by Deva,Mukul
‘Other than us? Rajappan, his brother and his secretary.’
‘And my cousin,’ Kamble mumbled, his usual manner of speaking.
‘Well, thanks to the RIP, Rajappan’s brother and your cousin are already history.’ Karunakaran gave a nasty, barking laugh.
‘Yeah! Thank god for that.’ Yadav added with his customary sensitivity. ‘Whoever bumped them off, actually did us a favour. Me certainly. That brother-in-law of mine was becoming a real pain . . . Saala.’
‘Whatever.’ Karunakaran reasserted control. ‘I’m not stressed about Rajappan, he has no choice but to keep his mouth shut. So that basically leaves Rajappan’s secretary. I’m worried about that arsehole. Rajappan always gave him too much of a free hand . . . he knows too bloody much.’
‘I agree. I told him that a dozen times,’ Yadav grated. There was a short silence. ‘Let me take care of the bhenchod secretary.’
‘Okay, but it’s got to look like an accident,’ Karunakaran cautioned.
‘Accident or suicide, what’s the fucking difference?’
‘True.’ Kamble sniggered.
‘Fine. That’s that.’ Karunakaran again, taking charge. ‘The second issue is these RIP bastards . . . whoever they are?’
‘You’re the damn home minister. Your cops can take care of them, can’t they?’
‘I hope so, but that’s not what’s worrying me,’ Karunakaran countered. ‘It’s just that I don’t want these buggers captured alive.’ He sensed Kamble’s unspoken question and added, ‘I don’t think that is likely to be in our best interests. Who knows who they are and what else will be uncovered if they’re taken alive and start talking?’
‘So? What are you saying?’ As always, there was no beating around the bush with Yadav.
‘I’m saying we should not rely only on the cops. Let’s get our own team in place to take care of these buggers.’
‘Is that sensible? To have two sets of people hunting them down separately?’
‘What’s the problem?’ Karunakaran did not like his ideas being challenged. ‘Our team will have the advantage since I will pass on to them everything the cops find out.’ He paused briefly, trying to decide if he should tell them about Nanda. ‘I’ve already put a man on the job to ensure I am always in picture about the investigation.’
‘And how does that help us exactly?’ Yadav sarcasm irritated Karunakaran further, and made him even more determined to implement his plan.
‘Because if the cops find the RIP first they are likely to capture them alive, and we agreed we don’t want that.’ Karunakaran’s pitch was rising. ‘That’s why I want our men to get them . . .’
‘What if they get in each other’s way?’
‘They won’t,’ Now really upset Karunakaran tried to brush Yadav’s objections aside. ‘I will ensure our team knows what the cops are up to at all times.’
‘And what if they get taken by the cops—could happen, if they’re both on the same trail and the cops don’t know they’re working for us?’
By now Karunakaran was defending his master plan so hard that he failed to spot the sense in Yadav’s objections. ‘That’s why we need a smart guy to do this?’
‘Who do you have in mind?’ Kamble this time. This tactical question unwittingly distracted them from the larger, strategic issue they had been debating.
‘Bhagat. Remember him . . . Captain Raghav Bhagat? The guy who’d been the ADC to the governor when . . .’
‘When that Siachen housing problem had come up?’ Kamble completed the sentence for him. ‘Of course I remember him. You know where he is? And more importantly, can we trust him?’
‘Trust him?’ Karunakaran snorted. ‘We don’t have to. We pay him. Don’t you remember how he took the fall for the governor?’
‘I also remember that he cost him an arm and a leg.’
‘Why should that bother us? What’s a couple of million here or there?’ He sniggered. ‘And it’s not as though we’re paying from our pockets.’
‘True.’ Yadav now. ‘So you think he is the one to take care of this issue for us?’
‘Come on. He is the man for us. An ex-para commando. Highly trained. Bold, sharp as hell, daring and totally without any scruples. For the right kind of money he will do anything.’
‘Okay. If you say so,’ Yadav conceded coldly. ‘Get hold of him then.’
‘I already have,’ Karunakaran retorted, unable to hide his smug satisfaction. ‘He’s coming to meet me in an hour. I want both of you also here for the meeting.’
‘I can be there,’ Kamble replied immediately, he seemed happy that someone was taking charge. ‘But what’s the third problem you mentioned?’
‘That arsehole Hazarika and his bloody anti-corruption agitation, of course. We have to derail his movement or at least bog it down and make sure it gets buried. But let’s talk about him when you guys reach here . . . after we have spoken to Bhagat and told him what to do. First this RIP business needs urgent attention.’
‘When have you called him?’
‘Now. He should be on the way.’
*
Raghav Bhagat had lost neither his looks nor his cocky demeanour. Six feet two, with not an extra ounce anywhere on him, he still looked lean, mean and fighting fit; he had quit the army, but obviously not the regimen. He had even retained that swagger, the hallmark of a Bollywood Rambo. Though already past eleven at night he was dressed to the nines, in a well-fitted Armani suit, complete with a flashy and obviously expensive silk tie. The white gold, top of the line, Patek Philippe Calatrava watch glittering on his wrist and matching cufflinks communicated his monetary success.
‘Good evening, sirs.’ He gave his trademark, sardonic smile when he was ushered into the presence of the three politicians. ‘How wonderful to see all three of you together.’
‘You’re looking well, Captain.’ Karunakaran got up and shook hands with him, his buff politician smile on display. ‘The years had been kind to you.’
‘Not half as kind as they have been to you, sir.’ Raghav took his hand somewhat gingerly, as though not really enthused by the act. ‘And it’s no longer Captain . . . just plain old Raghav Bhagat now.’ His smile was brittle.
‘You know how it is Cap . . . Bhagat. Old habits die hard.’
‘That they do.’ Raghav kept his smile pasted on as he carefully surveyed the three powerful men arrayed across him, trying to assess why they had sent for him.
The trim, business-suited, dapper Kamble with his neatly shaped goatee and rimless glasses was looking at everything except him. Though generally soft-spoken and a bit of a mumbler, Raghav knew he was as wily as a fox. And far more lethal.
However, Raghav knew from experience that it was the rustic, khadi-clad Yadav who was by far the deadliest of the lot. As short and pot-bellied as Karunakaran, Yadav however lacked finesse and was known to be totally without compunction or scruples. If half the stories . . . rumours . . . about what had happened to the witnesses in the fodder scam case that Yadav had been involved in were true, Raghav knew he needed to watch out for him.
Karunakaran of course was Karunakaran. Raghav had dealt with him earlier and knew exactly how deviously deadly he was.
The Tricky Trio, Raghav reminded himself, wondering yet again why they had sent for him. Whatever it is, watch your back. He cautioned himself again, for the nth time since Karunakaran’s call.
There was a tentative knock. Silence slammed down on the room as the door opened and a buxom, sari-clad maid entered, carrying a tray laden with glasses and a decanter of whisky. She began to pour at a gesture from Karunakaran. Large shots of whisky with varying dollops of soda; obviously aware of how the three men took their drinks. Raghav waved a negative when she gave him an enquiring glance.
Damned if I’m going to drink with these buggers. Raghav knew he would need all his wits about him. He watched the trio closely, masking his amusement as he noted Yadav drinking in the woman, as though he was mentally stripping her. T
hen she left, closing the door behind her. Yadav’s eyes immediately swivelled back to Raghav, all business now. And Karunakaran came straight to the point.
‘Have you heard about the RIP . . . that group which has . . .’
‘Yes I have.’ Raghav edged in gently. ‘The ones who took out Mr Yadav’s brother-in-law and Mr Kamble’s cousin.’
‘Right. We want you to hunt down the RIP for us.’
‘Me?’ Raghav was nonplussed. ‘You’re the home minister, sir. You have the country’s complete cop force at your disposal. What additional value can I add?’
‘You don’t have to remind me. I know that, Bhagat,’ Karunakaran replied testily. ‘Instead of asking stupid questions I want you to quickly put together a private task force, a small but highly skilled group and hunt these killers down.’
‘Okay, but . . .’ Raghav began tentatively, still unsure where this was headed.
‘Money is no issue,’ Karunakaran added.
Raghav’s smile brightened.
‘But we don’t want them taken alive.’
Raghav’s smile faltered. Only for a second. ‘Right. So that’s my value-add.’ He made a brief humming sound, searching for the right words, trying to figure out the monetary worth of this value-add.
Karunakaran pre-empted him. ‘It’s pretty much a blank cheque, Captain,’ he said softly, knowing that would turn the trick.
It did. Raghav’s hesitation vanished immediately.
‘Right. When do you want me to get started?’
‘A few hours ago,’ Yadav snapped testily.
‘Haven’t you heard? They’ve promised that in the next three days, every day one man is going to die.’ Karunakaran tapped his wristwatch. It was about fifteen minutes short of midnight. ‘The countdown begins in a few minutes.’
Before Raghav could reply, Yadav again leaned forward. Setting down his whisky glass on the centre table with a sharp, somehow ominous, click he added, ‘We don’t care if the bhenchods they want to kill live or die, but you have to make sure that these RIP cunts don’t walk away alive when they make the next attempt.’ His soft tone added menace to the already tense atmosphere. ‘Get it?’
They live, and you die. The unspoken hung heavily in the room.
‘Sure. I do.’ Raghav forced himself to maintain a poker face and meet Yadav’s gaze squarely. He knew that men like Yadav thrived on fear and he wasn’t going to oblige. Whatever else he may have been, Raghav was no coward. Still maintaining eye contact Raghav sprang lightly to his feet. ‘Then I’d better get going and put a team together.’ He turned to Karunakaran. ‘I’ll need some money to get started.’
Karunakaran, already prepared for that, merely pointed at the large leather case kept under the coffee table. ‘That should be enough to begin with. Let me know when you need more.’
‘Good.’ Raghav picked up the bag, hefting it; it appeared nice and full. ‘I’ll also need all the intelligence inputs and crime scene reports you have, sir.’
‘That is no problem. Everything the cops find will be emailed to you. Rest assured that you will know everything the police does . . . as soon as they do.’
Raghav gave it a moment’s thought, and then nodded. ‘Then I’m good to go.’
Go! Karunakaran’s cold nod egged him to do just that.
Neither politician got up to shake hands with him. The unspoken message was clear; the minute Raghav had picked up the bag of money he was just another hired gun albeit an expensive one, but nothing more. Raghav also knew that he would most probably not meet any of them again. They would make sure of that. Plausible deniability. If he got caught they all needed the luxury of not knowing him.
If he succeeded he didn’t want to meet the bastards. If he failed . . . Raghav suppressed a shudder.
So be it. He allowed himself a mental shrug. Who the fuck cares? Chance. Just another bloody chance. All his life he had taken them . . . many of them. Some failed, some succeeded . . . all a part of the game. They pay, I play. Arseholes or not, their money is just as good. He inadvertently again checked the weight of the bag of money in his hand. Nice! A bleak smile creased his face.
‘Don’t worry, whoever they are . . . wherever they are, I will find them sooner or later.’
‘Then find them sooner than later. Before they kill the next man.’
‘And make sure they die.’
Yadav’s warning followed him out of the room. By the time he was halfway to his car Raghav’s mind had pushed away all extraneous thoughts and moved into combat mode.
A tactical HQ. Raghav knew that was the first thing he needed. The Satbari farmhouse would be ideal. His mind prodded him immediately.
Located in a still-to-be-developed part of the Chhatarpur area, which abounded in lush farmhouses owned by the who’s who of Delhi, it had been one of the first ‘gifts’ he had received from the scam-beleaguered Tamil Nadu governor when he had taken the fall for him. Exquisitely built and fully furnished, spread over two acres, it had all the required bells and whistles, but was still a bit of a commute from the city, which is why he normally preferred to stay at his house in Defence Colony. Raghav only used the farmhouse as a weekend getaway . . . and of course to entertain the never-ending line of girls who paraded through his life in ever increasing numbers ever since his wife had . . . Raghav yanked the chain on that train of thought, pulling his mind back to the task at hand.
Yes. The farmhouse would be an ideal HQ. Big enough to accommodate a dozen men if required and private enough to keep them safe from prying eyes.
The farmhouse was empty, barring the two security guards and the maid he kept there. Them, Raghav didn’t worry about. Knowing that he needed their loyalty and silence he paid them more than well.
Satisfied Raghav moved on to the next item on his agenda. He knew he needed an ops base in Mumbai or Pune. Some of the likely RIP targets were bound to be in the southern part of the country and he would need some men there to respond rapidly. Both cities were well connected and would enable them to cover south and central India rapidly.
Rapidly! Raghav knew that time was going to be the key issue in this operation. Three targets in three days. Boy! These RIP buggers, whoever they are, would be burning some serious rubber. And he needed to be up to speed if he was hoping to get a shot at them. Let me pick a team leader for the south and let him handle these line issues.
Raghav chewed on that, running down a mental checklist of possible candidates. He hit the perfect candidate before a dozen names had flipped through his mental Rolodex.
Yes. Ratnakar would be a good fit. Another ex-paratrooper, they had worked together several times, both whilst in service and after it too. Fast. Good head. Would pull the trigger when required. Not bogged down by too many scruples . . . though he could be a bit unpredictable at times . . . unpredictably prim . . . a coy whore. Raghav laughed at the thought though he wasn’t quite sure what he found funny.
Getting on the mobile he spoke with Ratnakar. Five minutes later he had his south team leader in place. He also had an ops room in Pune and three possible players suggested by Ratnakar.
‘Speak to them and confirm to me,’ Raghav commanded. ‘If they are not willing, or unavailable, then I need you to find some more. The clock’s ticking. We’re a go as of this minute . . . And standby for the detailed briefing, Rats. I just need to wrap up a few more details. Okay?’
Ending the call he went back to planning.
How big should the team be?
He was about to wrap his head around that when his BlackBerry buzzed; an incoming mail. He clicked it open. It was from Karunakaran; a forward of Nandakumar’s mail. Attached with it were copies of the police reports from Patna, Pune and Chennai. And a summary of the investigation from Vinod.
Raghav scanned through them, his trained mind absorbing the relevant points rapidly.
Four possible targets in the arms dealer category. Five possibles as far as judges were concerned. And politicians?
Raghav gave up
the count with a sardonic smirk when he reached eleven. He knew he would have to make an educated guess and hope for the best. There was no way he could protect twenty plus possible targets; it would require dozens of men and he had no time to put that big a team together.
Unwittingly he checked his watch. Twenty past midnight. Time seemed to be moving faster than usual . . . as though his watch was on speed.
Isn’t that always the case when on a mission?
Within the next twenty-three hours and forty minutes, may be less, one of the people on this list would possibly be dead. The RIP message had said within twenty-four hours . . . hadn’t it?
Raghav re-opened the mail and checked the RIP threat. It again struck him that the threat was worded in very military tones. The way he would have framed it himself.
RIP! Nice name. Raghav’s lips twisted into a bemused smile. Very appropriate . . . considering they were trying to make a lot of people rest in peace. Not just the ones whom they’d killed . . . also the ones still alive, but in their gun sights . . . they would certainly not be getting any peace either.
He was unable to stopper the harsh laugh that broke free.
Whoever had thought up that name, definitely had a sense of humour. Wacky! And sooo army! Yes, the acronym was very army . . . like the damn code words and nicknames they used to select.
Unwittingly memory swept him back . . . to the day he had joined his unit.
‘Come on Raghav. Hurry up.’ The senior subaltern was yelling at him as Raghav rushed to knot his tie. ‘We’re late. If Virgin reaches the mess before us, we’re screwed.’
‘Virgin? Who’s that, sir?’ Raghav asked as he ran out, pulling up his tie and settling his coat. Together they began to half jog towards the officers’ mess where Raghav’s dining in was about to commence.
‘Virgin?’ The senior subaltern clicked his tongue, as though annoyed at Raghav’s ignorance. Don’t these youngsters do their homework before they land up at the unit? ‘The Old Man of course.’
Raghav knew that old man referred to their commanding officer.
‘Why do we call him that, sir?’
