The Dust Will Never Settle

by Deva, Mukul

  ‘I think our man is here,’ Mohite excitedly told Ravinder on the phone. ‘Blond firangi… huge… like a bloody tank.’

  ‘Good. That is how Nanda had described him…’ Ravinder was running late. As usual, Thakur had kept them hanging till the last minute. ‘Make sure everyone is alert. I am almost there…’

  ‘No worries, sir. I have everything under control.’ But that was what worried Ravinder. He cut the call and went back to cursing the traffic. Even with the siren and police light they were not making much headway – a lorry had overturned somewhere ahead, blocking the road for miles. After several agonizing minutes, the car finally passed the upturned lorry and speeded up.

  Ravinder parked the conspicuous cop car well away from the garden entrance and walked the rest of the way. He was across the road, facing the garden’s main gate, when he saw Nanda drive up in his Mercedes, retrieve a blue carry bag from the car and head into the garden. He halted since he did not want Nanda to see him. The arms dealer appeared nervous and jittery and Ravinder could not risk him acknowledging his presence – that wouldn’t do at all since the terrorists would certainly be watching Nanda now.

  ‘The weapons dealer is here,’ Mohite said on the phone.

  ‘I know, I see him. Careful now… very careful. Remember, take him down as soon as he hands over the bag.’

  ‘Wilco, sir.’ Mohite’s voice throbbed with excitement.

  Positioned behind a tree trunk, Mark spotted Nanda as soon as he had cleared the main gate. He watched carefully, looking for signs of movement behind Nanda. He saw none. Despite that, he was wracked with unease; something did not seem right. He tightened his scrutiny over the area.

  The three surveillance teams stayed immobile, watching, their hands now within reach of their weapons. They needed only a word from Mohite to close in and seize the terrorist.

  Though still uneasy, Mark waved at Nanda when he felt certain the man was alone. Nanda changed direction and walked towards him. Mark spotted the beads of sweat on his brow; unusual, considering the chill in the rain-soaked air. Closer observation showed that Nanda was decidedly uneasy. He was trying hard to act casual and kept looking around furtively.

  Mark’s already tingling internal alarm began to sound louder. He intensified his scrutiny of the people around. The ambush teams stayed still, so he spotted nothing. But he wished to hell he had a weapon.

  Well, I will – soon. Mark had spotted the bag Nanda was hefting.

  ‘Are you okay?’ Mark asked as Nanda came up. ‘Sure.’ Mark’s scrutiny unnerved Nanda. ‘I am not used to doing such stuff myself, but because it is you…’

  ‘Is that the stuff?’ Mark ignored him. He was on edge and just wanted to grab the guns and get the hell out. He snatched the bag out of Nanda’s hand.

  Across the road, Ravinder saw Mark grab the bag and cursed when he saw that none of the teams had moved in.

  ‘Now! Take him down now!’ he said aloud. The man had clearly identified himself when he’d accosted Nanda and taken the bag. What the hell were they waiting for?

  Stupid motherfucker! Ravinder reached for his mobile and dialled Mohite.

  Mohite heard his mobile ring, but his attention stayed focused on the two men in the garden.

  ‘Wait! No one move,’ Mohite hissed into his radio set. ‘I want to see who else is with the firangi.’

  The takedown teams stayed still.

  ‘Nobody move. Give him another minute or two.’

  Unzipping the bag, Mark saw four Glock 17s in it. They had been unpacked and cleaned, just as he had asked Nanda to ensure. Lying between them were two boxes of ammo. He unslung the cotton bag from his shoulder and tossed it to Nanda. ‘Here’s your money. Want to count it now?’

  ‘No, no,’ Nanda shook his head, too emphatically. He was sweating. The handkerchief in his hand was soaked from his attempts to dry his face. ‘I am sure it is all right. I trust you.’

  Mark sure as hell did not. Without another word, he turned and began to stride away swiftly. The alarm in his head had begun to clamour loudly. The need for the comforting feel of a weapon overwhelmed him. Dipping both hands into the bag, he expertly broke open a box of ammo and loaded a clip. The magazine slid into the weapon with a satisfying click.

  Mohite heard his mobile ring again. This time, seeing Ravinder’s number, he took the call.

  ‘What the hell are you waiting for?’ Ravinder’s fury erupted in his ear.

  ‘I want to see who else is with him. Don’t worry, sir, I have it under…’

  ‘Shut the fuck up, Mohite, and tell the teams to take him down. Now!’

  The last word exploded like a bullet. Dropping the phone, Mohite reached for the radio and screamed into it. ‘Move! Move! Take him down now!’

  Chambering a round, Mark was taking out the pistol to shove it into his waistband when he saw the couple in front of him – about thirty feet away – suddenly spring to their feet. He spotted the weapons in their hands and knew he’d been blown. His mind automatically triggered a response.

  Instead of pushing the Glock into his waistband, he brought it up and fired – once, twice, thrice – so rapidly that the sound cascaded into one long roar. Despite the distance, his aim was spot on; both cops dropped. Spinning around, Mark saw Nanda, who had started backing away.

  ‘Son of a bitch!’ Two more shots erupted out of the Glock. Nanda took the first in his chest and the second in his neck. He was thrown backwards and hit the ground with a thud.

  Mark turned and ran straight towards the cop couple he had hit with his first burst. He knew the surveillance teams in any such operation would be spread out. With the team in front down, this was the safest way out. Clutching the precious bag, he broke into a sprint. He had to make it to the road. With the office hour rush at its peak, that would give him a fighting chance to melt into the crowd. That would also prevent the cops from firing at him.

  Mark was moving fast, but not enough to outrun the bullets that now came at him from two sides. The other cop teams had seen what had happened to the first team. As their guns thundered, the Garden of Five Senses erupted in pandemonium. People scattered and ran senselessly in all directions.

  From where Ruby was standing, she could see a flurry of movement and Mark going down. Though the gunfire was barely audible, the picture was clear. She felt an acute pain, not just because she had lost her main man, but also because she saw the Glocks fallen in the grass. She needed those. Her mind screamed at her to get clear of the area before the cops spread a dragnet. Reversing swiftly, she pulled out into the traffic, weaving through the cars as fast as she could.

  ‘Motherfucker! Stupid bastard!’ Ravinder was unable to contain the string of expletives that exploded out of him as he ran across the road towards the garden. But it was useless. The terrorist had to be dead. No way he could have survived that barrage. Still, hoping for a miracle, Ravinder ran. Maybe I will get a couple of minutes to question him before he dies.

  I need to know what the target is… and who else is with him… He was racing forward when he almost ran into a cream-coloured Toyota Innova that came barrelling down the road. Angrily waving it to a halt, he skirted around it and headed for the park. He was halfway towards the fallen body when it struck him that the vehicle had seemed familiar. Ravinder knew he had seen it before – recently. His mind began to strain.

  ‘He is dead, sir.’ Mohite was feeling the fallen man’s neck.

  ‘Damn!’ Ravinder slapped a fist into the palm of his hand. ‘Why the hell did you wait so long? You should have ordered them to take him down the minute he took the guns from Nanda! And why had those guns not been dummied?’

  ‘I wanted to see who else was with him.’ Mohite avoided the second question completely. ‘After all, he was not operating alone. Even Thakur sahib agreed that…’

  ‘Fuck Thakur sahib! My orders were very clear.’ Ravinder checked his urge to slap Mohite. ‘And why did you not have the guns dummied?’

  ‘I… forg
ot…’ Mohite muttered sheepishly. ‘I didn’t think it would matter since we were going to catch him…’

  ‘You didn’t think it would matter?’ Ravinder was having trouble keeping his anger under control. ‘Tell that to the families of those…’ He pointed at the bodies of the two cops who had been gunned down by the terrorist. His finger was quivering with fury.

  Taking a deep breath, Ravinder calmed himself. It was pointless, the damage was done. Now he had to ferret out the way ahead, to try and salvage whatever they could out of this fiasco.

  There have to be some leads here. There are always leads… one just has to look hard enough… and be lucky, of course.

  Praying for a break, he brushed Mohite aside and began searching Mark’s pockets. He struck gold in the first one, an almost new iPhone. Its memory was blank; no record of calls received or made or any numbers stored on it. Mark was too experienced not to delete the call history after every call. However, there was an unread message. Ravinder clicked it open.

  Okay. I will meet you at Machan coffee shop at 7 p.m. RG.

  Ravinder checked the time at which it had been received. Only four minutes ago. Around the time Mark was shot.

  It was almost five. The bloody hotel is at least an hour’s drive. He would also need time to deploy the takedown teams. Rapidly making up his mind, he turned to Mohite.

  ‘Get a team ready to leave with me right away.’

  ‘What happened, sir?’

  ‘This bugger was going to meet someone at Machan, the Taj coffee shop, at seven. I’m going to see who it is…’

  ‘Should I come with you?’

  ‘No, just give me four men. You clean up the mess here.’

  By now cops of all varieties were all over the garden. They seemed to have dropped down from the trees. Soon the media would land up. ‘And Govind,’ he called as he walked away, ‘I want no impromptu media interviews. Just stay with no comments and the matter is under investigation. Got it?’

  Fifteen minutes later he was off with four men from the support party in tow. Ravinder briefed them on the way, making sure he covered all possible contingencies. This time he had to take this man… or woman… this RG – alive.

  He wondered if RG would turn out to be the person Nanda had spotted with Mark at Dilli Haat.

  The thought of Nanda saddened him. Ravinder knew he had a wife and a couple of kids.

  Oh, well… at least he is leaving them with plenty of dough. Live by the sword, die by it. He should have chosen a safer profession.

  Then he began to focus on the task now confronting them. Hopefully there would be no shoot-out.

  In the confines of a hotel coffee shop, the damage would be… He shuddered and pushed away the horrifying image.

  What could RG stand for? That held his attention briefly. It could be anything. RG… There was something about it. Then he remembered Mohite’s ‘G-string’ joke. ‘Each of the delegates has a name starting with G… either the first name or the family name… Even we…’

  A wry smile creased Ravinder’s lips. Even the bloody terrorists attacking Delhi had names starting with G. He marvelled at the coincidence.

  RG! Ruby Gill? The shock pulverized him. Could it be Ruby?

  Ruby’s head was still pounding when she reached home. Mark’s death, the loss of the Glocks, and then Ravinder suddenly running in front of her car had shaken her badly. It had been too close a call. If he had spotted her the game would be up. As it was, he had been guarded with her ever since that lunch with Chance and Jennifer. She wanted to be home well before he returned, safely tucked away in bed. That ought to preclude any conversation and awkward questions.

  With the loss of Mark and the Glocks she would now have to rework the complete battle plan. Her options had narrowed sharply. And they hadn’t been great to begin with.

  ‘Would you like me to get your dinner ready, miss?’ the maid called out as Ruby was ascending the stairs. Jasmine had told her that Westerners liked to eat early, much earlier than the Indian dinnertime of nine or ten.

  ‘No, thank you,’ Ruby replied. ‘I have a headache. I think I’ll lie down for a bit.’ She tore off her clothes and stood under the steaming shower for a good five minutes, finally regaining some semblance of normalcy. Then she lay down to think.

  The soft knock on her door caught her by surprise. She was in no mood to chat and hoped it was not Jasmine.

  ‘May I come in, please?’

  Simran’s voice came through. Ruby sat up, surprised. Pulling herself together, she called out, ‘Please come in.’

  Simran entered hesitantly. ‘The maid told me you have a headache.’ She held out a strip of tablets. ‘So I thought I would get you some asprin.’

  ‘Thank you.’ Ruby took them, trying to get over her surprise. ‘Thank you very much.’

  For a moment the two women stood looking at each other. Ruby sensed that Simran wanted to say something; she seemed to be groping for words. Then, with a resigned shrug, she turned to leave.

  At the door she turned around again. ‘It is not you I am angry with,’ she whispered. ‘Perhaps it is myself. Or Ravinder. I do not know.’ She paused. ‘I am just human, you know. I have the same fears that we all do – of losing the things we love.’

  Ruby could see she was fighting hard to maintain her composure.

  ‘I understand how important you are to Ravinder. He is a good man who will always do the right thing. He is the kind of man who will give his life for his children.’ Simran sniffed, trying to regain control. ‘He is equally important to me. And to Jasmine.’

  Ruby wanted to respond. She felt the angst of the older woman but could not find the words. A gush of emotions rendered her speechless.

  ‘I am sorry about what happened to your mother.’

  Now the silence was deafening. ‘And I do want you to remember… no matter what happens, he is your father… he will always be your father… we will always be there for you. This is your home. You can stay for as long as you want.’

  Then Simran was gone. Leaving behind immense pain in Ruby’s heart.

  It was sixteen minutes to seven when Ravinder finally took up position in the coffee shop. He chose the table in the far corner, from where he could see the whole place.

  His team of four cops were spread out – two at tables on either side of the entrance and two in the centre.

  He scanned the restaurant – a large rectangular room with about twenty tables – taking it one section at a time. He saw no man or woman seated alone at any of the tables. Not that he could be sure it was just one person.

  No Ruby either. He felt relieved.

  Six minutes later a tall, athletic looking Caucasian woman wearing a light cotton dress walked in. Ravinder studied her. No, her snug-fitting dress could not hold a concealed weapon… not unless a small pistol was taped to her leg.

  She was still a possible. Ravinder took note of her position as she sat down at a table in the centre.

  Then two men entered, separately. It only became clear they were together when they sat down at the same table.

  Another cluster trooped in. It was hard to tell which of them were together and which on their own. The number of possibles now escalated.

  Ravinder maintained a sharp eye on the door, but he also scanned the coffee shop periodically.

  A man walked in and caught his attention: broad shoulders and muscled arms under a light green Lacoste T-shirt. Ravinder saw a colourful eagle tattooed on his right arm, only partly visible. He was slouching, as though to camouflage his sense of purpose. But his eyes gave him away. They were moving across the coffee shop swiftly and expertly, too alert to belong to someone not in the game.

  Relying on his intuition, Ravinder rose and began to walk casually towards the exit. The money he had left on the table would cover the coffee he had ordered. The four-man team, seeing him get up, got ready to move too.

  Willing them all to stay calm, Ravinder withdrew the iPhone he had recovered from Mark’s
body and dialled the number from which the text had been received. By now he was almost level with his suspect, who was halfway into the coffee shop, his eyes still searching the tables.

  Ravinder noted a puzzled expression on the man’s face, but no alarm. Yet. The suspect glanced at his watch: it was three minutes past seven. Then his mobile rang.

  The shrill trilling was nearly drowned out by the hullabaloo of the coffee shop, but Ravinder, passing right by him, heard it clearly. He thumbed the iPhone, ending the call. The suspect’s mobile also stopped ringing.

  Ravinder had his man.

  Not Ruby! Thank God!

  Swivelling around, Ravinder gestured to the nearest cop to move – a sharp and definite nod. He was hauling out his revolver as he did so. Three strides and Ravinder was behind the man.

  Perhaps Ravinder had made a sound, or perhaps the man’s instincts were acute, but it was already too late.

  The suspect had begun to turn when the pistol in Ravinder’s hand crashed down on his head, a powerful blow, with as much force as Ravinder dared. He did not want to kill the man. Not yet.

  As the man stumbled, two of the cops closed in and pummelled him to the ground. Despite the suddenness of the assault, he fought back hard.

  Ravinder felt a surge of satisfaction as they subdued him. One cop slapped a pair of handcuffs on him. The second ran an expert hand over him, checking for weapons – or suicide pills.

  Clear!

  RG had been taken alive.

  Now we will find out what these buggers are up to… satisfaction swept through Ravinder. At last. At long, bloody last, the break we needed.

  Within half an hour they were interrogating RG at the Chanakyapuri Police Station. Two hours later, they were still no closer to the truth.

  ‘He is a tough bastard.’ The SHO, Inspector Jai Ram, a short, powerfully built man with a large belly, came into his office, wiping his hands on a towel. Patches of sweat stained his rumpled uniform. Despite this, he appeared alert. ‘Name is Rafael Gerber,’ Jai Ram said the unfamiliar name slowly. ‘Not a peep out of him. Keeps insisting he’s here on holiday and wants us to call his – the German – embassy. Do you want us to give him some third degree, sir?’