Assassins

by Mukul Deva

  This is something every commander worth his salt is aware of. That is why the smart warrior struck at these times. The smart terrorist certainly did. And the Ustad-e-Fidayeen, who had tasked this killer cohort, was definitely smart. Brutal, evil, unscrupulous, but also a shrewd, tactically savvy planner.

  The visibly escalating confidence of her guards did not go unnoticed by their protectee. Transference took place and Benazir’s bravado also began to stir. Assuming she had cheated death, yet again. Not realizing she had not.

  * * *

  “The first two bombers had done only what they were meant to. Either take out Benazir or drive her toward the other two who waited outside.”

  Fatima was unable to keep the pain of retrospective wisdom off her face.

  * * *

  In the ensuing pandemonium no one noticed Bomber 3 and Shooter halt a few feet from the white Toyota Land Cruiser, which was parked nearest the gate. They reached it at the same time as Benazir and her protective ring.

  The powerful Toyota engine was revving madly. The driver itched to get Benazir inside and hurtle away. One of the Sisters of Benazir pushed her forward and Zunaid held the door open for her.

  Benazir had one foot raised to enter the car when Shooter pulled out a 7.62mm Tokarev semiautomatic pistol. Though designed in the 1930s to replace the Nagant M1895 service pistol, the TT-30 is a solid, reliable weapon that fires a steel-cased bottlenecked cartridge. It was a used, but well-maintained weapon, more than adequate for the job at hand.

  Shooter fired. Thrice. He was seven feet from her and unlikely to miss.

  * * *

  “How many times he hit her will remain buried in the vaults of history, since it is unlikely the real medical records will ever see the light of day. Masharrat ensured that.” Tears were now trickling down Fatima’s cheeks. “However, whether he hit her once or thrice is a moot issue, since by now Bomber 3 was within definite kill radius.”

  Leon was fascinated by this eyewitness account. But it was the curiosity of a specialist. Nothing more.

  “The third bomber detonated his belt bomb barely four feet from Benazir.”

  * * *

  There was little left of the solitary Sister of Benazir standing between Bomber 3 and his target. Along with Bomber 3 she absorbed most of the blast. But there was enough explosive power in the bomb to get past her and cut down the target, too.

  The blast picked up Benazir and hurled her into the bulletproof car. En route her head struck the metallic lever of the sunroof.

  Benazir collapsed in a welter of blood.

  * * *

  “Zunaid, who’d been helping aunt Benazir into the car, was … we barely found anything. I would’ve died too, but six months pregnant and unable to keep up, I’d fallen behind and so was at a safe distance.”

  Fatima was silent and still for a very long time; her face like an Arctic dawn.

  “Safe enough for me, but not the baby.” Her eyes were dry. She had cried over this too often. Grief was long gone. Replaced by an unquenchable thirst for revenge. “My baby, my husband, my aunt, my dreams for our country … they killed everything. This vendetta is all I have to live for.” Her fingers dug deeper into Leon’s forearm, now drawing blood. “You must not refuse. Please. They have to pay…”

  “How are you so sure of all this?” Leon asked, freeing his arm. “That these are the men behind Benazir’s death?”

  Fatima examined him closely, trying to determine if she had managed to convince him. Unsure, she resolved to try harder.

  “Because of Ashfaque Kayani, the ISI operative Masharrat had used to communicate and coordinate with his accomplices. Kayani was privy to every single detail of their operation to eliminate Benazir. Mehsud provided the killers. Masharrat ensured the crime scene was washed clean, Benazir’s medical records vanished, and no impartial inquiry was conducted. And Zardosi…”—Fatima’s anguish visibly increased—“Zardosi was the worst. That … that … horrid man ensured no autopsy was held … as Benazir’s husband he had the legal right to deny one … and he used the sympathy wave that followed her death to become the prime minister.”

  “You’re sure of all this?”

  “Of course. Kayani put together the strike on Masharrat’s orders. He ensured the assassins got into the ground with bombs and guns, and the crime scene was washed clean of all evidence. Perhaps that’s why, because he knew too much, Mehsud’s men came gunning for him the day after her murder. However, Kayani got lucky … they left him for dead, but he pulled through. However, he knew he wouldn’t last long if he stayed on in Pakistan,” Fatima elaborated. “That’s why he came to me … to us, the Sisters of Benazir … for money so that he could escape from Pakistan with his family.”

  “Why you of all the people?”

  “Because he had nowhere else to go,” Fatima retorted grimly. “And he knew our people were trying to find out who’d ordered Benazir’s assassination.” Pause. “Kayani thought he could sell us the truth.” The change in her tone made it clear Kayani had erred, fatally.

  “And you can trust him?”

  “By the time we were done with him, he could not have lied even if he’d wanted to,” Fatima responded softly. “Besides, he had no reason to lie.”

  NINE

  Leon checked his laugh with an effort.

  People seldom need a reason to lie.

  He had enjoyed the story, in the way any professional hearing about another in the same trade would. Not that he considered Mehsud’s men professional by any yardstick.

  Any fool can kill if they are not worried about dying. The art is to get away with it. That is what denotes a professional. But then, these attackers were only the weapons. The real killers were the men who had sent them.

  That thought discomfited him, starkly bringing home his own reality. Before he could dwell on it, the ringing of a mobile distracted him. Leon saw Fatima reach into her bag. His ever-simmering suspicions flared and suddenly his senses were on DEFCON ONE. His hand was on his weapon as hawk eyes swept the area.

  Nothing unusual.

  However, his hand stayed within his jacket. The cold butt of the pistol reassured him. He saw Fatima falter and then slowly draw out a mobile from her bag. She looked at him, seeking permission to answer. He nodded, but tense now.

  “What? Yes. He is with me.” Leon heard her say. His sense of danger flared brighter. He was now on the edge of his seat. But everything around still seemed normal. “I will tell him that, Mr. Verma. Hold on.” Leon saw her look at him; she seemed uncomfortable again. As though aware the news would not please Leon. “That’s Ashok Verma, my man inside the the NIA. They found Goel’s body and have appointed someone else as the STF commander.”

  “Ask him…” Leon broke off and held out his hand. Fatima passed him the mobile. “Tell me more,” Leon queried Verma crisply. He had already made up his mind to exit this mission, but still needed to remain in the loop till he had collected the money the SOB owed him and was safely out of India.

  “They have brought in an ex-cop. A senior guy … and apparently at the behest of the MI6 director.”

  Leon found that strange. “What has MI6 got to do with this?”

  “Apparently Sir Edward Kingsley managed to convince our director that this guy is the best man for the job. It appears they both know you well.”

  Leon went still. He was aware Kingsley was the MI6 director. Also that MI6 was onto this operation due to the leak at SOB end. However, he was not aware Kingsley was in town. Leon felt a painful tightness across his chest, the same angry, choking sensation the memory of Kingsley always ignited.

  And …

  “Who is this new guy?”

  “Like I said, an ex-cop. He retired a few weeks ago as the head of our Anti-Terrorist Task Force. Ravinder Singh Gill. I’ve never met him, but going by his record he seems to be one hell of a cop.”

  Leon felt he had entered the eye of the hurricane. Everything went still. And eerily silent. Even the march of mem
ories halted. Anger. Disbelief at this coincidence … everything was immobile.

  Edward Kingsley and Ravinder Gill. The two men who … No!

  Leon allowed the stillness to ferment … to coalesce into a decision.

  This cannot be coincidence. It is Destiny. It must be … Life, giving me the chance to make those two bastards pay for everything they have done to me. For all the pain …

  His decision clicked into place. Leon knew he would now do this.

  I have to.

  He’d thought of this … of taking revenge … so often. Nearly set out to do so twice, but both times something had gotten in the way.

  Third time lucky.

  Leon was suddenly light-headed.

  How can I walk away from such a golden opportunity to strike back at both these bastards?

  That the SOB would be paying him to do so only made the deal so much sweeter.

  Thoughts and feelings began playing again, but a discordant orchestra. Memories began to push forward—old, but bloody and still painful. He remembered how …

  Not now! Leon halted them. I have to keep all the emotional crap out of the way and ensure I walk out of this alive. That would be the sweetest revenge.

  Leon reminded himself to focus on the practicalities.

  Painstaking planning and innovative implementation. That’s what has kept me alive all these years.

  Leon became aware that Fatima was staring at him strangely. And he heard a squawking coming from the mobile still in his hand. He refocused.

  “You are right, Mr. Verma,” he said into the phone. “We will need to be more careful now. I know them both well. Gill is a smart cookie. So is Kingsley. Neither is to be underestimated.”

  “I agree. If there is nothing else…”

  “Wait.” Leon paused to marshal his thoughts. That’s when he noticed the relief on Fatima’s face and realized she had sensed he’d changed his mind. He didn’t care. No more games. His complete being was focused on Ravinder and Edward, on hurting them. Nothing else mattered.

  “Mr. Verma, how good is this Vishal Bhardwaj? This guy you have planted in the Special Task Force to work for us?” Leon decided to first get that end under control.

  Know your enemy. Classic Sun Tzu. Knowing what the enemy is doing is always a good and logical first step.

  “I handpicked him.” Leon was amused at the way Verma appropriated credit. “Vishal is perfect for this job. He is sharp, experienced, and … completely ruthless.” Leon thought he detected something in that brief pause; however, he couldn’t quite put a finger on it and then got distracted as Verma spoke again. “Vishal pulled off the Goel thing on his own. Got him out of the office, took him down, and got all the information we wanted from him.”

  “And you can trust him?” Leon remembered this was the exact same thing he’d asked Fatima a moment ago. The irony made him smile.

  “Trust him? How do you mean?”

  “What could I mean, Mr. Verma?” Leon countered. “I don’t plan to marry him. I just need to know if I can trust Vishal to give us the right information and in time. And not to crack under pressure if things go wrong.”

  “Of course. That’s why I chose Vishal. He’s solid. He will ensure we know everything the task force looking for you is up to so that we’re always one step ahead.”

  “Good. Text me his number and tell Vishal I want to meet him tonight.”

  “You want to meet him?”

  Leon heard Verma’s surprise. He guessed the reason—Leon rarely allowed an accomplice to see him.

  This time it’s different. Not just my final mission, but also possibly my last opportunity to take revenge.

  The need to hurt Edward and Ravinder was so overpowering that Leon brushed aside operational caution. “Yes, Mr. Verma, I think it’s best I brief him personally and explain how important his task has become now.”

  “I see.” But Verma sounded doubtful. “Okay. I’ll tell him and text you his number so you can coordinate the meet.”

  “Excellent. And please touch base with me every day … or whenever something important happens. Keep me up to speed.” Leon ended the call and handed the mobile back to Fatima. “Fine. I will complete this mission, but one more screw-up at your end and I’m out of here.”

  “Oh! Thank you!” Leon saw Fatima’s cheeks were wet. “Thank you so much.”

  Uncomfortable with her tears Leon hardened his tone. “You will do nothing, and I mean nothing, without checking with me first. Is that clear?”

  “Crystal. I promise. I will do what you say.”

  “Transfer the money to my account.” He held out a piece of paper with his account details.

  She pulled out her mobile, launched the mobile banking app, completed the two-factor authentication, and transferred the money. When it was done, she showed him the screen. He nodded, only half attentive. “Good. Now stay out of sight till this is over.”

  “I will,” she promised. “And I will be here if you need me for anything.”

  However, Leon was no longer listening and missed that last part. His mind had already donned combat gear and begun to break down the operation into a tactical checklist. And he felt acutely alive; he couldn’t remember the last time he had felt like this.

  TEN

  Fatima watched Leon walk away with mixed feelings. She wished she could figure out what had made him change his mind. She was sure it was something that had come up whilst he was talking to Ashok Verma, but try as she might, Fatima could not put a finger on it.

  Knowing he was back on track thrilled her. Not knowing what had made him change his mind irked her.

  Caught on that uncomfortable crossroads she decided to stick around Delhi for a few days more and not go ahead to Dubai to lie low, as she’d planned earlier.

  Just to keep an eye on things.

  And, she had no qualms admitting to herself, to gloat when Masharrat or Zardosi bit the dust. That thought made her smile.

  Wonder which of them Leon will take out first?

  I hope it’s that awful man, Zardosi.

  She mulled over that, not sure if Masharrat’s death would give her as much satisfaction. Lost in thought, she headed back to her hotel.

  Fatima was exiting the Qutb Minar complex when she again remembered that with Cherry’s having cleaned out the SOB accounts, she was in no position to pay Leon the last two installments any time soon. The thought of reneging on a deal with a man like Leon drove a shard of fear through her. But she allowed her insatiable craving for revenge to smother the fear.

  I will cross that bridge when I come to it. I first need to see this through.

  Unable to resist the sudden urge for contact, pulling out her mobile she called her cousin to check on Zaki.

  “He misses you, Fatima. Almost every hour he asks when you will be back.”

  “Aww.” She felt her heart lurch. “Put my baby on.” And everything faded into insignificance the minute she heard Zaki’s excited yell. “When are you coming back, Mommy? Where are you? What are you getting for me?”

  She was glowing when she finished answering his questions and finally ended the call, reluctantly. And the pain in her heart was physical, as strong as the urge to hold her boy close.

  No more. Once this is over I will not leave him alone.

  Fatima grimaced as she realized how much of her life had been sucked away by this vendetta.

  But I have to do this. For Zaki … his father, and the sister he never got to see … and for Aunt Benazir.

  Anger swept aside everything else.

  Just a few more days.

  Gritting her teeth she called Vishal and told him to meet her after he had met Leon.

  “But that is going to be very late.” Vishal was speaking in a hushed tone; she sensed he was with people.

  “I don’t care how late it is.” Like Leon, Fatima had decided information signified power and control. She was determined to keep an eye on things. On the hunter and the hunted.

  ELE
VEN

  Jasmine sensed something was amiss when she walked into the living room. The atmosphere in the stable-size room was like half-melted ice cream, thick and cold.

  Simran had planned the room as a display window for their royal heritage. And she had spared no expense, compensating for the relative frugality she had been forced to show in the officially allotted houses they had lived in whilst Ravinder had been in police service.

  The ceiling was twenty-four feet high, with a pristine white marble floor and ice blue, nearly white walls. The room was massive, like a royal audience hall. Huge sofa sets, adequate to seat twenty people, occupied three sides of the room. The fourth side had two elegant mahogany doors, one on either side. The outer one that led to the porch was the guest entrance. The second led to the kitchen and service area. Centered on the wall, between the two doors, was the life-size portrait of a grim-looking Sikh gentleman, Ravinder’s grandfather and the last maharaja. Arrayed around this were dozens of photographs of both arms of the family in all their regal finery. The family vanity wall, as Ravinder referred to it, was Simran’s pride and joy. A well-coordinated array of Persian carpets, large brass flowerpots, and other knickknacks were tastefully distributed around the room.

  Jasmine, who’d been bursting to share with them news of her acceptance for the Master of Laws program by three American law schools groaned inwardly when she spotted Simran’s stiff posture and icy glare. Ravinder, looking equally distressed, was tiredly pacing the room. He stopped in mid-sentence when he saw Jasmine.

  “What’s going on, Dad? Mom?” Jasmine gave them a questioning look.