by J C Ryan
Brandt had asked what they should do about it, and he’d answered, “Nothing for right now, other than that it is mandatory to monitor him. If it ever becomes necessary to eliminate him, make sure it’s done properly, because if you screw that up and he survives… we’re dead… all of us. He will hunt us down and kill us all first. And then he will go after the politicians, officials, and other scoundrels—the domestic enemies. There won’t be any stopping him.”
Brandt was contemplating his Scotch as if he could read the future in it.
Longland quickly finished his shot in one gulp. “Then, my friend, you must certainly find him. Otherwise, we’ll wake up dead one night, and after that many others, bureaucrats and politicians will have the same experience.”
“My thought exactly,” Brandt answered.
***
THE NEXT MORNING, he summoned Josh Farley, one of his agents whom he judged to be nearly as good as Rex Dalton, to his office.
“I have a special assignment for you. Go pack your stuff. Wheels up in half an hour.”
The agent didn’t ask any questions. He’d have no doubt he would get his orders in the air. Twenty-four minutes later, he was back with a full duffle bag in tow. He still had no questions. However, he was surprised when he climbed aboard the helicopter to find Brandt there before him.
“Sir?” he questioned.
“Sit down and strap in. I have a story to tell you,” Brandt said as he put on his headset when the pilot started the engines.
A few hours later and several hundred miles to the east, Brandt introduced his man to his best female agent, Marissa. The move was unprecedented. None of the male agents had known of the female CRC agents and vice versa.
Over dinner, Brandt gave them their orders, finally satisfying the agents’ curiosity. Before doing so, he gave them the history and explained in no uncertain terms that Rex Dalton was an exceedingly dangerous man to cross swords with. They should avoid it at all costs. He gave his assessment of what was going on if Rex was still alive, and why they needed to not approach or confront him in any way.
Their only priority was to find out if he was still alive, as Brandt suspected. If they found him, they were to stay out of his sight and get in touch with Brandt immediately. He’d take it from there. That was it. Do not, repeat do not, approach or confront him in any manner.
If they discovered he was indeed dead, Brandt would like them to bring whatever remains they could find back for proper burial.
The pair of agents listened without interrupting. When Brandt was finished talking, Marissa asked just one question. “Where in the world would we start looking for him?”
Brandt responded by handing her a thin file. “It’s not much, but this is what we have on him.” In the file was the brief description of how his family had died, the missions he executed in the past, the known contacts he’d made during those missions, information about where he’d vacationed when on leave from CRC, and his orders for Afghanistan. It also contained information about the Phoenix Unlimited personnel and his use of them for his logistics while in Afghanistan.
A single page gave the names and contact details for the few Phoenix agents who hadn’t been killed in the ambush. They had dispersed when their CEO, Frank Millard was killed, but they were the last known good guys to have any contact with Rex. Brandt suggested his team start with them.
“In my opinion, if he did survive that explosion and he was capable of moving, he would have left Afghanistan. He could have gone to China — he speaks Mandarin like the Chinese. He could be in India — he speaks Hindi and Urdu like an Indian. He could be in Europe — he speaks several of their languages like the locals. I guess what I am saying is, he could be anywhere. I suggest you first establish whether he is dead or not. For that you must get to Afghanistan, go to the site of the explosion to collect samples, and get them analyzed and compared to the DNA we have.
“But this is your investigation, I’m not going to run it from my desk. I know what you’re capable of. Therefore, I leave it to you to decide the best way to go about this. If you need my opinion or help you know how to get hold of me.”
Then he wished them Godspeed, told them again to be extremely careful, and left them sitting at the table to plan their first move.
CHAPTER SEVEN
REX WAS NO stranger to Mumbai, though on his previous visit, in December of 2008, he’d been focused on terrorists and not money lenders. At the time, he didn’t care who had financed the previous terrorist bombing in 1993 when the city was called Bombay, and the Indian Mafia, as some called it, was involved. For what reason, when that organization was busy corrupting Bollywood, the Indian version of Hollywood with the cutesy name, no one ever knew. Maybe it was simply a money transaction.
In 2008, it had happened again. This time, the terrorists had targeted victims with American or British passports. The price for their return without further harm was for all mujahedeen in India to be released. Following the lead of the US, the Indian government had refused to negotiate, leading to a bloodbath. One-hundred and sixty-four victims had lost their lives in the initial attack and what followed.
In any case, someone above Rex’s pay grade – in the CIA, he assumed — had a lead on some Pakistanis who were involved, via a journalist who’d had some exclusive facts. Rex had questioned him, killed him and then led the mission to hunt the Pakistanis down across the border and mete out justice more expeditiously.
As he drove away from Gyan’s house, burdened with Akshara’s sorrow and his own assessment of where he’d find Rehka, he mentally reviewed what he’d learned when he’d last been in Mumbai, in 2008. Though it turned out that the Indian Mafia wasn’t mentioned in conjunction with that attack, he’d still made a study of the organization. Like the Camorra in Italy, it was more loosely organized than the American version of La Cosa Nostra. And like the American version, there was strife among the various branches.
If he could somehow locate where Dhruv had been incarcerated, he’d start there. He could tell him who to contact in D-Company, the oddly-named cartel originally controlled by Dawood Ibrahim. Some argued that it wasn’t a stereotypical organized crime cartel, but rather a collusion of criminal and Islamic terrorist groups. Rex knew it to be a hotbed of criminals that included specialists in extortion, murder, smuggling, and drug trafficking, in addition to finance of terrorist operations. All covered in the seemingly-legal involvement in film financing. The link was moneylending. Unless he missed his guess, Dhruv was connected to D-Company somehow. And if he wasn’t, he’d still be able to tell Rex what happened to Rehka. Given her extraordinary beauty, it was probably to someone in the film industry.
Rex was troubled by the thought that he’d find Rehka being forced to act in the seedier side of the film business – porn. Rex didn’t mind if he had to mess the guy up, break an arm or two, whatever it took, to get his answer. In fact, he was inclined to do that even if Dhruv cooperated. While he was at it, he intended to get the name of Rehka’s supervisor who’d driven her to borrow money. He’d like to mess that guy up, too.
Rex used his laptop to search for Dhruv’s name, in the hope they’d say where he was jailed. By a lucky happenstance, the guy was incarcerated in New Delhi, which was on a direct route to Mumbai, only about a four-hour drive from Bilaspur. He’d get there around dinner time, and it would be a good place to stop for a quick meal and to let Digger out to relieve himself. While he was on the way, Rex would think of some way to get immediate access to the former moneylender.
“Let’s go, Digger,” Rex said, looking at the clock on the dashboard.
Digger turned at the sound of his name and tilted his head.
“Right,” Rex said, “Of course. What am I waiting for?” He started the engine and drove away with no evident haste. But as soon as he was out of Akshara’s sight, he stepped on the pedal and sped to the highway.
According to his GPS, the trip to Mumbai would take twenty-seven hours. A six-week-old trail wasn’t r
eally an emergency, but it felt that way to Rex. An extra hour might just mean another degradation for that poor girl.
Not if I can prevent it.
In his mind, the speculations about how her masters would use her had first morphed into assumptions and then became truth. The best of the images in his mind were grave, but not as ominous as the ones where, in his mind’s eye, he saw her being injected with drugs to make her compliant and then sent her out to walk the streets as a prostitute. He could only hope they’d see her beauty and conclude she was too valuable for that.
Even so, in some corner of his mind, he knew there was virtually no difference. He’d make it to Mumbai in twenty-four hours, tops, counting the stop in New Delhi.
***
BY THE TIME he reached the first destination, the Tihar prison system in Delhi, he knew he’d been too optimistic. When he pulled up at the prison he still hadn’t been able to formulate a plan to quickly gain access to Dhruv. He was going to wing it.
As prisons went, especially in South Asia, Tihar was not the worst. It could even be called progressive, in that its declared aim was to convert the inmates to model citizens, by equipping them with marketable skills, education, and respect for the law as well as improved self-esteem.
Rex was a bit cynical about the chances of success to achieve those noble goals. Maybe for some, one or two percent, if they’re lucky. For the rest of them? Not a chance.
Naturally, like everywhere else in India, the prisons comprising Tihar’s complex were seriously overcrowded. It took too much of his self-allotted twenty-four hours just to find Dhruv in the nine prison buildings. He was finally located at a venue where he was attending a concert, part of the music therapy designed to rehabilitate the inmates.
Yeah right. Tell me about the kind of music that could turn a low-life like Dhruv into a model citizen.
With no legitimate reason to get an interview outside visiting hours, Rex resorted to the universal currency — bribery. For the princely sum of three-thousand rupees, not quite fifty US dollars, Rex gained an interview.
Dhruv sat in an interview room when Rex entered and was surprised to discover he had no restraints – no shackles or handcuffs – and the room was not locked. This must be a progressive prison after all, or the money shark was not considered an escape risk. Rex wasn’t too worried about that. It would be with great pleasure that he would help the Indian prison authorities to keep this scumbag behind bars if he would make Rex's day and try to escape during the meeting.
When Rex walked in, the moneylender’s face showed surprise, but he quickly composed himself. His expression became neutral, and he waited for Rex to speak first.
“You were expecting someone else,” Rex stated.
“Yes.”
Oh okay, so that’s how it’s going to be. Good let’s do it that way then.
“To whom did you sell Rehka Gyan and when?”
“I can’t remember.” The smallest ghost of a smile twitched Dhruv’s lips.
“Can’t or won’t?”
“Yes.” Dhruv replied, obviously thinking that was a very smart answer.
Rex didn’t respond, he just looked the man in the eyes and suddenly Dhruv's macho demeanor changed. He must have seen in Rex's eyes what so many bad guys had seen in those eyes shortly before exchanging the temporary for the eternal.
Dhruv's face was pallid. He started talking. “I’ll tell you what I do remember. I remember that policemen came to my door, frightened my wife and my elderly mother, and took me away. I remember wondering how my wife would support herself and my mother, as was her duty.”
Rex said nothing. There was nothing to say. He had no sympathy with this guy.
Dhruv spoke again. “My wife got a good job after my former associates framed me and put me here, but it does not pay enough to hire someone to watch my mother, whose mind has become weak as she nears death. My wife is torn between her duty to my mother and keeping her job.”
“Okay, let me see if I understand you correctly. You are worried about your wife and mother. Right?”
Dhruv nodded.
“Good. Seems to me your time in in here has already taught you some compassion for humans.
“I’m also a compassionate man. I’ll lend your wife the money every month until your mother dies. At a very modest interest rate of say twenty percent per month. Then, when she can’t pay, I’ll take her indenture and sell her. How’s that?”
Dhruv’s head dropped to his chest in defeat. “I will give you the name, if you promise you won’t interfere with my family.”
“I’m prepared to forget my new business idea,” Rex said, “assuming I can find this man quickly. Give me the name.”
“First, your assurance that you will leave my family out of this.”
“No, you don’t understand the business principal here. It works like this: First I get the name. Then, if my search for him is successful, I’m prepared to leave your family alone. Who knows, if I’m really happy with the information you’re about to give me I might even consider a little monetary gift to your wife.
“Not that you deserve it, but maybe your wife is innocent and needs to be rewarded for putting up with a slimeball like you.”
Dhruv shrugged. “It is nothing to me. I will never leave here to see my mother again, and my wife does not have the money now. She can’t be worse off than she is already.
“The name is Kabir Patel.”
Patel was one of the most common names in India. It would be like trying to find John Smith in the US or UK. He prompted for more details, got the address, and was told that Patel was a member of D-Company.
Rex was a man of his word. If he found the right man, he’d deliver a thousand dollars to Mrs. Dhruv.
“Where will I find your wife?”
Dhruv declined to give his wife’s name or address.
“Okay, no worries. I'll find her if I need to.”
Rex left the room, informed a nearby jailer he was done, and went out to the van.
Digger’s head was all the way out the partially rolled-down window.
“Sorry, boy. I know it’s hot. Let’s go find a place where you can have a run and some cold water.”
The prison was a couple of miles out from the city limits, and there was a nearby park Rex had made note of as he passed it earlier. The visit had taken longer than he’d hoped, and he still had some investigation to do before he found the target, but Digger’s toilet needs were urgent, and they both needed food. Rex needed a bucket of coffee, too, because he planned to drive through the night.
CHAPTER EIGHT
REX AND DIGGER were on the road again by six that evening, with the cooler full of snacks and water, and a large to-go cup of coffee for Rex. He’d found a pet shop as well, and finally made good on his promise to let Digger ride in the front seat. Digger didn’t seem to mind the new harness. Rex had to admit it was better to have a companion in the front seat next to him instead of an empty space.
His GPS advised him it was just over fourteen hundred kilometers to Mumbai, and it would take nearly twenty-four hours to get there, at the posted speed limits. He calculated the miles – about eight-hundred and seventy. He figured he could make that in under twenty hours if he could stay awake.
“Digger don’t let me sleep, okay?” He didn’t think the dog could understand that statement. Commands were supposed to be positive, not negative, but he’d taken to speaking to the dog like he would to a human. He was family after all. Most of the time, it was just about speaking aloud, as if he had a human companion. He didn’t expect replies or understanding. Sometimes, though, Digger surprised him with a sound or facial expression or motion just at the right moment which always left Rex with the impression he understood.
Every few minutes at first, the GPS voice, which he’d programmed to be a pleasant female voice with a British accent, would tell him to take this turn or that, or notify him there was a gas station on the left or right in a few kilometers. As he passed
Jaipur, however, he could see that he had a long stretch with no directions before ‘she’ would speak again. By then, it was ten p.m., and though he wasn’t sleepy yet, he knew he’d better have another coffee. He pulled into the gas station, let Digger out, and filled the tank. His business inside concluded, he got back into the car with another large take-out coffee and prepared for the long, dark, drive ahead.
He hadn’t factored stops into his travel time, so he tried to make up the time by ignoring the speed limit, but he was at times forced to slow down through long stretches of road construction zones, though there were no workers in the middle of the night. It kept him on his toes, fortunately, since Digger was neglecting his companionship duties for long naps. The dog woke only when they had to make another stop for gas and coffee.
It was just past midafternoon when they drove past the first houses on the northern edge of the sprawling city of Mumbai. It took another hour to wend his way through the tangle of streets to the address Dhruv had given.
He parked and reconnoitered. The building was tall, no doubt housing the commercial interest on the ground floor and an apartment complex above. There didn’t seem to be a back door on the ground floor.
Rex gave his approach some thought as he watched the front of the building. The mobster seemed to be doing brisk business. The sign said it was a tobacconist shop. Cash transactions only, it appeared. The clientele appeared well-heeled. The men and women who went in wore modern clothing rather than the traditional styles favored in the northern villages.
