Assassins (18 page)

“I hope you are sure, Archana,” Vishal spoke up. “The director is going to come down on us like a ton of bricks if there is any mistake.”

Hearing Vishal state his fear out loud made it even more real for Ravinder.

“That's true.” Ravinder gave Archana an elevated eyebrow.

“I am sure.” She repeated, but now sounded a little uncertain.

“Philip…”—unwilling to take a chance, Ravinder made up his mind—“may I request that you help Archana double-check?”

It was the right call. Even Archana appeared relieved. “That would be best.”

“Excellent.” Ravinder was glad Philip concurred.

His mobile chirruped: an incoming text. Jasmine telling him she would be at his office in five or six minutes. Ravinder noted it was almost seven.

“Why don't you guys do that and we can decide on next steps first thing tomorrow.”

That got a series of relieved nods.

“It's running late, let's wrap up for the day.”

The nods were more vehement now; everyone was looking tired.

Ravinder also noticed that Vishal and Saina both looked troubled. Saina, head down, eyes trapped by intertwined fingers, seemed lost somewhere deep in her head. Vishal, brow knitted in fierce concentration, was sitting on the edge of his seat, looking ready to bolt.

However, because Ravinder was now tired and also eager not to make Jasmine wait, neither of them fully registered on him. Wrapped in thought, gathering up his laptop and mobile, Ravinder headed for the door.

The day had not gone so badly after all.

But one more day is gone and we're no closer to finding Leon.

And the grim reminder that one of his team could be working for the other side was disconcerting. Unwilling to allow anything to dampen his excitement, Ravinder reminded himself that he had known it was never going to be easy. At least he had laid the foundation properly; hopefully they would get a break tomorrow.

As for the mole in the task force, let me worry about that later, if the NIA guys are in the clear.

That consolation lasted only till he reached the gate.

What if there is a mole at both ends, the NIA and the STF?

That
shook him. He was pondering over it when Jasmine's car, a silver Maruti SX4, pulled up beside him. Powering down the rear window, Jasmine grinned up at him. As always, he felt a tug in his heart and a loving smile creased his face. Instantly he felt his accumulated tension and worry recede, a bit, at least for the moment.

“Hello, Princess. Good to see you.”

“Hey, Dad. You look tired.” She displayed a set of perfect, even teeth. “Come on in.”

Handing over the keys of his BMW to Jagjit Singh, the driver, Ravinder got into the front passenger seat. Jasmine took the wheel and they drove away.

 

THIRTEEN

Vishal was now in a mad rush. He was aching to talk to Leon and find a way out of this predicament.

Verma is a wimp. He wouldn't last long if …
when
they got to him.

Vishal knew it was only a matter of time before the net closed in on Verma.

And then me.

He forced himself to hold on till he saw Ravinder's driver maneuver the BMW out of the gate. A quick look into the office showed him that Philip and Chance were clustered around Archana, one on either side of her, engrossed in whatever she was sharing. Saina was at her desk; she seemed tense and lost in thought.

Deciding he wouldn't be missed, Vishal headed for his car, keen to call Leon. He was aching to warn him and discuss how best to deal with Verma.

 

FOURTEEN

Jasmine sensed her father's tiredness. Also, his face looked too red. “Your blood pressure okay?” she asked worriedly.

“Just tired.” Ravinder sank back into the seat. “It has been a long day.”

Jasmine's mobile rang. “Yes, Mom.” She clicked on the Bluetooth headset. “Dad is with me. Yes. We should be home in an hour. I need to stop at Jorbagh to pick up my dress from the tailor.… Of course I can do that. Please text me the list.” She ended the call quickly, knowing Ravinder hated it when anyone used the mobile while driving. “Mom wants me to pick up some cold cuts,” she explained.

Ravinder, relishing the opportunity to rest, had closed his eyes. He nodded. Then nodded off. A couple of times Jasmine heard him mutter. Then he moaned as though in tremendous pain. She realized he was again in the throes of the same nightmare that had been plaguing him since Ruby's death.

By the time Jasmine pulled into the parking lot of Jorbagh Market he was moaning loudly, again and again.

“Ruby. Don't do it. There need not be any more killing.” Jasmine heard him plead. She felt tears prick at her eyes; she knew how much pain he had been in since he had had to shoot her half sister.

Wanting to relieve him from the nightmare, she shook him awake. Ravinder woke up with a start, looking befuddled and tearful.

Pretending she had not noticed anything amiss, Jasmine said brightly, “Come with me, Dad.” For a moment she thought he would refuse, but then he silently followed her out.

Ravinder was still logy as he accompanied her to the tailor and then toward The Meat Locker a few shops farther down. They were almost there when the gunshot-like sound rang out; a passing motorcycle engine had backfired.

It shocked Ravinder. Electrified, he spun around, his hand racing for the shoulder holster that should have been there but was not.

“Dad,” she began, and then broke off, horrified.

Ravinder stood frozen, staring at his hand. It was clawed, as though holding a pistol. He looked shell-shocked. Stricken.

“Dad.
Please.
”

But Ravinder was lost to her. His gaze riveted on his right hand. “I shot her with this hand.” A strident whisper.

His expression was so dark and pain-ridden that Jasmine was terrified he would do himself harm. “Dad, don't do this to yourself.” She shook him. “Please!”

Ravinder looked at her then, but still befuddled. He seemed to be in tremendous pain. “I will never carry a gun again.” He shook his head slowly, tentatively, like a prizefighter regaining his feet after being knocked down.
“Never.”

“That's fine.” Jasmine realized she needed to be firm. “
Don't
carry a gun if you don't want to
.
But snap out of this. You did what you had to.”

“That's what your mother says, too,” Ravinder said hollowly.

“And she's right.” Needing to break his melancholy mood, Jasmine tugged at his arm. “Come. Help me, Dad. Let us get the meat and go home. Mom is waiting for dinner.”

He followed her into the shop.

“I will never carry a gun again.” She heard him mutter as they entered The Meat Locker. And she noticed his right hand was still clawed.

Worry filled her. Jasmine knew she could not allow anything to happen to her father; it was impossible to contemplate life without him.

Ravinder's mobile began to ring. Jasmine saw him reach for it eagerly; he seemed desperate for any distraction.

“Yes, Archana.
What?
” Jasmine saw his face turn white. Then crumple. He looked thunderstruck as he tiredly put the mobile away.

“What happened, Dad?” Jasmine was now deeply worried.

“Goel's wife tried to commit suicide,” he whispered brokenly, barely audible.

“Oh!” Jasmine was shocked. “Who is Goel? Someone at your office?”

“The Special Task Force commander I replaced.” She saw the desolate look on his face. “They found his body yesterday … he'd been tortured and murdered.”

Jasmine was speechless. And now petrified, suddenly realizing how dangerous this assignment could be.

Perhaps Mom had been right to get upset at him for taking on this assignment.

Reluctant to take that road, she asked, “Do I need to take you back to your office … or the hospital?”

“No.” Ravinder looked befuddled. “Archana said she's okay now. And the doctors have sedated her and placed her on suicide watch. No visitors for now.” He didn't feel like telling her what Archana had really said:
neither Goel's wife nor their sixteen-year-old daughter wanted to even see a cop, especially not one from the Special Task Force.

But his despondency reached out to Jasmine. Taking his arm she walked him back to the car. Ravinder seemed to be sleepwalking; she realized his condition was a lot more fragile than she'd thought.

Or he had, for that matter.

And she again wondered if she had made the right call in supporting his decision to go back to police work.

 

FIFTEEN

Leon was coming out of the washroom when the gunshot-like sound rang out. He peered out of the window, but it was dark. He saw neither the errant motorcycle nor Ravinder and Jasmine. Then he realized his mobile was glowing; he had put it on silent when entering Batra's place and forgotten to turn the ringer back on.

“I've been trying to reach you for such a long time.” Vishal sounded worried.

Leon ignored that. “What happened? All well?”

“No, all is not well.” Tersely, Vishal brought him up to speed. “If they get their hands on Ashok Verma, I am screwed; he's a spineless ninny.
And
they are likely to put out an APB for you tomorrow.” Vishal explained how Archana was going to use a computer program to age the old photo of his, which they had.

Leon was not surprised about the APB; ever since he had learned about the leak to MI6, he had known it was only a matter of time. He was confident his disguises would hold. But their tumbling upon Ashok Verma so fast dismayed him; with Verma out of the loop their advance intel from NIA was gone. However, he kept his apprehension on a leash, unwilling to agitate Vishal any more. “What do you suggest we do?”

“There are no options,” Vishal fired back immediately. “We need to get Verma and Ravinder out of the way.”

“You cannot keep killing everyone, Vishal.”

“But this will buy us the time we need … just a few days more. Verma is a wimp. I know him; no way he will stand up to any interrogation. The minute he opens his mouth, I'm screwed.”

“What if you take out the other deputy?”

“The other deputy? Sikander Ali?” Vishal sounded thoroughly confused. “What good would that do?”

“It could muddy the waters. Ravinder may get the idea that Ali was the mole and
that
could get Verma off their radar … for now, at least.” Leon let that sink in. “Verma could still be useful, you know.”

From the change in his tone, Leon sensed Vishal liked the idea. “That's devious. A good double bluff. Definitely worth a shot. It could buy us the time we need.”

“So do it.”

“You want me to do it?”

Leon held his silence, letting Vishal know he was not into rhetorical questions.

“Okay,” Vishal said after a long pause. “I will do it tonight.”

“Keep me posted.”

“And what about Ravinder?”

“What about him? You can't knock off everyone. What do you think will happen if two STF chiefs die in as many days?”

“But we have to do
something
. He is too bloody smart for his own good. We have to stop him.” Leon kept quiet. The silence worked because Vishal then added, “At the very least we need to do something that will get him off this investigation for now.”

“Such as?”

“What if something happened to someone in his family? That should get him off our backs for a couple of days. And that's all we need.”

I need to watch this bugger carefully. Vishal is too ready to kill.

In Leon's book violence was a last resort, when nothing else would suffice. Violence attracted too much attention, which was never desirable. At the same time, Leon liked the idea of hurting Ravinder. “You have something in mind?” he asked.

“How about”—Leon sensed Vishal was winging it, modifying as he went along—“an accident involving either his wife or his daughter?” The sight of Jasmine picking up Ravinder from the office was still fresh in Vishal's mind.

“You can set it up?”

“Why not?”

“Then do it.” The more he thought about it, the more Leon relished the idea of causing pain to Ravinder. But he was careful to keep his emotions in check; conscious he did not want to show anything that either fed Vishal's fears or made his own visible to him. “But make sure nothing happens to Ravinder.”

I want that bastard to feel every possible pain … to suffer the way he made me suffer.

Long after the call ended, Leon lay awake. Now it wasn't just his stomach that kept him up. It was also the pain in his elbow. Even more, it was the whirl of painful memories. Inch by inch his mind retraced those two years he had spent in jail.

Over seven hundred days.

Of rape. Humiliation. And beatings. Of pounding away the pain in the gym, letting it all out on the punching bag.

In the end those hours paid off. That and the humiliation, which not only kicked all compassion out of him but also helped him realize he was very resilient. In the days after he escaped from jail, it was that physical fitness that kept him going. Got him across the globe to the Congo. And put him on the path he trod today.

Leon remembered the first time he had been engaged to terminate a target. That was the only time he had been to Cairo.

Anwar Sadat had already paid the price for pandering to the Israelis. But Salah Abdel Sabour, the man who had worked out every single detail for Sadat, was still alive. And that was not acceptable to many zealots in the Arab world.

Leon again wondered if they had known he was a Jew when they hired him.
Probably not
. He found the irony amusing.