RIP

by Deva,Mukul

  ‘Wait one,’ Krishna replied as the two of them moved, in a careful crouch, ensuring they were not sky-lighted and visible to the men on the adjacent roof . . . or to others manning other roofs. Both men knew there would be others. It was safe to assume that, due to their warning, by now cops were bound to be guarding the people they thought RIP would target. And any such protective detail would certainly be casing the area around, especially the rooftops that were within normal gun range of the target house . . . this was standard operating procedure for all protection details.

  Krishna had ensured that all K-Team plans now would be based on this assumption. Better to err on the side of caution.

  Taking up position in the lee of the overhead water tanks placed on the right rear edge of the roof Krishna surveyed the area ahead.

  The target’s house lay to their front left, about seven hundred metres away, and Karan’s firing position to three-quarters right, around five hundred metres away, both easily covered from their position. That had been checked and the fields of fire were clear in both directions.

  For this particular hit Krishna was not overly stressed by the cops. He knew they would not be looking so far afield; their close in protection was not likely to stretch beyond three or four hundred metres max. Which is why K-Team had selected this roof; it was beyond what most cops would consider effective gun range. It took one hell of a lot of skill to take down a man at ranges beyond that.

  Yes, after this hit the cops would be wiser . . . and the degree of difficulty for K-Team much higher.

  Krishna frowned. Despite the fact that they had picked a different strike method for each hit, he knew that things would get increasingly hairy.

  Oh well! What will be will be.

  Krishna focused his binoculars on the target’s house. He could make out someone moving around on the ground floor.

  It was a large, two-storey house. The third in a line of about forty almost similar ones, evenly divided on both sides of the thirty-foot wide road bisecting the housing complex; odd numbered houses to the left and even to the right.

  Strung around these houses, in an unplanned manner, were several twelve- to sixteen-storied apartment blocks, about half of them still in various stages of completion. Several such badly planned patches of habitation had sprung up in the cities surrounding Delhi, as builders scrambled to cash in on the burgeoning demand for housing; an expected result as land prices in Delhi soared and its population exploded.

  The image was a bit hazy. Krishna adjusted the binoculars and the target house sprang into view, totally clear now.

  It seemed to be a recently constructed house. Built on a five hundred yard plot, it had an eight-foot high boundary wall surrounding it. And a neat, well-manicured garden to the front.

  Though Krishna could not see it from his current position, he knew there was a small, equally well-maintained vegetable garden to the rear.

  Posing as a prospective buyer Karan, the primary shooter for this one, had been over several houses in the cluster on different days, at different times. It was he who had picked the time of assault and the firing position. Of course, Krishna had double-checked and approved them; that’s the way K-Team had worked, always.

  He checked his watch.

  Almost time. Target should be coming out now. To die.

  No. Krishna corrected himself. To pay for his crimes.

  *

  Most regular homes, at this time of the morning, would be a beehive of activity. The kids would have left for school. The bigger ones would be getting ready to leave for college. The working lot would be prepping to leave for work. The retired would of course be retiring to their balconies and lawns, ready to spend a productive hour with the newspapers and a hot cuppa.

  That, in fact, is what Madan Sharma would also have been doing. It had been his unfailing routine the last four years, ever since he had quit gracing the courts with his not so judicious presence. Known to be a judge who would, for the right price, deliver the right judgement, he had finally had to call it quits after he found the politician’s son, who had shot a woman in front of a dozen witnesses, not guilty. This act of judicial impropriety, though leaving him considerably wealthy, had been too brazen for his seniors to stomach, leading to his retirement, which Mr Sharma regretted not at all. He had made enough money to last even his next generation, without having to now lift a finger.

  However, his boundless happiness had been dealt a severe blow ever since the RIP’s televised threat. Several calls from the pesky media and the police had added to his escalating anxiety. The arrival of six armed cops early that morning had driven the final nail into his already besieged peace of mind.

  Finally, after a long conversation with Vinod, and reassured that he would not be done to death soon, the stout, balding man in his sixties gathered his cup of tea and bundle of newspapers, and headed for the sitout facing the front garden.

  He moved slowly. Age had not been kind to him. Or perhaps the stress and sleepless nights, kind courtesy his karma, had taken their toll. The bypass he had had last year, high blood pressure and diabetes he suffered from had ensured that he had already parted with a good part of his ill-gotten gains.

  Sharma tucked the papers under his arm and, careful not to spill his tea, he pushed open the metallic, grill and mesh door that led to the sitout. And the bullet waiting to seek him out.

  *

  ‘Target’s coming out now.’ Krishna sensed the sudden urgency in Karan’s voice. ‘Wait one.’ Karan hissed a second later as the target paused at the door, and then pulled it shut again. ‘He’s gone back inside.’

  Sudden release of tension, of anticipation denied.

  Five hundred metres away, crouched in the lee of the water tank, a premonition gripped Krishna. He could not fend off the feeling that something bad was about to go down.

  ‘I can still see him,’ Karan continued, ‘he has turned back and is standing just inside the grill door.’

  Ignoring the target Krishna started scanning the area around the building on which Karan and Kulwant were deployed.

  Nothing.

  But his unease persisted. He widened his search. Still nothing. But the nagging feeling continued to fester. However, seeing nothing to substantiate it, he finally shifted his scrutiny back to the target house.

  ‘Two cops at the front gate,’ Krishna whispered, more to himself than Kashif crouching next to him, also scanning the target’s house and adjacent rooftops through his sniper scope. ‘Two in the lane behind and one, seems to be the guard commander, patrolling the lawn. And yes, there is also one on roof of the house with a sniper rifle. Six in all.’

  ‘Confirmed. I have them all.’

  The two men continued scanning the area.

  ‘That’s strange,’ Kashif murmured after a moment. ‘I have a sniper four roofs to the right of Karan. He’s got a spotter with him too. They’re . . .’

  Alarmed Krishna swivelled around and using his binoculars re-checked the roof Kashif had indicated.

  How the hell had he missed them? Yes! There they were.

  He trained his binoculars on the second sniper and spotter. They had taken position against one of the thousand-odd telecom towers that mar the outline of most Indian cities since the advent of mobile telephony.

  Perhaps that is why I missed them the first time.

  ‘That’s a lot of firepower they’re deploying for each target. I wonder . . .’ Then Krishna noticed the duo were not in uniform and seemed to be focusing in the direction of the target’s house.

  Before he could comment on that Kashif did. ‘Did you notice? This second pair is in civvies . . . is that normal for cops?’

  Krishna had noticed and had been trying to figure it out. His unease escalated.

  Would the cops really deploy so much firepower on every possible target?

  Krishna knew there were dozens of possible targets; after all, they had worked through a pretty long list and selected these three after much deliberatio
n. It was not just the right target, but also the location of the target’s house, his or her daily routine and the degree of protection they carried . . . all that had been considered by K-Team.

  Even if the cops were deploying so many men, why was that team scanning the target and not facing out? Or were they expecting a direct assault on the house itself? Why would . . .

  There were too many variables possible, but the alarm in Krishna’s head had begun to jangle louder. Unwilling to go against his instincts he began to double-check through his binoculars. His gut feeling was to abort the strike.

  ‘Karan,’ he started to warn, ‘watch . . .’

  ‘He’s coming out now.’ Karan’s voice erupted in his headset. ‘Another couple of steps and I should have a shot.’

  *

  It was the television that had stopped and lured Sharma back into the living room as DD’s Breakfast Show started. He watched Karunakaran come on and begin explaining the actions being taken by the government to hunt down the RIP.

  Then the home minister gave a long-winded, convoluted explanation that the government had nothing to do with Kamble, Rajappan and Kantimala, the Chennai chief minister’s daughter, being released by the courts for lack of conclusive evidence in the Commonwealth Games and 2G Spectrum scams.

  It did not take long for Sharma to realize that Karunakaran was handing out the usual political bullshit.

  Windbag politicians!

  Grimacing Sharma clicked off the TV and pushing open the door again headed for the sitout.

  *

  Realizing the endgame had begun and it was too late to abort now Krishna stopped and pushed away his misgivings.

  Just a few seconds more . . .

  ‘Watch the second sniper,’ he hissed to Kashif, ‘if he so much as points his weapon towards Karan blow him away.’

  In response Kashif adjusted his position slightly and settled his point of aim on his new target. Mahinder’s head leaped into his gunsight. Right now the man’s attention and weapon seemed to be focused in the direction of the target’s house.

  Kashif allowed the sniper’s head to settle in the centre of his crosshairs. He had already taken up the trigger slack. Now just the tiniest tug and . . .

  *

  Crack!

  The sound of Karan’s rifle shot echoed out, muffled by the distance, almost lost in the sounds of traffic, but audible even so. Perhaps because they had been expecting it.

  Krishna’s binoculars automatically sought out the target.

  The 7.62 mm, full metal jacket slug spun out of Karan’s rifle. Racing out at 830 metres per second, the high velocity slug powered through the air and covered the distance in an incredibly short time.

  Krishna saw the judge’s nearly hairless head explode like a ripe tomato. Blood billowed out.

  ‘Target down! Move out!’ Krishna hissed into his headset. Moving in tandem, the four men of K-Team pulled out, heading for the stairs leading down. Their getaway cars, both rentals, were parked behind the buildings they had been positioned on.

  *

  In a hurry to get clear, none of the K-Team men saw Mahinder and Partha leap up and start scanning the rooftops around.

  Mahinder happened to be looking in the right direction. He spotted Karan instantly. His rifle swung expertly up to his shoulder. Homing in on the rapidly moving man he compensated for the movement and his finger began to tighten on the trigger.

  In their excitement, and completely focused on trying to spot what they knew would be an RIP shooter, Mahinder and Partha, both forgot the cops were also around.

  *

  Ignited by Karan’s shot the police sniper also swung into action, training his weapon in the direction the shot seemed to have come from. He failed to spot any of the K-Team, but noticed Raghav’s men immediately.

  The cop sniper saw Mahinder bring his up rifle to his shoulder and start aligning his weapon; it seemed to be pointed in his direction.

  The cop-sniper did not stop to think. A shot had been fired. A weapon was being pointed, he assumed at him. As far as he was concerned hunting season was open.

  Taking aim rapidly the cop-sniper fired.

  It was a hurriedly aimed shot. But the cop-sniper was good.

  Both shots echoed out simultaneously. The sound almost cascading into one.

  *

  Following closely behind Krishna, Kashif was almost at the door leading to the staircase when he felt a biting pain slash across his back.

  Mahinder, an ex-NSG (National Security Guards) man was a good shot, but in his hurry he had not compensated enough for the movement. Also, he was hit just as the bullet was exiting his gun barrel, upsetting the aim.

  His bullet grazed along Kashif’s back, leaving a thin bloody line across it.

  Krishna paused as he saw Kashif stumble. Alarmed he reached out, grabbed his arm and hauled him into the safety of the stairwell.

  ‘You okay?’

  ‘I think so.’ Kashif muttered through clenched teeth, the burning pain biting home sharply.

  ‘Lucky!’ Krishna exclaimed in relief as he examined his back. ‘It’s only a graze.’

  ‘Burns like hell, but I can live with it.’ Kashif gritted his teeth. ‘Let’s get the hell out of here.’

  Krishna masked his relief and the two men ran down the flight of steps, heading for the elevators. It had been a close call; a K-Team casualty was the last thing that he wanted to think about.

  How long would their luck hold?

  Pushing away the thought Krishna punched the elevator button.

  *

  Raghav’s third man, Vikrant had been patrolling the alley behind the judge’s house when the first shot, fired by Karan rang out. The echoes of the shot reverberated all around. He was not too sure, but thought that the shot had come from the other side of the judge’s house.

  Spinning around he ran towards his car parked on the side road. Vikrant knew it would not be healthy to be caught by the cops; not with the gun he was packing. He also knew that whoever had fired would be making a getaway now. Perhaps he would get lucky and spot them. The bonus promised by Raghav spurred him on.

  He re-checked his Glock as he ran. It was ready for action; the 17-shot magazine full and one round chambered. The safety was off.

  He had barely taken four strides when another shot rang out, goading him on. Then, almost simultaneously, came another shot. Much louder this time since the cop-sniper who had fired the third shot was almost directly behind him.

  *

  Four roofs to the right of the roof Karan had used, Mahinder took the cop-sniper’s bullet almost smack in the middle of his chest. It drilled through him, slicing away a part of his heart. He was dying when he hit the ground.

  Ten feet away, also frantically seeking out the RIP shooter, Partha froze when he saw Mahinder bite the bullet. Then he hit the ground and crawled across to Mahinder. One look was enough to confirm Mahinder was beyond salvage.

  Despite that Partha shook him. Tentatively.

  In response Mahinder coughed. A mass of blood gushed out. Then his eyes glazed over.

  Raising himself slightly Partha started checking out where this shot had come from.

  Crack!

  The cop sniper, who had spotted both of them and was watching out for him, fired again.

  Partha’s training and survival instincts took over. Out there on the roof he was a sitting duck. He also knew the area would be flooded with cops soon. Continuing on, he rapidly spider-crawled towards the exit and made his escape.

  In his haste to get clear Partha momentarily forgot about Vikrant, in the alley behind the judge’s house. By the time he emerged from the elevator on the ground floor he was a bit calmer and remembered.

  Like K-Team, Raghav’s men had also been communicating through their mobiles, but the call had disconnected when he lost the signal inside the elevator. Heading swiftly for his car Partha dialled again his surviving teammate.

  *

  The roar of the e
ngine drowned the sound of the incoming call as Vikrant gunned his vehicle and headed out. He hit the junction where the side road met the main one. Skidding on to the main road at a rapid clip he turned left and headed in the direction he had guessed the RIP shooter would be.

  Finally the ringing phone caught his attention and he took the call.

  *

  Racing towards their getaway vehicles K-Team heard the second and third shots and tried to piece together the likely sequence of events as they jumped in to their cars.

  ‘Who the hell were those guys?’ Krishna asked Kashif. ‘Obviously not cops . . . or why else would the cops deployed at the judge’s house have shot at them?’

  ‘Copycats you think?’ Kashif asked as he got into the front passenger seat.

  ‘Doesn’t make sense,’ Krishna replied as he started the engine and drove off, taking care to maintain an unhurried pace. ‘And if they were not cops then why the hell were they shooting at us?’

  ‘Then it looks like someone else is also in the game.’

  That was the precise thought troubling Krishna as he manoeuvred the maroon Chevrolet Kashif had rented yesterday and emerged onto the main road three lanes away from the judge’s house.

  Who were they? And why were they hunting them?

  *

  ‘Mahinder down.’ Partha’s panicked report rang out in Vikrant’s headset. ‘I’m getting the fuck out of here.’

  His panic was contagious.

  ‘Meet you at the farm.’ Vikrant realized the bonus was only useful if he was around to spend it and decided to follow suit.

  Changing direction Vikrant turned back towards the main road and accelerated away from the target’s house. Cutting the call he began to speed-dial Raghav; aware of his foul temper he thought it best to report in now so that Raghav’s anger would have abated by the time they reached back.

  About seventy metres ahead Vikrant vaguely saw a maroon Chevrolet sedan emerge onto the road.

  Now intent only on getting away and figuring out how to tell Raghav that they had failed, he did not pay any attention to it.