The Phoenix

by Bilal Siddiqi

  Nath had walked in a little late that morning and had seen Randheer sitting with a young techie. Randheer, too, had noticed Nath but chose to pretend otherwise. When Nath drew closer and it became absolutely impossible to ignore him, Randheer feigned obedience and respectfully offered a greeting.

  ‘Give us a minute, please.’ Nath snapped his fingers at the techie, who scurried away, leaving Randheer and Nath looking at each other. A tired, polite smile on Randheer’s face, and a scowl on Nath’s.

  ‘Randheer . . . Didn’t know you were coming. What has Delhi got you into this time? You didn’t care to inform me in advance?’

  Inform me in advance, Randheer repeated the words in his head. Motherfucking bureaucrats want to be informed about everything in advance, as if they are in the business of selling groceries. The 26/11 attackers didn’t inform you in advance, you bastard. Neither did those responsible for the ’93 blasts. Maybe you should send your terrorist friends a memo requesting that they mail you before they plan to fuck your country up.

  ‘Now will you tell me why you are here?’

  Randheer’s internal monologue had left him staring blankly at Nath. He simply picked up a copy of that morning’s newspaper, already opened to the right page, and held it up for Nath to read: MAYHEM IN GOA CASINO.

  Randheer’s voice dropped to a whisper. ‘Delhi didn’t send me, sir. I’m investigating a lead.’

  ‘Lead? What case?’ Nath folded his arms, trying to appear intimidating.

  ‘Can’t say now but it could be something, sir. I’m just letting you know that I currently have unimpeded access to the IRW units across the country, if need be.’

  Randheer’s words were meant to annoy Nath. He knew what was coming, and he was prepared for it.

  ‘And you choose to do it on my watch?’ Nath asked. ‘Why aren’t you using the tech team back in Delhi?’

  ‘I don’t have answers to all questions yet, sir. But I wouldn’t be here if there was no threat.’

  Nath took the newspaper from Randheer and scanned the article.

  ‘An international hitman. Killed in Goa last night. But I knew this yesterday itself.’

  Ignoring Nath’s blatant lie, Randheer said, ‘I’ve got the hitman’s phone. We’re figuring out his next target.’

  ‘You were in Goa? Are you responsible for his death?’

  Nath’s queries were met with silence.

  ‘Sir, I can’t talk about it,’ Randheer said with a smile. ‘And if you ask the bosses back in New Delhi, I don’t think they can either. Not at the moment.’

  Randheer had worded his sentence carefully, to make Nath think that Bipin Sharma was involved. The fear of his boss, Randheer hoped, would stop Nath from digging around.

  In parting, Randheer decided to soften the blow with a dose of respect. ‘I will tell you everything. I promise. Just give me some time.’

  ‘Don’t take too long,’ Nath said.

  Randheer went back to the computer where Christiansen’s phone was plugged in. He looked at the progress bar on the software. Just a few more minutes and he would have complete access to the phone’s contents. Aryaman was relying on him. I hope he gets his answers soon, Randheer thought.

  9

  Aryaman watched his son, who stood at the window, gazing down at the bustling streets of south Mumbai. They had rented a small flat here, as Aryaman’s instinct told him that going back to Jyoti’s house immediately wasn’t a wise move. Maybe they were being watched. Maybe this was connected to his release from prison. It didn’t add up, but he didn’t want to take any chances.

  His mother was in the kitchen, making omelettes. He went there to help her, after his son had thwarted several of his attempts at making conversation.

  ‘Is he still not responding to you?’ Aarti asked him, adding chopped onions and chillies into the sizzling pan.

  He walked up to her, wiped the beads of sweat off her forehead with the back of his hand, and stared unseeingly at the pan.

  ‘I had plans of putting together all the broken pieces I had left behind,’ he said, his voice quivering. ‘But fate isn’t done with me. It’s taken those broken pieces and shattered them into smaller, sharper shards. I don’t think I can come back from this, Ma.’

  He broke down. His mother watched him as tears streamed down his face. She resisted the urge to console him. Nothing can make this better for him, she thought. I should just let it pass. He was trained for these things. He is going to bounce back and I will be by his side, of course. But my words and hugs aren’t going to heal him. Seeing this through to the end will.

  She scraped the omelette off the pan and placed it on a plate. She handed it to him and pointed at the room where her grandson was. Aryaman wiped his face, picked up the plate and trudged towards his son. He placed the plate before Aditya and waited for his reaction. There was none. Aryaman leaned against the window and lit a cigarette. Down on the street, passers-by went about their lives.

  He longed for Aditya to say something to him. To cry. To curse him for not being there. Anything. But the boy’s stoic silence disturbed him. Aryaman attempted to talk again, ‘You’re allowed to cry, you know.’

  Aditya turned to face his father. Although his mother had told him otherwise, Aryaman saw more of his own reflection in Aditya than Jyoti’s.

  ‘Mom used to say I’m like a volcano,’ Aditya said. ‘Silent. Holding in all that it should let out. Until it does.’

  Aryaman kept quiet, observing his boy’s tone, the quiet strength that it held.

  ‘She used to say I’m like you,’ Aditya continued, looking at his father blow out a cloud of smoke.

  Aryaman, despite himself, smiled ever so slightly at this.

  ‘Don’t smile like it’s a compliment.’

  Aryaman’s face straightened obediently. His son was finally opening up.

  ‘Did your mother tell you what I did for a living?’

  Aditya shrugged. ‘She said she’d tell me when I grow up. Guess you are going to have to tell me yourself . . . Dad?’

  Aryaman felt his heartbeat quicken. Dad. He didn’t know when he had last heard his son call him that.

  ‘She did say you are some kind of cop, though. But a cop without the uniform.’

  Aryaman nodded. ‘That is one way to put it.’

  Aditya reached out for Aryaman’s bruised cheek—an injury from his face-off with Christiansen—and ran his finger over the clotted blood.

  ‘I fell,’ Aryaman attempted to explain.

  ‘Bullshit,’ Aditya smirked. ‘Even I wouldn’t use that excuse, Dad. Mum always said that keeping the truth from someone is better than lying to them.’

  Well, that’s what I always told your mum, Aryaman thought.

  ‘Dad,’ he said. ‘Will you find the people who did this to Mum?’

  ‘I won’t rest until I do. I will find them and I will finish them. I loved your mother a lot, Aditya. And I love you a lot too.’

  ‘Then why did you leave?’

  Aryaman gave Aditya a large morsel of the omelette and ran a hand through his son’s hair.

  ‘You know what a spy does, Aditya?’

  ‘Of course,’ Aditya replied through the mouthful of food. ‘They wear suits and kill the bad guys. I have a couple of spy games on my PlayStation.’

  Aryaman let out a chuckle. ‘Of course. That’s exactly it. But not all of them wear suits . . .’

  The ring of the doorbell interrupted their conversation. It was Randheer, walking towards them with a sense of urgency.

  ‘Uncle,’ Adtiya asked Randheer, still chewing on the same morsel. ‘Are you a spy too? How do you know Dad?’

  Randheer looked confusedly at the kid and handed over an iPad to Aryaman, who quickly began to swipe through the intel Randheer had gathered from Christiansen’s phone. There were pictures of the people that Lars had killed—two middle-aged men and Jyoti—along with their personal information. He clicked on Jyoti’s profile, which had the following line added to it: ‘B
elongings were retrieved and destroyed as ordered. Target eliminated.’

  A target. That’s what they had reduced his wife to. A wave of rage swept over Aryaman. ‘This doesn’t give us much,’ he said.

  ‘Check the next slide,’ Randheer said. Aryaman squinted at the iPad, a little confused about how to switch between applications. Randheer leaned over and did it for him. ‘His next target.’

  The photo showed a woman, presumably in her thirties, wearing a lab coat. It was captioned, Dr Avantika Advani.

  ‘Good. So we will save her life.’

  ‘I can’t figure it out yet,’ Randheer said. ‘But there’s a clear connection between all these people. Jyoti included. I have asked a few trusted members of my team to run a background check.’

  Aditya had finished the omelette by now. He managed to catch a glimpse of the iPad when Aryaman placed it on the table. Aditya picked up the iPad and stared at Dr Avantika Advani’s photo.

  ‘I have seen this lady before. Mum had pictures of her.’

  Both Aryaman and Randheer looked at him expectantly. Randheer showed him the rest of the photos as well.

  ‘Yes, Mum had pictures of these two men and the lady.’

  Aryaman grasped Aditya’s hand and kneeled before him.

  ‘Did Mum ever meet them?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ Aditya shrugged. ‘But she had their pictures, for sure. Ehsaan Uncle from her office will know. Both of them were looking at the photos together one night.’

  Aryaman got to his feet as Randheer said to him, ‘Guess Ehsaan Uncle didn’t tell us something we needed to know.’

  ‘Let’s pay him a visit then,’ Aryaman said.

  The drive to Jyoti’s office was excruciatingly long. Aryaman smoked throughout the trip, lost in thought. Randheer was at the wheel, navigating the jammed streets. Aryaman had insisted on taking along Aditya, who sat in the back, his earphones on and eyes closed.

  ‘I think he should go with your mother to Dehradun,’ Randheer said. ‘At least until all of this goes away.’

  ‘And if it doesn’t go away anytime soon?’

  Randheer had no answer.

  Aryaman sighed. ‘The sooner he rids himself of his naivety, the better. The world is garbage, so let’s not sugarcoat shit for him.’ He turned to look at his son, who had fallen fast asleep.

  Randheer’s phone began to ring. He held it to his ear with one shoulder and carefully listened to what he was being told, making brief murmurs of acknowledgment. Finally, he disconnected the call and turned to Aryaman.

  ‘So, the two deceased men were both scientists. The lady, too. Working on a classified government project.’

  ‘Classified? Find out more.’

  ‘Can’t. Above my pay grade. I’ll get crucified for poking around this.’

  Aryaman knew that Randheer was already doing enough for him. ‘What about the lady? Avantika Advani? Do we know where she could be?’ he asked.

  Randheer shook his head in frustration. ‘Not yet. Her number is defunct. Our system could find no other details that will help us get in touch with her.’

  Aryaman ran his hand through his hair and slammed the dashboard. ‘Jyoti,’ he said under his breath. ‘What the hell did you get yourself into?’

  The car pulled up outside Jyoti’s office. Aryaman gently patted his son’s head to wake him up. ‘Come on, Aditya. We’re going to find out what happened to Mum.’

  Led by a security guard, they made their way through the busy newsroom to Ehsaan’s cabin.

  Ehsaan wore the look of a man who wasn’t expecting any guests, but when he saw the three of them, he nodded at the guard, who left the cabin right away.

  Randheer did most of the talking initially. Aryaman could tell through Ehsaan’s body language that he was scared and still traumatized by the memory of Jyoti’s death. Randheer told Ehsaan about the two scientists and showed him their photos on the iPad. Ehsaan didn’t seem surprised.

  Aryaman picked up the day’s edition and read one of the headlines: Jyoti Khanna and Her Undying Quest for the Truth. The story was accompanied by a picture of Jyoti smiling ear to ear, and it carried Ehsaan’s byline. Aditya took the paper from Aryaman’s hand. Perching himself on a side table, he began to read the article about his mother.

  ‘I don’t want to end up like them,’ Ehsaan said in a shaky voice. ‘They’ll kill me too.’

  ‘Who?’ Randheer pressed him for an answer.

  Aryaman leaned towards Ehsaan. ‘Nobody will touch you. You have my word on that. Do this for Jyoti and her son. If not for me . . . She was your best friend, wasn’t she?’

  Ehsaan’s eyes welled up. He had a gentle face, almost cherubic, but lined with wrinkles that had no business being there this early. Aryaman placed a hand on his shoulder reassuringly.

  ‘You have my word. Whoever they are, I won’t let them harm you.’

  Ehsaan took a gulp of water and then looked at Aditya.

  ‘Can we ask him to wait in his mother’s cabin?’

  Aditya was watching them intently.

  ‘He stays,’ Aryaman said. ‘He has the right to know what happened to his mother.’

  Ehsaan unlocked a drawer and pulled out a newspaper clipping that carried the photo of one of the deceased scientists. The name ‘Sunil Padmanabhan’ was printed below. The article had been written by Jyoti.

  10

  ‘It all started with a mysterious call,’ Ehsaan said, leaning forward on his chair, his fingers interlocked. ‘Jyoti had agreed to meet the caller. She asked me to come along with her and wait some distance away. If things went south, I would be there to call the cops.’

  Aryaman lit a cigarette inside the air-conditioned cabin, Ehsaan’s disapproving look doing nothing to deter him.

  ‘I saw Jyoti pacing around the promenade before she was finally asked to sit next to an odd-seeming couple,’ Ehsaan continued. ‘She sat slightly away from them but within earshot. They were, as I learnt later, Rajat Mehta and Avantika Advani, whose photos you showed me.’

  Ehsaan pointed at Rajat’s photo: a huge guy with a roundish face and a disproportionately big nose.

  ‘What did they tell Jyoti?’

  ‘They talked about another of their scientist friends, Sunil. They said that they were the three civilian scientists hired covertly by the government to develop a virus that could potentially be used as a bioweapon. They were to work out of a secret military premises in Navi Mumbai. The project was titled Operation Vishaanu. And it had been underway for the past six years. They said it could be the most potent bioweapon ever developed.’

  ‘And Sunil was the first guy to be killed?’ Randheer asked.

  ‘Yes,’ Ehsaan said. ‘A “biohacker”, as they called him. Someone who could play around with gene compositions and manipulate DNA to create a completely new organism. He’s the one whose death Jyoti was investigating.’

  Aryaman’s attention shifted to Aditya, who had been listening intently.

  ‘Go on,’ Randheer said.

  Ehsaan pulled out another file from his drawer.

  ‘Jyoti didn’t believe it at first,’ Ehsaan said with a shake of his head. ‘But they gave her a classified folder. They told her it’s just one of many such folders. It had information about Operation Vishaanu. She shook hands with them and came back to me in the car. We were stunned to see the file.’

  Aryaman took the file and browsed through it. He then handed it to Randheer, who gave it a cursory look. This was way more intricate than they had imagined.

  ‘Continue,’ Aryaman said to Ehsaan.

  ‘We spent all night studying the documents. The scientists were working on a weaponized strain of the Ebola virus. The instructions on how to make it had been redacted. But it was authentic. Sunil and Rajat had finally developed the virus prototype, and it was supposed to be tested soon. Avantika was in charge of developing the antidote, but her prototype was not ready yet. After Sunil’s “suicide”, they feared that the details of the virus were going to
fall into the wrong hands.’

  Aryaman scratched his chin. Jyoti’s death seemed to have opened up a Pandora’s box. And it looked like he was the one who would have to put the lid on it as he went about avenging his wife’s death.

  ‘According to what those two told Jyoti, Sunil had hooked up with a woman about a month before. Some girl he met on Facebook. And then a few days before he died, she put him on to someone, asking him to sell the formula of the prototype for a ludicrous amount. He refused. He had realized that the lady was a spy. He didn’t have a picture or anything of her. Her Facebook profile and social media presence had been wiped clean off the net. The next thing you know, he’s dead. And the formula, in all probability, was taken from his personal safe.’

  ‘The classic case of a honeytrap,’ Randheer scoffed. ‘Men can never hold it in their pants.’

  Aryaman shot him a reproving look and then turned to see if Aditya had understood Randheer’s remark. It seemed like he had.

  ‘Oh, what?’ Randheer asked. ‘Murder and bioterrorism can be discussed before him but not sex?’

  ‘Just continue,’ Aryaman resignedly said to Ehsaan.

  ‘Jyoti and I were working all night at her place when Avantika reached out to her in a rather odd way,’ he said. ‘Jyoti received a password and a link on her phone. When she logged in, she found herself on the Dark Web. It was a gaming chat room, where illegal money was being gambled on. But apparently the chat service was pretty secure, and that’s how Jyoti and Avantika were to communicate with each other.’

  Ehsaan took a quick gulp of water. ‘What Avantika told Jyoti shook both of us to the core. The message read: “Rajat is dead. They got him too.” When we didn’t respond to the text, Jyoti’s phone started buzzing with an incoming call from a strange number. It was Avantika, masking her number. She begged Jyoti for help. She told her that Rajat hadn’t been answering his phone, and that she drove down to his house and found cops waiting there.’