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Authors: Bilal Siddiqi

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BOOK: The Bard of Blood
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5

31 August 2014

Pune, Maharashtra

The area around Inorbit Mall on Nagar Road in Pune was being cordoned off. There was a constant buzz on the walkie-talkies as the police rushed around in a frenzy trying to push away the herd of media persons who had gathered at the site. One of the inspectors slapped a cameraman who was following him around. The other cameras recorded this little scuffle. They had to have something to broadcast until they could get a better picture of the bomb that was supposed to be inside. A fairly jovial mood had quickly transformed into a state of helpless panic.

‘The bomb squad is on its way,’ shouted a stocky ATS officer, Pradeep Shinde, into his walkie-talkie. ‘They should be here in a couple of minutes.’

He then fired a volley of abuses and ordered his men in Marathi to go and divert the traffic away from the area. It was around 10.30 a.m. and the traffic was at its peak in anticipation of the year-end celebrations. The mall, it seemed, was the perfect target for a bomb—the perfect occasion to kill a large number of people. Fortunately, an alert young couple had spotted it when they decided to sit on the last seat of a mini roller-coaster and quickly informed the mall authorities.

Shinde had then barked orders to shut down the entire air-conditioning system of the mall.

‘Even the lights of all the other floors, except the third. God forbid, it goes off, there will be a huge electrical problem in the entire city.’

Soon enough, two fire brigades thundered in, sirens blaring. Three Mahindra combat vehicles sped up and halted right outside the mall entrance. Four heavily armed men got out of each vehicle.

‘Officer Pradeep Shinde of the ATS,’ Shinde introduced himself, flashing his ID as he led the twelve men towards the mall. Six of them wore bomb-suits and carried bomb-disposal kits in their hands. ‘My men have evacuated the mall. There is no threat other than the bag.’

The man in the Kevlar bomb-suit, Devraj Sinha, asked: ‘Which floor is the bomb on?’

‘Third floor,’ Shinde replied. ‘There is a small roller-coaster in the amusement park. It is kept on the last seat.’

Sinha nodded, and shouted orders to his men: ‘Two of you come with me, the rest carry on and make sure there are no hostiles in the mall.’

They stormed into the mall, Shinde following them. Sinha turned to Shinde with a raised eyebrow.

‘I don’t think you need to come. Stay out and update RAW about the threat.’

Shinde opened his mouth in protest, but Sinha had already turned around and started running up the stairs. His men followed in pairs.

They hurried up the stairs, and began to walk cautiously towards the roller coaster in the amusement area. They passed the many gaming consoles, ready to attack anyone who might surprise them. So far, so good. The only problem at hand, then, was the bomb.

They had just about reached the roller coaster when they saw a figure bending over the open bag on the back seat. All of them raised their guns in a swift motion.

‘Put your hands behind your head,’ Sinha shouted. ‘NOW!’

The person looked up hurriedly and cursed. Devraj Sinha was taken aback. If this were a terrorist, he would’ve been shot immediately. Unfortunately, they didn’t make terrorists as pretty as this. She moved the hair from her brow, revealing a face with delicate features, and looked up at the men. She wore a grey tank-top, stained with sweat, and a pair of jeans. Beads of sweat trickled on her gently upturned nose.

‘There’s enough Semtex in here to blow the entire floor up, which would cause the building to collapse,’ she said urgently. ‘It’s not remote-detonated, not motion-sensitive. An Improvised Explosive Device. But a crude bomb, nonetheless.’

The man raised his rifle threateningly. ‘Put your hands where I can see them, now, or I will shoot.’

‘Isha Khan,’ she said, looking through her riotous curls as they fell over her forehead. ‘Military Intelligence. Call Director-General Khanna at the Sena Bhavan in Delhi, if you need to cross-check.’

Sinha was taken aback. He nodded to one of the men, who went aside to make the call to verify. The man dialled the number. Within a few minutes, Director-General Khanna had confirmed her identity. There was a tone of relief in his voice when he realized that Isha was at the scene.

‘How are you here?’

‘I happened to be at the mall,’ she said. ‘Now get over here and help me neutralize this thing.’

Sinha walked up close to her and kneeled. The two members of the bomb squad followed suit. They admired her fair, slender yet muscular arms as she pointed towards the bomb. They were awed by her fearlessness.

‘See this thin red wire here? It’s connected to the energy supply of the roller coaster.’

She pointed towards the red wire that continued underneath and converged with a bigger cable at a junction.

‘Had the roller coaster been activated even once after the bag was left here, it would have been the last ride those people would’ve ever taken. Good thing those kids noticed it in time. Unfortunately, I don’t carry a bomb-disposal kit in my handbag. I had half a mind to do it with my hairpin before you stormed in.’

She looked at one of the men and pointed to the kit. The man handed it over. She dug inside and pulled out a pair of pliers. She climbed on to the rails of the roller coaster and sat right next to the bomb. In a swift motion she pushed her hair off her forehead and prayed under her breath—perhaps to the same god that the man who had left the bomb there had prayed to. She always prayed, out of habit. She held the wire between the serrated jaws of the pliers and, with a sharp burst of force, snapped it. There was a long beep. The red LED on the detonating device turned green. The bomb had been disarmed. The group of men gawked at her, jaws dropping in admiration.

She pulled out her phone from the side of her jacket, which she had left on the floor. She saw eleven missed calls. Ten from her mother and one from an unidentified number. She turned to the men as she put on her jacket.

‘You’re welcome,’ she said as she turned to walk away. She called her mother up. Her voice was frantic. She thought her daughter worked as a doctor, attending to the injured in the military. She wasn’t entirely wrong. Isha did know how to extract a bullet from a wound, among the many other things she knew.


Beta
, are you okay? They found a bomb at some mall in Pune.’

‘Is that right? Don’t worry, Ammi, I’m getting back home as promised. Should be there in a few hours.’

‘Come back soon, I’ve made your favourite mutton biryani.’

‘I will, Ammi.
Khuda hafiz.


Khuda hafiz
,’ her mother said with a sigh of relief.

Isha smiled to herself as she walked out of the back door of the mall. She looked at the unidentified number and dialled it.

‘Hello,’ the voice on the other end was curt. ‘Am I speaking to Isha Khan?’

‘Yes,’ Isha replied as she climbed on to her bike. ‘May I know whom I’m speaking to?’

‘Arun Joshi.’

And then she had to call her mother back and tell her something urgent had come up. She had to rush to Delhi. Jee, Ammi, I’m fine. Unfortunately, her favourite biryani would have to wait.

31 August 2014

New Delhi

A small section at the Prime Minister’s Office in New Delhi went on with what was just another day. The control room was dimly lit, and one of the agents, Ivan Fernandes, had begun to play some Goan music in the background to help him maintain his sanity. Some of the others stared at their screens, typing away furiously, trying to decode some message or the other. Quite unnervingly, they were being sent hoax messages ever since the new PM took office. The agents cursed at them in contempt and pushed them into an archive of other similarly received messages.

‘Another lame threat,’ thirty-five-year-old Nihar Shah complained, as he quickly dragged and dropped the message into the collection of bogus threats.

Nihar was an expert hacker, amongst other things. He had previously intercepted a message being sent to Pakistan from somewhere in the North-East. Though he could never triangulate the location, he brought this to the notice of the rest of his team. Soon enough, what seemed like an innocent message discussing a Bollywood actor had led to the arrest of Indian Mujahideen leader Yasin Bhatkal.

Nihar and his team were lauded for their efforts. Besides being good with a computer, Nihar was an extremely good shot. In the basement, where all the agents trained in basic gun combat, Nihar had developed a good eye for the target. Unlike his counterparts in the control room, Nihar could fire at the heart of the paper target at least four times out of five—which was rather unusual for a desk agent. But the higher authorities, who monitored them, knew that with a little polishing Nihar could well become an all-round agent, with abilities both on and off the field. A rarity amongst the rather uninteresting babus at the RAW office.

‘I’m going out for a smoke,’ Ivan tapped Nihar on the shoulder as he walked out. Nihar got up and followed him out of the door into the cold veranda. They saw the dry Delhi wind swoop the dust along the streets. Ivan and Nihar each lit a cigarette.

‘It’s funny,’ Ivan said, ‘the rest of the world is out there having a great time. And here we are, watching the fun from a fucking balcony.’

‘Yeah, anything new?’

‘Routine stuff. Unless something serious pops up,’ he continued.

‘This is the job we signed up for,’ Nihar said as he exhaled the smoke. His throat was drier than before. ‘I don’t know any other way to earn a living.’

‘Neither do I,’ Ivan said. ‘Anyway, how are Trisha and the little one?’

Nihar smiled to himself. Of late, his wife had been complaining about his rather irregular work pattern. He had no time to spend with her and their baby. Sometimes she would break down and behave irrational, and Nihar would sit calmly and explain to her how his job wasn’t the standard nine-to-five kind. He knew that his marriage was on the brink of becoming a strained one. He could decode the toughest of messages and intercept them with ease, but a woman—he thought all men would agree—was the hardest to decipher.

‘I promised Trisha we’d go out for dinner. She’s with the baby now.’

‘Any first words yet?’ Ivan chuckled as he rubbed his shaved head. ‘Apparently, I had learned to swear before I even said “Maa”.’

‘Well, then, you’re not meeting my kid until he says “Maa”.’

‘It’s about time you named him,’ Ivan said.

Nihar’s phone vibrated in his pocket. He pulled it out and saw that it was his wife calling. It was their anniversary, and he had promised to take her out to dinner.

‘Hey, Trisha,’ he greeted her. ‘Don’t worry, I’ll be there at eleven. Why don’t you take the little one over and reserve a table?’

‘It’s ten,’ she replied. ‘Why can’t you get back home now? Is your work more important to you than me—even today?’

‘I will,’ Nihar said. ‘Don’t worry. Nothing can stop me from spending time with you and our baby.’

‘I love you,’ she said softly. She was in a good mood today. Ivan winked at a blushing Nihar.

‘You, too,’ Nihar said, smiling.

‘No,’ Trisha said. ‘Say it. Say the three damn words.’

‘I will when I meet you,’ Nihar replied as he flipped the finger to a laughing Ivan.

‘Fine, bye.’

She disconnected the phone. Ivan held his sides as he laughed.

‘Go home now and surprise her. I’ll handle the work on your computer as well.’

Nihar grinned. ‘For real?’

‘Yes, not like I have a wife waiting at home for me.’

Nihar smiled, and thanked Ivan as he left the veranda and walked into the control room. He picked up his bag from the desk and said goodbye to the others in the room. As he walked out of the control room, he saw Arun Joshi walk towards him.

‘Aah,’ Joshi said with a plastic smile. ‘Just the person I was looking for.’

Nihar was confused as he smiled back at Joshi.

‘Sir, I was planning to get home early. The baby is slightly unwell.’

‘Oh, you had a baby? Congratulations! But I’m afraid you’re going nowhere, Nihar. I have something important to discuss with you. Your expertise with all things technical will be required over the next few days.’

Nihar’s heart sank. On a normal day, he would have loved to discuss something important with the Chief of RAW. But today he’d made a promise in a bid to make amends. He wondered how he would make that phone call to his wife. This might just be the end of his marriage. But then again, this was the job he had signed up for.

BOOK: The Bard of Blood
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