Vikramjit’s face was inches away from Kabir’s. Kabir could feel the tang of the sardonic words on Vikramjit’s breath, as he writhed in pain. His mouth fell open, blood-tainted saliva dripped out.
‘That old bastard sent you and then it all went awry. You got in the way of my work. I had to rework my strategies. Be careful about things. I couldn’t leak intel as easily any more. And if you remember, I had even tried to discourage you from going into that madrasa on that day.’
The pieces of the puzzle all fell into place. Kabir remembered Vikramjit’s contribution to that fateful mission. He had portrayed himself as someone who was afraid of killing, when he was the one who had orchestrated it all along. Or maybe he was afraid, because Kabir had killed more than he expected. Kabir remembered every move Vikramjit made, every word he spoke when he was in Quetta. Right from the Arabic nuances to the way he placed the Holy Quran on the table.
‘So it was you who sold us out?’ Kabir’s voice was hoarse. He was in agony. The blood rushed through his veins. He wished it was all a bad dream. I need to buy time.
‘Ladies and gentlemen, we have a winner here.’ Vikramjit grinned maniacally at an immobile Kabir. ‘We had to do something, so that you never got your hands on all the intelligence stored in those computers. That Claymore bomb behind the door was planted. As soon as you left, one of my men behind the door deactivated it. We had cleared the computers by then and fled the scene, setting the madrasa ablaze. We never expected you to get past the front door. But you were good. You killed so many of ours and managed to escape. But I realized that the best way to punish you was to implicate you. Make you look like the man who sold us out. As far as it went, I was dead. And then, of course, the Afghani defector was killed too. It all worked so perfectly against you, Kabir, that I realized you didn’t have to die at all!’
Kabir closed his eyes. The one missing link in the answer to the diabolical riddle that was unfolding, something that had needled him throughout his life, was someone he had considered a brother in Balochistan! The reason he had to step down and cut his career short. The reason he had to hang his head in shame. It all boiled down to a betrayal by someone he had thought of as a brother. Vikramjit looked at his watch. Bocheng should be on stage now. He picked up the rifle, looked through the scope and zoomed in. He saw the Indian prime minister go up to the podium with a great degree of pomp.
‘You got Sadiq killed, you son of a bitch! You were the mole,’ Kabir groaned. ‘You were always the mole.’
‘You think there aren’t more like me, Kabir?’ Vikramjit said, getting Bocheng in his cross hairs. He looked up and placed the bullet. He placed it and loaded the rifle. Perfect. He turned to face Kabir, one last time. ‘As far as Sadiq goes, unfortunately, a close associate of mine did the job. But you killed someone whom I held in high regard as well. The old principal at the madrasa. You didn’t think about that twice, either.’
Kabir’s jaw trembled. His body was convulsing. His heart was beating rapidly, aching as it thudded against his chest. His body was losing blood at a rapid rate. The bomb was about to set off in another two minutes.
‘One last thing,’ Kabir said meekly, closing his eyes. ‘What’s your real name?’
It was a feeble attempt from him to buy time. But then, I never expected this.
Vikramjit snorted.
‘I guess you’ll never know,’ he said contemptuously, screwing back the pieces that Kabir had managed to break off the rifle. ‘It was good knowing you, Kabir Anand. You tried your best. Now, watch as I fire a bullet and seal your country’s fate. After this, a bomb will go off. The one by the waterfront. There is no way you can disarm it. And then I will put a bullet in your head. I must say it was a pleasant surprise catching up after all these years. Jai Hind!’
Vikramjit placed his finger on the trigger. He aimed, making a mental calculation of the trajectory of the bullet. The wind, the velocity, the curve the bullet is likely to make. He watched Bocheng stand next to the prime minister as the shutterbugs clicked away. His shot was clear. One . . . Two . . . Three . . .
Kabir’s eyes closed as he heard the gunshot.
29
19 September 2014
Ahmedabad, Gujarat
The sound of the gunshot still resonated in Kabir’s ears. His eyes were closed. His bloody face twitched and then curled into a smile. Yes. It’s the right sound. He tilted his head, opened his eyes, and saw what he wanted to see. The right kind of gun makes the right kind of sound. Isha has made it in time.
Vikramjit had fallen to the ground. His left hand clutched his right one as he shrieked in anguish. Tears of pain rolled down. His hand was nearly blown off. It hung loosely, his cracked bone held together by a few thick strands of sinew. His body convulsed violently in a spreading pool of blood. Kabir looked to his right, at the area where the flimsy door had once stood. Isha still held her pistol in position, about to fire one final shot.
‘NO!’ Kabir bellowed. ‘Don’t shoot!’
She looked at Kabir and lowered her gun. She ran to him hurriedly and helped him up. Kabir was on his feet, shaking uncontrollably.
‘Were you able to bring the bomb here?’
She looked at her watch and nodded affirmatively.
‘We have exactly a minute and twelve seconds, Kabir. Let’s get the hell out of here!’
He yelled at her. ‘You weren’t supposed to come up!’
‘Come on, quick! We can make it out in time!’
Vikramjit’s painful roar brought a wide grin to Kabir’s crimson face. He staggered towards him and bent down on his haunches. He took the rifle that had fallen to the ground and placed it in Vikramjit’s lap. He looked at Vikramjit’s pale face, laced with blood that trickled down from his head.
‘Kabir, hurry!’
Kabir’s eyes bore into Vikramjit’s. Vikramjit’s mouth was agape and stayed frozen there.
‘There are fifty-five seconds to the bomb,’ Kabir whispered. ‘Unless you can take the shot with your toes, I would advice you to say your last prayers. Here, let me help you.’
He pulled Vikramjit’s right hand and took his left and joined them by their sides. Vikramjit’s painful bellow was music to his ears. Kabir’s grin grew wider.
‘There you go. I’ve made your job easier! Fold your hands, say your prayers to a God who’s about to send you to Hell. The bomb is on the floor right under this one. This time, though, you won’t be able to trick me and run away. You like outwitting people, don’t you? Let’s see you weasel your way out of this one, you bastard.’
Vikramjit’s eyes widened as his body began to shake violently. He began to foam at the mouth.
‘Like you said a few minutes ago. This is God’s script. And, I am the hero!’
Isha pulled Kabir away by his blood-soaked vest. She put his arm around her shoulder and helped him move quickly. ‘We have forty seconds left! We have to hurry!’
They scampered over the debris and broken stone. Isha transferred some of Kabir’s body weight on to her as they climbed down the stairs. She dragged him to the lift and pushed him in. She pressed the large red button to take them down. Kabir lay on the floor, smiling at her. Her face was worried as the lift began to move sluggishly at first and then gained speed.
‘Why are you smiling?’ she asked worriedly, looking at her watch.
‘You look prettier when you’re hassled,’ he replied.
‘We have ten seconds before the bomb goes off, Kabir!’ she said. ‘We might not make it down in time! Hold on to the side of the grilles!’
She realized Kabir was in a critical condition and needed immediate medical help. A hundred thoughts flashed through her mind as she weighed all the possibilities. Kabir, on the other hand, was blank. The lift had just crossed the fifth floor. The bomb went off.
They heard a loud thud, a sound very similar to the one made by a thundercloud. The deafening explosion was a high-intensity one. They felt the lift oscillate violently. And then the cord snapped, send
ing them plummeting to the ground. They felt the reverberations. They were about to hit the ground in a millisecond. But they gripped the side of the lifts. And then suddenly, their bodies bounced off the ground and hit the ceiling of the lift.
Nihar saw the lift hit the ground. He saw Kabir and Isha get thrown about like toy figurines. In his mind he hoped for the best. He prayed they’d survive. He rushed to see that Kabir lay on the metal floor, stirring slightly. His eyes were closed, his mouth open. Isha stirred slightly as Nihar summoned a medic team. They lifted Kabir quickly and hurried away with him on a stretcher. Nihar and another policeman lifted them up and began to run outside the compound. A load of debris came falling down. Behind them, the other lift came rocketing down, too. There was a cloud of dust and a shower of glass and stones as the building began to finally give up.
‘Quick! The building will collapse completely any moment!’
As they moved away, they saw six floors on top of the incomplete building crumble down like a sandcastle into nothing but a heap of construction material.
Nihar got into his car and called Joshi immediately. ‘Yes, sir. Kabir and Isha are being rushed to the hospital. It was Kabir’s plan, sir. He asked us to transfer the bomb to this construction site and put it in the building as soon as we could and then evacuate the area. He had planned to stall the assassin for long enough until it went off. Isha went up and brought him down in the nick of time. Yes, very good, sir. He’s in extremely poor condition. Will he survive? I hope for the best.’
Kabir was in an ambulance that was being driven to a nearby hospital. Isha lay beside him. She realized she may have fractured a few bones. She had great difficulty moving. She turned to look at Kabir, whose face remained impassive. His body smelled of stale blood. The medics checked him for a pulse. It was faint. His heart rate was below normal on the electrocardiogram. Tears rolled down Isha’s cheek. He opened his eyes, turned to look at her and smiled.
‘Your life is nothing short of a Shakespearean drama, Kabir Anand,’ said Isha, her voice husky with emotion. ‘Revenge, betrayal, dignity, indignity . . . You’ve seen it all.’
‘Come here.’ Kabir choked and then burst into a bout of violent coughing. He gestured Isha to bring her head closer. He held the back of her head gently and pressed his lips on her forehead. She smelled the coppery blood, and smiled back.
The medics held him still and injected him with a serum. They wiped the blood and tied his open wounds up with tourniquets. He opened his mouth to speak again and then realized he was too weak to utter a word. He gasped for air. He closed his eyes as he felt a darkness overpower him . . .
All the world’s a stage, and all the men and women merely players: they have their exits and their entrances; and one man in his time plays many parts . . .
30
1 October 2014
RAW HQ, New Delhi
Isha and Nihar were in Arun Joshi’s cabin. He had briefed them about what was about to happen. About who had killed Sadiq Sheikh and how it all added up, once the missing link—Vikramjit Singh—was discovered. Vikramjit didn’t work alone. All these years that bastard mole was right under our noses and we never knew it. And now he has defected. He’s living a happy life. But not for long . . .
Isha looked at her watch. ‘Do you think he’ll come?’
‘It’s been over an hour since we’ve been here,’ Nihar said, tapping his feet impatiently.
Joshi, however, was in a genial mood. ‘Don’t worry.’ He smiled. ‘He will come. He’d be foolish not to. It’s the reason he signed up for this in the first place.’
Joshi’s phone rang. It was his secretary. He looked at the phone and shrugged. He pressed a button and without waiting for the secretary to say anything, said: ‘Send him in.’
A few seconds later the door opened. The man in front of them stood a little under six feet. He wore a white shirt and grey trousers. His beard was neat, and his ashen hair was tied up in a short ponytail. The eyes beneath his arched eyebrows were cold. His face was impassive. He limped in with the help of a crutch. He reeked of musk, in an attempt to overpower the smell of the balms and medicine he had to apply on his injuries. He acknowledged Isha and Nihar with a nod. It had been fifteen days since he had seen them last.
‘Named your kid, yet?’ he addressed Nihar with a smile.
‘Yes.’ Nihar smiled. ‘I named him Veer. I hope he is as brave as the real one.’
There was a minute of solemn silence. Joshi adjusted his spectacles.
‘It’s good to have you back, Kabir.’
‘It’s good to be back, sir.’
Joshi looked at Kabir, motioning to the empty chair. A lot had happened since his face-off with Vikramjit Singh on top of that building.
‘I have a proposition for you, Kabir. We have a proposition for you.’
Kabir let out a deep breath. ‘Sir, if you wouldn’t mind, I need a cup of black coffee.’
‘That can wait,’ Joshi said flatly. ‘So, Abdullah Abdullah and Ashraf Ghani have signed a power-sharing agreement, with the latter being named President, and Abdullah taking on an important position in the government. This could either be good or bad for the dynamics of world politics. Only time will tell us about how the Taliban continue and what America’s next move is.’
Kabir nodded tersely, wanting to tell Joshi he knew, but not meaning to be rude.
‘Do you know about the Islamic State of Iraq and the Levant, Kabir?’
‘I happen to read the newspapers, sir. But I’m afraid I haven’t bothered to catch up much since we got back from Balochistan.’
‘So then you all know that the self-proclaimed caliph, Abu Bakr al-Baghdadi, is trying to bring all the Muslim-inhabited regions under ISIS’s political control. And, well, he is the new self-proclaimed Amir al-Mu’minin.’
‘Well, even I’m contemplating calling myself that now.’
‘In fact, ISIS is a direct threat to India. Those few Indian boys who left to join will soon multiply into many more. We may just be on the edge of falling into a deadly abyss.’
‘Haven’t we been there before, sir?’
‘I’ll cut to the chase, Kabir. I would like to thank you, Isha, Nihar and Veer for the exceptional job that you all have done. For the bravery that you all have shown. For the selflessness that you all have displayed. For the sacrifices that you all, especially Veer, have made. Right from Balochistan to the attempt on President Bocheng. I have already discussed my plan with Isha and Nihar.’
Kabir looked sideways at Isha and Nihar. They avoided looking back at him.
‘Investigations have suggested that this entire plan was orchestrated by the ISI well in advance. They had planned an explosion at a mall in Pune, as Isha knows. Followed by the incident at the metro station. And then they got wind of the high-level meeting between President Bocheng and the PM, thanks to the insider. We are a country with dangerous enemies, Kabir. Enemies who will stop at nothing to see us go up in flames.’
Kabir retained a sphinx-like expression. Joshi’s eyes were expressive.
‘I want you to be in charge of a small covert team that is completely off the books. You will have all support from the government. Your team will consist of highly trained military commandos and will have direct access to RAW.’
Joshi let the words linger in the air as he gazed at Kabir. Kabir matched his gaze with an equally piercing stare.
‘My children are waiting to be taught Shakespeare, sir.’
Joshi smiled and leaned back in his chair.
‘Let me know if you change your mind, Kabir. The country is at great risk with the various elements of terror raising their ugly heads.’
Kabir remained quiet. Nihar and Isha looked straight at Joshi.
‘Anyway,’ Joshi broke the silence, as he stood up, ‘it was great working with you, Kabir Anand.’
Kabir stood up and extended his hand, which Joshi shook firmly.
‘Likewise, sir.’
Isha and Nihar stood up,
ready to leave the cabin. Joshi nodded to them briefly, indicating that he wanted to speak to Kabir in private. They thanked him and walked out. Joshi pulled out a brown folder from his drawer.
‘You have a loose end to tie up,’ Joshi said. ‘And don’t worry, you’ll get your fix of black coffee outside.’
Kabir swallowed lightly as he balanced himself on his crutch. Joshi held the brown envelope firmly, keeping it close to him.
‘I hope you’re off the painkillers, Kabir.’
Kabir looked a little surprised.
‘Isha told me,’ Joshi said, addressing his furrowed brow. ‘She’s concerned about you. And it would be a pity if you died of an overdose of painkillers after defying death at every step that you took in the past few days.’
‘I will stop, sir.’
Joshi’s lips curled into a half-smile as he held the brown folder forward.
‘Your passport, cover IDs and two tickets for an all-expenses-paid trip to Dubai.’
‘Two tickets?’
‘Coincidentally, Isha is also in the mood for a holiday,’ said Joshi, smiling knowingly.
Kabir smiled back. And then Joshi’s smile vanished.
‘Make sure he gets the death he deserves.’
‘You can count on that.’
Kabir turned and began to walk away.
‘I wish you the best, Kabir Anand. And think about my offer.’
‘Yes, sir.’
Kabir shut the door firmly behind him. He had no intentions of going in ever again or thinking about any offer.
Kabir got out of the sedan and nodded at the driver. He rested on his crutch as he frowned to himself. He looked at the rusty gate, slightly ajar. He leaned ahead and pushed himself forward. The door creaked as he pushed it and limped in. The leaves rustled under his feet as he looked down at the brown mounds strewn with rose petals. Kabir put his hand in his trouser pocket and pulled out a little plastic bag. He stepped gingerly past a fresh mound of soil and stopped in front of a spot that was relatively flat. The chirping of sparrows punctuated the silent evening.
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