PRIMAL Mirza (A PRIMAL Series Novella) (9 page)

CHAPTER 14

FEROZ SHAH KOTLA STADIUM

Al-Jahiz studied his map. He looked
up and shook his head. It didn’t take a genius to work out that the
construction site in front of him wasn’t the colonel’s target. He turned back
to the damp map and wiped his hands on his pants. By all that was holy, he
missed the cool dry air of the mountains.

“What’re
you looking for?”

He
jumped. The middle-aged man had snuck up on him. Al-Jahiz took in the
sun-darkened complexion, wrinkles, and frail build. A walking stick suggested
an injury of some kind. “Ah nothing, I am fine.”

The
man patted the canvas satchel that hung around his neck. “I could sell you a
better map. Or perhaps you want tickets?”

“Tickets?”

“For
the game. India verse Zimbabwe. It starts this afternoon at Feroz Shah Stadium.
It’s a sell-out. But I might have tickets… for the right price.”

“I
already have a ticket. I just don’t know where the stadium is.”

The
scalper chuckled. “I can show you for a small fee.”

He
sighed and handed over a few coins. Everyone in this cesspit of infidels was
trying to take his money.

The
change disappeared into the canvas satchel and the scalper hobbled off along
the side of the road. “This way.”

He
followed closely. “You said it’s a sell out. How many people will be at the
stadium this afternoon?”

“At
least forty thousand.”

He was almost light headed with
excitement. His men were going to be attacking forty thousand infidels jammed
into one location, shoulder to shoulder. “Is it a family event or mainly men?”

“You don’t know much about this do you?” The man led him across a
park and gestured to a large stadium. “That’s the Feroz Shah. This afternoon it
will be packed with everyone: men, women, children, and the elderly. They will
come from miles around to worship at the temple of cricket.”

Al-Jahiz couldn’t hide the grin on his face.

“I can see you are a big fan. Perhaps I could interest you in extra
tickets for family or friends.”

“I think I will try my luck with the rest.” He nodded at the long
line of people at the ticket booths under the stadium. “Thank you for your
help.”

Ignoring the scalpers, he walked slowly along the line and studied
the stadium. Apart from an elderly guard manning the gates, there wasn’t any
sign of security, much less police. In their uniforms, his men would walk
straight into the densely packed stadium unnoticed. He’d instruct them to avoid
the open grassed areas. Their bullets and explosives would claim thousands more
lives in the congested stadium.

Hands shaking with anticipation, Al-Jahiz reached into his pocket,
took out a camera, and snapped pictures.

***

CHANDNI CHOWK

Mirza tried to wind a scarf around
the cut on his arm as they rushed back to the hostel. The bastard had got the
drop on him and he was not happy about it.

“Stop
beating yourself up. You held your own,” Himesh said.

“Who
are you guys?” Atal asked as they raced through the streets. “Cops? Because
I’ve never seen cops like you before. Most are fat and stupid. But you messed
those guys up good. Did you kill them all? It sure looked like you did, mister.
I’ve never seen anyone move as fast as you.”

“You
don’t ever stop talking do you?” Seeing the kid open his mouth, Mirza shook his
head. “That wasn’t a question.”

Himesh
stopped at a street corner and glanced around. “I’m sure we came this way.”

“I
thought it was the next street.”

“What
you looking for?” Atal asked.

“The
Palace Hotel,” Himesh snapped.

“That
dump?”

Mirza
shook his head again. Atal almost sounded disappointed his new heroes didn’t
have a secret lair. “You know where it is?”

“Yes.”
Atal held out his hand. “For ten rupee I’ll show you.”

“We
just saved your life,” said Himesh.

The
kid shrugged. “If I can’t eat I may as well be dead.”

Himesh
took a note from his pocket and gave it to him. “Regular little entrepreneur,
aren’t you?”

“This
way.” Atal led them down the street, around a corner and into the entrance of
the hostel.

“You’re
kidding me,” mumbled Himesh as they climbed the stairs. Unlocking their room, he
waved Atal to one of the beds. “Take a seat.”

Mirza
offered him a plastic container filled with last night’s leftovers of naan and
curry. “Are you hungry?” When the street urchin snatched it from his hands and
attacked it with vigor, he chuckled. “I guess that’s a yes.”

He
smiled as he watched the boy devour the meal. He put his age at about twelve
but he could have been older. Slightly built, the boy had a gaunt face with
innocent brown eyes and a nasty bruise on his cheek. “Your name’s Atal, right? I’m
Mirza and this is Himesh.”

The
youngster looked up from the bowl. “You
cops
? You
don’t look like cops.”

“No
we’re not cops. We’re Special Agents,” said Himesh as he handed Mirza a medical
kit from his bag.

He
eyed them curiously as he chewed. “You mean like CIA? Like in the movies? James
Bond, Jason Bourne?
Lots of guns and gadgets.
You got
guns?”

“Yes,
just like the movies.”

“So
cool.”

Mirza
finished cleaning his wound and wrapped a bandage around it. “Atal, the men
that attacked you, do you know who they are?”

“They’re
with a gang.”

“Criminals?”

“Yeah,
thieves and body snatchers.”

“Body
snatchers?”

The
youth stopped with a hunk of the flat bread half way to his mouth. “They take
people. Cut out their parts to sell to rich people needing new bits. They sell
anything.” He lowered his head and continued eating.

Mirza
glanced at Himesh who nodded grimly.

Atal
kept talking with food in his mouth. “That’s why they were after me.” He
shrugged. “Or maybe it’s because of those Pakis.”

“Pakis?”
Mirza asked.

“Yesterday,
I took some Pakis to the gang’s house. Told the cops. They don’t listen.”

“Where’s
the house?”

“Near
the market. Big grey building.” He lowered his voice. “They cut up the bodies
there.”

“Can
you take us there?”

“You
have money?”

Himesh
reached into his pocket and took out a thick roll of rupees. “If you show us
the gang’s hideout we’ll make sure you don’t go hungry.” He peeled off a note
and held it out. “There will be more.”

Atal
scraped the last trace of curry from the bowl before taking the money and
inspecting it. “Not enough.”

“I
said there would be more. We’re going to need your help, Atal. If you play your
cards right this will be very lucrative.”

“OK.
If I’m working with you big secret agents, I want a gun.”

Himesh
rolled his eyes.

Mirza
reached into his pocket and took out a folding knife. He extended the blade
with a snap of his wrist. “You can have this. But be careful, it’s sharp.”

Atal
took the knife and weighed it in his hand. He closed it and snapped it open the
same way Mirza had. “It’ll do. I take you now.”

Himesh
grabbed his backpack. “Excellent. Let’s get going.”

***

As Atal led them through an older
part of Chandni Chowk, Mirza felt as if he was trapped in a maze of ancient
streets teeming with people. Sounds and smells assaulted his senses. Tinkers
battered pots with wooden mallets, cobblers polished shoes on spinning brushes,
and wood workers ground peppershakers on makeshift lathes. Only the aroma of
Indian cooking, freshly ground spices, and curried meats offered relief.

“This
way.” Atal took them up a staircase wedged between two buildings.

As
they climbed, Mirza’s noticed the mold-covered walls and cracked, slime-slick
tiles. Reaching the top, he stepped onto a flat rooftop covered with rows of
laundry drying under the harsh sun.

Atal
weaved through the clothing, crouched behind the lip of the building, and
pointed to the busy street below. “Down there. Through the orange door.”

The
door barred access to a lane that ran between the low-rise buildings
.
He
glanced at Atal. “You’re sure that’s where the gang lives?”

“Yes.
See how that lane goes back to an open bit. See the grey building at the end?”

“Yes.”

“They
do the evil in there.”

Mirza
pulled out a compact digital camera and snapped a few photos. He noted the
barred windows on the building. “It’s well secured.”

Himesh
ruffled the urchin’s hair as he focused on the scene below. “Good work, kid.
This is a great spot.”

“Is
there any other way in or out?” Mirza asked.

“They
can use the roof, but they don’t.”

“You’ve
watched this place before haven’t you?”

Atal
nodded grimly. “Yes. They took a friend, two years ago. He’s dead now. They
stole his insides.”

“Did
you tell the police?”

Fists
clenched at his side, the boy’s body trembled. “They do nothing! Gangs pay
good.”

Mirza
put his hand on the youngster’s bony shoulder. “You help us, Atal, and you’ll
have your revenge.”

“Yes,
it’s time to stop them. Time somebody paid them back. We can be like Avengers,
bring justice to the neighborhood.”

Mirza
knew Himesh wasn’t listening. He was focused on the street.

“It’s
busy. Plenty of foot traffic,” Himesh said.

Mirza
snapped photos of two men ambling down the road. Even with their scruffy
beards, long hair, and local attire they stood out. “Himesh, check out these
two.”

“Already
on it,” he said.

“Look
like cops.”

“Undercover
cops,” Himesh corrected.

The
men swaggered toward the gray building. One of them knocked on the orange door.

“Atal,
do you know who they are?” Mirza asked.

“No.
But they’re police. Walk like they’re big men. The boss.”

Someone
opened the door and spoke to the visitors before disappearing back inside.

Himesh
opened his backpack and took out another digital camera and a cell phone.
“Atal, we don’t have as many men as we would like. So, we’re going to rely on
your skills to work out who else is inside that place.” He pulled a
five rupee
note from his pocket. “Can we count on you?”

The
youth took the money and stuffed it into his pants. “Yes.”

“Good.”
Himesh showed him how to use the camera. “I want you to take photos of anyone
who comes or goes OK?”

Atal
nodded.

“Just
don’t get caught. And don’t lose the camera. If you see anything you think’s
important, call us on this phone. Both our numbers are in it.” Himesh showed
him where they were stored. They were the only two in the phone’s contact list.

“Where
you going?”

“Close
by, we’re just checking a few things out.”

Mirza
snapped another photo of a man at the orange door. “Take a look at that guy,
Himesh. The fat one.”

“Wearing
a white singlet and tracksuit pants?”

Atal
snorted. “That’s Neeraj. Big boss. Everybody knows him.”

Mirza
watched the crime boss talk to the two men. As he spoke, he waved his hands in
an agitated manner. Then one of them lifted his shirt. At the sight of a
pistol, Neeraj shuffled outside and shut the door.

“You
going to be OK by yourself, Atal?” Mirza asked.

“I’ve
always been by myself.” He snapped photos as Neeraj was escorted from his lair.

“Remember,
to call us if anything happens,” Himesh said as Mirza and he left. Once on the
street, they merged with the crowd. “If we parallel them, we should be able to
cut in behind.”

CHAPTER 15

A block from Neeraj’s compound,
Lieutenant Colonel Prasad was perched on a pile of rugs. He smoothed the
creases from his slacks. Glancing at the empty doorway, he clenched his jaw.
“Where is the fat fuck?”

“They’ve
got him and are on their way,” said Captain Roshan, leaning against the wall of
his cousin’s store.

“That
greasy cockroach better not lie to me. If he even tries, I’ll crush him under
my boot. Then I’ll—” At a sharp knock, his lips thinned and he jerked his
head toward the door.

Roshan
opened it a crack and glanced back. “It’s them.”

Prasad
nodded toward the rug in front of him.

The
muscular captain flung open the door, grabbed Neeraj by the back of his neck,
and dragged him to the rug. “Sit!”

Neeraj
dropped to the mat, confusion on his face.

Prasad
motioned for the two escorting officers to leave the room. His eyes narrowed as
he fixed the gangster with a stare. “How long have we known each other,
Neeraj?”

“I,
I’m not sure. Maybe five years? Yes that’s it, five years.”

“And
over those five years have I looked after you?”

His
eyes flicked to Roshan standing in front of the door. “Yeah. I guess so. What’s
this all about, Colonel, is there–”

Prasad
raised his hand, silencing the man. “I’ve looked after you, Neeraj. I’ve let
you go about your vile little business. I’ve even turned a blind eye to your
more nefarious activities, including those that involve Pakistani
intelligence.”

Neeraj
shook his head. “What are you talking about I never–”

“Enough!
I know all about your deals.”

“I
would never betray my country.”

“Bullshit.
Your loyalty only goes as far as the next rupee. That’s why you’re here. I’ve
got a deal to offer you.”

Neeraj
swallowed. “What type of deal?”

“The
type where you tell me what I want to know and Roshan doesn’t shoot you in the
head.”

He
swallowed again and glanced at the NSG captain. The Black Cat winked as he
screwed a suppressor onto his pistol. “What do you want to know?”

“Tell
me about your new Paki friends. What are they doing here in New Delhi?”

“What?
What Pakis–”

Prasad
nodded. With a thud a round buried itself in the carpet next to Neeraj’s leg.
He jumped. The NSG officer fought the urge to smile as the man switched from a
smug liar to a terrified coward. It was funny how some people changed when you
applied a little pressure, he thought.

“Next
one’s in your knee you piece of shit,” Roshan hissed. “Answer the Colonel’s
question.”

“The
men are workers, from Lahore. I’m letting them rent a room from me. I promise
that’s the truth.”

Prasad
smiled, the toothy movie star smile he used to woo the ladies. “That’s
fantastic news. And here I was thinking they were ISI sponsored
fedayeen
planning to blow up half of New
Delhi.” With the last word, his smile dropped. “I’m giving you a choice,
Neeraj. Tell me the truth. Or I’ll send my boys to your place, shoot every one
of your child-murdering rats, and burn your rancid nest to the ground.”

He
watched beads of sweat roll off the man’s brow as his gaze darted around the
room. He had the man by the balls.

“OK,
OK. They’re working for someone in Pakistan. They arrived in two groups. Four
last week and another five yesterday.”

“So
two separate teams?” he asked.

“I
think so. They keep four of them locked up in a little room. They pray all the
time. Only the two guys in charge are allowed to see them.”

Prasad
glanced at Roshan scribbling in his notebook. “Go on.”

“They
have a room with maps and pictures on the wall.”

“Of
what?”

“I
haven’t been able to get a good look.”

“Why
don’t I believe you?”

“It’s
true, I give you my word.”

“You’re
word isn’t worth shit. You’re a thief, a traitor, and a child-murderer. If I
shot you now, I’d make the world a better place.” He stood up and walked toward
the door. “Captain Roshan, squash this bug.”

“With
pleasure.” Roshan aimed his pistol.

“No
wait. I saw a picture of a woman.”

Prasad
paused. “I’m not interested in your porn collection, you sick fuck.”

“I
think they’re going to kill her.”

“Who
is she?”

“That
woman from the TV. The lawyer from the terrorist case.”

Prasad
spun on his heel. “Sonia Jayaram? You think they’re going to try and kill Sonia
Jayaram?”

“I
don’t know her name. I just saw her picture on the wall. They had a map of all
the places she goes.”

“Is
that all? They’ve sent nine arseholes to New Delhi to kill one uptight bitch?”

“That’s
all I know.”

He
sighed. “Try not to ruin the rug, Roshan.”

“No!
The cricket. They keep talking about the cricket stadium. That’s all I know. I
swear on my life. I’ve told you everything,” he said, sobbing.

Prasad
walked back to the pile of rugs. Crouching, he leaned in close. “Listen to me
very carefully, Neeraj. You’ll return to your filthy hovel and discover exactly
when and where these jihadist bastards are going to hit.”

“What
do I tell them about this meeting?”

“We
squeezed you for extra protection money.” Thrusting out his hand, Prasad
smiled. “Which is exactly what’s happening.”

“You’re
kidding me?”

“Do
I look like I’m joking, shit head?” he snapped.

Neeraj
reached into his pocket and took out a thick roll of cash. He peeled off individual
notes until Prasad snapped his fingers.

“All
of it thanks.” He plucked it free from the criminal’s tight grip. “If I don’t
get word from you within the next two hours I’m going to send in my boys.”

“Two
hours,” wailed Neeraj.

Prasad
pointed to the door. “Get the hell out.”

Roshan
grabbed Neeraj’s shoulder and tossed him out the door into the waiting hands of
the plain-clothed NSG officers. He locked the door and turned back to his boss.
“So he’s been hiding them the whole time.”

Prasad
remained seated, pondering all the new information. “Sonia Jayaram,” he said
softly. “Seems they’re going to deal with our little problem. Don’t you love it
when thinks work out for the best?” he asked with a chuckle.

“Yeah.
But what about the praying guys? They sound like suicide bombers.” The big
man’s brow was furrowed. “Neeraj said they’re going to target the cricket
stadium. The test starts this afternoon.”

Prasad
was still thinking about Sonia and fought the urge to smile. It was funny how
karma worked. Only twenty-four hours ago, she was a thorn in his side. Now, she
was the target of a terrorist hit squad.

“Boss?”
Roshan interrupted his thoughts. “What do you want me to do?”

“Have
your men increase surveillance on Neeraj and everyone leaving his place. I’ll
move the assault team closer to the stadium. They can stage out of Jama
Masjid.”

“They’re
going to ask why.”

“We’ll
tell them it’s a short notice exercise.”

“So
we’re going to hit the terrorists at the stadium?”

Prasad
nodded. “We need maximum impact. They need to have a modicum of success before
we wipe them out.”

“What
if they manage to set off a bomb?”

Prasad
snickered. “If Paki terrorists set a bomb off in Feroz Shah Kotla, well, then
we won’t have to worry about funding for a bloody long time.”