SALIM MUST DIE (29 page)

Strike Six

L
ONDON

THEY SAY THE BRITISH ALWAYS LIKE TO DO THINGS ARSE WAYS.
Maybe that was why, unlike the rallies in the other European cities, the one in London that was scheduled to start at Trafalgar Square, could only be flagged off after a series of motivating and inspiring speeches in support of dead and injured workers. The rally was to proceed from Trafalgar through the Admiralty Arch, down Whitehall Street, passing Horse Guards Parade and Downing Street. Thereafter, it would go down Parliament Street and onto Parliament Square, where the Houses of Parliament are situated. Here the rally would end after the usual submission of petitions.

Ben joined the rally at the point at which it passed closest to the Royal Horse Guards Hotel.

Leaving the hotel well before the rally reached it, he stood on the sidewalk for several minutes and watched the procession move past. There were several others doing the same, so he didn't stand out.

When he found a gap in the stream of cops riding shotgun on both sides of the road, Ben merged with the thick mass of people flowing down the road. His killer cargo was safely tucked inside the large plastic water bottle slung from his shoulder. The vials of VX Gas had been thoroughly cleansed of cream and were ready to deliver death to the slogan-shouters around him. But Ben was not yet ready to kill.

‘The best place to strike is when the rally reaches the Houses of Parliament,’ Salim had told him. ‘Strike when they're handing over the petitions. You may get lucky and take out a couple of politicians. Also, you can be certain that the television crews are going to be around in abundance.’

So Ben bided his time, though his breathing had begun to quicken with every passing moment, and he could feel an uneasy coil of stress knotting up in the pit of his stomach. He steeled himself. A silent prayer began to build up in his head as he flowed with the others towards the finish.

FORTUNATELY OR UNFORTUNATELY, THERE WERE NO IMPORTANT
politicians around when the rally reached the Houses of Parliament. There were a couple of minor fry, who had nothing better to do that day and needed the media exposure rather desperately.

The chosen posse of leaders banded together as the rally trickled into Parliament Square. A few tense moments elapsed. Ben could feel the pulse in his forhead throbbing. Every fibre in his body was alert and on edge as he willed the men to finish their speeches. Time seemed to pass as slowly as the giant London Eye wheel turning against the skyline in the distance.

Finally, the speeches were done and the rally leaders stepped forward to hand in their petitions. Simultaneously, Ben reached for his water bottle and began to unscrew the cap. He drew no attention since almost everyone there had some kind of beverage to fortify himself with.

Everyone's attention was more or less on the small knot of people walking forward. A few shouted slogans fell unheeded on Ben's ears. Now the open water bottle was out of the sling and in his right hand. He gripped it at the base, in much the same way as Karl had held the prosthetic in Berlin. Ensuring that he had the bottle firmly in his grasp, Ben stepped away from the crowd.

Suddenly the prayer that had been thrumming silently in his head burst out of him. He raised the open bottle and began to whirl it over his head.

Like brilliantly coloured marbles, the vials of VX Gas sparkled through the air, catching the dull London sunlight as they sped away on their mission of death. They scattered to the ground, some simply pulled down by gravity, others after a collision with a head or a shoulder, and still others crashing into each other in mid-flight.

No matter how they fell, when they fell or where they landed, the result was the same: the sound of breaking glass before the lethal gas sprang free with tiny, barely discernible puffs.

Strike Seven

B
ARBADOS

BARBADOS LOOKED LIKE A CITY CELEBRATING THE DANCE OF
life. Everything was lit up and psychedelically vibrant with colour. It's not every day that a nation hosts the ICC World Cup. For the cricket crazy West Indians, few things could match the fervour of this event.

Although a series of shocking defeats and upsets had thrown the cricketing world into turmoil, with giants like India and Pakistan falling to the minnows, cricket was cricket and the excitement hadn't abated one bit. The long awaited finals were to be played today, with the mighty Australians taking on the Sri Lankan challengers. It was certain that the crowds would hit the stadium bright and early.

Whether it was by design or just plain luck, Sahiba and Kismat timed their arrival at the Kensington Oval well. When they pulled up outside the stadium, there was a huge crowd gathered there, slowly winding its way in through the stringent three-tier security cordon that had been thrown around the stadium.

They were about to get out of the tiny nondescript car when Sahiba tugged urgently at Kismat's arm, stopping her. ‘Wait, Kismat. Look at that.’ She pointed at the string of cops threading their way through the parking lot, carefully scanning each parked vehicle. Two of the cops were led by huge dogs, which sniffed assiduously at everything in their path. The Khan twins had spent too much time at the stadium – they had both been employed at the customer relations desk for almost two years – not to notice that something out of the ordinary was afoot.

‘I've never seen them do that before,’ Sahiba said, after watching them for a moment. ‘Certainly not checking the parking lot with sniffer dogs.’

‘We've never seen a World Cup final before, either,’ her sister commented evenly, but she too watched the cops with a growing sense of unease.

‘No, this is different. Look!’ Sahiba pointed out the various locations where groups of cops were clearly visible. ‘I haven't seen so many of them at any of the matches.’

‘You think they know?’

‘I don't know. Let's just wait and watch for some more time.’ The sisters sat in silence, scanning the area carefully. It did not take long for the pattern to become evident even to their untrained eyes.

‘They know for sure.’

‘I think so too.’

‘I wonder how they know.’

‘Does it make a difference?’

A heavy silence met the question.

‘Now what?’

‘Now nothing,’ Sahiba replied firmly. ‘We have not come so far to be foiled by some dumb cops.’

Another long silence.

‘Can you think of any other way to get in?’ Kismat finally asked. The two of them were still giving the question due thought when fate stepped in.

THE BUSES CARRYING THE TWO TEAMS PLAYING THE FINAL
match pulled up in front of the stadium at almost the same time.

‘Isn't that the Australian team getting down from that yellow and green bus?’ Sahiba pointed with a half raised finger. Both sisters watched closely for a moment. ‘Yes, it is,’ Sahiba answered herself.

‘And that's the Sri Lankan team getting down from the second one.’ Kismat gestured at the blue and white bus that was parked behind the first one.

They watched in silence as the Australian team disembarked and began to offload their gear. In the other bus, the Sri Lankan players began to follow suit.

The twins exchanged glances. Harmonized as they were to each other's thoughts, both came to the same conclusion almost instantly.

We may not be able to get inside the stadium, but could we hope for a better target outside?

Not likely
!

In fact, this is even better. Imagine the publicity
!

‘You take the Australian team,’ Sahiba whispered. ‘I'll go for the Sri Lankans.’ Kismat acknowledged this with a nod.

By now most of the players had gathered in two tight, talkative knots and were waiting for the stragglers to join them. Surrounding them on all four sides was a cordon of security personnel. Each man was armed to the hilt and each grim face displayed firm resolve to put the weapons to use should the occasion so demand.

In tandem, the twins opened the doors of the vehicle and got off. Both reached for the huge beaded necklaces around their necks as they emerged from the car. Like ungainly prayer beads, the necklaces were in their hands as they turned and began to shuffle towards the lively young men in cricketing colours.

IT WAS PROBABLY THEIR INFIRMITY THAT ATTRACTED THE
attention of the security officers herding the teams towards the stadium. The two guards nearest to them gave them a closer and more thorough look as the sisters shuffled closer. The security detail had been on special protection duty with the Australian team since the start of the tour. Due to some Dilbertian faux pas, they had not received the APB which had been issued for the Khan sisters. However, in these days of heightened security threats, all of them functioned at optimal alert.

‘Hey! Excuse me, miss!’ It was a security guard in the outermost cordon of the Sri Lankan team who stepped up and placed a restraining hand on Sahiba's right shoulder. ‘Where do you think you're going?’

The shock of being suddenly accosted just when she was preparing to throw the necklace in her right hand at the Sri Lankan team froze Sahiba.

‘Where do you think you're going, miss?’ the guard repeated, not so politely this time, his hand on her shoulder tightening. Sahiba snapped back to reality.

‘I just wanted to gift this to him,’ she blurted out without thinking, holding up the necklace in her right hand and gesturing to one of the Sri Lankan cricketers.

‘That?’ The security guard took note of the large, and what he thought ugly, beaded necklace she was holding.
It takes all sorts, I suppose
. ‘Okay!’ He shrugged. ‘I'll give it to him on your behalf, but you cannot go any closer.’ Taking the necklace from her numb fingers, he turned to see where his protectees were. By now both teams had crossed the last security barrier and were disappearing inside the stadium.

‘Right, miss. I'll personally ensure that he gets it.’ Twirling the lethal necklace casually in the air, the security guard briskly rejoined his mates and vanished inside the stadium.

Sahiba stood rooted to the spot, her mind having totally shut down on her.

‘What happened?’ Kismat's voice nudged her back to the present.

‘I… I… he stopped me… just when….’ Sahiba mumbled, feeling embarrassed and deeply ashamed. ‘I have let them all down.’ She was unable to meet Kismat's eyes.

‘Don't worry.’ Her twin could feel Sahiba's agony. She reached out and patted her back. ‘You couldn't help it.’ For a moment they stood in silence.

‘Why didn't you….’ Sahiba asked tentatively.

‘I saw him stop you and didn't know what had happened, so I….’ Kismat hesitated. ‘I was worried about you getting caught in the middle of….’ She gestured at the necklace in her hand.

‘Salim will be very upset with us,’ said Sahiba.

‘Let him.’ Kismat's chin went up defiantly. ‘We couldn't help it.’

‘And we still have these.’ Sahiba gestured at the necklace in Kismat's hand. ‘Maybe we'll get an even better opportunity to use it.’

The two sisters began to slowly walk back towards their car.

‘I wonder what the guard has done with the necklace he took from me.’

They mulled over that for a moment.

‘I hope he sits on it.’

That made Sahiba giggle; a neighing, high-pitched giggle. The giggle became a laugh and by the time the twins got into their car, they were in splits. They were still laughing as they drove out of the parking lot and headed home.

INSIDE THE STADIUM, THE SECURITY GUARD WAITED TILL THE
players had vanished inside the dressing rooms and he was placed on standby by the leader of the security detail. Then he sauntered off to the area reserved for them. Just at the entrance was a coke vending machine. He pumped in the required change and watched a can clang out.

Just beside the vending machine stood the mandatory garbage can. For a moment, the guard looked at the ugly beads still in his hand, and without a second thought, he tossed the necklace into the garbage can.

The necklace landed with a soft plop on the clutter of paper cups and assorted items that were stuffed inside. And there it lay, waiting.

HALFWAY ACROSS THE WORLD, THE TWO PUPPET MASTERS
anxiously awaited news of the Barbados strike.

‘It should have happened by now.’ Salim checked the array of clocks on the wall; each of them displayed the local time in the city where the action was taking place.

‘Maybe they got caught.’

‘Maybe they lost their nerve.’

‘Maybe they were not able to do it at the designated time.’

While they surfed the airwaves, the red and white station wagon carrying the Indian commandos crested the final slope and began to nose its way through the dense, slow moving Murree traffic.

Strike Eight

T
ORONTO

ABRAHAM REIS WAS SO CONFIDENT THAT HE WOULD BE ABLE
to sail through the security barrier at the new BMO Field Stadium that he did not bother to take any major precautions. After cleaning all traces of cream from the vials of VX Gas, he simply placed them in his lunch box on a cotton pad. Before closing the box, he placed another large wad of cotton over them to cushion the vials and prevent them from knocking against each other.

Most of the security personnel know me well
. He could visualize himself smiling at them and nodding at their how're-you-doing-todays as he went past.

To be on the safe side, Reis ensured that he reached the stadium a little after the match had started.
People are always more antsy and alert at the start of any event. Hopefully things have settled down by now and the security will be engrossed in, or at least distracted by, the game
.

When Abraham Reis reached the parking lot, nearly thirty minutes had elapsed since the kick-off.

Toronto FC, Canada's first professional soccer team, was playing its first home match against the Kansas City Wizards. It also happened to be the inaugural match being played at the newly completed BMO Field, an open-air stadium with a seating capacity of over twenty thousand. It was primarily because of this that the stadium was filled to capacity.

A festive air permeated the atmosphere and the raucous chant of fans boomed through the stadium in rhythmic waves. Reis could feel the excitement pounding through the stadium even as he approached the entrance. Coupled with the adrenaline rushing through him, it unleashed a huge surge of energy that threatened to swamp him. Controlling himself with an effort, he kept his pace even and the pleasant Reis smile plastered on his face as he headed for the entrance.

Situated in the northwest corner of the spanking new stadium is the reception area that has the ticketing offices and the offices of the bus operators, team coaches, sales managers, communications personnel and the various BMO officials. Down the hall lies the vast VIP area that serves food and beverages to the privileged clients who can then move directly to the VIP lounge that comfortably seats three hundred people. Off to one side are stairs that descend to the ground floor and lead to the eight community dressing rooms, each of which can be used to access the field directly.

To the southwest of the stadium is the four-thousand capacity supporters’ section. Sandwiched between the first and second decks is a huge concession area that serves everything from fish and chips to samosas. To cater to those too lazy to move out of their seats, there are seven authorized portable carts that move through the decks dispensing food, drinks and souvenirs.

REIS PLANNED TO GET IN AND CROSS THE HALL TO REACH
the VIP area.

That's the best place for me to transfer the VX vials from the lunch box to my pockets.

Having done that, he planned to walk straight to the VIP lounge. As it was the inaugural day, there were bound to be more VIPs than usual.

Let some of them die today. Commoners die every day in any case
. Reis gave a wry smile as he walked up to the main entrance.

Reis had been right. All the security personnel there knew him well. But not one of them smiled when they saw him.

That's understandable. It's the first game and a big one at that. They must be stressed
, Reis told himself as cognitive dissonance kicked in; he needed to know that everything was fine.

Reis nodded to them half-smilingly as he came closer. That was when he saw the second tier of security personnel and knew he had miscalculated.

None of the second tier of security men knew him and none of them was smiling. They
did
know
of
him. In fact, it was suddenly clear that they had been waiting for him. He could tell from the expressions on their faces and the way they moved towards him.

‘What should I do if they do manage to find me
?’

‘
Then you are as good as dead in any case. No matter what happens, don't let them take you alive. Your best bet is to head straight for the enemy and activate your weapon. Make sure you are in the thickest part of the crowd and take as many of the kafirs with you as you can. Don't let your sacrifice go to waste
.’

Without further thought, he began to grope at the lunch box in his hand, but even as he did that he knew it was too late. Four burly cops closed in on him rapidly and boxed him in. Unforgiving hands gripped him from both sides. Even rougher hands relieved him of his deadly meal box.

‘Take it easy, pal,’ the man on his right growled. ‘Don't make us hurt you.’ His tone was taunting and harsh, almost as though he was daring Reis to try something.

They marched him off to the small side exit and towards the patrol car waiting outside.

They can't take me alive. Damned if I am going to spend the rest of my life in jail.

As they frog-marched him out, Reis allowed his shoulders to slump and his body to go slack, as though in defeat and despair. With every step, he felt the grip of his escort loosen; not much, by just a tiny fraction. It was not enough for him to break free and make a run for it. However, it was enough for him to jerk his hand free and grab at the holstered weapon of the man on his right. The attempt was as amateurish as it was ill-advised.

‘You stupid fuck!’

The butt of the pistol in the hands of the cop behind him slammed down remorselessly on Reis's head. He lost consciousness instantly and slumped to the ground.

FAR AWAY IN MURREE, THE TWO TERROR MASTERS WAITED
impatiently for news of the terror spectacular to beam in from Toronto.

‘Do you think something has gone wrong?’ Cheema asked for the umpteenth time.

‘Let's wait and see.’ Salim's tone and expression were noncommittal. ‘The game lasts a long time. Perhaps Reis is waiting for the best possible time to strike.’

And so they waited, unaware that retribution was at hand.

Not too far away, Tiwathia pulled over to the side as Sami took a moment to get their bearings right.

‘That's the ridge.’ Sami pointed. ‘That's where the house should be. Take that turn ahead.’

Tiwathia engaged gears and headed for the turn Sami had indicated.