by Gabriel Khan
Ajay rushed forward, holding up a warrant. ‘CBI! This is a raid. Please stand back!’
‘Fuck off. You can’t just barge in here like this! You…’
There was the sound of a resounding slap, and the PA was flung across the room, landing at Minister Gupta’s feet, holding a bruised cheek and an even more bruised ego.
‘Sir, they’re from the CBI all right. I think you’re being raided…’ his voice trailed off.
The minister hadn’t moved. He was still gaping at the men who had barged in. Ajay walked up to him, shoved the warrant into his hand, winked at him, and went to stand next to Sharmaji, who was now barking out orders.
Minister Gupta was mystified. The CBI at his doorstep – impossible! Even the National Security Guards or the Secret Service of the US President wouldn’t dare raid his house. How the fuck had these guys sailed in?
Gupta was an entirely self-made man. Born into a humble trader’s family in Deoria, Uttar Pradesh, he had slaved to make his mark in regional politics. So much so that his manipulative skills in state-level politics soon propelled him on to the national scene.
One of Gupta’s mottos was ‘bestow and grow’. If you bestowed money on your acolytes and peers, they would help you grow – a principle nobody followed in Indian politics, where sheer power was used to make your subordinates obey you. It was because of his unconventional ideas that, within a span of just twenty-two years, he had risen to become a minister of state in the highly lucrative telecom ministry. And the future was looking bright. They were saying that something called a mobile phone would radically transform this sector – and change the world – in the next few years. No wires, no receivers, nothing. Just a single instrument to carry with you, which you could talk on as you walked! With all that money and power, the future promised, prime ministership beckoned!
But these CBI jokers were hell-bent on ruining his carefully nurtured dreams and aspirations.
‘All right, Ajay, start the search. Ranveer, stand guard. Take care of anyone trying to be too smart. I don’t care what you do with them, use your imagination. Iqbal, I want the phone lines disconnected right now. You two, watch the road outside, don’t let anyone in. Joginder, make sure no one leaves this house either. Move it, move it, move it!’
Within minutes, the house had been worked through. The devastation was at tornado level. But a tornado would have still left some things untouched, owing to the sheer randomness of where it struck. These guys were anything but random. Ranveer watched with admiration as they picked through everything, not missing a single inch.
The first five minutes yielded the usual catch in the usual places — a large amount of cash, gold, jewellery, the lot. But as the search progressed, Ranveer watched open-mouthed as, one by one, the CBI men located hidden nooks and crannies; the next five minutes threw up several gunny bags stuffed with currency.
‘What the hell is this, Mantriji? Huh?’ Sharmaji bellowed at the harrowed minister. ‘Keep searching, boys. There’s a lot more here, I can feel it!’
Suddenly, a plaintive wail cut through the noise. It took everyone a minute to place its source, but soon the minister’s wife, a lady of epic proportions and an apparently robust set of lungs, came into view.
‘Why are you all here? What do you all want from us? My husband is a good man! Why are you doing this to him?’ she howled, as she slowly made her way through the room.
Ajay was following her with a ferociously determined expression. ‘The key, madam. I need the key to this almirah, please.’ He gestured to a large almirah at the centre of the room.
The woman paused in her yowling, looked at Ajay, sniffed and said, ‘It’s lost.’
‘Are you sure, ma’am?’
‘Of course! Why do you want the key? Darling, why do they want the key?’ She took up her howling again, directing it at her husband now. At this point, the minister was sitting on a couch, his head in his hands. Ranveer almost felt sorry for him. Almost.
Sharmaji had been a spectator as the drama unfolded; he took charge again. Walking towards the almirah whose key was apparently lost, he paused for a moment – and then, without warning, he kicked the door in. It smashed to pieces. Everyone watched as more cash, gold and jewellery came tumbling out: glittering confirmation of the minister’s guilt.
There was a pregnant pause as the mistress of the house surveyed the almirah’s guilt-laden contents, her eyes wide. Then, heaving with fury that seemed to well up from deep within, she turned on her husband. ‘You! Where did you get all this? When did you bring this here? And how could you not tell me! I can’t believe you didn’t tell me!’
‘All right, all right,’ Sharmaji’s voice immediately quietened the room. ‘Iqbal, make an inventory of everything we’ve found.’
He then turned to the minister. ‘Mr Gupta, it seems we’ve caught you with your pants down.’
For a second, Gupta considered pulling a few strings, calling his friends in the CBI or the Ministry of Home Affairs. But he refrained. It would only help spread the word, and then the shit would really hit the roof. Much better to end this here and now.
Gupta took a deep breath, and said, ‘Umm, sir, can I speak with you in private, please?’
A frigid silence followed, broken only by the sound of Iqbal’s pen scratching on paper. Gupta folded his hands. ‘Please, sir.’
Sharmaji nodded almost imperceptibly. Relief flooding his face, Gupta led him out of the room to the hallway, followed closely by the PA, who kept his distance from Sharmaji.
‘Sir, my PA is a moron. He has no idea how to talk to people, especially to an important officer like you! Please forgive him.’
Sharmaji stood still, hands folded across his chest.
Beads of sweat appeared on Gupta’s face. ‘Sir, please try and understand. You’re an important man, you know how it all works. This will kill my career, I don’t know what I’ll do. Please try and—’
Sharmaji interrupted. ‘How much?’
‘Eh?’ Gupta said, surprised, not daring to hope that there might be a way out for him so early in the process.
‘How much are you offering me, Mantriji?’
A sly smirk stretched Gupta’s face. ‘Well, officer, for someone like you, I think we can settle at two lakh—’
He never finished the sentence. Sharmaji’s arm was a blur as it cut through the air and, to everyone’s horror, landed palm first on the fat left cheek of the minister. It was still reverberating when another one landed on the right cheek. Unable to speak, shocked more at the ignominy of having been slapped – he, a minister! – than the pain from the blow itself, Gupta fell prostrate at Sharmaji’s feet.
‘P.K. Sharma. Remember that name, you miserable fuck. And tell your friends they’d better pray the CBI doesn’t raid their houses, and if it does, that P.K. Sharma doesn’t come to visit. I know you’re crooked, bhenchod, and I’m going to put you behind bars,’ Sharmaji said through gritted teeth, menace in every syllable. ‘Iqbal?’
‘Sir!’
‘Is the list ready?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Get this bastard to sign it. The rest of you, get all this stuff outside, pronto.’ He strode out.
The PA appeared quietly behind the minister. ‘Good thing you offered him just two, sir.’
Two and a half hours later, the raid was finally over. All the seized cash, jewellery, gold and various assets were piled high in the centre of the courtyard.
‘All right, get all this stuff to the police station. Load it up in the car.’ Sharmaji beckoned to Ranveer, who was watching, mouth agape.
‘Ranveer, get onto the wireless and inform your chowki that Joginder and Iqbal are on their way with the goods.’
‘Yes, sir.’ Ranveer passed on the rapid- fire command to Nihal Singh, one of the constables. Nihal went off and Ranveer watched Joginder place a wad of papers under Sharmaji’s nose – which he signed obediently.
‘All right, Joginder. Get all this stuff to the chowki,
lodge an FIR, get the inventory done and get your ass back here. You have thirty minutes. Come back and get Ranveer’s signature on the GMD,’ Sharmaji said.
‘Yes, sir,’ said Joginder. He drove off in the car which bore the confiscated goods, along with Iqbal.
Sharmaji continued, ‘Ranveer, you’ll stay here on guard for now. Joginder will file the FIR and come back with the GMD. You will sign — what’s the matter?’
Sharmaji finally noticed that Ranveer was looking a little queasy, and took pity on him. ‘Was this your first raid?’ he said kindly.
Ranveer nodded, unable to speak.
Sharmaji chuckled. ‘So, how did you like it?’
Ranveer glanced over at the portico, where the stunned and broken Gupta was still standing with his family. ‘Sir, it was brilliant! I’ve become your fan, sir! The way you broke that corrupt man… Today I found out the power of honesty. Thank you, sir,’ gushed Ranveer, knowing he was voicing the sentiments of the four Safdarjung cops behind him.
Sharmaji grew serious. ‘Listen, Ranveer, never forget one thing. True strength lies in your heart. Never ever doubt your heart.’
Ranveer choked up, unable to respond, and simply nodded.
‘Sir, we’re done,’ said Ajay, walking up behind Sharmaji.
‘All right, Ranveer. We’ll be off, there are more raids to take care of. Wait here for Joginder, sign the GMD, and you’ll be done too, okay?’ Sharmaji said, putting a hand on Ranveer’s shoulder.
Ranveer smiled proudly. ‘Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.’
2
Chase
‘Get out of the way! Get the fuck out of the way!’
I yelled at the top of my voice at the people milling about. I was trying to catch up with the man running a few hundred yards ahead of me. We were running on a Monday morning in Connaught Place and there were many reasons I wanted to catch up with him. The most important one – he was running away from me. That, and he had a gun in his hand.
My mind was racing as I ran, dodging the people my target kept pushing out of his way; it was automatically taking in details of the surroundings, telling me I couldn’t risk a shootout here. Too many people, too dangerous. I just hoped I would catch the man I knew only as Gupta before he figured out his advantage and got himself a hostage, a nice ticket out of this mess.
I chased Gupta down an alley, and then into the next street. All I had on was a white vest and pyjamas, and I knew that nobody would be able to tell that I was a cop chasing a bad guy. All they saw was a man with a gun being chased by a man without a gun. Mine was still tucked securely into the belt I wore under my pyjamas.
My wife would not have been amused.
I was in shape and lethal on foot, so I felt a grim sense of satisfaction in knowing that Gupta would not be able to lose me. He knew it too, but he tried to slow me down through the usual little tricks: shoving the men he was running past so that they fell into my path. I had to dodge, jump and leapfrog my way over the human obstacle course, but grew used to it; all the while, I was gaining ground.
Other cops had joined the chase too, but were lagging behind, weighed down by their potbellies and general unfamiliarity with physical exertion. I was far ahead of them – but at least I wasn’t alone. My faithful subordinate Rahul was just behind me, and also running hard. And there was a new guy huffing along behind Rahul. I didn’t know the fellow, but he seemed intelligent and enthusiastic thus far.
Well, we’ll see, I thought, as I closed in on my quarry.
Gupta suddenly turned in mid-stride and I stopped in my tracks – looking down the barrel of a gun trembling in his hand not twenty feet away.
‘Get down, everybody get down!’ I yelled.
Like all crowds, this one was slow to react. I saw the man take aim, and knew he was going to miss me. But the way he was aiming, he wouldn’t miss the petrified schoolboy quivering next to me.
Still yelling, I threw myself at the kid and pinned him to the ground – just as a shot rang out. I heard the bullet whistling over my head, and covered the child with my body to protect him from the continued gunfire. The bullets struck something; I heard the sound of glass shattering.
Finally, the crowd perceived they were in grave danger and began to scream and run away. Fucking idiots. Here was a guy shooting straight into the crowd and instead of falling flat on the ground to avoid his wild bullets, all they could do was run around bawling their heads off.
I looked up finally when the shooting ceased, and saw Gupta set off, on the run again. I picked myself up, off the boy, checked that he was unhurt, and began to run again. Just then, I heard a plaintive voice. ‘You broke my car!’
The kid was holding a broken toy car in his hand which seemed to hold his attention. No matter that he had just been saved from debilitating injury, gruesome death, trauma, or all of the above.
Gratitude. Bloody hell. Now this my wife would definitely find amusing.
I started off in pursuit of bloody Gupta again.
Finally, the man figured out he was in way too deep. There was no car coming to his rescue, he couldn’t find a dark alley or corner to hide in because it was daytime, and he had at least thirty cops on his tail. Including me. He wasn’t going anywhere.
Stopping abruptly in the middle of the square like a little video game figure, he grabbed a girl.
Damn! He’d done exactly what I had anticipated. He’d got himself a hostage.
The immediate vicinity of the square emptied swiftly this time. In a matter of seconds, only Gupta and the girl were left standing in its centre, his left arm around her throat; the gun in his right hand pointed at her head.
‘Stop! Stop right there!’ he yelled. ‘You move and I shoot her.’
I stood still, my right hand rigid behind me as it fixed on the butt of my own gun, which nestled between the belt and my body. The crowd had started running, true, but with the morbid fascination that is the trait of all humanity, they hadn’t gone far. Now, they stood some fifty feet away, forming a semi-circle around us, the idiots. As though they were watching a movie.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw that the other cops had all arrived, most of them panting and severely out of breath. They were all around the crowd, restraining people. The fittest of the lot, who had managed to keep up with the chase, were at the head of the circle, just behind me, guns raised and pointing straight at Gupta’s head.
The wind blew through this spectacle gently, and nothing else moved. It was as silent as death.
‘I’m serious! I’ll kill her if you move!’ Gupta shouted again manically, spit flowing from his paan-encased lips.
‘Really, Gupta? You’re going to shoot her? And then what? She’s dead and you don’t have a shield. We’ve got you, man,’ I said, deliberately taunting him. I had to buy enough time for Gupta to make a mistake. It didn’t have to be much, just the slightest slip was all I needed.
‘Shut up, shut up!’ Gupta screamed hysterically. ‘You think I won’t kill her? I will… none of you move!’
I spoke softly. ‘Everyone, we need this maniac alive. He’s too valuable to lose.’
I could feel the men around me stiffen with surprise. On my right, Rahul whispered, ‘Sir! But the girl?’
‘I know, you idiot. Just don’t make any sudden movements. I’ll handle this,’ I whispered, not looking away from Gupta’s crazed eyes.
‘Okay, Gupta. What do you want?’ I said in a louder voice. I had to keep him talking, get him to make that mistake I was looking for. They always made a mistake, if you knew what you were doing.
He’d obviously not thought this through. ‘Just stay where you are!’ he screamed again.
‘I’m not moving. None of us is moving. Take it easy. You don’t have a way out of here,’ I said in an even tone. The girl was whimpering now, large tears rolling from her eyes and smudging kohl across her cheeks. The gun was still jabbed against her temple.
‘Sure I do! You’re not going to do anything as long as I’m holding
this bitch!’
Trouble. This guy was fast losing it.
‘Why don’t you just give up?’ I asked conversationally. ‘I promise we won’t treat you badly. Because you see, if you kill that girl, we will kill you. No doubt. But if you let her go, and come quietly with me, I promise I won’t hurt you.’
‘No, no, no! All right, all of you put your guns down!’ Gupta yelled, looking from me to the officers around me. ‘Right now!’
My eyes were on the gun. It hadn’t left the girl’s head.
‘Okay, slowly now, lower your weapons,’ I said, eyes pinned to Gupta and the gun.
‘Sir?’ Rahul asked from my left, clearly confused by my order.
‘I said, lower your weapons,’ I hissed between clenched teeth. Come on, I thought furiously, give me anything. Just one opening, that’s all.
The men around me slowly lowered their guns. To their credit, they didn’t drop them.
Gupta’s eyes swung back to me, and his lips twisted into a crazy smile. He brought the gun around quickly and pointed it at me, away from the girl. She was safe, and in the space of two minutes, I was staring down the barrel of the same gun.
Time seemed to slow down; even as my already heightened senses screamed every detail at me with increasingly vivid clarity. I saw Gupta’s finger start to squeeze the trigger; the barrel flinched as the casing turned into place, and the hammer rose.
My reflexes took over. In one swift motion, I fell to my knees and brought my hand around with my service revolver in it.
The hammer slammed into place. My knees hit the ground and the gun roared, the bullet screaming its way towards me. I brought my hand up.
The bullet went through the exact spot where I’d been standing a fraction of a second earlier.
I didn’t pause as my hand swept a wide arc from behind my back. Halfway through the arc, I squeezed the trigger.
My mind had already taken aim. And its aim was true.
The bullet smashed into Gupta’s knee. He screamed and fell back, trying to clutch at the girl. But she had already broken free of him as he began his unsteady descent, and ran towards the crowd, sobbing uncontrollably.
