Assassins

by Mukul Deva

“As for the photo,” Archana continued when everyone stopped laughing, “let me get the task you’ve given me out of the way first and I will then age the photo.” She noticed Ravinder’s puzzled look and explained. “I created an app that allows me to age a photo.” A shrug. “It is not foolproof, but it might give us some reasonable options of what Binder could look like now.”

  “Sounds good to me, Archana. Let us see what you come up with and then get the APB out.” Ravinder looked impressed. And Cherian pleased.

  Vishal’s dismay increased as he saw the others now seemed charged up. Cursing inwardly, he too started working. Rather, he pretended to, since his discussion with Leon was still fresh and he could have given his presentation right away.

  And that, too, straight from the horse’s mouth.

  EIGHT

  Leon was feeling drained and queasy, but knew he could not avoid stepping out any longer; a recon of both venues, collection of the sarin, and handing it over to Nitin had to be done.

  A couple of bananas, a bowl of curds, and another dose of Norflox steeled his resolve. However, it was past noon by the time he felt stable enough to leave Jorbagh. The GPS suggested that, of the two venues, Siri Fort auditorium was closer, so he headed there.

  NEW INDIA TIMES SUMMIT

  Red and white banners on both sides of the road and progressively larger billboards guided him to the auditorium as effectively as the GPS.

  With the summit just four days away, the auditorium was a hive of activity. From painters prettying up the walls, men erecting shamianas, trolleys bustling around with an assortment of furniture, security men installing metal detectors, and electricians stringing up lights, everything seemed to be happening simultaneously. And chaos ruled. To the untrained eye, it would have seemed the venue would never be ready in time for the conference, but from past experience Leon knew this is how things happened in India; everything would fall miraculously in place at the eleventh hour.

  The chaos was familiar to Leon, who had cased many such venues. Aware that confusion invariably favored the attacker, he found it reassuring.

  Behind the auditorium was a restaurant complex with a huge car park. Leaving his car there, Leon ambled back to the auditorium, again in his American hippie avatar—a camera slung around his neck, a water bottle, and a tourist map in hand. He was coming up to the gate when he saw Fatima waving at him from across the road.

  What the hell! Leon froze, furious. Didn’t I tell her to go back to London?

  “Where do you think you are going?” The policeman accosting him looked irritated; he had been turning away tourists since morning.

  Leon switched on his happy hippie smile. “I was just…”

  “There you are.” Smiling broadly, Fatima sashayed up and took his arm. “I have been looking for you everywhere.” Then turning to the surly policeman, she switched to Punjabi—heavily accented, but passable enough for someone who was obviously a foreigner. “We are here on our honeymoon, Inspector. Do you mind if we look around for a few minutes?” She ramped up the charm. “We only have a couple of days in Delhi and are trying to see as many places as we can.”

  The constable looked them over. But Leon saw his surliness replaced by a hint of amusement. “Okay. Go ahead. But don’t go inside. The auditorium is presently closed to the public.”

  “Oh, really.” Fatima did her dumb bimbo thing again. “Is something going on?”

  “That conference in a few days.” The cop waved at the banner overhead. He had now lost interest in them and wandered off to shout at another furniture-laden lorry blocking the gate.

  “What did you tell him in Indian?” Leon asked as Fatima led him away, still clutching his arm.

  “Indian? There is no such language. That was Punjabi.”

  “Whatever.”

  “Just that we are here on our honeymoon.”

  “Very funny,” Leon said dryly. “And what exactly are you doing here? I thought I’d made it clear you were to leave Delhi.”

  “I’m not going anywhere till this is over,” Fatima said firmly. “And aren’t you glad I came by when I did.” She gestured at the cop.

  “Seriously?” Leon freed his arm. Making no attempt to curb his sarcasm he quipped, “I can take care of myself, thank you.”

  “But you will admit a couple is less likely to draw attention,” Fatima pointed out.

  Leon began to reply, then did not.

  Why not? I don’t need to take her everywhere … only where it suits me.

  However, Leon had been on his own too long and the thought of having someone around unsettled him. It made him feel like a goldfish in a bowl. Especially when that someone was an emotional and easily excitable woman. Not to mention that freaky likeness to Farah Fairfowler.

  Yet … what the hell?

  “You will do exactly what I tell you to. No questions,” he said firmly. “At no time must you draw attention to us. Clear?”

  Delighted at his capitulation, Fatima agreed. She followed him as he circled around the auditorium.

  Leon didn’t need much time here; he needed only to see the layout, especially possible entry and exit points, and the security arrangements at both. That did not take very long. However, not wanting Fatima to notice any difference in the time and effort he expended at either venue, he poked around a bit more before leaving for Ferozeshah Kotla stadium, where the cricket match would be held.

  By now they had been together for over an hour, but having her around still felt strange to Leon. He had operated on his own so long that he’d even forgotten what it was like to have company. And, loath though he was to admit it, Leon liked the change, especially that she was so easy on the eyes. But he was still uncertain how much, if at all, this excitable client of his would listen to him.

  Aware how important this reconnaissance was, Leon tried to blank everything else out and focus, but Fatima was making him nervous. He also worried she would draw attention to him.

  NINE

  Fatima could sense Leon’s unease, but her fascination at being able to see the mission actually being implemented overshadowed everything. This vendetta had occupied a large part of her life and now, being here with Leon, the man who would bring it to fruition, seeing it come alive, suddenly made it so tangible. She was excited beyond words.

  “Did you find what you wanted?” she asked as they exited Siri Fort.

  “Yes.”

  “What?” She looked perplexed. “I didn’t notice … err … you didn’t take any notes or anything?” Less than an accusation, more of a question. It earned her an exasperated look. But that only enhanced her curiosity. “What exactly are we looking for?”

  Leon did not bother with a reply, just a cold glare.

  Fatima wasn’t sure what she had expected, but she had expected something. So far she had seen him do nothing except wander around and occasionally take photos, apparently of nothing in particular. At least, nothing she could discern. Yet she was fascinated, as much by what they were doing as by the man; Leon intrigued her. His broody aloofness was so refreshing; men usually tried their best to endear themselves. Not Leon.

  How can anyone be so remote … so detached?

  Fatima was puzzled. And, for the first time since she had hit puberty, she found herself jockeying for attention. It excited her, making her nervous and even more talkative.

  “Have you decided which of the two you are going to … attend to first?” she asked as they entered Ferozeshah Kotla stadium, for the tenth time since morning.

  “I’ll let you know when I do.” Also on tenterhooks, Leon snapped testily.

  “Oh.” Fatima was crushed by his tone. She felt the urge to appease him. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

  “As a matter of fact you can. By not asking so many questions and allowing me to focus.”

  Fatima was speechless, unable to handle the sudden rush of emotions. She didn’t realize he was equally conflicted: enjoying her attention, but not liking that fact. Tears sprang to
her eyes. Fatima saw him flush, sensed he was embarrassed.

  Or is he just worried I’m drawing attention to him?

  Suddenly angry, Fatima wiped away her tears. “I don’t have to put up with this shit. I’m surprised how easily everyone forgets who is paying the bills around here,” she muttered bitterly. “First that bastard Vishal and now you.”

  “And don’t you forget, I told you to stay away and let me handle this,” Leon retorted, but she had his attention; the comment about Vishal intrigued him. “What is that about Vishal?”

  “The son of a … he tried to hit on me last night.” Fatima realized she would be in a mess if Leon asked why she had called Vishal to her hotel late at night. She couldn’t handle all this anymore. “To hell with it. I don’t need to take this, from you or anyone else. Just make sure you do the job.” She walked away, leaving him surprised.

  A moment later Fatima was regretting her outburst, worried how Leon would take it. But by the time she turned, Leon had crossed the parking lot and was entering the stadium. She contemplated going back and then decided against it.

  Feeling more confused and lonelier than ever, she headed back to her hotel.

  TEN

  Leon was surprised at the churn of feelings as he watched Fatima walk away: dismay at his churlishness, intrigued by her comment on Vishal, relief he could get on with his tasks, and yet, for some strange reason he couldn’t fully fathom, sorry to see her go. Fatima intrigued him; especially the way she’d shared her story so openly. Leon couldn’t even imagine making himself so vulnerable to anyone. The very thought terrified him.

  Is that why I’ve been pushing her away? Because she is getting to me?

  Leon was so surprised he halted.

  Who are you, Leon Binder?

  This question, which had been nagging him more and more, especially recently, hung heavily before him.

  Where are you going next? Yes, twenty million pounds is a lot of money and will allow you to stop running. But from what? And for what?

  As before, Leon hit a blank wall.

  What are you living for?

  Leon tried to visualize what life would be like when this mission was over. But all he could see were sterile safe houses. A never-ending line of them. Luxurious houses, but not homes. Impersonal. Bereft of personality. Barren walls. With none of the photos, paintings, and knickknacks that made a house a home … and had been such an integral part of his childhood … his only abiding memories of that place people called home.

  Leon tried harder.

  Niks. Still nothing.

  He tried to look for a face other than his own. Someone to talk to.

  Anyone. But still only blackness.

  Fatima? Is that why … Leon was seized by the urge to turn around and go looking for her. The urge was so strong it stunned him. But he couldn’t turn. Rooted to the ground by the deepest, darkest fear he had ever experienced. He tried hard, but was unable to understand the crippling fear. Let alone overcome it.

  Waves of sadness overwhelmed him. He felt so tired he wanted to lie down right there by the road. Lie down and just let go. Of everything.

  What’s happening to me?

  You’re getting old, that’s what’s happening.

  Leon tried to laugh it off. Couldn’t. He felt even more dismal.

  No! Really … where did it all go? When did life pass me by?

  But he was too tired to even think.

  Then from that blankness arose a deep dark fury.

  If Gill and Kingsley hadn’t crucified me, I also would have had a life … a normal life. Leon was shaking with anger now. It rejuvenated him. I would have also had a home. A family. And someone to …

  A shout from behind jolted him back into the present. A bunch of workers were setting up barricades to funnel the flow of people into the stadium. Their supervisor seemed upset at the pace of work.

  “What are you? A bunch of old women?” the portly supervisor yelled. “Get moving, girls! We don’t have all day.”

  It reminded Leon he would draw attention if he didn’t get moving. He threw a quick look around to check if anyone was watching him. No one was.

  Why should they?

  Leon realized he’d spent the last thirty years of his life blending in, ensuring no one saw him or noticed him.

  Now no one does.

  The need to be acknowledged suddenly seized him, shockingly strong. But no one was looking at him. Life and people swirled all around him, but no one seemed to even notice him. As though he didn’t exist. As though he were trapped in an opaque bubble. He reached for his mobile, unable to resist the urge to call Fatima.

  “Hullo! Sahib!” He looked up, startled; the supervisor was giving him an exasperated look. “Could you move to one side, we are trying to finish up here.”

  With an almost grateful nod Leon moved on, returning the mobile to his pocket. Even that slight interaction was enough to appease his need.

  I have to stop allowing these things to bother me.

  Not now!

  Not ever, actually!

  Leon did what he was best at and had been doing so well the past three decades: pushed away these draining emotions and got on with the job.

  Though his eyes didn’t miss a single detail and his camera captured everything he deemed relevant, Leon was unable to keep his mind from wandering back to Fatima and his own life. This was the first time he had been thrown in such close quarters with the emotions and motives of any client, or such an attractive client, who dared to feel and show it, too, so blatantly. Consequently, the long-bottled emotions that had been unleashed unsettled him.

  His mind was still muddled with these thoughts when he finished with the recon of the stadium and went to collect the sarin.

  Perhaps that is why he missed the man at the far end of the alley when he walked up to the address given to him by Ri Yong Ho in Seoul.

  The Sanjay Gandhi Transport Nagar, as the name suggests, houses the offices and warehouses of dozens of transport companies. The Batra Transport Company, which was located in the seedier part of it, was one such company. It was in the center building. The office-cum-warehouses on either side were unoccupied, in a state of disrepair.

  It was a fair drive from Ferozeshah Kotla and Leon might not have found it had it not been for the GPS-equipped Honda City that Om Chandra had provided him. Even then it took over an hour, and his stomach was acting up again by the time he reached there.

  Alerted by Leon’s call, Batra, the company owner, who moonlighted in many dubious areas, had been expecting him; he had deployed a man at either end of the alley.

  Leon picked the one at the end from where he entered. It would have been hard not to; over six feet tall, with a build that would make a Mack truck feel small, the watcher stood out like a sore thumb. His clumsy attempt to maintain a low profile made him even more conspicuous.

  The one at the other end was smarter and blended in with the trio of men working on a truck parked near the mouth of the alley. Loud metallic clangs rang out as they worked on the truck’s body.

  They allowed him to enter before following him to Batra’s office.

  Leon had a bad feeling; hijackers were a constant worry whenever collections were to be made or payments delivered. Leon had encountered them several times at this stage of an operation and come to accept them as yet another challenge to be dealt with. But that didn’t make it any easier. In fact, to bypass that danger, he would not have come here if he hadn’t been worried that transit damage might have made the sarin containers fatal. Leon needed to ensure the sarin was still safe to handle before he came near the damn thing. He could not do that in a public place and hadn’t wanted Batra to come to his; people dropping dead at a public place was the last thing Leon wanted.

  Having identified himself, Leon asked Batra, a fifty-something man who had obviously never seen the inside of a gym or walked more than a dozen feet in any direction, “You have my items?”

  “Of course,” Batra re
plied in passable English, indicating the cardboard carton kept on his table, about a meter long and half as wide. Despite the winter chill, Batra was sweating profusely.

  Later Leon realized that should have forewarned him. And he cursed himself for not being more aware.

  “Open it and show me.”

  It took Batra a while to cut through the layers of duct tape and open the container. From inside the carton emerged a large, wide-mouthed vacuum flask, blue with a two-liter capacity.

  Leon held his breath as Batra unscrewed it. Out came another, smaller vacuum flask, also with a wide mouth, but red in color and half a liter capacity. Leon had to force himself not to step back when Batra began to open that. But he did pull out a handkerchief and hold it to his nose. Aware that the next few seconds could be Batra’s last. Also his own, if Ri Yong Ho had screwed up the packaging.

  Leon’s tension must have shown because Batra now looked taut, almost fearful. “What is in this flask?” He stopped unscrewing the second flask and held it out to Leon, “Here you are. Open it yourself.”

  Simultaneously, the large man Leon had spotted at the mouth of the alley emerged from the shadows, closing in on Leon. He looked grim and menacing.

  Aware that if the man got in close, his size would give him a deadly advantage, Leon reacted rapidly. Pulling out a .22-caliber pistol from his waistband he fired. Twice. The small caliber weapon made little noise, which is why Leon preferred it to a more lethal, bigger caliber handgun. Aware the weapon load was lighter, Leon had gone for definite kill shots, head and heart. He did not miss. The first bullet took the giant in the left eye. He was already dead when his heart stopped from the second. Dust billowed as he hit the floor heavily. Swirling in the air long after the echoes of the shots had bounced off the warehouse walls.

  That distracted Leon. Long enough for the second man to close in. There was a violent blow to his right arm; a sharp shard of pain shot through his elbow. The pistol went flying out of Leon’s hand. There was a grunt to his immediate rear and Leon sensed the second attacker, behind him, was priming for another strike.