The Dust Will Never Settle

by Deva, Mukul

  ‘Yep, short and sweet. And lucrative.’

  ‘That’s my kind.’ A laconic laugh. ‘Where are we headed?’

  ‘India, eventually.’ Momentarily, the mention of India unleashed a whirlpool of emotions inside her, about her father… a father who abandoned me… he means nothing to me. Without realizing it, she made a dubious moue. Doesn’t he? She pushed away the thought. Not now!

  ‘India, eh? Exotic! Sounds good to me.’ He made a humming sound. ‘Say, boss,’ Mark asked, somewhat bashfully, ‘we flying coach or…’

  ‘First class, Mark. Nothing but the best for you, mon ami. Your ticket will be in your mailbox shortly. Meet me at Heathrow a couple of hours before the flight.’

  She knew it was a happy Mark who’d put down the phone. He looked happy even now as they came out of Colombo airport and headed towards the taxi stand.

  Traffic in Delhi was never easy and these days, with construction taking place all over the city and the massive influx of tourists, it was maddening. To make things worse, Delhi had not seen such heavy rains, not in the last forty years.

  As the car laboured through the clogged streets, Ravinder wondered what it was that the home minister wanted to discuss, and hoped there would be no more unpleasant surprises. Their first meeting had been one hell of a shocker. His mind fled back to that day.

  ‘Have you heard the good news, Gill?’ Thakur had greeted them with a big smile when Mohite and he entered his office. ‘India is hosting the Israeli– Palestinian Peace Summit.’

  ‘We are?’ Ravinder was stunned. One glance at Mohite’s face and he realized that this was not news to him. Damn the man! When would he learn to play for the team? ‘The Israelis and Palestinians are talking? That’s a surprise, considering the recent terrorist attack on Jerusalem! How did this happen, sir?’

  ‘That’s what triggered it off. The Americans – in fact the entire international community – have put a lot of pressure on them. Everyone is tired of the mindless bloodshed.’

  ‘And India will have the honour of playing host,’ Mohite chimed in. ‘Just imagine! We may help peace return to the Middle East.’

  ‘Yes.’ Thakur beamed. ‘Isn’t it great?’

  ‘When is it?’ Ravinder ignored their euphoria, preferring to focus on the practicalities.

  ‘Exactly two weeks from now.’ Thakur could not stop smiling. ‘This is our chance to showcase India. It may be the most critical and game-changing event of our times.’

  ‘Two weeks?’ Ravinder was shocked, but the other two were so caught up in their enthusiasm that they missed it.

  ‘Precisely. It starts on thirteenth October.’

  Thirteenth! The number sent a shiver up Ravinder’s spine. Too much had happened to him on that particular date, and none of it good.

  ‘But that is exactly when the Commonwealth Games are due to start, sir. Such an event will require massive security and we are already hard-pressed for resources.’

  ‘Resources are always scarce, Gill.’ Thakur waved dismissively. ‘We have to make it work. Don’t you see what this Summit will do for India’s prestige?’

  ‘I do, sir, but don’t you… I mean, one must account for the fact that terrorist groups will do anything to disrupt it. Palestine is the one cause that all the jihadi groups use to pull in money and recruits. They will never allow this.’

  ‘All that is fine, Gill, but we have to make it happen. Maybe things will be simpler if we can keep it lowkey.’

  ‘Sir, with the recent terrorist attack on Jerusalem, the whole world has its eyes on the Middle East. There is no way we can keep such a momentous event secret.’

  ‘Well, we have to make it happen regardless.’ Thakur’s tone was firm. ‘We have no choice – the decision has been made. It is a matter of national pride.’

  ‘What if the Summit gets attacked? The stakes are so high for the jihadis, they will definitely try to strike.’

  ‘No, Gill. Nothing must be allowed to disrupt it,’ Thakur retorted. ‘I want you to personally take charge of the security.’

  ‘But I am in charge of the Commonwealth Games at the same time, sir,’ Ravinder protested.

  ‘No, you are not.’ Thakur then sprung the second ugly surprise. ‘I have put Ashish Sharma in charge of the Games.’

  DIG Ashish Sharma was Mohite’s peer and they both reported to Ravinder. Now, to his dismay, Thakur was directly delegating work to officers under his command. Ravinder opened his mouth to protest, but stopped, realizing it was pointless.

  ‘I don’t see the problem, Gill,’ Thakur continued. ‘The arrangements for the Games are in place. Sharma just has to keep things going.’

  ‘Then why not put Mohite in charge of the Peace Summit, sir? That way I will be able to run oversight on both events.’

  ‘I thought about that, Gill. I trust Mohite totally, but I think the Summit is too important for any one man. Do you have any idea of the consequences if something happens to the delegates? India’s reputation would be shot to hell… not to mention the carnage that may be unleashed in Israel. No. I want you in charge. Of course, Mohite will assist you.’

  ‘Of course I will, sir. You know we will never allow anything to happen to the Summit.’ Mohite was quick to spot an opportunity, one where he would be able to take credit if things went well, yet not be responsible if there was a screw-up. He turned to Ravinder. ‘Am I right, sir?’

  Ravinder marvelled at the man’s cheek. ‘True, sir,’ Ravinder replied with a silent sigh. When rape is inevitable, enjoy it, he remembered the physical training instructor at the police academy once telling them. ‘How come we get to host the Summit?’

  ‘India was a logical choice since we are on good terms with the Israelis, the Palestinians and the Arab world.’

  ‘They met at Oslo the last time,’ Ravinder mused. ‘Yes, but apparently both sides feel that Oslo is jinxed. That is why when the PM asked Mr Thakur if we could host it, I advised him to accept,’ Mohite jumped in again.

  Ravinder resisted the impulse to give Mohite a solid kick. Instead he gave a polite smile. ‘Wonderful. I am so glad you are going to help me secure the Summit, Govind.’

  ‘But of course, sir.’ Missing the sarcasm, Mohite gave another bright smile.

  ‘So we all agree that we must keep it secret?’ Thakur asked, failing to mention that he had already spoken about it to at least ten people in the three hours since the PM had informed him. ‘I figured Delhi would be ideal. With the Commonwealth Games taking place, we already have a flood of VIPs and athletes, and security would already be functioning at peak level.’

  ‘That is what I explained to Mr Thakur, sir,’ Mohite rejoindered. ‘It will make our task so much easier.’

  Ravinder looked at both men, doubting even they believed that. But he understood that for Thakur this was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to showcase himself on an international platform. And for Mohite, a heaven-sent chance to latch onto the minister’s coattails and grab some limelight too.

  Got to watch my back, Ravinder reminded himself again. Given half a chance, Mohite would deliver him to the wolves.

  ‘I know I can rely on you, Govind.’ Thakur gave Mohite a cordial smile, then realizing that Ravinder was present, added, ‘and of course you, Gill. Now remember, we simply cannot fail. If anything bad were to happen, it would be a shame for India and it would put an end to all hopes of peace in the Middle East.’

  Ravinder was in a sombre mood as he listened to the two men prattle on. Obviously, neither had given any thought to the logistics of securing such an event. The whole thing was fraught with danger.

  Ravinder’s memory spool ran out as their car halted in the South Block parking lot. He led the way towards the minister’s office, wondering what new shock awaited him today.

  Watching Mark move into action, Ruby smiled again. The efficiency with which he organized a car and driver made her relax.

  A sturdy silver, almost-new Nissan van stood before them. The driver, whose na
me she couldn’t get, spoke more Sinhalese than English, but seemed pleasant, presentable and eager to please. They threw their bags into the back. Moments later they were headed north.

  Ruby glanced at her watch. It seemed to be ticking fast. A pulse of urgency raced through her. For the nth time she wished she had been given the heads-up about the Summit sooner. And again she cursed Pasha, the Lashkar-e-Toiba commander who had told her about it and also e-mailed her the gory video of Yusuf ’s killing. Flashes of that video returned to her every night, leaving her afraid of even turning the lights out.

  Those murderous Jews had even chopped his hands off.

  Pinpricks of wetness pushed at her eyes. She kept them at bay, knowing she could not allow them to be seen by Mark. In their world, tears were a sign of weakness, and weakness was death.

  Shaking off the gory images of Yusuf ’s dismembered body, Ruby mentally urged the driver to go faster. She needed to be in motion. Motion was important. It kept the nightmares away.

  They hit the first security checkpoint on the outskirts of Colombo. Fortunately only a few cars were ahead of them. It took seven minutes to get past it. A second one, a few miles out of town, took a tad longer.

  Then the highway stretched out before them. Long. Narrow. Lonely.

  Thakur’s office was tastefully decorated, in contrast to his abrasive personality. Lemon-coloured walls set off the Persian carpet in the centre of the room. On one side was a burnished teak table with a high-back, deep-brown executive chair and four matching leather guest chairs at the opposite end of the table. In the far corner, a trio of single-seater sofas were placed around a smoked-glass centre table with several books. Large paintings hung on the walls. Ravinder could hear the soft hiss of the air-conditioner and the aroma of room freshener reached out to him.

  Lavender. One of his favourites.

  ‘Ah, there you are, Gill.’ In his mid-fifties, Thakur wore the trademark attire of Indian politicians, a white kurta–pyjama. A cream Nehruvian jacket completed the look. He did not bother to get up. ‘Come, come. How are you two? How are the preparations for the Summit and Games coming along?’

  ‘They are coming along just fine, sir,’ Mohite said without waiting for Ravinder to reply. ‘We have taken over the top two floors of Ashoka hotel and our teams have started installing state-of-the-art equipment to secure the Summit. We have also started putting checkpoints and roadblocks around the hotel.’

  ‘That’s good.’

  ‘We have also broken three terror cells and have information about two more sent in from Pak-occupied Kashmir to attack the Games. We hope to catch them before they get anywhere near Delhi,’ Mohite continued.

  ‘Hope to?’ Thakur raised an eyebrow. ‘No hopes, Govind, just get them.’

  ‘We will, sir,’ Mohite said.

  Thakur drummed his fingers on the table. ‘These damn terrorists never give up, do they?’

  ‘No, sir, they don’t,’ Ravinder replied. ‘The ISI has given them carte blanche, sir. They will do everything possible to hurt us.’

  ‘Yes, I can see that.’ Thakur’s smile slipped. The full implications of the threat now dawned on him.

  ‘But don’t worry about it, sir. We will not allow anything to happen,’ Mohite said, ever eager to keep the boss happy.

  ‘Excellent.’ Thakur’s smile returned. ‘I know I can rely on you, Govind.’

  Ravinder held his peace, not wanting to rain on their parade and point out that it was impossible to stop every terror strike. Somewhere, somehow, someone would always manage to break through every cordon, no matter how good it was.

  ‘Here.’ Thakur pulled out two slim brown files and slid them across the table. ‘A list of the thirteen Summit delegates, with their complete details.’

  Damn, thirteen again! Ravinder frowned.

  The minister’s voice intruded. ‘Each delegate is accompanied by two personal security officers. Considering the circumstances, we are permitting the PSOs to carry weapons.’

  ‘Foreigners running around with guns in our capital?’ Mohite looked up, surprised.

  ‘Yes, Govind. And… oh, that reminds me, to assist us, the Americans and the British have both sent across an agent each.’

  ‘Why? What do we need them for?’ Mohite half rose, his agitation palpable. ‘We are more than capable of handling things.’

  ‘Calm down, Govind.’ Ravinder waved him down, even though having foreign agents mucking around was the last thing he wanted to worry about. ‘We will need all the help we can get.’

  ‘Yes, but…’

  ‘Orders from on high, Mohite.’ Thakur glared at him. ‘They will be coming to your office later today, Gill. The Israelis are also sending an agent to brief us about the threats they anticipate. He should be here in a day or so.’

  ‘Don’t worry, sir,’ Ravinder reassured him. ‘We will ensure things go smoothly. Anyone and anything that helps us get the job done well is more than welcome.’

  ‘Good attitude, Gill. Now for the most important thing. The PM will be coming on the first day of the Summit – I got the call this morning – and the PMO wants the security plan immediately.’

  ‘Today?’

  ‘Why? Any problem with that?’

  ‘None at all, sir.’ Ravinder kept his chin up, knowing the rest of his day was going down the shitter; the PM’s personal security was paranoid and would question everything till the cows came home. Oh well! Maybe that will keep Mohite busy and get him up to speed.

  ‘Good, then send those plans to me as soon as possible and I’ll forward them to the PMO.’

  Minutes later they left Thakur’s office.

  ‘Let us use this time to firm up the details we have to send to the PMO,’ Mohite muttered as he hopped into Gill’s car. ‘I will ask my car to lead. Too much bloody traffic. The siren will clear the way for us.’ Poking his head out, he yelled instructions to his driver.

  They headed out with Mohite’s staff car leading, its flashing red siren madly whooping, carving a corridor through the dense traffic. Ravinder detested the siren and would have liked to minimize the time he spent with Mohite, but he recognized that he had made useful suggestions. The sound of turning pages took over as both cops went through the profiles of the Summit delegates.

  ‘Did you notice this, sir?’ Mohite tapped the file in his hands a few minutes later.

  ‘What about it?’

  ‘Look at the list of delegates. The Israelis are sending Ziv Gellner, Yossi Gerstmann and Shahar Goldstein. From the Palestinian side, we have Hisham Gheisari from the Hamas, Mullah Ghassan Ahmed Hussein, the head imam of Al Aqsa mosque, and Ghazi Baraguti from the Fatah.’

  ‘Interesting,’ Ravinder said as he ran through their profiles. Thirteen delegates… Again that bloody unlucky number. But he shrugged off the foreboding that snaked through him and nudged his mind back to the profiles.

  Ziv Gellner, a former aide of Yitzhak Rabin, the Israeli premier, was a staunch Kadima man and one of the chief proponents of a peaceful resolution. Originally a hardliner, he’d lost his wife to cancer and later his first-born son David in an Arab attack on the Yitzhar settlement. Mourning his son, he’d adopted Ean, a boy who had survived the raid but lost both his parents to it.

  When Rabin was gunned down, Ziv’s feelings had converted him into a staunch pacifist. Ziv had been right there, a few feet from Rabin, when he was assassinated. He had seen their hopes for peace disappear, blown away by the assassin’s bullet.

  ‘Damn! Did you read this?’ Ravinder pointed at Gellner’s profile. ‘He also lost his adopted son Ean, in the recent terror attack on Jerusalem…’

  ‘Really?’ Mohite perused the profile. ‘Hmm… I wonder how he will handle this Summit.’

  ‘Another coincidence…’ Mohite pointed out a moment later. ‘Like Gellner, Yossi Gerstmann also lost his son and wife during the same Arab raid on Yitzhar.’

  Ravinder found Gerstmann’s resume fascinating. A hotshot intelligence professional, he had b
een earmarked to head the Mossad. But a counter-terrorist operation led by him went wrong and resulted in a bloodbath, putting paid to a promising career. Now a political advisor, Gerstmann was a staunch right-winger who strongly believed that Israel should not part with an inch of land. He was the obvious choice for the hardliners and a foil for the pacifist Gellner.

  The third Israeli, Shahar Goldstein, also known as the Prince, was the son of a former Israeli premier and was a respected Likud man. Due to his legacy, Goldstein carried weight in most sections of Israeli society and could be expected to maintain a balance between the opposing viewpoints held by Gellner and Gerstmann. His presence would ensure that whatever solution was recommended would be acceptable to the Israeli public, who still held his late father in high regard.

  Of the Palestinian delegates, Hisham Gheisari, a Hamas man based in Gaza, had done a lot of community development work and made life easier for the Palestinians. He was reputed to be incorruptible and there were a dozen schools and hospitals in Gaza that owed their existence to him. Men like him had helped end the corrupt Fatah regime. Though a staunch Hamas man, Gheisari was also a known dove.

  Mullah Ghassan Ahmed Hussein, the head mufti of Jerusalem, respected in all circles – Islamic, Jewish and Christian – would also play a pivotal role with the Palestinians, especially in light of the recent Jerusalem terror attacks. In a way, he was Shahar Goldstein’s Palestinian counterpart.

  However, the third Palestinian, Ghazi Baraguti, a Fatah man who had been languishing in an Israeli jail until now, was a surprise. For several months there had been talk in Israel about setting him free as a goodwill gesture. But it had ended abruptly when Fatah terrorists made the mistake of capturing some Israeli soldiers and demanding his release. All talks of release had died away.

  ‘Do you see the point I am making?’ Mohite asked again. ‘From Egypt we have Atef Aboul Gheit, a retired diplomat. Jordon is sending Ghafar Al-Issa, an advisor to their ministry of foreign affairs. Ghada al-Utri, another senior diplomat, is representing Syria, and from Saudi Arabia we have HRH Prince Ghanim Abdul Rahman al-Saud.’