Assassins

by Mukul Deva

  Neither was aware the man they sought to destroy was scant feet away.

  There was only one car between them as they exited the AIIMS gate. Both turned left and headed down Aurobindo Marg. Half a mile ahead Leon took the U-turn and headed back toward Jorbagh, while Ravinder continued ahead toward Chhatarpur.

  TWENTY-NINE

  Vishal was gripping the pistol so tightly his hand hurt. He tried to relax, himself and his grip. But it was hard. He was on edge as he headed for the front of Verma’s house, aware that one false glance or misplaced word from Verma could blow the lid off his life.

  Then he turned the corner.

  Verma was sandwiched between Philip and Saina. They were leading him to their car. Though they had not cuffed him, it was obvious they viewed him as a prisoner and a potential flight risk. Both had their right hands out of sight; Philip’s in his coat pocket and Saina’s in her bag.

  Verma looked severely agitated. “I can assure you that my boss will … you guys have a lot to answer for.”

  Vishal noted that Verma looked shaken but seemed to be holding up so far. He breathed a sigh of relief. As long as Verma held out and denied all involvement, Vishal knew the STF would be hard-pressed to prove anything. That was now his only hope.

  That and the gun in his hand. Though he hoped he would not have to use it, not till he had collected his money from Fatima. He’d received only fifty thousand dollars; the balance of one hundred and fifty thousand he’d been promised would be enough to give him a decent head start. That and the money now promised by Leon; Vishal again wondered how much it would be.

  THIRTY

  Ravinder noticed Philip’s text only when he had tucked Jasmine in and retired to his room. Though he was exhausted, guilt at abandoning his team and such a critical task compelled him to call Philip.

  “How are both of them now, sir?”

  “Much better, thank you, Philip. Jasmine is back home with me already. Simran is still at the hospital, but improving.”

  “Thank God. The news here is good, too.” Ravinder picked up on his satisfaction. “We have Ashok Verma in custody and I already started the interrogation. So far nothing, but he is a veteran. I didn’t think he would break so easily.”

  “Hold him in solitary and try sleep deprivation,” Ravinder suggested.

  “That’s what I have done, sir. White room, bright lights, and complete silence. The full works. By tomorrow he should be aching to talk.”

  “Excellent.” Ravinder felt better that things were in hand. “Soon as Simran is out of the woods, I’ll be back. Hold down the fort till then, Philip.”

  “No worries, sir. You focus on her.” Philip’s confidence bolstered Ravinder. “I wanted you to look at the options Archana has come up with … she has aged Binder’s photos. If you could let us know which ones you think would be the most likely, I could have variants done and the APB issued.”

  “Now?”

  “I can email all five variants to you.”

  “WhatsApp them instead and I will let you know right away.”

  A moment later Ravinder was studying five photos on his iPad, correlating them with the Leon he had shared an apartment with. It was not an easy choice; thirty years is a long time, but Archana had done an excellent job with all of them. Finally making up his mind he called Philip back. “I would suggest numbers two and five.”

  Number two had shoulder-length hair left loose. Ravinder remembered the time Leon had gone hippie—grown his hair and a goatee.

  Throw in the gray and some wrinkles, add a few kilograms, and that’s how he should look now.

  And the fifth simulation also had long hair, but neatly tied in a pony. And oval horn-rimmed spectacles.

  That’s like the time Leon had gone arty.

  Right down to zero power glasses.

  Yes! Archana has gone a great job.

  “Two and five it is, sir. I’ll have the APB out right away. Apprehend or shoot on sight? Dead or alive?”

  “Yes. And emphasize the approach-with-caution bit. We don’t want overenthusiastic cops getting killed. Okay?”

  “Sir, what about informing the Pakis? Should I do that or will you?”

  “Neither. For now, have the NIA Liaison Officer send it to them as a general nonspecific threat. You know … we have received intel there is a threat to their PM and are investigating … blah blah.” Ravinder preempted Philip’s next question. “Let’s keep it there till we have some more. If we get Binder in time, no need for the Pakis to know at all. If we find things getting out of hand, then we will warn them. The NIA director told me that is how the politicos want it. Okay?”

  “Roger that, sir.” Philip rang off. Only to ring back a moment later, excitedly. “We have found the truck, sir.”

  Ravinder shot upright. “What about the driver?”

  “Not yet.”

  “Oh!” Ravinder felt terribly disappointed. “Find that bastard, Philip.”

  “We will, sir. Don’t worry. Saina is personally handling this and I’ll keep you posted.”

  Just the thought of getting his hands on the driver made Ravinder’s blood pound. Then his thoughts drifted toward the man who had tasked the truck driver.

  Who is the mole?

  Verma? The desire to rush to the office and hammer the truth out of him gripped Ravinder, but he knew it was not practical—not at this late hour and certainly not in the condition he was in.

  Philip? Instinct told him it did not seem probable, but for once, Ravinder did not want to trust his instincts; this time he needed each man to prove himself innocent.

  Vishal? Ravinder paused, dwelling on it; there was something about Vishal that he had not been able to put a finger on. Yet his track record was good, perhaps too impeccable.

  Archana? He found it hard to believe it could be her. She seems so sweet and helpful. But Ravinder knew looks could be deceptive. Hers would be the perfect cover for a mole.

  Saina? Her association with and call to Sikander were damning. But the fact she was spearheading the hunt for the truck driver and had already found the truck made him wonder. Or is that a ploy to throw off suspicion?

  That left him more confused.

  Quis custodiet ipsos custodes? Who indeed would guard the guards themselves? Had he sent the killer to catch the killer?

  Then Leon’s photographs on his iPad caught Ravinder’s eye. They seemed to be staring at him.

  Archana has done a terrific job with the mug shots.

  The likeness to the Leon he had known three decades back was so startling that Ravinder could almost see Leon, especially photograph number five. The arty, pony-tailed, spectacled man had that same look of fierce concentration Ravinder remembered so well; he could visualize Leon studying or playing chess.

  Always that expression.

  As though hypnotized, Ravinder could not look away.

  His attention was still riveted on the iPad as his eyes glazed over. Ravinder’s tired mind shot him back into the past.

  * * *

  Ravinder was shocked when face number five on his iPad screen came alive.

  Leaping out of the iPad, Leon strode up to Ravinder with that familiar athletic stride and jabbed him, a stiff finger in the solar plexus.

  “You fucked me, Ravinder.” Leon’s betrayed look cut to the bone. “You fucked me nice and proper, old chap.”

  “I didn’t. You did. You reaped what you sowed,” Ravinder retorted. “You should have left Farah alone. She was Edward’s fiancée, for God’s sake. How could you, Leon?”

  “We were drunk, Ravinder. I have no idea how it happened, but I didn’t plan it … neither did I force myself on her. And. You. Know. That.” The last four words were punctuated with four more deliberate jabs from the same finger, this time on Ravinder’s arm. “You know Farah Fairfowler was a wild one. For all you know, she may have been fucking the whole form.”

  “You can say what you want now. Farah isn’t here to defend herself. You raped and killed her, Leon.
”

  “I raped her? I didn’t need to. She was the fucking village bicycle … anyone who wanted to was mounting her.” Leon’s eyes were angry slits. “And I did not kill her. You did.” Ravinder flinched. “And you know that.”

  “That’s bullshit,” Ravinder shouted back. “I was trying to save her.”

  “You brought the poker into the fight, Mr. Ravinder Singh Gill.” Leon was relentless. Ruthless. “Don’t you remember?”

  “So?” Words eluded Ravinder.

  “If you hadn’t done that, she might still be alive.”

  “Screw you,” Ravinder fired back furiously. “You’d gone wild and I was only defending myself. And I didn’t ask you to hit her with it.”

  Leon overrode him. “I’m not saying you wanted to kill her. Or planned to, but you did. It happened.” Leon jabbed Ravinder’s arm again. “Just as I did not plan to have sex with her. It happened. It just happened, bro.”

  Ravinder found his voice. “Don’t you dare … you murderous bastard.” He was shouting now, the veins on his neck bulging, his face red. “Don’t try to pass on your misdeeds to me.”

  “You don’t remember,” Leon’s tone hadn’t altered. Nor had his gaze strayed from Ravinder’s face. “Or you don’t want to remember.”

  “Shut the fuck up, Leon.”

  “Why?” Still the same flat, soft tone. “Why are you afraid to confront what you did? Why don’t you admit you were wrong? You and your fucking righteous anger! You testified against me just because of Edward. For the sake of his so-called honor, you made me pay the price. You destroyed my life … You are the reason my parents died of shame and heartbreak. You and Edward killed them as sure as you had put the gun to their heads.” Leon was breathing hard now, spitting out the words angrily. “You are the buggers who put me on this path. You think this is what I aspired to? If it hadn’t been for you and that high-and-mighty prick Kingsley, I could have become whatever I wanted to.” The same stiff finger pointed at Ravinder’s face. “But you see, old chap, life is like a restaurant named Karma. Here we all are served only what we deserve.” The finger was pointed straight between Ravinder’s eyes. Like a pistol.

  “That’s true, Leon. And you should wonder why it served you this,” Ravinder retorted.

  “I have come to pay you back, Ravinder. I’ll bring you down and destroy you.”

  Ravinder’s anger broke free. “Fuck you, Leon Binder. Don’t try to mess with my head.” Grabbing Leon’s finger, apoplectic, he lashed out with all his might. “You murderous bastard. You got what you deserved.”

  * * *

  “Dad! Dad!” Jasmine shook Ravinder awake. He was clutching her hand. Hard. But if she felt the pain, she didn’t show it.

  It took a moment for reality to return. For Ravinder’s breathing to subside. For his heartbeat to settle. A bit. Only a bit.

  “I must have been having a bad dream.” Fighting for control, he released her hand. Noticed she began to massage it and was filled with remorse. “Sorry, Princess, did I hurt you?”

  “Only when I see you hurting yourself, Dad.”

  As he took the glass of water she held out, Ravinder noticed how calm she was. That made him proud.

  “You have to let go, Dad. Whatever it is … out there, in the past … it is over and done with. Nothing you do can change that.”

  “You see…”

  “I don’t, Dad.” Jasmine cut him off. “And I don’t wish to either. Raking up the past never got anyone anywhere. Let it go,” she repeated, more insistently now.

  “You are right, Princess. I have to let it go. I will.” Ravinder could see she was tired. “Let us get some sleep. We have to be at the hospital early.”

  “That’s right. I want you to sleep now. Would you like me to give you a pill?”

  “Don’t worry, Princess. I will be fine.”

  “Of course you will, Dad.”

  Ravinder saw her determination.

  “Remember what you used to tell me whenever I was upset about something?” Jasmine did not wait for a reply. “‘Don’t worry, Princess. Nothing will happen. Not on my watch.’” He smiled. “Well, it’s my watch now, Dad.” She caressed his brow. “Sleep.”

  Ravinder felt another surge of pride; in the past two days Jasmine had displayed more maturity and steel than ever before.

  Yes. Indeed our baby has grown, Simran.

  His mobile chimed; it was a WhatsApp from Archana on the Task Force’s group chat that the APB for Leon had been issued. She had also attached a copy of it with the message. He felt better, his doubts assuaged. Jasmine took away his mobile and put it on the bedside table.

  “Please sleep, Dad.” She stroked his brow tenderly.

  He did.

  This time no ghosts from the past or worries about the present came to haunt him.

  THIRTY-ONE

  Leon stared at the images on his mobile, forwarded to him by Vishal. Despite the screen size the photos were sharp. He was dismayed at how strong the likeness to both the personas used by him at Sarita Vihar and Jorbagh was. He knew neither of these disguises would now hold up to a careful scrutiny.

  “They’ve done a good job,” he admitted to Vishal, who was still on the line.

  “Yes, Archana, the woman on our task force who does this, is very good.” Vishal sounded uneasy. “Now you need to be extra careful when you move around.”

  “I don’t plan to. Much,” Leon replied.

  “I’d hoped to slow them down once Ravinder was out of commission, but that bastard Cherian is keeping things on track.”

  “You cannot keep knocking them all off, Vishal.”

  “No, we cannot,” Vishal admitted, though reluctantly; it was obvious he would have loved to kill Cherian.

  “Let’s focus on what we can do instead. I like your idea of striking both targets simultaneously.”

  “Really?” Vishal warmed at the praise. “Are you going for it?”

  “Only if you’re ready to help. No way I can do that alone.” Leon phrased it in the way he sensed it would appeal most to Vishal.

  “I’d be happy to,” Vishal replied immediately. “But only if I am paid more.”

  “Obviously.” Leon was delighted his ploy was working; at best he might get both targets, and in the worst case he would have an excellent diversion: one that would embarrass the hell out of Ravinder and make him look like a fool, even if it failed. What could be more embarrassing than an officer of the Special Task Force trying to assassinate a visiting head of state? “How much are you expecting, Vishal?”

  “That depends on what you want me to do.”

  “Hmm … that sounds reasonable. Let’s both give it some thought and talk about that tomorrow, shall we?” When Vishal concurred, Leon added. “Meanwhile, could you get hold of two sniper rifles and two improvised explosive devices?”

  “I could.” Vishal was on surer ground now. “For the right kind of money, anything is possible.”

  “Of course.” Leon kept his tone even, careful not to let his satisfaction show. “Obviously, nothing comes free. I’ll leave it to you to negotiate a good price.” But unwilling to give Vishal carte blanche, Leon added, “Never forget, the less you dish out to others the more we will have for ourselves.”

  It was Leon’s usage of the word us that turned the trick; Vishal was pleased Leon considered him a part of the inner circle. “Absolutely. For the rifles, any preference?”

  “Not really, Vishal. I’m comfortable with most. You decide if you have a preference. You’ll be using one of them.” Leon sensed that would also appeal to Vishal’s ego.

  It did. Hugely. “Let me figure it out then. Where and when do we need them?”

  “Ideally, we should get them into the stadium after the last security sweep and just before the final shift comes on duty … say, the twenty-sixth at night.”

  “So you are planning to hit Masharrat yourself. That’s why you want me to take out Zardosi.” Vishal sounded pleased. “I thought you would go af
ter Masharrat.”

  Ignoring that, Leon said, “If we take them in too soon there is a chance they will be discovered. And if we leave it too late we may not be able to get them in … the final security shift is generally the most alert.”

  “Leave that to me,” Vishal said confidently. “I know how to make that happen. Just tell me what you need the bombs to do.”

  “I want them to give us the diversion we need.”

  Once again, Leon’s use of the word us did not escape Vishal’s attention.

  “You want them to be found or to go off?”

  “Interesting.” Leon marveled at Vishal’s deviousness; that had not struck him. “How about one of each?”

  “Nice.” Vishal smiled. “So if the one placed more strategically is found, they will assume the threat has been blunted. Then when the next goes off it will throw them in disarray. And that is when we can strike. Very nice.”

  On that note the call ended.

  And Leon was alone again, with the APB photos Vishal had sent him.

  Though he had kept his tone light, unwilling to share his fears with the hired help, Leon was uneasy when he lay down, aware the odds had just gone up. All the photos were good, but one was uncannily similar to the American disguise he’d used while renting the Sarita Vihar apartment and with Nitin. Leon, now worried Om Chandra would recognize him, decided he would no longer use the Sarita Vihar safe house. Also, Leon sensed Vishal, though useful, was a dangerous addition; extra danger was something he could do without.

  The photos and the APB stayed in his head as he fell asleep. He knew his freedom of movement had been strongly curtailed. And it was time to abandon both these identities.

  THIRTY-TWO

  Vishal was feeling good after the call. But the one dark patch on his horizon was Verma blabbing. If he could put that to bed, he was sure he would come out of this winning. Eager to find out the score on that front, he called Philip.

  Vishal sensed his tiredness when the STF second-in-command answered. “Would you like me to help with Verma’s interrogation tomorrow? I can be there first thing.”

  “Thank you, Vishal, but I want to handle that myself.”