Weapon of Vengeance

by Mukul Deva

  Ruby awoke with a start. Her heart was pounding and she was bathed in sweat, even though the air-conditioning was going full blast. After reaching for the mineral water on her bedside table, she took a long swig, draining the bottle. Still thirsty, she got up and pulled another bottle out of the mini-bar and drank that too. It made her feel better. Marginally.

  She lay down again, but this time sleep was driven away by a new need to find out about her father. To understand who he really was. For so many years, confused by his abandonment, she had taught herself to avoid thinking about him … convinced herself to hate him … almost … but … I need to find out.… She knew she could not live without knowing any longer.

  Why? Why did you leave? What did I do to grow up without a father?

  Now the room was pitch dark. Though the curtains were drawn back, not even a speck of light filtered in. The darkness outside felt as deep as the darkness within her.

  Now I have no one to call my own.

  That thought hammered at her. She longed to reach out and talk to someone. Anyone.

  Who?

  There was no one.

  Chance?

  Her hand reached out for the phone. But she stayed it. No. She did not need the aggravation of feeling her way through whatever still existed between them … if anything still did.

  What about Father? He was her father, after all. Ruby dwelt on that for a long time.

  Which father? The one who abandoned us? Who did not, even once, over all these years, bother to check on me … to come looking for me … to hug me … hold me … talk to me … to find out if I was alive.

  Ruby felt confusion, hurt, and resentment building up. She fought them; damned if she would allow herself to cry over a father who did not even care whether she was alive or dead.

  Did he? Her mind again was playing tag with her, as it often did when she was upset. Did he really not care?

  She gave up trying to sleep. It was futile. She needed to talk to someone. Scrabbling through her bag, she retrieved the ticket stub with Chance’s number.

  He’s met my father; he’ll know what kind of person he is.

  She also hoped Chance would be happy to hear from her.

  The phone at the other end began to ring.

  * * *

  Chance had just entered the bathroom and unzipped when the phone began to ring. He called out to Jennifer, who had joined him for a nightcap after another exhausting day of sightseeing. “Could you get that, please?”

  “Sure,” Jennifer called back, reaching for the phone.

  * * *

  “Hello.” Ruby had heard it only once before, but she recognized the nasal American accent. “Hello,” Jennifer said again.

  Ruby almost spoke. She would have, but her eye fell upon her wristwatch. The glowing dial showed a tad past midnight. She knew she did not need to speak to Chance to get an answer; it was staring her in the face.

  Chance has moved on.

  She put down the phone and returned to her lonely, restless vigil by the window.

  He also has left me.

  Wetness began crowding her eyes. With an effort, she pushed it away.

  “So what’s new? Men do that all the time.” Ruby said it out loud, as though she needed to hear it to believe it. A long moment of suspended thought followed. Her father too had done that to her mother. To me. He was no different.

  Then she cried. And cried. Till she could cry no more.

  A sharp spike of anger at Rehana jabbed her. Why did you have to go and die? Why did you never tell me about my father? Why had she always shied away from talking about him … about what had happened between them? Why?

  Ruby remembered asking her often when she’d been young. “Where is Daddy? How come he never comes home … and to my school like other fathers?”

  “How do I explain to you, my darling? You’re too young to understand.”

  But Ruby was always old enough to know that her father was not there for her. She remembered the nights she had cried herself to sleep; a physical ache as she longed for that huge bearded man who held her close, who made her feel loved, wanted, and safe. The pain had been so intense, so hurtful, that she had tried to stop thinking about him.

  That pain now returned. Even after all these years, it was still sharp. Perhaps sharper, since it had been ignored and suppressed so long.

  And now Mom has left me too.

  But no. As Ruby hit the end of her tether, Rehana reached out from beyond and pulled her out of the abyss.

  “Did I not always tell you, my child?” Ruby heard the constant rejoinder echo in her head. “Chance will never understand. Just as your father never did. No one will.… Our cause is our own.… That is the way it has always been. Nothing will ever get better, not unless we fight for it. They will not allow it to.” She would thumb toward Chance’s photo on Ruby’s bedside table. “Men like him. They are the ones who killed our family … who have been killing our people all these years. It was these bloody Brits who started it all.… If not for their support, the fucking Jews would never have had the guts.… I am telling you—Chance will use you and dump you … just as your father did. Remember that.”

  The words seemed prophetic now.

  A clap of thunder boomed out. Lightning lacerated the sky, intermittently lighting up the road outside.

  JUST DO IT! the Nike advertisement tugged at her.

  I will show you … all of you … bastards.… Hardening her heart, she got up and threw herself on the bed. The transition from confused woman to committed terrorist was swift.

  Drops of rain began to hammer on the windowpanes. The drumming sound eventually dulled her into a deep sleep.

  * * *

  “Why didn’t you tell me, sir?” Mohite’s tone teetered on the edge of insolence.

  “About what, Mohite?” Though it was past midnight, Ravinder held his peace.

  “About the Israeli commando team that has reached Delhi and is now on the way to Amritsar.”

  “Who told you about it?” Ravinder asked even though he knew; it had to be Thakur.

  “I had gone to meet Thakur sahib when he mentioned it.”

  “Need to know, Mohite.” Ravinder hardened his tone, just enough to let Mohite know who was in charge. “You didn’t need to know. That’s why.”

  “Foreign agents are running around all over our country with guns, and I don’t need to know? Thakur sahib thought it fit to let me know.”

  “Then from now on, you can just ask him only to keep you informed!” Ravinder slammed down the phone.

  DAY FIVE

  Dawn was lighting the horizon when Ruby woke up. The rain had stopped but it was overcast. A stubborn sun struggled to make its presence felt.

  Her eye strayed to her wristwatch.

  Five days left for the summit.

  Ruby suddenly felt she was bursting with energy, as though the night’s rain had washed away her confusions.

  She thrust herself out of bed. She knew what she needed to do.

  * * *

  The foul aftertaste of last night’s call from Mohite was still in his mouth when Ravinder heard his mobile. He checked the calling number. He was not ready to talk with that asshole again … not the first thing in the morning, at least. But it was an unknown number. He depressed the green button, hoping it would not be more bad news.

  “Good morning, Mr. Gill.” It was Ido Peled. He sounded excited. “We have heard from one of our sources in Pakistan that Saeed Anwar is going to be at a safe house near Lahore. Our director asked me to let you know that we would like to send our team in now.”

  “Be my guest, Ido. I’ll put out the word.” Ravinder suddenly felt lighter. This was the kind of news he needed to hear. “And all the best.”

  “Thank you, sir.” Peled rang off.

  I hope they get the bastard … dead or alive … one less problem for us to deal with. He was dwelling on this happy thought when the phone rang again. This time he picked up eagerly.

&
nbsp; The conversation with Sanjeev Nanda was brief. Ravinder knew that if Nanda said it was important and they needed to meet, it would be.

  “Delhi Gymkhana,” he told the driver as he settled into the official Scorpio SUV. The red light on top of the car whirled as it slid through the traffic. Ravinder was not fond of it, nor of the siren his driver tended to use far too often. He winced as the driver gave another long hooting blast, trying to burn a corridor though the dense traffic. But the short drive to the gymkhana still took thirty minutes.

  “Whatever this creep has to offer, it better be good,” Ravinder muttered as he entered the club.

  Nanda was at the corner table in the gymkhana bar, where they usually met. Ravinder had to smile as he took in Nanda’s snazzy Armani suit, the gold Rolex, and his diamond-embedded tie clip. He has definitely changed, Ravinder reflected. Who says crime doesn’t pay?

  He remembered the first time they’d met.

  Ravinder had been in Narcotics. All of five weeks in the department, totally green behind the ears, but full of energy. Nanda was the first crook he had ever turned.

  They’d nabbed a Nigerian drug peddler with two kilos of cocaine. Taking a gamble, Ravinder had let him go. In the subsequent weeks, the Nigerian led them to ten others selling the awful stuff. Rather than round them all up immediately, and more eager to take down the kingpins, Ravinder had put them all under surveillance. That had led them up the food chain to Nanda, caught with enough coke to lock him up for a very, very long time. Ravinder then took another gamble, knowing that Nanda was not the big man, but someone who knew who the big man was. And Nanda was, of course, weasel enough to shop him to save his own hide.

  “You will not peddle again,” Ravinder warned as they cut the deal. “If I ever come to know that you are, all bets are off.”

  “Never, sir.” Nanda had crossed his heart theatrically. “I swear it on my mother’s soul.”

  Nanda’s patently false sincerity made Ravinder feel sorry for his mother’s soul. Oh well!

  “What else do you have to offer?” Though a greenhorn, Ravinder was savvy enough to know when to bargain.

  “You tell me, sir,” Nanda said smugly, assuming the cop would ask for a bribe. How else could the man have stayed out of jail for so long?

  “I want you to keep your eyes open and an ear to the ground.” Ravinder surprised him; a clean cop was something one rarely came across. And honesty was certainly not a career-enhancing attribute, not in this profession. Perhaps that is why he gets shunted from one lousy assignment to another, Nanda must have rationalized, tuning in to what Ravinder was saying. “Whenever you come across something big, I want to know.”

  Nanda felt uncertain; if his brethren ever learned he was a snitch, he’d have a short life and a most unpleasant end.

  Ravinder sensed his fear. “This will remain strictly between you and me.… No one else needs to know … ever.” Some of Nanda’s fear seemed to recede. “And you will be paid. I will ensure that.”

  That had sealed the deal; Nanda worshipped money. Thereafter, every now and then, Nanda called Ravinder. Each time proved worthwhile, for both. Nanda enhanced his riches and Ravinder acquired the reputation of a ferocious crime-buster.

  “You are looking well, sir.” Nanda rose and offered his hand.

  “Not as well as you, my friend.” Throwing a quick look around, Ravinder sat down opposite him. Layered with rich mahogany, the ornate bar had the colonial feel of an exclusive men’s club: large crystal chandeliers; deep, plush armchairs; and carved, round tables laid out at discreet distances. At this hour, it was empty. “So, what do you have for me today?”

  “Straight to business as usual, sir. You haven’t changed a bit. A cup of tea or coffee first?”

  “Not today, Sanjeev. Too much is happening. Tell me … what’s up?”

  Ravinder’s face grew somber at Nanda’s narrative. And his excitement escalated; this could be a big attack on the games … or the peace summit? “There are two of them?”

  “Yes, sir—Mark, the Irish guy who got in touch with me, and then the second one he went and met with right after that … a woman, I think, but I cannot be sure.”

  “Why do you think it’s a woman?”

  “Not sure, sir.” Nanda looked away, trying to reconstruct the scene. “Most probably because of the profile I saw … but the car windows had dark film on them … so I cannot be sure.”

  “Hmm.” Ravinder tried to ferret out more. “Anything else you remember … which make of car she was in, the registration number?”

  “Sorry, sir.” Nanda give a sheepish smile. “I was too far away, but it was a cream-colored Toyota Innova.”

  Ravinder couldn’t mask his disappointment. There were thousands of those in Delhi.

  “This guy … Mark? What’s his full name? Where is he staying?”

  “I don’t know, sir.” Another sheepish smile. “I’ve dealt with him just once … a while ago.… It was a small cash-and-carry deal … so…” He petered off with a shrug.

  Damnit! Mark is a bloody common name … else we could hunt down the hotel he is at and take him in.

  “Call me if you remember anything else.” Nanda nodded. “When are you handing over the guns?”

  “Day after. Wednesday.”

  “Where?”

  “He said he’d call and tell me.”

  “You have the number he calls you from?”

  “I did check on that. He used a public phone both times.”

  “The same one?”

  “No. Different both times … from different parts of the city.”

  Ravinder nodded, disappointed but not surprised; it had been a long shot; this was a precaution every professional would take. “Fine! Call me as soon as you know?”

  “Definitely.” Nanda hesitated. “Sir, I am going to be there personally.… I hope your people will be careful when they…” He trailed off.

  “Don’t worry. I will be there myself.” Ravinder was feeling elated as he headed back to his office. Yes, even good guys caught a lucky break sometimes, though he wished he knew which target they were going for.

  Oh well. Ravinder shrugged. Even this was heaven sent. He knew Thakur, keen to show the PM that he was doing well at his new assignment, would be thrilled when they caught the terrorists. Yes, this could be a big one. He called Mohite and brought him up to speed.

  “Could they be the same ones that the CIA woman … Jennifer … had mentioned? Remember? She’d said the Lashkar has hired British mercs to strike Delhi.”

  “Yes, I remember, Govind. They may well be the same … though she’d said British, and this Mark guy is Irish.”

  “Yeah, yeah. British, Irish, what’s the difference? These firangis are all the same.”

  “Never mind, Govind.” Ravinder sighed.

  “This is fantastic!” Mohite was excited. “Thakur sahib will be very pleased.”

  “Yeah, but keep this under your hat for now. Let’s talk to him about it only once we have them in our hands.”

  “Sure, sure. I agree. Like a surprise gift.”

  “Yeah right!” Ravinder kept the sarcasm to himself. “Have a team standing by from tomorrow night. They should be ready to move at short notice.… What? No! I will go with them. What? Of course … you’re welcome to come along.”

  As he put down the phone, he wondered why Mohite always assumed he was being deliberately sidelined. I guess we see our own identity in others. Anyway … He shrugged, knowing he had to be careful; Mohite had the Home Minister’s ear.

  Sighing, he got out of the car as it halted outside his office.

  The sun had vanished again. The sky was like concrete. Growls of thunder were making their presence felt. Gusts of wind tugged at him. A storm seemed about to break.

  * * *

  Gyan met Ravinder at his office door.

  “There is someone here to meet you, sir.” Gyan sounded sheepish. “I tried to tell her that she could not meet you without an appointment, but sh
e was insistent. She said she is…”

  “Who is it?” Ravinder frowned as he pushed open the door. Then he came to a dead stop.

  “Oh my God! Ruby.” The stunned whisper was half-question. “You look just like your mother.”

  “Yes, Father, that is what everyone says.”

  There was a tense silence; the two strangers stood looking at each other.

  “You used to call me Daddy … always.” Ravinder’s voice was a strangled whisper.

  “I know. And you used to call me princess.” Ruby couldn’t conceal her bitterness. “But then you left us.”

  Her words stabbed into him like a hot knife.

  He took a couple of steps toward Ruby; he was aching to hug her. “No! I didn’t.” He halted, uncertain.

  “All these years…” Her voice broke. “I waited for you to come looking.” She started to cry. Ruby did not want to; she was angry with herself for allowing it. The terrorist who’d planned this visit was furious. “Every morning I would wake up and hope you were back. Every day I would come out from school and hope to see you there. Every night I used to pray—”

  “I did look for you, but…” Ravinder could not go on; nor could he stem the tears that began to trickle down. He realized that Gyan was still standing behind him. Without turning, he said, “Gyan get some tea and…” He stopped and looked at the stranger who was his daughter; he did not even know what she liked to drink. There was a time when he would have known when she was hungry, when tired, when she needed to burp, when she was sleepy, when she … “What would you like?”

  “Tea is fine.”

  “Get some tea for us, Gyan.” He walked up to her, but instead of taking her in his arms and hugging her, as he was aching to do, he took her arm tentatively. “Come … please sit down.”

  Ruby’s head was whirling as he drew a chair for her. She had no idea what she expected when she met Ravinder, but she had not expected this. The rush of emotions had caught her totally off guard.

  Her eyes fell upon the two photo frames on either side of his computer, simple, mahogany frames. On the left it had Ravinder and a regal-looking woman, with a pretty teenager between them. But it was the one on the right that caught Ruby’s attention.