Weapon of Vengeance

by Mukul Deva

  Ruby was carrying a jug of water when I ran into her that night.

  He froze. An alarm jangled in his head.

  After clicking open his Outlook, he went to the date on which he had run into Ruby. It was late at night. Ravinder began to sift through the mails. The e-mail about the LeT financier caught his eye immediately. The next one too was relevant; it was about the meeting with Nanda.

  If Ruby has seen these … Ravinder sat back. That would account for the elimination of Rizwan Khan. But then why did she still send Mark to pick up the guns? Unless she saw the first mail, but not the second.

  Ravinder leaned forward and checked the time log. The two had come in almost simultaneously. If she had seen one, she would logically have seen the other.

  Unless …

  Straightening up, he raced out. He had to talk to Ruby and get to the bottom of this. Her room was empty. Coming down, he checked with the servant, who said that she had left early.

  “Did she say where she was going?”

  “Not to me, sahib. But she was wearing a tracksuit. It looked like she was going for a run.”

  Ravinder returned to his study to think. The stakes were too high. He could not allow anything to happen, to the games or to the summit. Though, knowing the Rehana angle now, if Ruby was somehow involved it would be the summit she was targeting.

  The vibrating ring of his mobile tugged at him.

  “Yes, Ashish?”

  “We have found three improvised explosive devices near the Jawaharlal Nehru Stadium.” DIG Ashish sounded grim. “Big ones, sir. Had they gone off, they would have taken out a large chunk of the stadium.”

  “Where?”

  “Behind the ticketing booth, sir. The bombs seem to have been there awhile.”

  “An inside job. Round up all personnel who have access to that area.”

  “Already started that, sir.”

  “Good.” Ravinder felt relief that Ashish was handling it, not Govind. “Ensure everyone’s predecessors are checked. I want that bastard found … whoever he is.”

  “Don’t worry, sir. I am on it. Whoever it is, we will find him. Or her.”

  “Fine.” But that was not how Ravinder was feeling when he put the phone down.

  Or her.

  Ashish’s final words ricocheted in his head. Too many things happening on too many fronts.

  Slow down the game.

  From his memory, Ravinder heard the voice of their college basketball coach. What he’d always told them to do, especially when playing a better team.

  Yes!

  He needed to calmly take stock of everything.

  * * *

  The few options still open to her churned through her mind as Ruby pounded down the silent road. At this early hour, not many people were around. Puddles littered the road, leftovers of last night’s rain. The sense of isolation, of being alone, filled Ruby’s head too. She needed help. Or, at least, someone to talk to.

  Should I call Pasha? What would he be able to do from Pakistan? She toyed with the idea. What other options do I have? Even if he can’t help, maybe I can talk it through with him.

  Halting, she pulled out her mobile and her fingers dialed the number of his satellite phone, which was embedded in her memory. She could think of no one else.

  The thought depressed her so much that she felt the urge to scream.

  * * *

  Ravinder broke out of his reverie. The father in him could no longer ignore that his own daughter might be a part of this awful threat.

  Could she really be part of some conspiracy? An MI6 agent? Is it not possible that she is just a girl hurting from the loss of her mother? Who turned to me because she needs her father to stand by her at this dark hour? Could the sins of her mother …

  The father begged him to give her the benefit of the doubt. The cop equally firmly urged him to fill in the gaps in his information. To complete the picture and deal with his suspicions. He needed to know.

  Ravinder got dressed and left for his office. He would gather more information and size up the threat in its totality. The push–pull between father and cop continued as his car navigated through the traffic.

  Yes! Time to slow down the game and seize control … before it spun out of his hands.

  * * *

  Ruby’s finger was about to press the final digit of Pasha’s number when she paused.

  Do I really need him? What good will his footsloggers be?

  She thought.

  Do I need poorly trained zealots breathing down my neck?

  Her finger stayed, hovering.

  And can I trust his security? After all, the cops knew about Rizwan Khan. Who else has been blown?

  She made up her mind with a snap. Her finger hit the red button, ending the dialing.

  I can do this without him. Without anyone!

  Pushing the phone back in her pocket, she began to run again. She had no idea what molecules sweeping through her had caused these abrupt mood and energy shifts. If she had, she might have realized that the medications the shrink had prescribed could have kept her sane.

  An hour later, nothing had changed. The reality was stark. She had best to acknowledge it and adapt.

  I will have to scale down. She saw no other options. Hell, even if I manage to take down a couple of the delegates, it would kill the summit.

  But then her truant mind started playing games.

  And you? You think you will get out of this alive? Without your primary and diversionary attacks?

  Then a wave of sadness overwhelmed her. But, as abruptly, the agent-turned-terrorist took charge, returning to fortify her.

  It doesn’t matter. Even if I die, it doesn’t matter. But they must be made to pay.… She stopped running and hailed the first passing cab. Time to get the operation back on track.

  Ruby knew she was up to it.

  * * *

  Ravinder marshaled all the data. Everything recovered from Mark, along with a photograph of his body was laid out on one side of his office table. The items from Gerber and his hotel room were on the other side, along with a transcript of his interrogation. In the middle, on a paper, he had jotted down all the contradictory facts that he had gleaned about Ruby. He mulled everything and identified the gaps that he still needed to fill. Then he reached for the phone.

  The first call was to London, to Sir Edward Kingsley, Director of MI6.

  “Does this have anything to do with Sir Tang’s visit to Delhi?” Kingsley asked bluntly. The two went a long way back, and the Director knew he could talk freely with Ravinder.

  “Maybe … maybe not,” Ravinder replied. “That is what I am trying to ascertain.”

  “I see. Give me a couple of minutes.” Computers in London whirred into action, but neither Rehana’s nor Ruby Gill’s names elicited anything useful. However, Sir Edward promised to dig deeper.

  Ravinder’s second call was to his counterpart in Tel Aviv, the head of their Counter-Terrorism Task Force.

  “What did you say the names were?”

  Ravinder could hear the tapping of a keyboard as he repeated the names. They appeared to get an instant response.

  “Would you mind if we call you back?”

  “I am in a bit of a rush.”

  “It will take only minutes. Someone here would like to speak to you.”

  Seven minutes later, Meir Dagan called him back on a secure line.

  “Firstly, I must thank you for all the help with that problem across the border.” Dagan was aware of the risk India had taken; it would have been disastrous if any of the Kidon team had been taken alive. “My government appreciates it.”

  “A pleasure, Mr. Dagan.” But Ravinder couldn’t keep the anxiety out of his voice. Dagan picked up on it and asked him why. Ravinder told him.

  “Before I answer, I want your assurance this conversation will remain off the books.”

  “If that is what you want.”

  “It is.”

  “So be it. Whateve
r you say will remain with me. Even if I take action, I will not divulge the reasons or the source.”

  “Thank you. I must warn you, though … this is going to be unusual. I am not sure if my government would approve of it.”

  “These are unusual times, Mr. Dagan.”

  “They certainly are, Mr. Gill. Does the name Yusuf Sharbati mean anything to you?”

  “Hmmm … I have heard it—” Memory kicked in with a snap. “Isn’t he the Qassam Brigade commander who was … who met his end at Dubai a couple of weeks ago?”

  “Perfectly right. The very same. Yusuf was the one who engineered the Jerusalem strike with help from the Lashkar-e-Taiba. His death was our payback.”

  “I understand.”

  “I think you do.”

  “I have no issues with Yusuf’s death. He got what he deserved. But I am not able to understand what he has to do with my queries.”

  “Do you know that Sharbati was not his real name? He took that on as a nom de guerre only when he joined the Qassam Brigade.”

  Ravinder felt a sense of something evil coming at him.

  “His real name was Yusuf al-Moghrabi. Does that name mean anything to you, Mr. Gill?”

  The sick sensation now turned into a pain. “Moghrabi was my first wife’s family name,” he whispered, the shock sinking in.

  “Yusuf Sharbati was her brother.”

  “But Rehana said both her brothers had died.”

  Dagan did not say anything.

  “Does Ruby, my daughter, know about Yusuf? Did she know him?”

  “We do not know. We think she does. We have reason to believe she met him when she came here for Rehana’s funeral. But to be honest, we are not sure.”

  “Tell me more,” Ravinder said, dreading any answer.

  “We picked her up the minute Ruby Gill landed in Tel Aviv. The immigration officer kept her engaged as he informed our office. By the time she left the airport, we had a surveillance team on her and a beeper on her suitcase. An hour later, she managed to lose both and simply vanished into the West Bank. Why would she have done that if she had nothing to hide?”

  Why, indeed?

  “We picked her up again at her mother’s funeral, but once again, Ruby lost the surveillance. When she showed up at the airport the next day, we questioned her. Our man specifically asked her if she knew Yusuf.… He showed her his picture. She denied meeting him, even denied knowing him. Our man reminded her that as a British government employee, it was her duty to help us track down a known terrorist.”

  “What did she say?”

  “‘I would if I could, Officer. I wish I could.’” His words hung between them for a while. “And, since there was no evidence of any wrongdoing, we could not detain her.”

  Then a silence, before Dagan continued.

  “I must also tell you almost the same thing happened when Rehana reached Israel after the Jerusalem strike. Our computers picked up her name and we mounted an electronic and physical surveillance. We managed to track her to the house of one Abdul Bari, who had been the neighbor and lab assistant of her late father. Bari took her to meet Bashshar, the local Hamas man, also a junior Qassam Brigade commander … someone we’ve had our eye on for some time. A couple of hours later, Rehana managed to lose the bugs and the men watching her. The next we heard of her, she had been killed during the Interfaith Freedom March, at the Main Square on Abu Bakr Street.”

  Dagan allowed Ravinder to assimilate all this before he resumed once more.

  “So, though we have no proof that either Rehana or Ruby met Yusuf, their actions were not above suspicion. Why else would they have ditched the bugs or the surveillance?”

  “Why else, indeed?”

  “So, like I said earlier, no real proof. And yes, there is one more thing. Our people recovered a mobile from Yusuf Sharbati in Dubai. One call was made to it, from a satellite phone, which we traced to Pakistan—”

  “Yes. Your man, Ido Peled, told us about that.”

  “So we put that satellite phone on our monitoring list and then we picked up a call made to it from London.”

  “When was that?”

  Dagan told him. Ravinder did the math; it had been made when Ruby was still in London. But what does that prove?

  “Was it—?”He hesitated, knowing this could be the key question. If the caller was Ruby, the father could no longer deny the cop; his duty would be clear.

  “We have no idea who it was.” Dagan second-guessed the question. “The caller didn’t say a word. The satellite phone was answered by a man, who said his phone was low on battery and he would call back. That was it. So all we know is that the call originated from a public phone in central London.”

  Ravinder, deeply troubled when he put the phone down, knew he could not stop. He redialed, and minutes later he was on to London again.

  “Like I mentioned earlier, Ruby Gill is currently on medical leave.”

  “Yes, but I need only to know where she was on these dates.” Ravinder gave out the fortnight spanning the weeks on either side of the Jerusalem terror strike. Ravinder again could hear keys clicking.

  “Well, she was right here … in England. We cannot say where, but she was certainly in the country.… We have no record of her having traveled out at that time.”

  “I see.” Ravinder couldn’t tell if he was relieved or more troubled.

  He was brooding about this when Gyan entered. “Sir, the agent from London is here to see you.”

  “Send him in.” Ravinder wondered what Chance wanted, but he was glad to see him. Perhaps he could help.

  They were exchanging pleasantries when Chance spotted the photo of Mark’s body on Ravinder’s table. With the Congo operation fresh in his memory, he recognized it immediately. “That’s Mark Leahy. What’s he doing here?”

  “You know him?” Ravinder was surprised.

  “Yes. He’s ex-military, did some work for … our government.” Chance broke off, realizing this was an area he did not wish to go into. “Ruby also knows him.”

  “She does?” Somehow Ravinder was not surprised; but it made his heart slump.

  “Better than I do. He was her backup for our last operation. Why?”

  Ravinder took a long minute to marshal his thoughts. And to decide how much he should take Chance into his confidence. But he took the hard call and brought Chance up to speed, telling him everything except what Dagan had told him in confidence.

  “The arms dealer was sure it was a woman?”

  “No, but he believed it was.”

  “What do you think the target is?”

  “If Ruby is involved, I’ll bet it’s the summit.”

  “What next, then?” Chance, trying to mask his own confusion and distress, was watching Ravinder carefully.

  There was a silence.

  Inwardly, Ravinder flinched. Outwardly he displayed no sign. Ravinder met Chance’s gaze head-on. “Then we take Ruby in.”

  “Is it that simple, Mr. Gill?” Chance leaned back in his chair, running his hands through his hair.

  “What do you mean?”

  “With the evidence you have so far … such as it is, our government will blow a gasket if you arrest her. Ruby is a British national … and an MI6 agent. You will not be able to hold her for long … if at all.… You can bet on that.”

  “It’d be only for a few days,” Ravinder shrugged. “The delegates start arriving tomorrow. A week at best, and it will all be over.”

  “Yes, but I don’t see that happening. Not unless you are willing to risk a big international incident.”

  Ravinder closed his eyes, pondering. If he arrested her and could not come up with proof, it would be the end of his career. And if he were wrong, it would be the end of any love with his firstborn.

  “Also, if she is involved in any strike,” Chance pointed out, “how likely is it that she’d be operating alone? How sure can we be that arresting her will stop the strike.”

  “From what Gerber has told us
, we know she’s not alone.” Ravinder referred to the yet-to-be-traced South African mercenaries.

  “Right. And considering the timeframe,” Chance asked, “she might have already deployed them and others that we may not even know about … right?”

  The silence this time was longer.

  Ravinder realized that taking Ruby in might not actually stop a strike. But he had to be doubly sure that the father in him was not standing between the cop and his duty. Finally he nodded. “Yes. That makes sense.”

  “So then, why don’t we leave things the way they are. We allow her to believe that we do not suspect her, and maintain status quo. If she continues staying at your house, not only can you keep an eye on her, but she may even lead us to the others.”

  It took Ravinder time to respond. “Okay. I agree.”

  Even as he said that, he felt a nagging doubt tug at him. Am I doing the right thing? Would it not be simpler to just take her in and—

  Then Mohite rushed in, excited and disheveled. “I think we have them, sir.”

  “Who?”

  “The two South African mercenaries?”

  “Really? Where did you find them?”

  “A small guesthouse in Paharganj. One of the whore—” Mohite noticed Chance and checked himself. “—one of those disreputable ones.”

  “Good!” Ravinder thumped the table, happy at the break. “Where are they now?”

  “They’ll be here any minute.”

  “Take them straight for interrogation. We’ll be down right away.”

  “We?” Mohite threw a glance at Chance.

  Chance took the hint. “I was just leaving.” He got up.

  “No, that’s all right, Chance. Please stay.” He turned to Mohite. “We are batting for the same side, Govind.”

  Mohite nodded, clearly unhappy. Ravinder sensed he’d be hearing more on this from Thakur soon. But now he had bigger fish to fry; if he managed to grab the terrorists and stop a strike, even Thakur would leave him alone for a time.

  An hour later, the excitement turned to shit.

  The only thing the two South Africans were guilty of was having picked the wrong day to visit the wrong whorehouse. And they’d compounded their error by trying to fight off the cops and make a break for it when the whorehouse was raided.

  The inspector who led the raid was a vindictive type, which was aggravated by their breaking his nose in their attempt to escape. And that both South Africans were solidly built ex-soldiers had convinced the furious cop that these were the two mercenaries wanted by ATTF.