Special 26

by Gabriel Khan

  That had been over five hours ago. Whatever the gang was doing, they were certainly running one long marathon of an interview. They were holding it in the hotel’s conference room, which we hadn’t known, so the room wasn’t bugged. In any case, I felt confident that at least six or seven of Solanki’s men would be chosen. They were, after all, the best.

  I was proven wrong. Rahul, who was watching the whole thing from close quarters, from the lobby, called me on the hotel phone. ‘Sir, they’re all waiting outside the conference room. The gang is deliberating. It all looks very important. In fact, if I didn’t know the truth, I would have been taken in too.’

  ‘The hotel staff certainly believes them,’ I grumbled.

  ‘Wait a minute. One of them has come out, he’s waving a paper. Hold on.’

  I waited patiently, then he spoke again. ‘Sir, they’ve declared twenty-six names. We’ve got only More and Gupta in.’

  ‘Fine. Stay there a little while longer and then come back in,’ I said and hung up.

  Just two of them. If we’d got more people in, we could have had more leverage, but just the two of them wouldn’t be able to do much, maybe just observe and report.

  Solanki was puzzled too. ‘Dinesh – he’s the really brilliant one. Why wouldn’t they pick him?’

  ‘I have no idea, Solanki. We’ll know soon enough.’

  in another hour and a half, just as the clock struck seven, the twelve men returned one by one. I waited till they were all in, and then asked for a debriefing. What they told me left me even more confused.

  ‘Sir, it was strangest interview I gave.’

  ‘…hardly asked anything of consequence!’

  ‘…they asked me what my favourite song is. What the hell?’

  ‘…only wanted to know if I could speak English…’

  ‘…asked me to show them my biceps, just because I work out.’

  ‘…I mean, how does it matter what my favourite song is?’

  ‘…almost everyone selected is non-Maharashtrian…’

  ‘…I knew I impressed the guy with my answers…’

  ‘…singing songs can’t save lives…’

  I turned to More and Gupta, who were standing at the end of the line. ‘Well?’ I said.

  ‘It was strange,’ said More thoughtfully. ‘Their questions seemed standard stuff anyone would ask. Knowing their background, and this Ajay’s intelligence, I would have expected more.’

  ‘And anyway,’ Rahul interjected, ‘if they want more members for the gang, why would they advertise for the CBI?’

  ‘What happened after you two were selected?’ I asked.

  This time Gupta spoke. ‘They got us all back into the conference room. The leader – called himself S.K. Vardhan – gave a pep talk. It was pretty good,’ he said grudgingly. ‘The man does know how to lead. He got everyone completely worked up. All about working for God and country and shit. By the end, they would’ve taken a bullet for him.’

  More took over, speaking in his brusque manner. ‘Told us to report tomorrow at eleven. Said Sharma and Iqbal would take a two-hour class. Apparently, after lunch there’ll be a practical exam. That’s what they called it. Said they had to see how we would respond in a situation of extreme pressure.’

  ‘Guy’s a real linguist, too,’ Gupta said. ‘Spoke to the Gujjus in Gujarati, the Tamilians in Tamil, to More here in Marathi.’

  ‘Bastard told me not to slouch,’ muttered More, clearly disgruntled at being told off. ‘You know, he had a name for us. Called us “Special 26”.’

  Weird. He’d even got a name for them. Not the most imaginative one, clearly.

  I looked around at their faces. ‘And that’s it? Where the hell is the raid?’

  More and Gupta looked sheepish. ‘He didn’t say anything about that.’

  So, it hadn’t worked. We’d got our men in, but we still didn’t know where the raid would be. And it would be tomorrow afternoon, which meant we had less than eighteen hours to figure out where it would be.

  There was only one thing left to do.

  I turned to Ranveer. ‘Looks like we’re going with your idea after all, kid.’

  I planned it all out, down to the last meticulous detail. It would be tricky, but if handled correctly, without hesitation, without anybody panicking, we could pull it off.

  Then, seconds before Operation Bodysnatch could be put into action, our target made it completely irrelevant. One of the shadows on watch called. ‘Sharma has just exited the building.’

  I looked out of the window, and saw him standing just outside the hotel gate. What the hell was he doing, just standing there? But before any of us could react, he turned and walked to his left.

  Well, I could hardly lose such an opportunity, could I? If the man wanted to speak with us so badly, I was the last person to disappoint him.

  I turned to Ranveer, who was to have been the lead man in Operation Bodysnatch. ‘Looks like we’re aborting the beginning and middle of the op and going straight to the end,’ I told him, smiling. ‘Go bring Sharma in.’

  18

  Countdown:

  Thursday Evening

  Sharmaji heard the man’s voice through the darkness in the room and the blackness of his fear. He knew he had heard the voice before, but his panic-stricken brain refused to let the memory through.

  ‘Remember me, Mr Sharma?” the man said again. ‘We met briefly inside a Ludhiana toilet, before your boss bailed you out.’

  Finally, Sharmaji’s brain allowed the memory to come through, and he drew in his breath sharply.

  The man nodded. ‘I see you remember now. My name is Waseem Khan.’

  Sharmaji’s lips moved, but his voice was yet to return.

  The man waggled his eyebrows. ‘So, Mr Sharma! Looks like you love playing cops and robbers!’

  Sharmaji’s voice was back, but the words were still locked inside his head. ‘N-n-n-no, ugh-ugh-ugh—’

  Waseem waved at him to shut up, and Sharmaji did so gratefully.

  ‘Listen to me very carefully, Mr Sharma,’ Waseem said, speaking softly, his voice hissing with menace. ‘I will ask you some questions, and you will have two choices. The first one is to say you don’t know anything.’

  He leaned forward. His eyes held Sharmaji in its terror-inducing grip. Then he spoke, and his voice was even colder than before. ‘Let me tell you, Sharmaji, for your best interests, choosing this first option would be inadvisable. We can do things to you that nobody even knows can be done. And we will do it with perfect precision. We will take you to the edge of pain and madness and death, but then bring you back, just enough to let you recover, and then begin all over again. You won’t be allowed to die, but you’ll wish for nothing else. I promise you that.’

  Sharmaji stared at him in horror. There was no doubt in his mind that Waseem meant every single word.

  Waseem leaned back. His voice changed, was warmer, kinder. ‘The second option is for you to cooperate with us, save us some time and trouble. I can guarantee there’ll be no pain involved with this route. in fact, you may even get some relief.’

  Sharmaji nodded vigorously.

  ‘Good. Now, where—’

  Sharmaji found his voice abruptly. ‘Opera House! Jewellery stores!’ he cried.

  Waseem looked at him questioningly.

  Sharmaji hung his head. ‘Sorry. I meant the raid will be at Opera House.’

  Waseem leaned forward again. ‘When?’

  ‘At three p.m.’

  ‘What’s Special 26?’

  Sharmaji was astounded. How could they know so much? They’d only decided on the name last night!

  ‘It’s a big place, sir. We needed more men for… you know.’

  ‘So you placed an ad in the paper? Bold move, Sharmaji. All right, come on. It’s a big game, help us out. What’s the plan?’

  ‘They’ll be given training tomorrow—’

  ‘What kind of training?’

  ‘I mean, just explaining
their roles to them. What they would have to do, how to behave, that sort of thing, get them ready.’

  ‘Then?’

  ‘Then?’ said Sharmaji miserably. ‘Then the bus will come to the hotel at two thirty p.m. sharp. We’ll go to Opera House and raid all the jewellers there. Pretend to be CBI, let the Special 26 we recruited help us with it.’

  His voice became smaller and smaller. Waseem understood that realization had dawned on Sharmaji – it was all over. The only thing he could do was to cooperate.

  ‘We would have been there for not more than half an hour. The plan was for the four of us to escape with the booty, leave the Special 26 there at Opera House. By the time anyone suspected something was wrong, we would have vanished. In half an hour, we would have taken over eighty lakh rupees…’ his voice trailed off.

  Waseem changed his line of questioning. ‘What’s with this Ajay character? What’s his background?’

  Sharmaji looked around wearily. In half an hour, he seemed to have aged decades. ‘Ajay wanted to join the CBI,’ he rasped. ‘But he didn’t cut it, failed the exam. Guess it pissed him off.’

  Waseem whistled. ‘So he decided to open his own CBI?’ he said incredulously.

  Sharmaji stayed silent, staring at the floor.

  ‘Tell me something, Mr Sharma,’ Waseem said, and something in his voice made Sharmaji look up. ‘Do you want to go down with these friends of yours? I can tell you that at your age, spending the rest of your life in jail really wouldn’t be a good proposition. Or would you like to save your own hide?’

  If there was the slightest ray of hope in those words, Sharmaji scrambled towards it. ‘Sir,’ he said, tears welling up in his eyes, ‘if-if there w-w-was some way, any w-w-way… my kids—’

  Waseem interrupted. ‘You should have thought of that earlier,’ he said, his voice cold again.

  Sharmaji looked into those pitiless eyes, his face a tortured wreck as he tried to form words.

  ‘Come on. I don’t have all day,’ snapped Waseem.

  Sharmaji’s body sagged, his head fell forward, eyes closed. ‘What do I have to do?’ he whispered.

  Waseem nodded to his men. One of them turned off his torch, and walked away. There was the sound of a switch being flicked on, and lights flooded the room. The other man turned off his flashlight. But Sharmaji’s eyes were still closed.

  ‘For now, do nothing,’ said Waseem. ‘Forget about our little… chat. Let everything play out the way you’ve planned. To show you that I’m trusting you, I’m even going to tell you that we have our officers among your Special 26. So don’t try to get clever on me. It won’t work.’

  Sharmaji stayed as he was, just nodded his head.

  ‘I just want to arrest your men,’ Waseem said softly. ‘I don’t want to kill any of you. So don’t make me.’

  Now Sharmaji opened his eyes and looked up. And got another shock.

  They were in his room. In room 1451 of the Holiday Inn. That’s where he’d been interrogated.

  Staring at him were Waseem’s men. And one of them was Ranveer. Recognition dawned on Sharmaji’s face.

  Waseem noticed the look on his face and laughed. ‘Like I said. Don’t get clever on me.’ He stood up. ‘So tell me,’ he said, almost conversationally, ‘how many of these raids…’ he paused to underline the sarcasm in the word, ‘have you guys held?’

  Sharmaji shook his head, looking flustered. In the familiar environment, some of his fear had vanished. But there was no way out. ‘We would have hit a half century tomorrow,’ he whispered.

  Waseem burst out laughing. Unlike Sharmaji, he seemed to have shed years off his frame. ‘Well, I have to hand it to you. Just the four of you fellows have created enough trouble for more than a lifetime!’ he said, chuckling.

  Now Sharmaji seemed offended. ‘Yeah?’ he sneered. ‘Well, it wasn’t just the four of us. People like him helped too!’ He nodded at Ranveer.

  A strange look passed over Ranveer’s face, and his fists clenched. Looking directly at Sharmaji, he said through gritted teeth, ‘Sir, can I have just two minutes with him alone?’

  Waseem walked to him and laid his hand on his arm. ‘Kid, you’ll get all day with him tomorrow.’

  Ranveer slowly raised his hand, and flexed his thumb and index finger into the shape of a gun. He pointed it at Sharmaji, pulled an imaginary trigger and had the satisfaction of watching Sharmaji flinch. ‘Talk to you tomorrow, pal.’

  Waseem walked over to Sharmaji. Very deliberately, he stood with his holster visible, then flicked its button open, looking straight at Sharmaji, who paled. ‘One more time, Mr Sharma. Don’t try to be clever, and I won’t have to do anything I don’t want to.’

  Suddenly, Sharmaji started to laugh. It wasn’t that he was finding anything funny; his relief at surviving the encounter had caused him to lose control. He was laughing hysterically, tears streaming down his cheeks.

  ‘What’s the matter?’ asked Waseem, unfazed. The others were surprised, but he had seen this kind of reaction countless times.

  ‘Sorry, but I suddenly thought of something Ajju said. He said the man who could catch him hadn’t been born yet.’

  Waseem shook his head. ‘Overconfidence has cost many a genius dear, Sharma. What stuff is your Ajju made of?’

  Sharmaji was now laughing uncontrollably. Waseem motioned to the others and they got up and went to the door. Waseem came forward, paused for a second, then slapped Sharmaji hard.

  That brought him back to his senses. Wiping away his tears, he looked at Waseem, and felt that chill in his bones again.

  ‘Forget about Ajay and think of yourself,’ Waseem told him. ‘You’ve got a lot of work to do tomorrow.’

  He spun on his heel, went to the door and walked out, slamming it shut behind him.

  A little later, Sharmaji knocked on Ajay’s door. ‘Ajju, we need to talk. Can you come to my room?’

  Ajay nodded. He closed the door behind him and followed Sharmaji to his room. They went inside, and he saw Iqbal and Joginder were already there. They were fiddling with some papers. ‘What’s the matter?’ he asked.

  Sharmaji had had the last hour to think about what Waseem had told him. he knew he couldn’t give up Ajay without a reason, and he needed a reason.

  Now, he spun around and turned on Ajay. ‘You tell us what the matter is, Ajay!’ he shouted.

  Ajay’s eyes narrowed. ‘I don’t understand.’

  ‘You’re using us. I know that. You’re just using us!’

  Ajay stood still, not moving. ‘‘I’m afraid I still don’t understand. I’ve never used—’

  ‘Oh yeah?’ bellowed Sharmaji. ‘You get the lion’s share of the spoils. Sometimes thirty, sometimes forty, sometimes fifty per cent. We have to divide the rest among us.’

  Ajay relaxed a bit. ‘Is that what this is about? More money?’

  ‘No. It’s about trust. And we don’t understand what you’re doing with your share.’

  Ajay’s voice hardened. ‘With respect, Sharmaji, what I do with my share is not your business. You have no right to ask me that. Just like I don’t ask what you do with yours.’

  Sharmaji slammed his hand down on the table. ‘Then tell me why you live like you do!’

  Now Ajay looked surprised. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘You live in a run-down flat in Dongri. You obviously have enough money to stay at this hotel, and to hire its services. So where does it all go?’

  Ajay looked at the other two. ‘Do you feel the same way?’

  With great reluctance, they nodded miserably. ‘It’s just that, Ajju, we have no idea who you meet, what you do,’ Iqbal said earnestly. ‘All that money you get… we would like to know where it all goes. Because you clearly don’t spend it on your flat. You don’t even have a good car, just a Fiat, and you’ve sold that too.’ He looked around at the others. ‘We just want to know if we’re being taken for a ride.’

  Ajay stared at them silently for a while, and then walked slowly to
the window. From there, he spoke in a low voice, not looking at them. ‘None of you know how I grew up. I watched my father die, watched everyone else around me scrabbling for food and what little money they could get. We lived like animals. I loved books, but nobody in our area could afford even a pencil, let along books. My father tried his best, and then when he died, I worked hard and bought the books and pencils and pens and copies. I studied hard and it paid off and I went to high school and college. Somewhere along the way, I realized my story wasn’t unique. Across India, people who deserve a lot more – clean homes, good water, medicines, education – were getting nothing.’

  He sat down on a chair, still refusing to look at the others.

  ‘The politicians, they’re supposed to help. Their job is to protect the weak, help the innocent, be just and kind. But they’re the opposite, in every sense. The bastards only think of themselves, how they can grow fat on money that’s not theirs and food that’s grown by us, live in homes made by us, drive on roads laid by us, wear clothes stitched by us. They depend on us, the common man, for everything. And yet, it is these very people that they trample.’

  Ajay’s voice hardened again. ‘I decided not to depend on them any more. They don’t stand for anything except corruption and injustice. So I took the law into my hands. I’ve been stealing from the rich and corrupt. I’ve been amassing the money, but it’s not with me.’

  He looked at the others. ‘I have a small trust. I put all the money in it. With it, I’ve built three schools in West Bengal, Orissa and Bihar. I’ve also built a hospital in Bankura, in West Bengal, where medicines are free. I’m trying to help the poor, those who actually help sustain our country. The bastards failed me in every test because I refused to give a bribe, because I believed in something good. So I’m trying my best to bloody well take out and break as many corrupt politicians and crooked cops I can find. If their numbers fall, maybe, just maybe, we might become a strong country.’

  The others were left dumbfounded. Never in a million years could Iqbal have imagined that this was what Ajay was doing with his money; the same loot they used to buy luxuries for themselves, Ajay was using to help others. Joginder stood open-mouthed, flabbergasted that someone who could have become a billionaire many times over from their acquired loot had chosen to be a philanthropist instead.