes, the one on the seventeenth floor.’
‘What happened?’
‘She has run into some problem with your bank. Needs your help.’
‘Okay?’ It was more of a question than an acknowledgement.
‘Seems 27,000 rupees have been taken out of her account without her knowledge.’
‘And how did that happen?’ Swami asked casually.
‘She doesn’t know.’
‘How can money disappear just like that? Surely she is forgetting something.’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Has she met the customer service guys in the branch, Amma?’
‘Hmm,’ Swami’s mother nodded. ‘She did. That’s when she figured out that it had something to do with an email.’
‘Email? What email?’ Worry lines appeared on his forehead.
‘A few days ago, she received an email from Vodafone, which said that she was entitled to a refund of two thousand rupees that she had been charged in excess. She was asked to log in to her NYIB account and enter her mobile number to accept the credit directly into her account.’
‘And, like an idiot, she entered the account number and password?’
Swami’s mother nodded. ‘What else could she have done? Poor thing. She lives off the interest the bank pays her. For her, 2000 rupees is a
lot of money. And the mail looked genuine. She showed it to me.’
‘But I thought you told me once that she doesn’t use Internet banking?’
‘She doesn’t but she had noted her password in her diary. She looked it up and keyed it in.’
‘Amma!’ Swami exclaimed. ‘Where has she locked away her common sense? Why would anyone ask her to log in to her bank account to credit money? All you need is the account number. She should have known it was a fraud email.’
Even as he spoke, Swami’s mind was working. A mail like this should have been brought to his attention immediately. That was the procedure. No one from his team had mentioned this to him yet. He wondered who all in the system knew about this.
‘I don’t know!’ Swami’s mother waved her hands furiously. ‘Those fraudsters took away her money. Help her, Swami! She needs the money.’
‘She is greedy,’ taunted Swami, as he got up to wash his hands. ‘Let me see what I can do. But for that I will have to figure out some more details. Tell her it will be a while before she sees her money again.’
Join us now!!
To join mail us here:
[email protected]
4
Mumbai
‘Regulation Nigerian phishing scam, Swami.’
Charan Rawat, head of technology at NYIB, laid out his assessment of the emails that the bank’s customers had received. Swami’s neighbour was not the only one.
Swami turned to the branch banking head, who was also present in the room. ‘How many complaints have we formally received till date?’
‘Thirty-six.’
‘When?’
‘Over the last three days, Swami.’
‘Why wasn’t it brought to my attention? Shouldn’t we have raised a red flag? Thirty-six complaints because of one phishing incident—that is not a small number!’ Swami was furious.
‘I saw it the day before yesterday when the first customer complaint came in, Swami.’ Charan was finding it difficult to justify his negligence. ‘I acted on it immediately.’ He glanced at the branch banking head and shrugged.
‘Clearly, that action didn’t include reporting the matter to your business head,’ said Swami, ridicule in his voice.
‘No, Swami. That’s not the case. I didn’t want to trouble you for a small thing that I could handle.’
‘Oh really? Thank you!’ When Swami lost his temper, rationalizing was futile. ‘Isn’t there standard protocol to be followed in case of such phishing attacks?’
‘Yes, there is,’ confirmed Charan.
‘And, as usual, it’s been ignored,’ Swami barked.
Charan’s silence only confirmed Swami’s fears. Had it not been for his mother’s friend, he would not even have discovered this situation. He walked to the bookshelf to his right and pulled out a huge box file. He flipped a few pages and started reading: ‘Clause 27 of the operations manual states that the business head, the country head and the technology teams in the regional office need to be informed . . . Attempts must be made to plug the leak within the system. An update must be sent on a daily basis to the regional executive council of the bank.’ He looked up. ‘Which of these has been done, Charan? Which of these?’
‘I will put this in motion right away!’
‘Please do!’
Swami banged the box file shut. The moment Charan left his room, Swami picked up the phone and called Malvika, the CEO of NYIB.
‘Malvika, it seems like we have a problem. We are handling it but I thought it necessary to keep you informed.’
‘I’m listening.’ In spite of his best efforts at keeping her happy, Malvika had never really warmed up to him
‘A few of our customers have been victims of a phishing attack. They received an email from an unknown sender. Owing to its uncanny resemblance to mails normally sent by Vodafone, they fell for it. They were asked to log in to their NYIB accounts by clicking on the link provided in the mail. A Trojan virus in the email tracked their key strokes. Their account numbers and passwords were recorded and used to transfer the money into another account with a nationalized bank from which it has since been moved.’
‘What’s the impact?’
‘Well, 79 lakh rupees transferred from accounts so far.
How many customers are blissfully unaware of it, we don’t know. We are looking into it, Malvika. I’ll have an update for you by tonight.’
‘I might leave early. Call me on my mobile. We will need to involve Singapore.’
NYIB’s regional office for the Asia-Pacific region was located in Singapore.
*
By the time Swami called Malvika that night, the amount siphoned off had swollen to over 1 crore rupees and the number of customer complaints had risen to fifty-eight. This was fast becoming the worst phishing scam NYIB had seen in the last five years.
Join us now!!
To join mail us here:
[email protected]
5
Goa
It was a lazy morning. In fact, it would be noon in a few minutes. Tanya had just woken up.
She had arrived in Goa a few days earlier as part of the organizing team for a Nasscom event. Technology and process experts from all over the world were present. A few technology services giants from India were also in attendance. The event had ended the previous night. The afterparty had stretched till 4 a.m., when the hotel officials forcefully shut it down after some guests complained about the noise.
Tanya would have slept on had it not been for the hotel attendant knocking on the door to check if she wanted the room serviced.
She looked stunning in her black hot pants and spaghetti top. Her clothes accentuated her gym-toned figure. Her brown hair was a mess but it gave her a sensuous look.
‘Hope you are enjoying your stay, madam?’ asked the intrusive attendant. Tanya just nodded and forced a smile.
Leon D’Souza was the name on his uniform tag. He made her bed as she silently stood by, making sure he did his job well. His frankly admiring gaze made her uncomfortable. She moved to the balcony, wrapping a stole around her shoulders.
‘It’s done, madam,’ Leon called out from the room. ‘Is there anything else you might need?’
‘No, thank you.’
‘If you need anything . . .’ He paused, waiting for her to enter the room, and repeated, ‘If you need anything at all, please call me.’ He kept his visiting card on the table. As he exited the room, he looked back. A cheeky grin played on his face. ‘Anything,’ he emphasized as he shut the door, leaving behind a confused Tanya.
After he left, Tanya decided to indulge herself. It was the first time in days that she could afford a leisurely shower.
The phone rang. ‘We are off to the beach shack for lunch, sweetheart. Coming?’ One of her colleagues was on the line.
‘You guys go ahead. I desperately need some rest.’
Leon’s card stared at her from the table as she ordered biryani for lunch. It was a personal card—the hotel’s name was missing. A naughty thought crossed her mind. She decided against trying anything stupid and impulsive while she was alone. Perhaps later, when she was expecting company.
That night, the entire gang of organizers got together in Tanya’s room to drink. It started off well, but over time, the enthusiasm levels started to dip. The party was getting a bit drab when Tanya picked up her phone and called a number.
‘Leon, I’m calling from room 204.’
‘Yes, madam.’
‘Can you come over? We might need some help.’
‘What is it that you need, madam?’
‘Well . . .’ Tanya hesitated, ‘do you think we could get some hash?’
Leon chuckled. This is Goa, madam. You will get whatever you want. Give me ten minutes.’ And he hung up.
Fifteen minutes later, Leon was standing at the door. No uniform. He was off duty. He looked over her shoulder into her room. He was surprised to see so many people. Large gatherings made him nervou
s. The business he had come to transact was best done one on one.
‘Did you get it?’ Tanya asked. She took care to keep her voice low.
‘My friend here will help you with it.’ Leon looked to his right.
It was dark outside. Tanya craned her neck to see who it was. Someone stepped out of the shadows and walked towards them with measured steps.
Was she dreaming?
‘Varun!’ she exclaimed. Her grin grew wider by the second. ‘You!!!’ She giggled like a teen. ‘I never expected to see you here.’
‘Hey, Tanya,’ Varun said. ‘Tanya, right?’
When she nodded, he said, ‘What a pleasant surprise!’
Join us now!!
To join mail us here:
[email protected]
6
Rio de Janeiro/Goa
A few months ago, Tanya was in Rio de Janeiro for a conference. Late one night, around 2 a.m., she was returning to her hotel after a party. She was with a colleague and the cab driver.
A few metres ahead of Hotel Le Meridien on Copacabana Beach, the car stopped just after a dark underpass. The signal had turned red. A man popped out of the darkness and held a gun to the driver’s head. In Brazil, the first rule of being mugged is to give away everything you have on you. No arguments. Unfortunately, no one had mentioned this to Tanya’s colleague, who started to scream. The mugger panicked, turned his attention to the back seat, opened the door, pulled Tanya’s colleague out of the car, pushed her on to the pavement and started to rough her up. There was hardly anyone in sight. He snatched her necklace and handbag and was shouting for the ring on her right hand . . . That’s when Tanya saw two men out for a walk evidently. Seeing them approach, the mugger fired a few shots at them but missed. He fled. Frozen with fear, Tanya hadn’t moved from her seat throughout the ordeal.
God is a Gamer Page 2
