Weapon of Vengeance (2 page)

“Sorry, sir,” the man called out when he saw Ravinder emerge. “There must have been nails on the road near the Metro construction site. Both front tires are punctured.”

“How long will it take to sort it out?” Ravinder controlled his irritation.

“About half an hour, sir.”

“Damn! I am in a rush.”

“Why don't you use our car?” his wife, Simran, called out from the door. “I will send the Scorpio when it is fixed.”

“I guess I will,” Ravinder replied, looking at the black BMW 750Li parked in the porch. Jagjit Singh, the family driver, in his bright red turban and pristine white uniform, complete with the family crest, was polishing it. Simran loved these royal-like trappings and ensured they were displayed wherever possible. Ravinder, though, preferred to downplay his wealth and royal background, not easy when being driven around in a spanking-new Bimmer. But he got into the car and they took off.

As he entered his office, Ravinder dragged his fingers back along his temples, trying to push away a budding headache. The phone rang. Ravinder reached for it, relieved to have something intrude on his dark mood.

“Mr. Gill?” The Indian Home Minister Raj Thakur's nasal, raspy tone was unmistakable. It felt jarring, which, Ravinder thought wryly, went well with the man's personality. Though new to this assignment, which had befallen him a few days back, when the previous ATTF chief's heart had suddenly given up on him, Ravinder had already had some disturbing meetings with the minister.

No!
Ravinder shook his head.
Raj Thakur is not an easy man to like … or an easy boss.

Though clueless about security, Raj Thakur had a know-it-all's self-confidence, which, coupled with his belligerence and eagerness to interfere in operational matters, could be dangerous. In their brief association, Thakur had already countermanded several orders given by Ravinder, generally without bothering to inform him. Consequently, Ravinder now felt he was walking around on eggshells, always peering back over his shoulders, wondering what would hit him next.

Still not fully settled in, and with his responsibility for the security of the Israeli–Palestinian Peace Summit and the Commonwealth Games that Delhi was hosting weighing on him, Ravinder so wished he had a more reasonable boss. And he was not the only one. Even the Prime Minister was said to be especially concerned. However, with Raj Thakur's negligible, Maharashtra-centric party holding some vital seats, the PM had had no option but to give him the Home portfolio to keep his majority in Parliament intact.

So be it,
Ravinder consoled himself. As a professional cop, what choice did he have, but to go with whatever the dice threw up? With only ten days left before the peace summit
and
the Commonwealth Games, he had more concrete issues to deal with.

“Good morning, sir.”

“I want you to come to my office, Gill. Immediately. I now have all the updates for the peace summit.”

“Right, sir.” Ravinder, with a mountain of urgent tasks to attend to, wanted to tell him to fuck off.
Alas!
“I will be there—” He checked his watch; it was a good one-hour drive to South Block, where the minster's office was. “—by eleven.”

“Do that,” Thakur commanded brusquely. “Bring Mohite with you.” The minister rang off.

Ravinder was replacing the phone when, with a cursory knock, Deputy Inspector General of Police Govind Mohite walked in. Though not tall, Mohite had a well-muscled body. He was impeccably dressed in dark khaki trousers, a matching earth-colored cotton shirt, and brown suede shoes.

“You have a long life, Govind. I was about to call you. The Home Minister wants us right away.”

“I know, sir. He called me half an hour ago.” Mohite gave a wide grin.

“But I just got off the phone with him.” The words were out before Ravinder could rein them in. He felt like kicking himself.

“Oh, you know how Thakur sahib is.…” Mohite pronounced the “sahib” with an elongated double-
a
sound, the way Maharashtrians tend to. “He likes to sound me out about everything. You see, we became close when he was in the Maharashtra cabinet and I was in the Mumbai Special Crimes Unit.”

Ravinder heard him ramble on about what a great chap Thakur was; something Mohite was prone to doing. He wondered if Mohite knew what the meeting was about. Ravinder contemplated asking him, but shelved the thought. It would give the wrong signal. Ravinder was aware that Mohite was gunning for his job and he needed to watch his back, considering his chumminess with the minister. There had been rumors that the two had been in cahoots in several questionable killings of members of a particular crime mob. These had raised tons of media speculation, including insinuations that they had been carried out at the behest of another mob boss in Dubai and that large sums of money had exchanged hands, but nothing was proved. Ravinder shrugged. Whatever the bond, he knew it would be nasty. Since his predecessor had checked out without a formal and detailed handover, Ravinder also knew that he needed both his primary lieutenants, of which Mohite was one, till he had settled in properly.

“You are traveling in style today,” Mohite commented when he saw the Bimmer. “Might as well come with you.” Without waiting for a reply, he told his driver to follow and hopped into the rear seat.

“Why bring your car if you're going in mine?” Ravinder asked. “Why not save some gas and do your bit for Planet Earth?”

“Oh, just in case we need to come back separately afterward.” Mohite gave an airy wave. “Thakur sahib might ask me to stay on. He likes to consult me on many things.”

“Right.” Ravinder kept the sarcasm out of his voice. Not that it mattered; Mohite was oblivious.

Tuning out Mohite's nonstop banter, Ravinder's thoughts returned to the meeting. The sudden summons had caught him unawares; he felt worried.

*   *   *

Her accomplice was waiting near the baggage carousel when Ruby emerged from immigration.

Over six feet tall, the oversized Mark Leahy occupied an unfair amount of space. Also wearing jeans and a cotton shirt, he had close-cropped, sand-colored hair and leathery skin, the hallmark of a man who spent most of his time outdoors. His Irish accent was so thick, one could cut it with a knife.

They had traveled on the same flight, but unlike Ruby, he looked rested and refreshed. Not surprising, since he was unaffected by her emotional turmoil.

Good!
Ruby smiled.
At least one of us is cool.
She sure as hell was not.

“Feeling distraught is normal when one has been subjected to severe trauma,” the agency shrink had told her when she returned to London after Rehana's funeral. Ruby's erratic behavior had prompted her boss to send her for therapy posthaste. “There is not much you can do about it. Just be aware that your mind may wander and try to control it. Everyone has a different way of processing grief. Apparently, this is your way.”

Damn stupid way.
Ruby frowned. But she'd had to cope. And live with it.
Try
to live with it. Especially since she had thrown away the medication as soon as she left the man's office. Having her mind stuck on a Prozac-shelf was not for Ruby. She now hauled herself back and concentrated on Mark.

Looking at him made her feel better. She'd thought of him the minute she decided to take on this mission, which was as soon as Uncle Yusuf had come to know about the peace summit. So much had transpired since then. She smiled as she remembered her conversation with Mark only yesterday.

“Hey! How are you?” He'd sounded so pleased.

“I am very well, thank you. How are things with you?”

“Same old, same old. There doesn't seem to be much happening. Certainly not the right kind of stuff … stuff that interests me
and
pays the rent. So I am catching up on life … tending to the garden and painting the fences … y'know…” He'd laughed.

Ruby knew Mark had quit the service a few months ago and was now freelancing.

“That can get kind of boring.”

“Tell me about it.”

“Well, I may have something for you.”

“You? Naah. The government doesn't pay enough.” She'd expected that. “Besides, haven't you heard, I quit working for them.”

“Mark, this one is personal. Nothing to do with the agency. And the money is better than good.” Ruby knew that, for the right money, Mark was the ideal man to watch her back—ruthless, resourceful, and ready to follow orders.

“Is it, now?” He'd made a humming sound. “Want to tell me more?”

Ruby knew he was on. “Not right now. You will have to trust me.”

“I do. You know I do. Implicitly.” Mark chuckled. “As much as you trust me. How many times have we watched each other's backs?”

“Often enough. Why else would I call you, Mark?”

“And here I was thinking you called because of my lovely smile and beautiful body!” They'd both laughed. “When and where do you want me? And how long will we be gone?”

Ruby's spirits had lightened when he said that. “We move out tomorrow. We should be back in two weeks.”

“That's it, eh? Short assignment.”

“Yep. Short and sweet. And lucrative.”

“That's my type.” A laconic laugh. “Where are we headed?”

“India, eventually.” Momentarily, just the mention of India unleashed a whirlpool of raw emotions inside her; about her father …
a father who abandoned me … he means nothing to me.
Without realizing it, she made a dubious moue.
Doesn't he?
She pushed away the thought.
Not now!

“India, eh? Exotic! Sounds good to me.” He'd made that humming sound again. “Say, boss,” Mark asked, somewhat bashfully, “we flying coach or—?”

“First class, Mark. Nothing but the best for you,
mon ami.
Your ticket will be in your mailbox shortly. Meet me at Heathrow a couple of hours before the flight.”

She knew it was a happy Mark who'd put down the phone. He looked happy even now as they came out of the Colombo airport and headed toward the taxi stand.

*   *   *

Traffic in Delhi is never easy. These days, with construction taking place all over the city and the massive influx of games' tourists, it was maddening. To make things worse, Delhi had not seen such heavy rains, not in the last forty years.

As the car labored through clogged streets, Ravinder wondered what it was that the Home Minister wanted to discuss, hoping for no more unpleasant surprises; their first meeting had been one hell of a shocker. His mind fled back to that day.

“Have you heard the good news, Gill?” Thakur had greeted them with a big smile when Mohite and he reached his office that day. “India is hosting the Israeli–Palestinian Peace Summit.”

“We are?” Ravinder was stunned. One glance at Mohite's face and he realized the news was not news to him.
Damn the man! When will he learn to play for the team?
“The Israelis and Palestinians are talking? That's a surprise, considering the recent terrorist attack on Jerusalem! When did that happen, sir?”

“That's what triggered it off. The Americans … in fact the entire international community, has put a lot of pressure on them. Everyone is fed up with the endless bloodshed.”

“And India will have the honor of playing host,” Mohite chimed in. “Just imagine! We may help peace return to the Middle East.”

“Yes, we are going to be doing exactly that.” Thakur beamed. “Isn't it great?”

“When is it?” Ravinder ignored their euphoria, preferring to focus on the practicalities.

“Exactly two weeks from now.” Thakur would not stop beaming. “This is our chance to showcase India.… It is going to be the most critical and game-changing event of our times.”

“Two weeks?” Ravinder was floored, but the other two were so caught up in their enthusiasm that they missed it.

“Precisely. It starts on the thirteenth of October.”

Thirteenth!
The number sent a shiver up Ravinder's spine. Too much had happened to him on that particular date … and none of it good.

“But that is exactly when the Commonwealth Games are due to start, sir. Such an event will require massive security, and we are already hard-pressed for resources.”

“Resources are never available, Mr. Gill”—Thakur waved dismissively—“we have to find them. Don't you see what this summit will do for India's prestige?”

“I do, sir, but don't you—? I mean … one must account for the fact that so many terrorist groups will strive to disrupt it. Palestine is the one cause that all the jihadis use to pull in money and recruits. They will never allow this.”

“All that is fine, Gill, but we have to make it happen. Maybe things will be simpler if we can keep it secret and low-key.”

“Sir, with the recent attack on Jerusalem, the whole world has its eyes on the Middle East. There is no way we can keep such a momentous event secret.”

“Well, regardless, we have to make it happen.” Thakur's tone was firm. “We have no choice; the decision has been made. It is now a matter of national pride.”

“The security requirements will be a huge challenge, sir. What if the summit gets attacked? The stakes are so high for the jihadis; they will definitely try to strike.”

“No, Gill. Nothing must be allowed to disrupt it,” Thakur retorted. “I want you to personally take charge of the security.”

“But I also have the Commonwealth Games at the same time, sir,” Ravinder objected.

“No, you don't.” Thakur had then sprung the second, ugly surprise. “I have put Ashish Sharma in charge of the games.”

DIG Ashish Sharma was Mohite's peer; they both reported to Ravinder. Now to his dismay, Thakur was directly delegating work to officers under his command. Ravinder opened his mouth to protest once more, but stopped. Pointless; the man
was
the Home Minister, after all. Confrontation would serve no purpose; nor would it be a career-enhancing move.