Assassins

by Mukul Deva

  Then they sat. Mostly in silence, father and daughter, and watched the sun struggle to pierce the morning fog.

  By the time they got up to join Simran for breakfast, most of Ravinder’s earlier equanimity had been restored. The easy banter between the women in his life as they planned a relaxed day at the spa reinforced it. Ravinder found it reassuring; the realization that, despite the turmoil caused by Leon’s return in his life, some parts of it remained so mundane and ordinary. He cherished the sheer, everyday monotony; it grounded him and brought some semblance of normalcy.

  “Why don’t you join us at the spa, Dad. You could do with a massage,” Jasmine suggested.

  “That I would love.” Ravinder smiled. “But not today. Next week. Soon as this is over.”

  “That’s a date.” Simran wagged a finger at him, but smiling. “I’m going to hold you to that.”

  “Done.” Ravinder felt his heart smile as he caressed her cheek. “You have yourself a date, my dear.”

  “Get a room, guys.” But Jasmine looked delighted. “And, Dad, don’t forget we have dinner with Rekha’s family today,” Jasmine added as Ravinder headed out for office.

  “I will be back in time, Princess.” Ravinder thought Rekha’s parents were overbearing and pompous. He was not overly fond of them, but he knew the girls were close; both were planning to go to the same law school in America for their Master of Laws program. Also, right now this was another bit of normalcy Ravinder craved.

  “Don’t bother, Dad. Your office is en route to NOIDA. We will pick you up.”

  Then he was in the car, comfortably settled in the plush rear seat, with Jagjit Singh at the wheel. His mobile beeped as the BMW navigated out of the gate.

  “How is it going, Ravinder?” Edward sounded excited; no awkward traces of the last time they’d spoken. Ravinder realized he must have been really drunk then. “There is something you should know. Fatima Basheer is not in London. Neither are the other top three SOB people.”

  “And?”

  “We have traced the other three; they have gone to ground in Dubai … which means we don’t have a hope in hell of extraditing them. Anyway, the point is that Fatima is not with them.”

  “You think she is here?” Ravinder felt a tingle of anticipation. “In India?”

  “We cannot be sure, Ravinder. There is no record of her leaving the UK on her official passport, so wherever she has gone, she is using a false passport. But if she is in India…”

  “And we find her,” Ravinder completed, “there’s a good chance she can lead us to Leon.”

  “Perhaps. If Leon lets her know where he is.”

  “Will he be that dumb?” Ravinder felt some of his excitement abate; it seemed improbable that Leon would do something that stupid.

  “Not likely, old chap, but we have nothing to lose. If we can get our hands on her…”

  “If!” Ravinder laughed. “A Paki in India on a false passport! That’s like Christmas come early. The cops here will … just send me a photo, Edward, and let me pass it to them.”

  The call left Ravinder in a thoughtful mood. But energized; he felt more hopeful.

  A few minutes later his mobile beeped again; an incoming WhatsApp message. Clicking it open he was shocked to find Farah Fairfowler staring at him. Only when he read Edward’s message did he realize it was Fatima Basheer. Suddenly there wasn’t enough air in the car; Ravinder felt winded—the similarity to Farah stunned him. He felt a wave of nausea as Farah’s bloodied face swam before his eyes; the way he had seen her the last time. With a massive effort he pushed away that memory. Several deep breaths later he felt control return. That is when he remembered that Farah’s mother had been a Pakistani, too.

  Could there be a link between Farah and Fatima? And the Sisters of Benazir?

  He pondered that as he watched the dense Delhi traffic crawl past with sightless eyes.

  Nah! That would be too much of a stretch.

  But the thought would not go away. He was about to call Edward and ask him how the MI6 man felt about the similarity. Remembering how besotted Edward had been with Farah, he could not bring himself to pick up the phone.

  In any case, what difference does it make?

  Shelving these thoughts he forwarded the picture to Archana, with instructions for an alert to go out: Top Priority. Locate and follow, but do not apprehend unless subject is attempting to flee the country. If so, must be taken alive at all costs.

  Ravinder needed Fatima to lead him to Leon. He was confident Archana would have the APB out before he reached office. So intent was he on having that done, Ravinder forgot to copy the other task force officers on the message.

  THREE

  Leon was not having a good Christmas, either. His rumbling stomach had kept him awake most of the night. And the large red welt on his elbow did not look good. Leon flexed his fingers and his arm; they were mobile, but the pain was awful. Leon hoped it was only the stiffness caused by a night of immobility, but wondered if he should get an x-ray. The thought of going to a doctor lacked appeal.

  Perhaps later … if it doesn’t improve.

  Applying Tiger Balm, again recommended by the friendly neighborhood pharmacist, he retied the crepe bandage and then checked his mail to ensure Hakon had sent the dossier he’d compiled on Naug. He had.

  But nothing from Baxter yet.

  Worried, he reached for his mobile and dialed Baxter.

  It rang and rang, but again there was no response from Baxter. Leon’s worry escalated; he needed Professor Naug’s flight details from London. He didn’t want to take any unnecessary chances by going to Naug’s Delhi hotel any earlier than required.

  Where the hell are you, Baxter, you prat! Christmas or no Christmas, I’ll kill you if you are on a binge.

  But Leon knew Baxter would not have done that; they had operated together before and Baxter had never let him down. That is what was worrying Leon. Perhaps the SOB leak was worse than he’d envisaged. Perhaps the cops had gotten their hands on Baxter.

  But how would they know about him? No one at SOB knew about him.

  Have I missed something?

  He fretted over that, his mind examining possibilities. Despite his growing uneasiness, Leon was not yet able to spot any new, mission-abort signals.

  Other than the fact that this bloody mission seems to be jinxed.

  Downing another Norflox to settle his stomach and a Combiflam to dull the pain in his elbow, Leon got dressed. The idea of a decoy attack was clear in his head, but he had yet to work out the details on the ground.

  I must do that today, during my final recon.

  He decided to start with the stadium.

  FOUR

  Vishal saw Ravinder emerge from his BMW as he drove into the office parking lot. To his dismay Ravinder looked spry and seemed to be bubbling with energy.

  But not for long. Kapil Choudhary would soon attend to that.

  Vishal wondered where Kapil was.

  Had he taken up position at Ravinder’s house?

  Keen to check, he was reaching for his backup mobile with the untraceable SIM card when another car pulled up and a couple of cops got out. Greeting Vishal, they kept pace with him all the way to the office. No way he could call.

  That added to Vishal’s irritation; unable to sleep and with the effects of the adrenaline hangover still lingering, he was in a foul mood. The energy he encountered when he entered the office only made him feel worse.

  “Did you guys pull an all-nighter?” Ravinder was asking.

  “Almost.” Philip had that smug look, which Vishal hated. Though, like Archana and Chance, he looked haggard. All three were clustered around her table.

  “These two guys wimped out by midnight.” Archana laughed. “But we double-checked every single thing.”

  “And?”

  “And it is rock solid, Boss.” Philip replied. “No room for ambiguity.”

  Chance nodded concurrence. Archana looked pleased and relieved.


  “So it is either of the two deputy directors from NIA, or one of you four?” Ravinder gave each of them a long look.

  Vishal’s heart plummeted, but he stayed poker-faced, meeting Ravinder’s eyes like the others.

  Then things went from bad to worse.

  “Let’s do this.” Ravinder commanded decisively. “Archana, find out where both those guys are right now, Ashok Verma and Sikander Ali. Meanwhile, I will bring their director up to speed. After that Philip, Vishal, and I will bring them in. Chance, you and Saina will be the backups. Be ready to move.”

  “Sure. But where is Saina?” Chance queried.

  “Not in yet.” Philip responded. “Must be on her way.”

  “What do you want me to do, sir?” Archana was looking left out.

  Before Ravinder could respond, Philip did. “Why don’t you start work on Binder’s photograph?”

  Ravinder nodded approvingly, delighted to see his team coming together. “It would be great to have that APB out ASAP. Only you can do that.”

  That made Archana happy.

  Vishal saw Philip draw his weapon, check it, and return it to his shoulder holster. Then he drew a pair of plastic handcuffs and tossed one across to Vishal. “I don’t think they will be required, but just in case.”

  Pocketing the cuffs Vishal also went through the motions of checking his weapon and spare mag. But his mind was in a whirl, full of apprehension.

  Damn! I should never have listened to Leon. It would have been better to get rid of Ashok.

  Vishal knew he could not let Verma be taken alive.

  “Ali has still not reached the office, but Verma is already in.” Archana replaced her phone and called out.

  Vishal fretted, wondering when they would discover Sikander’s death and if it would provide the required diversion. He realized things could get sticky really fast if it did not throw Ravinder off Verma’s trail.

  Where the hell is Kapil Choudhary?

  Vishal wished he could call him and find out, but with the team huddle still in progress it would have looked strange; attention was the last thing he wanted right now.

  FIVE

  Ravinder, midway through dialing Kurup’s number, replaced the handset when he heard Archana call out that Ali had still not reached the office. “It is still a bit early. Perhaps we should wait for Ali to get in and then bring both in simultaneously.”

  “I agree, sir,” Philip chipped in. “It would be best to bring both in at the same time. If we take the wrong man in first, the right one would get away.”

  “You mean if we took the right one in first, the wrong one would escape.” Chance’s tongue-in-cheek humor broke the tension.

  Not looking forward to the conversation with Kurup, Ravinder was happy to defer it. However, aware time was at a premium he did not wish to waste a moment. “Guys, while we are waiting, I suggest you two present your plans on the targets.” He looked at Vishal and Philip.

  Ravinder was confident they would find something of value, either a weakness in the security umbrella or some method of attack, which NIA had not thought of yet.

  That should mollify Kurup.

  Ravinder joined the others at the conference table.

  Philip took the initiative. Flicking open his iPad he accessed his notes and crisply narrated Zardosi’s program, from his arrival at Palam airport till his departure two days later. “On twenty-seven December, the bulk of his time will be spent at the Ferozeshah Kotla stadium witnessing the T20 Indo-Pak cricket match. However, the next day there is a meeting and joint press conference with the Indian PM prior to his return to Pakistan.”

  “I doubt Binder will try anything when the two prime ministers are together,” Chance commented.

  “Logical. Double the security.” Philip moved on to the second part of his presentation. “While considering how best an attack could be mounted on Zardosi I kept in mind the one basic thing that distinguishes a professional assassin from an amateur or a suicide attacker: the imperative to escape. That’s why I think Leon is most likely to use a rifle or remotely detonated bomb.”

  Watching him, Ravinder felt his confidence soar; the team had started performing. Much better than he had expected when he met them yesterday.

  “That is also why,” Philip continued, “I think Leon will attempt a strike at the stadium. Either on the VIP box or when Zardosi comes out for the prize distribution.”

  “I have requested the director to ensure Zardosi does not give away prizes.” Ravinder made a note to check if his suggestion had been accepted. “It will be almost impossible to keep him secure if he comes out in the middle of the ground. That bloody stadium can hold seventy thousand people and Zardosi would be completely exposed.”

  “Seventy thousand.” Even Chance, a cricket buff like most Britishers, was impressed.

  “Precisely. And given that we are playing Pakistan, you can bet every single seat will be taken. Impossible to keep an eye on such a crowd.” Ravinder’s concern showed. “There are scores of possible sniper positions in any stadium … and a dozen other ways to get at Zardosi once he is out in the open.”

  “Agreed. That’s why their routes are being kept secret and will be heavily guarded,” Philip conceded. “The primary concern is during the cricket match. It is a public event, after all. We have to ensure Zardosi stays in the VIP box.”

  “I’ve already spoken to the NIA director about this and I will do so again,” Ravinder promised.

  “In that case, Leon’s best option would be to go for Zardosi with a sniper rifle, either in the VIP box or when he is en route to or from it,” Philip concluded. “Bombs are possible, but chancy from the assassin’s point of view, since they may or may not get the target.”

  “What about poison?” Archana asked.

  “True. Binder has used poison several times, but for both these targets I don’t see how he can get close enough.”

  “In the VIP box, the hotel, or even at any other event … even prime ministers have to eat,” Archana pointed out.

  “Everything they eat or drink is going to be closely monitored.” Philip had clearly thought this through. “Also, if the killer is to be certain, he has to ensure his target is the first to take the poisoned food or drink.”

  That, too, was logical. If someone else took a fast-acting poison, their demise would give away the game. Conversely, if the poison did not act fast enough or acted first on someone else, there was the possibility of medical attention reaching them in time.

  “What about something exotic?” Chance asked. “Soluble thallium salts, ricin … darts fired from something innocuous like an umbrella or pen?”

  “Yes, those have been used effectively many times and are possible,” Philip admitted, though a bit skeptically. “They would require Binder to get close to the target. Also, if we are to go by the MI6 intel, then Binder has just been given this assignment. I’m not sure he would have time to put together anything too elaborate.”

  SIX

  Vishal was unable to decide what upset him more: Philip’s impeccable analysis, Ashok Verma’s imminent capture, or the fact that Ravinder had gotten the team together and energized so fast.

  “Well done, Philip. That was good. Vishal, what about you?” Vishal realized Ravinder had addressed him only when he heard his name. “Let us see what you’ve got.”

  Perhaps it was the praise given to Philip, perhaps the choice of Ravinder’s words, or perhaps it was merely Vishal’s need to win, but he was seized by a compelling urge to outshine Philip. Instinct warned him it was a childish idea and dangerous, but he was unable to help himself. In fact, a part of him wanted to flirt with the danger.

  “I’m ready, sir, but let me first highlight that I don’t fully agree with Philip. From everything I have read about Binder, we should not rule anything out. The man has been in this trade for thirty years. It’s safe to assume he can get hold of whatever he needs—no matter how fancy—shortage of time notwithstanding.”

  “I agr
ee with that,” Ravinder acknowledged. “It would be best if we planned for that, too.”

  “I was just expressing my views.” Philip’s discomfiture delighted Vishal.

  “That’s cool.” Ravinder must have sensed it, too, and moved to smooth things over. “What about your presentation, Vishal? You ready?”

  “Of course.” Keen to show he was a cut above, Vishal referred to neither his notebook nor his tablet. Quickly detailing the thirty hours Masharrat would spend on Indian soil, he concluded, “My analysis is that, if the general is the target, Binder will strike during the conference. They are expecting two thousand people to attend. Two thousand people who have not been security vetted … basically it’s open house to anyone who can cough up the delegate fees. And the Siri Fort auditorium is not the easiest of venues to secure.” He paused, expecting questions. There were none. The lack of reaction irritated him. Spurred on by that and wanting to sow some confusion, he added, “In fact, if I had to do this, I would attack both targets simultaneously.”

  “How?” Philip challenged. “Both targets are on stage almost simultaneously. Masharrat is speaking bang in the middle of the cricket match.”

  “So what? Masharrat’s speech is only ninety minutes.” Vishal’s need to show Philip up mounted. “If I were Binder I’d use a second team to go for my secondary target.”

  “I see. Which would be your primary?” Vishal was so pissed with Philip that he failed to realize the STF second-in-command was not being deliberately difficult; Philip was genuinely exploring the option Vishal had tabled.

  “Obviously, Zardosi would be my first choice,” Vishal shot back, his chin jutting out aggressively.

  “Why is that obvious?” Chance leaned into the conversation.

  “Because Zardosi, being the prime minister, would be better protected at home.” Vishal sensed his emotions were getting the better of him, but seemed unable to harness them. “Also, keeping in view the current political climate in Pakistan, which white man in his right mind would want to take a trip there? You more than anyone else should realize that white is not the flavor of the month with the Pakis.”