by Mukul Deva
“Just asked.” Vishal pretended to mirror his exasperation. “If she had been alive we could have questioned her and gotten somewhere.”
“If…” Philip sighed. “We are simply not getting any breaks.”
“We will.” Vishal forced an encouraging smile. “Soon.”
“Let’s hope so.” Then Philip turned to Saina in the rear seat. “Get to the hotel and go through her room. Take it apart. There has to be something there. Everyone leaves a clue.”
“Why can’t I help to interrogate Verma instead of Vishal?” Saina replied defiantly. “He can go search her room.”
“Because you are taking this too personally.” Philip said sharply. A tense silence held till they drew up outside the office. As they were getting out, Philip said to her, “Don’t worry, Saina, if Verma is guilty, we will find out. I promise you that. And then we will also find out who killed your brother-in-law. Okay?”
“Okay.” But she still looked sullen as she drove away.
“Phew!” Vishal tried to dissipate the tension. “She is taking it badly.”
“So would you, Vishal, if it had been your brother-in-law.” Archana threw him a look of distaste as she walked away.
Vishal felt a surge of anger, but aware Philip was watching him, checked it. “Damn! What’s with them today? Both seem to be PMS-ing.”
Ignoring that, Philip led the way in. “Let’s get cracking. We have just hours left before this spins completely out of control.”
So anxious was he to find out how Verma was faring that Vishal completely forgot to let Leon know that Fatima had been knocked out of the game.
FIFTEEN
Jasmine walked up to the ICU to see a cluster of aunts and uncles by the door, held at bay by a stern-faced nurse. Jasmine had expected them and knew they meant well, but she had no idea how to deal with them.
“You poor child.” The aunt, a distant cousin of her mother’s who spotted her first, descended upon her like a falcon. “How are you doing?”
What a dumb question! Given the circumstances, how could I be doing?
Jasmine had no idea what to say. Luckily she did not need to say anything; her relatives fussed around, doing it for her.
Soon Jasmine could not stand it any longer; she needed time with her father and, though she did not realize how badly, time to process her own grief. Because she felt the need to be strong for Ravinder, her sorrow was still trapped in her head, aching to be allowed access to her heart.
Just then two more aunts and uncles arrived, her father’s brothers and their spouses. She saw them headed her way and seized the opportunity.
“Thank God you are here. I need your help with the funeral arrangements.”
“Leave them to us.” The elder uncle manfully took charge.
“I will take care of everything at the gurudwara sahib,” said the second.
“Thank you.” Jasmine felt a weight lift off her. “Then I will go and see how Dad is faring.”
“Take it easy. You are not alone, Jasmine.” Aunty Harmala’s tender touch almost shattered Jasmine’s composure. Fighting back her tears she ran in and threw herself into the chair by Ravinder’s bed.
She did not realize she was sitting ramrod straight. Alert. Like a goalkeeper preparing to stop a penalty shootout.
SIXTEEN
Vishal followed Philip to the cell where Verma was being held. He was again worried that Verma, in his current state, might let slip something that could give him away. Vishal was also not sure whether to pretend he did not know Ashok Verma or let on that he did.
It is bound to come out sooner rather than later. In fact, Vishal was surprised it had not already come to the notice of the Special Task Force or the National Intelligence Agency.
Deciding to stay as close to the truth as possible, he confronted Verma as soon as they entered the interrogation room. “How could you of all the people get involved in this nonsense?”
“I have no idea what the hell you are talking about, Vishal,” Verma retorted angrily. “And I demand to speak to my director. Mr. Kurup will have your balls for breakfast when he learns about this. How dare you people…”
“Mr. Kurup is already aware you are in custody,” Philip added calmly. “And I suggest you stop kidding yourself and start talking. It will be better for you if you help us find Binder. We have enough proof of…”
“Proof? You have proof?” Verma exploded.
Vishal was relieved that Verma did not fall for that. He was aching to give him some kind of reassurance, but with Gyan standing watchfully in one corner and Philip beside him, dared not.
“Show me the proof, then. And while you are at it, get me my lawyer. I am going to make all of you pay for this … especially you, Cherian.” Verma shot them both an indignant glare.
But looking past Verma’s bluster, Vishal sensed he was shaken; sleep deprivation and the nonstop questioning had started having an impact him. As Philip went at him, gentle but firm and relentless, Vishal again wondered how long Verma would last.
He will talk. Everybody does. It is just a matter of time.
Vishal did not need to check his watch, keenly aware forty-eight hours from now it would all be over. If luck held he would be on his way out of the country by then. An anti-terrorism veteran, Vishal did not need much time or effort to plan his getaway; either Nepal or Sri Lanka would provide him the anonymity he would need to lie low till things cooled off.
I should be fine as long as I ensure Leon passes me some serious cash tomorrow.
That reminded Vishal he needed to check on the sniper rifles and the bombs. He had to get them into the stadium before first light tomorrow; after that, the stadium would be sealed off.
“Would you like some tea?” Vishal heard Philip ask. When Verma nodded, Philip gestured to Gyan, who stepped out. “Look, Mr. Verma, we don’t have a problem with you,” Philip continued in that reasonable tone, which went well with the good-cop position he had adopted for this interrogation. “It is Leon Binder we are after. Help us find him and…”
Verma cut him off brusquely. “Binder? I have never set eyes on him. All I know is what MI6 passed on to us.”
“Come on…”
Verma again interrupted aggressively. “You can keep asking me till you are hoarse, but I have no idea where he is.”
Then Philip’s mobile buzzed. He checked the calling number, mouthed “the director” to Vishal, and stepped out to take the call.
Double-checking that they were alone and already aware the room was bug-free, Vishal seized the opportunity. “Stay calm and keep your head,” he hissed to Verma.
“Easy for you to say that,” Verma shot back angrily.
“Keep it down, for fuck’s sake.” Alarmed, Vishal hushed him. “They have nothing on you. You are safe as long as you keep your mouth shut.”
“I know they have nothing on me.” Verma lowered his tone. “Get me out of here.”
“I am trying to figure out how. Just give me a little more time.”
“Hurry up, you…”
Vishal heard the door opening. “Don’t think we will give up.” He cut Verma off. “If you help us find Binder, it will go easy on you.”
Gyan came in and put down a cup of tea in front of Verma.
Two hours later, Philip was still patiently plugging away at Verma when Saina joined them.
“Nothing that I could find in Fatima’s hotel room except a camera … unfortunately one of those older models that uses film. But Archana is working on it right now,” she murmured to Philip as she pulled up a chair beside him. “The mobile is clean, but we are tracking all calls made and received on it.”
Shit! Vishal almost cursed aloud, remembering his second mobile number would be amongst those found on Fatima’s phone. It was a backup phone, one of several he’d procured at the start of this operation, but … I need to get rid of it immediately.
He was about to make an excuse and leave the room to do so when Saina lit into Verma.
&n
bsp; “That Paki bitch who was paying you is dead,” she yelled at Verma, obviously hoping to shock him. “Soon you will be too.”
Bolstered by Vishal’s reassurances, Verma, who had just started showing signs of stability, blanched. He managed to hold his tongue, but Vishal sensed he was struggling.
Realizing it was too stressful and depressing to watch this, Vishal decided to leave. He had hoped Verma would stay calm and steady after he had pepped him up, but watching Saina tearing him a new arsehole, he was not sure anymore.
SEVENTEEN
Leon was trying Baxter’s phone for the fifth time when the television news came on. The TV was tuned to NDTV News.
Pakistanis killed in suspicious circumstances in India always generate a lot of media attention. Fatima Basheer getting her head pulped in broad daylight on a heavily trafficked road while fleeing the police was a surefire headline item. It had set loose a storm of speculation, from ISI agents running rampant in the national capital planning more terror attacks to Paki drug peddlers trying to corrupt Indian youth.
Leon upped the volume and watched footage of Fatima’s nearly headless body being carried away on a blood-soaked stretcher as an excited female reporter breathlessly narrated, “Identified as Fatima Basheer, a Pakistani national who had entered India on a fake passport, she had been fleeing the police when…”
Leon snapped off the television with a curse.
Heck! This mission was jinxed right from the start. I should never have gotten involved. How the hell do I get paid now?
But he was surprised that a hint of sadness laced the irritation coursing through him. So surprised it took him a moment to become aware of it, and another, much longer moment to acknowledge it. That disturbed him more than the emotion.
Not too late even now. Perhaps I should just pull out.
He rapidly reviewed that option; an hour to the airport and he could take the first flight out using the emergency set of documents.
And give up this opportunity to get back at Ravinder and Edward?
That stalled him.
Revenge is a dish best eaten cold.
It’s been almost thirty years. Any colder and it will be indigestible.
He grinned. An icy, mirthless grin. Almost a grimace. Leon’s mind urged him to make a run for the border. His heart egged him to stay on and see this mission through.
Would life ever present such an opportunity again?
Unlikely.
That turned the tide in favor of his heart.
Besides, it is now only a matter of hours. Ravinder is out of the game. Vishal and Verma, both are dispensable. The weapon is ready with me. Even if Vishal fails to get the rifles and bombs into the stadium, I can bring down one target. All I need are the flight and hotel details from Baxter.
His mind now made up, Leon reached for his mobile, removed the SIM card he had been using to communicate with Fatima and flushed it down the toilet. Inserting a fresh SIM card he dialed Baxter.
Leon was so surprised when Baxter answered on the very first ring that for a moment he didn’t say anything.
“Hello,” Baxter said for the third time, irritably.
“Where the hell have you been, Baxter?” Leon found his voice. “I have been trying you for days.”
“Sorry, guv. I got myself in a bit of a mess with the rent.” Baxter cleared his throat sheepishly. “Bleeding landlord tossed me out. But don’t worry, I did the work you asked me to. Would have called you, too, but your number was at home and I only just got back in.”
“Give me the details.” Leon felt relief flow through him, as though the gods had sent him a signal, telling him to go ahead. He jotted down the details of Professor Naug’s flight into Delhi and the hotel he would check into.
That’s it. Now what could possibly go wrong?
“And guv? Do you mind sending me a few bob soon?” Baxter asked unabashedly. “Things are a bit tight these days.”
“When aren’t they, Baxter?” It was a lot more than a few bob, but Leon was okay with that; for all his idiosyncrasies Baxter had been useful many times and could be again in the future. “Twenty-four hours tops. Usual way. Okay? Take care now.”
But Leon was pensive when he sat down by the window and idly watched the world go by, on the road in front and the market across. Prominently visible was The Meat Locker’s signboard. The light behind the M had failed, so it read THE EAT LOCKER now.
Soon as I get clear from India I need to track down the other SOB leaders and get my money from them. And they had better bloody well pay … if they know what is good for them. But let me worry about that later.
Throwing himself on the bed, Leon began to sift through the likely contingencies that could arise from now till the time he cleared Indian airspace. Darkness deepened, slowly engulfing the room around him. One by one, as he worked his way past every contingency he could think of, his confidence escalated. And Leon felt better than he ever had since he had set foot in Delhi. Then he realized he’d not yet been through Naug’s file. Pulling it up on his iPad again he began to pore through it, memorizing relevant details.
EIGHTEEN
Jasmine watched Ravinder sleep, scared to leave him alone.
Or am I the one who is scared to be alone?
Confused, she tried to blank her mind out. In vain.
Then Ravinder cried out in his sleep. And then again. She felt his anguish and held her own at bay. She realized Mandeep was by her side only when he tapped her shoulder lightly.
“Oh!” She started.
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.” The long day had taken its toll on Mandeep also. “I wanted you to know we’ve done everything as per your mother’s wishes. Every usable organ has been removed. We already have a recipient for her heart and kidneys. And they’re matching for the liver now.”
“That’s good.” But Jasmine wasn’t sure she really meant that; her heart was still refusing to feel.
“Her body is ready for … err … for tomorrow.”
“May I see her?”
Perhaps it was her lifeless tone. Perhaps her lack of emotion. But Mandeep gave her a worried look. Jasmine noticed. “Are you sure you are okay?” he asked.
She nodded. Though she wanted to say, No! I’m not okay. I’d like to lie down and sleep … and then wake up and find all this was only a bad dream. Instead she nodded and asked again, “May I see my mother? Please.”
“Why not wait for your father to wake up,” Mandeep suggested, trying to let her know it wasn’t a great idea. “I’m sure he would like to see her, too.”
“I’d like to see her now.” Jasmine glared, daring him.
“Okay.” Realizing he wouldn’t be able to dissuade her, Mandeep reluctantly led the way to the mortuary.
Barring the echo of their footsteps, nothing accompanied them down the narrow stone-paved corridor that led to the rear of the hospital. It was late, but the mortuary lights were on and several groups of people in various stages of bereavement flocked in and around it.
Obviously death does not maintain any office hours.
Jasmine felt an insane urge to laugh. But that vanished as they entered the icy cold room. She followed Mandeep to the long steel table at the far end. Her hands were steady as she peeled back the bedsheet covering Simran’s face.
Jasmine saw they had cleaned her up. Mandeep seemed to have done an excellent job; it was hard to tell Simran’s organs had been removed. But for the cotton swabs plugging her nostrils, she could have been sleeping.
Why do they do that? Why plug the nostrils?
Jasmine felt her mind wander.
What is there left … to go in … or come out?
She gave one final look, but could not see any traces of her mother in that cold, lifeless body. Covering Simran’s face she turned to Mandeep. “Thank you. I’d like to go back to my dad now. I want to take him home when he wakes up.”
She sensed Mandeep’s scrutiny. He was obviously struggling to think of something to sa
y. Giving up, he led her back to the ICU. There she sat down beside Ravinder and waited for him to wake up. Wanting him to wake up and be with her again, yet dreading how he would cope.
And Jasmine was sharply aware of Mandeep’s presence. Glad he was there, so she was not alone, yet somewhat resentful of the intrusion on her space.
NINETEEN
Leon was so deep in thought, nearly asleep, that for a long time he did not realize his mobile was ringing. Immediately on answering the phone, he heard the panic in Vishal’s voice.
“I doubt Verma is going to last another day.” Fear was audible in Vishal’s high-pitched tone. “You should have seen the way Saina went for him. Man! She is one tough bitch … and she’s out for blood … wants to prove Sikander was innocent.”
“Calm down,” Leon said sharply. “It’s all over if you lose your head now.”
That seemed to get through. Leon heard Vishal draw a deep breath. Then a rustling sound, as though he was shifting the phone to his other hand.
“You’re right. That’s exactly what I told Verma.” Vishal sounded calmer, but Leon sensed it was a momentary respite. Vishal seemed to have hit the end of his tether.
I need to keep him going a little longer. At least till he gets the rifles and the bombs into the stadium.
“And that’s just what you too need to do, Vishal,” Leon said encouragingly. “Let us focus on the practicalities. That’s always the best way to deal with such situations. I’m confident we can find a solution to Verma if we put our heads together.”
“What could we possibly do?”
“Should we get the other stuff out of the way first?” But Leon didn’t wait for a reply. “What is the status on the rifles and bombs?”
“My man has collected both.” Vishal sounded smug. “They will be inside within the next few hours. Definitely before the stadium is sealed.”
“Excellent, Vishal. That’s amazing.” Aware Vishal relished it, Leon was lavish with the praise.
“It was tough, but without them our plan would have stalled.” Leon sensed Vishal was preening.
