by Rahul Badami
His hotel was a two-storied abomination located in a rundown part of the town. Armaan navigated through the narrow crowded streets till he reached his destination. The hotel was run by an aged proprietor who glanced at him as he brought the girl hanging onto him creating an effect of being drunk. The man just shrugged and went back to reading his newspaper. Armaan wondered if the proprietor saw these types of couples every night. He went to the elevator and pressed the button for the first floor.
A few minutes later Armaan was in his room. He looked at the girl. She was propped on a chair with a gag on her mouth and her hands and legs were tied. Armaan looked at her with contempt. These hackers lived their anonymous lives on the internet thinking that no one could touch them, and they were free to do whatever they wanted. Well, people like her were in for a rude shock. It would be another thirty minutes before she came to her senses. Then he would question her. And she better had the answers he wanted.
Armaan showered and scrubbed and washed away the grime of the past twenty-four hours. He had been to Iran, then in Turkey and now in China all in a very short span of time. Frequent fighter! That was the nickname his colleagues had given to him as a globe-trotting covert ops soldier. It wasn’t off the mark. Everywhere he went, he was either killing someone or someone else was trying to kill him. It was a game he always had to win. He couldn’t lose. In this game, you either won or you died. There was no middle ground.
It didn’t mean he killed without discrimination. He only killed when he knew the other person was a genuine threat. Every time he killed someone, it had been an automatic reflex action borne from hours of training. But later when he mulled over it, after the adrenaline rush had worn off, a gnawing sense of regret inevitably rose in him. He rationalized his thoughts by remembering that every player in the game of spy-craft had joined knowing that death was a real possibility. It was just unfortunate that they had stood in Armaan’s way.
Armaan dressed quickly and checked the woman once again. She would stir awake in a few minutes. He shaved off the two-day beard on his face. Then he sat on the single bed in the room and pulled out the girl’s mobile. He swiped the screensaver hoping to check her mobile for clues. But he found that it was password-protected. He cursed. How I wish Hitesh was here. He would have known what to do.
The woman groaned incoherently. Armaan walked over and pulled a chair in front of her. Soon the woman stirred awake. She blinked a couple of times and then her eyes widened as she found herself bound tight to the chair with a stranger in front of her in an unfamiliar room. She tried to shout but she couldn’t with the gag on her mouth.
Armaan watched her struggle against the bonds while her panicked eyes darted at him and then around the dingy room. He didn’t move a muscle, didn’t tell her to stop; he just stared pointedly at her. He wanted her to exhaust all her energies trying to break free of the bonds. It was a psychological trick he had learned. He wanted her to realize by herself she couldn’t escape. Once the realization set it, she would resign herself to her fate and be more pliable to his questioning.
After a couple of minutes, she stopped struggling. He could see the terror ratchet up in her eyes full of the unspoken question of why she was here. But Armaan kept quiet. He wanted the tension in the air to sink in every fibre of her body. His silence would torture her more than anything he would speak.
After a full five minutes of silence had passed, during which Armaan could swear he could hear her heart beat loudly, he made his first move. He picked up a knife from the food tray and brought the tip an inch from her eyes. “You’ll answer my questions or I’ll carve your face. Understood?”
The woman nodded her head vigorously, scared out of her wits.
“I’ll now remove the gag. If you scream, it’s the last thing you do. Get it?”
She nodded again, tears started to form in her eyes. Armaan looked at her. She was fast turning into an emotional wreck. She would cooperate. He pulled off the gag. The woman took a deep breath, relieved from the constricting effect of the gag.
Armaan said, “You worked with Jin Wang recently. What was it about?”
Her words tumbled out in a rush. “Jin Wang and I have been a hacking team for some years. When we hacked one of Zontai’s assets, he contacted us and recruited us for his illegal work. He also gave us jobs in his corporation so that we would be at his beck and call.”
“Who’s Zontai?”
“He is one of the richest businessman in Urumqi. It is said that his illegal wealth exceeds his legal wealth. He is untouchable.”
Armaan had never heard of the man’s name. But the idea of a person rich enough to own a corporation and also do illegal stuff on the side alerted his internal alarm. “Did Zontai tell you to hack the Aadhaar database?”
“Yes, we did on his behest.”
Armaan nodded. The pieces were starting to fall in place. But there were still gaps. “Why did Zontai do it?”
“I don’t know.
“You must know more. Don’t hide anything from me.” He brought the knife again close to her face.
The tears were back in her eyes. “I’m telling you, I don’t know. We only did what he told us to do.”
“If you are lying, I know where you live. Think about your parents, your family before lying to me.”
“It’s the truth.” She was now sobbing uncontrollably. “Please don’t hurt my family. If you don’t believe me, find Jin Wang and ask him.”
Armaan paused. Jin Wang was already in their custody. He would corroborate what Venera had just said. He could call Manohar and find out. Then he remembered what the dead man had said. About Baldev and the team. I am laughing at what fate has in store for them.
“I have one more question. Did someone tell you in the past few days about three Indians that would come to Urumqi?”
Venera looked up. The fear was back in her eyes. “Yes. But I was only following orders.”
Armaan sensed the fear and knew he was onto something. “What happened to them?”
“Zontai’s men took them away.”
“What?” Armaan’s face turned white. Baldev and the team caught by Zontai’s men. It was a disaster. But nobody could have known they were in Urumqi. “How?”
Venera pleaded, “I did only what I was told.”
“You!” Armaan’s eyes turned into blazing embers. She was responsible for his team’s predicament. “You did this!”
“Please…” Her shoulders sagged. She looked like she was about to pass out.
But Armaan was relentless. “How did you know they were in Urumqi? Who gave this information?”
“A person by the codename of Warlord.”
CHAPTER 22
Armaan gripped the steering wheel tightly as he weaved through the expressway full of cars. He had to reach Zontai’s place before anything happened to his team.
Curse that woman, he swore.
He had questioned Venera at length and with each answer, his mood had darkened. Warlord had contacted her and told her the team would be coming and explained what had to be done. She had done as bidden. She had met Baldev and the others at a park. When asked where the men were, Venera had said that Zontai’s guards had taken custody of them.
Armaan had probed her and Venera divulged that they could be imprisoned somewhere in Zontai’s mansion. The place was spread over many acres with soldiers guarding the compound and the mansion itself was vast with multiple rooms. The mansion was located some twenty kilometres outside the city. Once done with his questions, he had put the gag back on Venera’s mouth and then left her still bound to the chair and exited the room. He had to get to his team before anything happened to them.
As he speeded down the highway, one thought struck him. Why did Baldev trust the woman when they first met her? Were they supposed to meet a local contact, and then Venera impersonated the local contact? It seemed plausible. Armaan decided he would question her more thoroughly once he returned.
Armaan espied the exit off t
he highway that led to Zontai’s mansion. He slowed down his car as he drove past the turn. Unlike the highway which was overcrowded with vehicles, the road leading to the mansion was devoid of cars. Thick bushes marked both sides of the road. He looked at the GPS and it showed that the road dead-ended to the mansion. There were no other houses in the area. It meant that only Zontai and his guards would use this road. If Armaan had taken the turn, he would be tagged as either a visitor or a gatecrasher. In either case, the men in the building would have been alerted.
He couldn’t take the chance. He parked his vehicle on the side of the highway, got out and opened the bonnet. The car with the open bonnet would appear like it was broken down. It was a flimsy set up, but it was the best he could come up at the moment. It was better than driving straight to the gate of the mansion and then realise there was no other path. The guards would question him and he would pretend as a confused tourist who had lost his way. Something told him the guards wouldn’t digest that story.
Armaan pulled out a backpack from the car that contained his gear. The backpack was heavy; it contained weapons, ammo, a tablet and various other stuff. Armaan had come prepared knowing that he would be venturing into hostile territory. If his team was here, he had to be ready for any eventuality. He couldn’t fail.
He glanced at the highway, cars and trucks were zooming past. Nobody was watching him. He strapped the backpack onto his back and squeezed through the bushes. He would walk the final kilometre to the mansion.
Armaan used his arms to part his way through the bushes and tree branches. It made for slow progress. After a few minutes, the branches cleared and he had his first look of Zontai’s place. A solitary road ended up in front of a massive iron gate with broad arches. Two sentries guarded the entrance; their sub-machine guns visible from his vantage point. The entrance was the sole opening in a nine-foot tall compound wall that bordered the estate on all sides. The compound wall’s inaccessibility was further reinforced by a barbed wire atop it. Beyond the wall, he could see Zontai’s mansion set further back. It was a wide, rectangular, three-storied mansion painted white and beige.
He stood in the shadows of the trees and pulled out his binoculars from the backpack. He brought the binoculars to his eyes and slowly scanned the area. The mansion stood isolated in an open field with sparse trees and bushes. Zontai didn’t have any neighbours to disturb his privacy. Maybe he had bought the surrounding acres of land too. Armaan focused his binoculars on the mansion itself.
Except for the two sentries at the entrance he couldn’t see any other guards posted outside the compound. The rest of them would be inside. He decided that he would stay away from the guards patrolling the front of the mansion and breach it from a place where the guards wouldn’t be present. He quietly crouched to the side of the compound. The bushes here were sparse. Between the side wall and the bushes, there was an open arena where he could be detected. He had to be careful that no one from the mansion could observe him.
He rummaged through his gear and found a wire-cutter and clenched it tightly between his teeth. It was time to break in. He sprinted the last few metres to the wall and bounded up and grasped the edge of the wall careful to avoid the barbed wire.
Armaan pulled himself up with his hands and peered inside the compound. In front of him, he saw trucks, vans and cars of different make and models. It seemed to be the parking lot for the mansion. The place was quiet. There were no guards around here. On the other side of the building, he could see a couple of men. They were too far away to be a threat.
It was time to get inside. His arm muscles strained under the weight of his body. The wound in his shoulder throbbed as he balanced awkwardly with one hand and used the other hand to cut the barbed wire. He manipulated the wire-cutter with one hand and snipped one wire after another. His shoulder screamed in silent pain but Armaan ignored it and forced himself to focus on cutting the barbed wire. It took him a few minutes during which his shoulder started to burn as the unhealed cartilages were stretched to their breaking point. Finally, he cut a wide enough opening to get through.
He took a final look around to make sure there were no guards around. Then he pulled himself up and jumped over the compound wall. He clutched his shoulder still stinging from the physical exertion; his eyesight turned hazy due to the intensity of the pain. He stumbled towards a van parked in the lot. He took cover behind the van, his breathing haggard swallowing large gulps of air. He willed his shoulder to stop aching, but the fiery sensation refused to subside. He could feel the pain sizzle from the fingertips of his left hand through his shoulder and up unto his neck. He wasn’t sure if he had pulled a tendon.
Armaan took a slow, deep breath to de-stress his mind. He stood still commanding his body to loosen its muscles and relax. Only his eyes moved; watching every corner of the estate. Somewhere in there, Baldev and the boys were kept in imprisonment. He had to get them out. Armaan did a mental reconnaissance of the area. The mansion was massive, almost the size of a football field. It was built with a mix of traditional Chinese architecture with modern conveniences. The three-storied building was topped with a pointed sloping pagoda roof with reddish-brown shingles jutting out on each floor. The windows were elegantly designed with lattices in the shape of flowers and leaves. A massive circular driveway adorned the front of the house. Next to it was a private car park with room for three cars. A swimming pool was visible in the rear.
He took out his binoculars. They were equipped with thermal sensors. It was time to figure out where his boys were kept. He spent ten minutes scanning the mansion. The thermal lighted up scores of people inside the mansion. He wasn’t surprised. A place like this would require many people to maintain and guard. They would most probably be living in a servants’ quarter.
He could see employees moving around. Their figures lighted up in yellow and orange on the thermal sensors. He observed guards distinguished by their stationary ramrod erect pose and bent arms that held rifles. But there was no sign of Baldev and the others. He wasn’t even sure how he would recognize them from just their thermal images.
Armaan reflected upon his dilemma. If Baldev and the boys were here, they were probably locked in a room. But so far he had not seen a group of exactly three men. He wondered if he would have to get inside the mansion and interrogate somebody to find out their whereabouts.
Suddenly he found a human shape lit up by the thermal sensors apparently sink into the earth and disappear out of sight. It took him a moment to register. The man seemed to have walked down a staircase that led to a floor underground. He noted the place. It was in the extreme rear of the facility. While it was not unusual to have an underground basement in a mansion, an instinct honed from years of training told Armaan that this basement would be the same size as the mansion above it. And there would be plenty of room to hide stuff underground, including people. He could bet that’s where his team was kept. No doubt being guarded by men with guns.
Crunch!
A noise close by alerted him. He whipped his head around, but his vision was blocked by the other vehicles in the parking lot. He pulled out his silenced Glock and waited. Crunch! The sound came closer. It was the sound of boots on gravel. Someone was approaching. The footsteps were closer now. Armaan crouched down and peeked under the van. He sighted the shoes of someone walking through the parking lot. The man stopped a couple of cars from Armaan in front of a mini-truck and he heard a door open. Armaan relaxed. The man hadn’t discovered him. He had come only to pick up his vehicle. An idea struck Armaan.
Armaan slowly peered around the van till he could see the man. He saw the man carrying two crates in his arm. The man was dressed in a yellow uniform with PLS marked on it. It matched the PLS logo on the side of the truck. He was in the process of loading the crates in the rear. The man had his back to Armaan. He was some ten paces away. Armaan had to time this perfectly. He took a quick scan of the parking lot. There was no one about except for the person in front of him. He bounded
out from behind the van and raced towards the guy. His rubber-soled boots made no noise on the ground. The man grunted with effort as he placed the crates on the truck floor oblivious to the action behind him. When he was a foot away, Armaan crashed his palm into the man’s shoulder near the neck. The man collapsed immediately.
Armaan bent down and lifted the man and dumped him in the rear of the truck. He then patted his pockets. He found a wallet and an identity card. The ID card made him stop and look at it more closely. It read Yan Shen, People’s Logistics Service. Armaan didn’t know what to make of it. He browsed through the wallet and found some cash, a driving license and a business card which mentioned that the guy was an employee of People’s Logistics Service. Armaan pulled out his smart phone and opened the Baidu website. Baidu was the number one search engine in China. He searched the company’s name. He quickly found out that the company provided food catering services to various businesses.
Of course. Armaan connected the dots. A building this big could house around a hundred people. With the mansion located so far away from the city, food and supplies had to be probably delivered daily to sustain the needs of the inhabitants. This person appeared to be a third-party contractor who had been hired to deliver the food to this location. He unbuttoned the man’s uniform and wore it. He pocketed the ID and the truck keys. Finally, he picked up an empty crate box.