by Mukul Deva
“Why not go down to Damascus and see what they have in mind?”
Pasha agreed it was worth pursuing.
* * *
Miles away, in Tel Aviv, a Mossad duty operator put down her headset and reached for the phone.
Two days later, when Pasha left Muridke, a select group of men and women from various cities in Europe moved. Several had traveled to Dubai a few weeks ago.
The Kidon team was in place when Pasha’s flight landed at Damascus. The deadly ring closed around him as he exited the airport and headed for the safe house his hosts had arranged.
“This one is for you, Ean Gellner,” the lean, hard-faced Kidon, who had once painted BORN TO KILL on his army helmet, muttered as he cleaned the blade of his knife on Pasha’s headless body.
* * *
As Pasha’s body slumped to the floor, a few thousand miles away, in the holy North Indian city of Haridwar, a gleaming, black BMW 750Li came to a halt.
Retired Inspector General of Police Ravinder Singh Gill emerged, draped in white. He had lost weight, acquired a decade of wrinkles, and had a gaunt look. It was as though everything he had ever had, had been lost.
Jasmine, also in a pristine white salwar kameez, alighted and followed as they made their way to the edge of the water. She was sticking close, keeping a sharp eye on him; she knew he needed her.
Simran did not leave the car. She could not bring herself to. She could not forgive Ruby. But she had traveled this distance with Ravinder, because him she did care for.
There were thousands of people clustered on both sides of the holy river. An endless sound rumbled on both banks. However none of this impacted on Ravinder and Jasmine. They felt alone.
They strode into the water, stopping when it was ankle high. It was icy cold. But neither seemed to notice; their cold within was icier.
Ravinder’s hands shook as he tried to untie the string holding the red cloth to the mouth of the small earthen urn, which he carried. Jasmine came to his aid. In the past week, he had retreated into a cold, silent zone, and his silence scared her. She could feel his pain as their hands met at the urn.
The red cloth finally came free.
Together the two of them tipped over the urn. A swirl of gray ashes tumbled out. Most fell into the water. Some were blown away by the wind.
Soon no traces remained. Neither in the air, nor in the water.
Yet neither looked away from where the ashes had first hit the water. They just kept looking, as if trying to clutch on to them. Both believed that in this release lay salvation for the soul that the ashes had once represented.
The chill from the water rushing around their ankles began to seep into their bodies, merging with the chill in their hearts.
After a long time, both bade a silent farewell to the lovely young woman who had entered their lives … so recently … so briefly … so sadly.
As one, Ravinder and his second-born turned and slowly made their way back to the waiting vehicle.
Just before he got into the car, Ravinder turned and looked back at the gray waters of the swiftly flowing Ganges.
But all he saw was a pretty three-year-old girl in a pretty pink frock.
She seemed to be waving at him.
That brought a small smile to his lips.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
MUKUL DEVA served as an infantry officer in the Indian Army for sixteen years, and for over a decade, was involved in active combat and counterterrorism operations in India and abroad. He is a recognized expert on terrorism, especially the menace of Islamic fundamentalism. After retiring from the army, Deva established a security company that helps protect private organizations and individuals in sixty Indian cities.
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
WEAPON OF VENGEANCE
Copyright © 2011 by Mukul Deva
All rights reserved.
Cover design by Daniel Cullen
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The Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available upon request.
ISBN 978-0-7653-3771-9 (hardcover)
ISBN 978-1-4668-3570-2 (e-book)
e-ISBN 9781466835702
Originally published in 2012 in slightly different form under the title The Dust Will Never Settle by HarperCollins Publishers India
First Edition: June 2014
