by Mainak Dhar
Rachel knew as well as I that Islamic State was not involved, so perhaps that was part of her own deal with the US government. The ISIS link had to be maintained publicly so that it didn’t come out as an operation entirely led by Ross and rogue Americans. Of course, as I had suspected, there was no mention of the Chinese anywhere.
The anchor looked at the papers in his hand again and looked up at the camera, raising an eyebrow.
I suspected that he knew well what was on the paper before the recording began, and this was theatrics to make viewers feel he was surprised.
‘Miss Harmening, some of the names you reveal in your report are big fish. Have you considered the pressure that will come your way to prove your claims?’
Rachel leaned forward towards the anchor, her eyes ablaze.
‘I am well aware of how far some of these men will go to protect their interests. I learned it not in a studio or in a meeting room, but at a base in Afghanistan where they threatened to torture and kill me. So, yes, I am sure of what I’m doing and have passed on the information I have to the authorities. I suspect many of those named will be trying to cut plea deals. The really big fish will try and get away. I hope the authorities reel them in.’
Due to the time difference between India and the US, the next morning Daniel Ross’ face was all over the news and the internet. Reclusive millionaire, someone who had played his part in shadowy wars waged around the world, and along the way had gone from being a trusted agent of the US to a rogue, who was destroying thousands of lives in his own country for his own profit. He was implicated in the hijack and wanted for the murder of the three men on the airliner. Of course, he was nowhere to be found and a massive manhunt had been launched. Four former CIA officials had also been implicated and two of them were already in custody.
While the media didn’t go into details, it mentioned that disciplinary actions were being taken against some serving US military personnel, who had done favours for Ross given their past connections, without realising what they were getting into.
Zoya saw me glued to the TV screen and sat down next to me.
‘Looks like things turned out ok, didn’t they?’
‘Yeah, looks like.’
She gave me a kiss on the forehead and went off to the drawing room, where Rekha was waiting for her. Yes, things seemed to be okay, but that didn’t mean I wasn’t bothered.
Ross had gone off the grid. For a man with his resources and connections, that could well mean he never faced justice. Also, the sense I had got was that the Chinese there had not been the hired help, but the ones calling the shots. Would there be no accounting for what they had done?
There was nothing I could do about any of that, sitting in my apartment, so I got up to say bye to Zoya. A lot of my angst disappeared when I saw the smile on her face. She was going with Rekha to shop for clothes for her return to work. I could see that she was excited.
I held her close and then kissed her. ‘Happy hunting.’
She burst out laughing. ‘Yes, major, and I hope the boys don’t get into any trouble while I am gone.’
When they left, I walked up to Aman’s cot and picked him up, placing him on the carpet in our living room. He was on all fours, trying to make his way to me and I shouted out in triumph at what was his first attempt at crawling. He looked up at me and smiled. I picked him up and kissed him.
I touched the locket around Aman’s neck. A gift from another Aman. A man who had been fighting the demons of his own past. A man who had tried to repay the debts he felt he owed by putting himself in danger. Had he finally found his peace?
Yes, there were many things about the world I couldn’t change, but what I could do was create the kind of home and family where Aman would grow up, surrounded by love, to be a good man, perhaps a better man than I had been. Someone whose life would not be tarred with the violence and uncertainty that mine had been. That was something worth living for. Something worth fighting for.
As I nuzzled Aman, the odour told me that the little fellow needed a diaper change.
As I got his wipes and diapers, he gurgled in delight.
I laughed aloud at the thought that he might one day make a good staff officer – someone who takes pleasure in making grunts like me clean up their shit.
Aman laughed along, and before long we were both laughing.
The front of his shirt said, ‘One day, I will change the world’.
I hoped my little son would one day grow up to change the world around him, but he had already changed my little world.
When I had been a Para, I never doubted that I had something to fight for. With Aman and Zoya in my life, I now finally had something to live for.
As I turned him over, the back of his shirt said, ‘Today, you change my diapers.’
I smiled, saluted and got to work.
Epilogue
Two months had passed since the day I had been released from hospital.
Zoya had begun her new job for a month now and that morning, I dropped her off at her office while Aman and I went shopping for a new pair of shoes for him.
Aman had begun to stand up and try to take his first tentative steps. The plan was that in the evening after Zoya came back from work, we’d go for a walk to the park in Powai and let Aman walk and fall all he wanted.
As I buckled Aman into his car seat, my phone buzzed.
A message from Randhawa, confirming that I would resume my duties in two months. Randhawa was my boss at the oil company where I had been hired as a security consultant. After the events in Afghanistan, I had told him I’d like to take some time off. He had been most understanding, having been in the Navy himself, and had assumed that I needed time to recover from my scars, both physical and otherwise.
It also helped give me time to help Zoya settle into her new job, without worrying about who was going to take care of Aman.
Rekha had already said that she was willing to help out. There were good day care centres nearby, but I thought getting more quality time with the little guy would be good.
Shopping done, I met up with Ravi for lunch and he opened up a bottle of wine to accompany the salad he had rustled up.
‘I see you’re in a jolly mood. What happened to the days of having tandoori chicken and Old Monk?’
When he replied, he smiled, but his eyes were all business. ‘Someone told me he wanted to get back the fitness and combat readiness levels he had when he was an active duty Para, not when he had become a bit of a couch potato civvie. I hope he hasn’t changed his mind.’
I raised my glass in surrender and took a sip.
‘So, we’re on tomorrow morning?’
‘You bet, major. Now that all your stitches are dissolved, we begin some serious unarmed combat training. I know you train the kids in the neighbourhood and that’s great to keep in shape and not lose practice but you know what you really need to stay at the top of your game?’
I knew what he was going to say, but I didn’t want to rob him of the satisfaction of saying it, so I let him finish.
‘You need to practice with someone who can kick your ass, and there I am happy and willing to wake up early.’
The phone rang. Ajay Gopal.
‘I gather you’re going to start work soon, major? Do you really want to sit at a desk and write reports?’
Suddenly, he had my attention.
‘You were a man of special talents and if you hadn’t left the army, you would still be practicing your trade. As we’ve seen in Mumbai and Korengal, you still have many of those talents and more importantly, still have the moral compass that tells you what is right and wrong.’
‘Sir, I’m not sure where you’re going with this.’
‘I’m offering you a job, major. We can talk details face to face, but a job where you get to do what you’re good at. I won’t bullshit you. It is more dangerous than typing a report but you’ll make a difference, and you’ll get back your rank and grade.’
‘What kind of
job?’
‘The kind of job that we don’t normally post in the classifieds or discuss on open phone lines. The kind of job where you work directly for me. Do you want to meet?’
I thought of Zoya going back to work, of Aman needing to be taken care of, of the hell I had put Zoya through when she waited for me, wondering if I was dying in a hilltop in Afghanistan.
There was no question that Gopal’s offer had appeal. He had pushed all the right buttons. I was not a cubicle dweller or a corporate type. I was a soldier. An ordinary grunt. A man with simple talents, but things I could do better than many people. Skills that were still useful in a world where people like Sai and Ross thought they could prey on the innocent. Skills that made me teach them that they were not the real or only predator in play. But there was no way I could make that decision without Zoya being comfortable with it.
It was one thing for me to go into harm’s way when it was forced on me, but another to sign up for a job where I was effectively back in the army, serving political masters and bureaucrats, putting my life and my family’s future on the line for their whims.
‘Sir, I’m flattered you offered me this and I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t tempted, but I need to think it through and discuss with my family.’
‘Let me know, major. You have my number. Take your time and when you’re ready, call. No pressure, but remember that you’ve danced with some dangerous people, and some of them have long memories, being on the inside will help keep you and your family safe.’
As I hung up, I kept looking at the phone for some time. A part of me was angry.
Was Gopal trying to threaten me and my family?
As I cooled down, I realised he was just speaking the truth. I had no doubt made a fair share of enemies with what I had done in Mumbai and Afghanistan, and no matter what the media said, the matter didn’t end with Ross. The Chinese were still out there, and there was no telling what their agenda was or appetite for revenge.
No, I wouldn’t go and seek out trouble anymore or slip into the darkness on other men’s orders, but if anyone thought they were going to harm my family again, I would be ready. I raised my glass in a toast to Ravi.
‘You’re on, and we’ll see who kicks whose ass.’
***
When I got home, I put Aman to bed, and checked my email. There was a mail from Rachel Harmening. I clicked on it, with increasing anticipation.
The mail read:
Major,
Thank you for everything you did and I am sorry for not reaching out earlier. I’ve been busy here with the storm that the revelations led to, and I was also waiting to settle in a special guest I brought with me. He’s started making some friends, and after giving it much thought, I am going to adopt him. I never married, but I realise now that living for one’s career, to make a difference to the world is important. But sometimes it’s even more important to have one single person whose life you can touch and make better, and whom you can give everything to protect. You taught me that. Click on the video to hear from someone who very much wanted to say hi.’
I opened the attachment and I saw a young boy, wearing jeans and a hoodie, standing in front of a Starbucks, a drink in hand. An American kid on his way to school?
As he spoke, I smiled. It was Hanif.
‘Major, I’m fine here. I miss our friend, but I’m making new friends and learning about all kinds of new things. I never knew Americans could eat so much at one time, or that it is so complicated to order a coffee at this place. Thank you and yes, you are even better than Salman Khan.’
I sat there for a while, not conscious of the fact that my eyes were tearing over. Yes, the world we lived in was rotten at times, but sometimes, just sometimes, you came across decent people who made it all worth it.
I went to the living room and turned on the TV. CNN was reporting on Daniel Ross, whose photo was up on the backdrop. He was wearing a hideous pink t-shirt, not the same he had been wearing when I had met him, but something almost as ugly. The anchor was reading something out and I raised the volume a bit more.
‘US authorities declared today that fugitive arms dealer and alleged drug smuggler Daniel Ross was found dead in his hideout in Egypt.’
The footage cut to some US military spokeswoman, addressing the media at a press conference: ‘We had actionable intelligence that placed Ross at this particular villa, in collaboration with Egyptian authorities. For the last few days, Predator drones had been scouting the area, looking for an opportunity to bring him to justice without risking any civilian lives. However, when you lead the kind of life Ross did, you make a lot of enemies. Yesterday, Ross was shot dead when he emerged on his balcony. He was shot in the head by a sniper in an adjoining building. While we could find no trace of the man who did this, we have recovered a lot of documents, hard drives and other incriminating material from Ross’ home which confirm the allegations of the drug ring he had been running, and we will bring his other accomplices to justice.’
My phone beeped.
I saw a message on my phone from an unknown number.
‘Major. I have not forgotten. I have not forgiven. I will repay my debts. Take care of your own and yourself.’
I knew there was no point calling. It would be a disposable phone that would have been discarded as soon as the message had gone through.
I had received a similar message once earlier after another sensational kill.
I breathed an audible sigh of relief.
Karzai was not just alive, but also on the prowl.
I went inside the bedroom and looked at Aman, blissfully asleep.
I touched the locket around his neck, and said a prayer for a friend, for a comrade whom I now knew was alive. A friend whose name I had given my own son.
Part of me was saddened that, despite his efforts to forget his violent past, Karzai never seemed to be able to shake free of the cycle of violence that had come to define him. Yet another part of me was happy that someone like him was out there, able to dole out justice where the governments and police could not. Able to have a view of right and wrong that was not muddied by politics, expediency or compromises. A man who used his own special way – a single 7.62MM shell – to excute justice.
I knew Project Lotus ran deeper than those men, and Karzai would go after the others? He was alone, up against dangerous and perhaps impossible odds. And, I was frustrated that I could do nothing to help him. But I could wish him luck in the only way a soldier can wish a brother soldier who is out on a mission.
Happy hunting!
The adventure continues with Sniper’s Quest, the next book in the 7even Series.
ABOUT MAINAK DHAR
Mainak Dhar wears many hats. He considers his most important job to be the best possible father and husband he can be. An alumnus of the Indian Institute of Management, Ahmedabad, he has worked in the corporate world for over two decades and his ‘day job’ has involved leading large teams and businesses. A self-described ‘cubicle dweller by day and writer by night’, when he’s not with his family or at work, he loves creating and sharing stories. He is the author of over a dozen books, some of which have been bestsellers in India and abroad including the bestselling Alice in Deadland series, 03:02 and Sniper’s Eye. His books have been translated into Turkish, Vietnamese, Japanese, French, German and Portuguese, reaching millions of readers worldwide. He is also a passionate student of Karate and holds a Black Belt. Learn more about him and contact him at www.mainakdhar.com.
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