‘So she’s meeting a regular customer somewhere in Uppland,’ Brijesh muttered when Vikrant detailed the conversation that had taken place earlier that day. ‘It doesn’t take a genius to work out who that is.’
Kang nodded and glanced at his wristwatch. ‘It’s almost eight,’ he announced. ‘She should be here at any moment.’ Kang couldn’t stop himself from imagining what she must look like, what she must sound like and indeed, what she must smell like. It wasn’t within the mission parameters or else he would have also allowed himself to imagine what she …
The doorbell buzzed loudly, causing Kang to come crashing down from his little daydream. Brijesh stood up, gestured to Kang to follow him and went into the other room. Vikrant opened the door and looked at Nadia. He had the sharpest of reflexes, but Nadia’s beauty made him freeze. Had she pulled out a knife and stabbed him, he would have just stood there and taken it.
She wore a red scarf around her neck. Her hair was shoulder-length and chestnut brown, her nose was narrow and well sculpted. Her cheeks held a slightly artificial red blush and her lips were full and red. Her aroma, whether natural or accentuated by Chanel, was intoxicating. She wore a short black dress that revealed neither too much nor too little. There was an inescapable touch of class to her sex appeal; she was no garden variety hooker. That said, the inches of skin that she did reveal were golden and smooth.
‘I believe we have an appointment,’ she said softly. There was no need to say anymore. She had an economy with words that took Vikrant’s breath away.
He nodded, still unable to speak, and opened the door fully to let her in. Nadia walked in leisurely, but with the elegance of a supermodel. She dropped her little red purse, and the scarf next to it. That was when she saw Laila sitting at the opposite end of the room. She seemed ever-so-slightly disgruntled at the idea of another female presence. Laila stared back at her. It seemed to Vikrant that Laila too was bewitched.
‘Is she going to be joining us as well?’ Nadia asked Vikrant, warmly enough to seem concerned but coldly enough to speak about Laila in the third person, as if she wasn’t sitting right there.
‘Well, yes.’
‘Just so you know, I generally prefer working alone. I’m far better when I’m the only woman in the room,’ she offered, caressing each word with her tongue before letting it leave her lips.
‘I’m sure you are,’ Vikrant said, smiling.
‘Nadia,’ Laila gestured to her to sit down. ‘Make yourself comfortable.’
‘You do know you’re wasting your money,’ Nadia said. ‘I’m on a clock.’
‘Go ahead, Vikrant.’ Laila smiled sardonically. ‘Break the poor girl’s heart. Tell her what she’s here for.’
Nadia’s eyes widened a notch and she slowly sat upright. She looked up at Vikrant as he pulled up a chair and sat opposite her.
‘As much as I’d love to,’ Vikrant said, ‘I can’t sleep with you.’
‘Oh,’ Nadia said. ‘That’s okay, I’ve met men with such issues before.’
Laila stifled a giggle.
‘No.’ Vikrant shook his head and smiled. ‘It’s not that. It’s just that we want something else from you. Inform—’
‘I’m going to interrupt you right there.’ Laila stood up and walked towards Nadia. She sat right next to her, relaxing on the sofa. ‘Do you value your life, Nadia?’ Nadia looked startled. She twitched awkwardly and was about to get up, when Laila put her hand gently on hers.
‘I don’t know who you people are, or what you want. Please let me go.’
‘Do you value your life?’
‘Yes.’
‘How would you feel if one day, you’re spending time with your family and for no fault of yours, a man barges in and shoots them dead in front of your eyes?’
Nadia remained silent.
‘And after he shoots them, he turns his gun on you and fires. In that little moment,’ Laila said, ‘that tiny little moment between the time he shot someone you love and the time he shoots you – do you have any idea how you would feel in that moment?’
‘No,’ Nadia said, softly. ‘W … what is this about?’
Laila gestured to Vikrant for his phone. Vikrant unlocked it, fidgeted with it for a couple of seconds and passed it to her. She looked at it and held the screen against her thigh.
‘What do you know about the terror attacks of 26 November 2008 in India?’
‘I … I read about it,’ Nadia stuttered.
‘And what did you read about it?’ Laila pressed further.
‘A group of Pakistanis attacked Mumbai and killed a lot of people,’ Nadia mumbled.
‘And would you happen to know who planned these attacks?’ Laila fired back.
Nadia looked clueless. ‘Pakistan?’
Kang grinned to himself and muttered under his breath, ‘Typical. Fucking Western media.’
Laila held the phone up, a few inches from Nadia’s face. Her jaw dropped and it was clear she was shocked from the way she clutched her stomach.
‘That’s Michael! The American who lives in Uppland.’
‘Yes,’ Laila said. ‘He is one of those who planned the attacks.’
‘And his name isn’t Michael,’ Vikrant added helpfully. ‘He’s a terrorist.’
‘Yes,’ Laila said. ‘That’s about the gist of it.’
Nadia remained silent for what seemed an eternity.
Then she began to cry. Her head in her hands. ‘Are you sure it’s the same man?’ she asked.
‘This is for your own safety, Nadia. Your phone is probably tapped. Your life could be in danger,’ Laila said gently.
Nadia remained silent for a moment. Then she looked up morosely through mascara-streaked eyes and hastily excused herself. ‘I have to go now.’
Laila waited for her to make her exit before saying softly, ‘The bait’s out there. The fish is biting. All that’s left is to reel it in.’
She should be here by now, the man thought, as he paced up and down. He made the bed and went over to the sofa. He picked up the television remote and turned it on. He skipped through channels and stopped on CNN International as he caught a glimpse of that strangely familiar visual – the burning dome. The images of Umavi and Wajid Mir flashed on the screen, interspersed with footage of the Taj Mahal Hotel in Mumbai, ablaze during the 26/11 attacks. Apparently, the two deaths seemed completely disconnected and were purely coincidental. The only thing that linked the two men was the attack of 26 November.
The man felt a sudden surge of panic. Should I call? Should I find out what’s happening? No. Fuck, no. The entire world thinks I’m in prison. I’ve been told I can never make that call.
Vikrant and Laila watched from their car as they tailed Nadia from a distance as she drove slowly up the gravel path leading to Bradley’s plush accommodation. She pulled over to the side of the road. Brijesh leaned forward from the backseat and quietly asked, ‘You think she bought it?’ He got his answer as Nadia’s car roared back to life and peeled away from the side of the road. She apparently decided against visiting Bradley that night.
The doorbell rang.
‘Finally,’ said Bradley as he threw open the door, only to find Brijesh’s fist heading straight for his nose. He turned his head and the punch glanced his cheek rather than catching him flush in the face. But that brief distraction was enough for Vikrant to jump at Bradley and slip a plastic bag over his head. He wrapped it tightly around his throat, suffocating him. Bradley thrashed about wildly, knocking over a vase and a wine glass. Eventually, he was subdued and his thrashing became less frantic. Brijesh grabbed his legs as Vikrant kept a tight grip around his throat.
A few minutes were all it took before Bradley eventually passed out and his body went limp.
‘Are you sure he’s unconscious?’ asked Kang as he walked over to take a look.
‘We need to be certain,’ said Vikrant as he picked up the vase and placed it on the table. ‘And make it look like our man died naturally.’
‘Let’s take him out to the lake and drop him in. Make it look like he drowned while fishing,’ Brijesh said.
Vikrant and Kang nodded.
After loading him into the boot of their vehicle, they drove for ten minutes to the nearby lake, where Bradley’s rented boat was moored. Vikrant and Brijesh hauled the body into the boat like it was a sack of potatoes and then got in themselves, carrying along their snorkeling gear. Vikrant began rowing towards the middle of the lake where it was deepest.
‘This looks like a good spot,’ said Brijesh as he began propping Bradley up to roll him over the side of the boat. All of a sudden, the seemingly lifeless body of Bradley kicked out at Brijesh, then jumped into the icy cold water.
Brijesh and Vikrant dived in after Bradley. The duo was far too strong and fit for Bradley to take on by himself. But he put up a fierce resistance, struggling like a fish on a hook, and managed to pull Vikrant’s snorkel clean off his face. A breathless Vikrant had to rush to the surface, gasping for air. It was now only Brijesh versus Bradley. He did not want to have to strangle Bradley as it would show up in the autopsy. And that would not do at all. It had to look like an accident. Bradley was supposed to die from water filling up in his lungs.
As they wrestled underwater, Bradley’s struggle slowly waned, and so did Brijesh’s strength but Bradley managed to launch one last attack. He reached for Brijesh’s crotch and grabbed him. The searing pain blinded Brijesh, who momentarily let go of Bradley. As Bradley was about to emerge from the water, however, Brijesh managed to wrap his arms around his ankles with the last reserves of his strength – just enough to keep Bradley from the surface.
Bradley’s limbs began to thrash about in a desperate effort to shake off Brijesh. In the melee, he managed to free a leg, and as it flailed about, it connected with Brijesh’s chin. The disorienting effect of that kick was enough to give Bradley the time he needed to escape and he began swimming upwards in a desperate attempt to scale that last foot of water before he could breathe again.
With his head inches below the surface, he suddenly felt Vikrant’s muscular arms around his neck, pulling him back, down into the water.
That was when Bradley seemed to give up at last. His vital organs were shutting down one after another; his body was being deprived of precious oxygen, and his heart rate began slowing down. His arms waved slowly underwater one last time, as both his attackers held him down.
And then he stopped moving.
Brijesh and Vikrant released him and he slowly began to sink to the bottom of the lake.
He descended slowly, his fingers frozen in place and curled in agony, his eyes wide open.
17
Islamabad
The sound of heavy shoes hitting a leather belt, punctuated by loud grunts, was acutely audible in the air-conditioned room.
Two well-built men had sprung to attention and were looking at the slimmer but extremely fit man in his early fifties, running on the treadmill. The men knew their boss did not need any help from them, but out of habit, they always sprang to attention.
It spoke volumes about Afridi’s fitness that at this age he could run at the speed of fifteen kilometres per hour for twenty minutes straight. It was part of his daily routine to complete his mandatory quota of five kilometres before entering the pool and swimming another kilometre. He was the centrepoint of awe and admiration for most army cadets, who couldn’t match his dedication to fitness. At the age of fifty, Afridi had the physique of a twenty-five-year-old, easily matching the athletic resilience of an Olympian.
He had yet to recover from the setback of Wajid’s mysterious heart attack in a toilet at Edgbaston, when he heard of Daniel Bradley’s drowning accident in Stockholm.
Sometimes, providing information on a need-to-know basis is a self-defeating policy. Wajid’s trip had been cleared by his handler, Brigadier Shamshad Baig who was in the agency purely for of his sycophantic abilities, no merit to his dismal track record. If Afridi had been aware of Wajid’s travel plans he would not have allowed him to go, regardless of the importance of the mission. Bradley’s death was a glaring failure in comparison, caused by the complacency and overconfidence of the Americans.
Afridi finished his last lap in the pool lazily, a near perfect plan in his head. Many a conquest in intra-departmental rivalry within the ISI circles or against India had been plotted while running and swimming.
This time too, he had come up with a plan, and this time it would not be rejected by the director.
Afridi began by launching a full-scale investigation into the three killings.
He summoned Rashid, his chief analyst, and issued a barrage of instructions.
‘Rashid, leave for Istanbul immediately. Speak to the local police, hotel authorities, and the doctor who conducted Umavi’s autopsy. Take whoever you wish to along, use whatever resources, pull as many strings as you can. In two days, I need a complete report on my table.’
Rashid was on his feet immediately.
Afridi continued, ‘Get someone to speak to Umavi’s man Friday … what is his name …’
Rashid said, ‘Abdul Qadir Qandahari.’
‘Haan, the same. Let me have the whole interrogation report,’ Afridi said.
‘Sure, sir, I’ll get it for you.’
Afridi then focused on the second death. Brigadier Baig would be a little harder to handle.
Within a few minutes, the Brigadier was in his office.
‘I believe Mir had your blessings before he left for London,’ Afridi began, without any preamble.
Baig swallowed hard and said, ‘Yes, he made the request a few weeks before his departure. We conducted a thorough recce and sensitized our men in the UK. Only after we got a green signal from our people did we clear his trip to London.’
Afridi wanted to erupt. But he knew this was not the time.
‘Since Wajid was found dead in such an unflattering manner, I am sure you understand that your men did not do their fucking sensitization well. Can you personally look into the matter to and find out what went wrong?’ Afridi asked through gritted teeth.
Baig did not like this conversation, which was slowly turning into an interrogation. ‘We were alert and took great care with Mir; he was our best asset. We did not let our guard down for a moment,’ Baig said, displeasure in his tone.
Afridi said, ‘As you can see, your care and alertness were not enough. His killers not only kept track of his movements but knew exactly when he was due for a leak. They killed him in a crowded stadium with 25,000 people.’
Baig was flustered but he did not give up easily. He ventured with confidence, ‘When we realized that MI6 was on his trail and he was being watched, we lost no time in asking him to change his residence from Grosvenor House hotel. We did not even allow him to go to our safe house at Hounslow, but asked him to choose the maze of Southhall.’
‘Then you become complacent. Why didn’t you order him to return to Lahore immediately?’ Afridi had begun to lose patience now.
‘Sir, we tried, but he was adamant on proceeding to Amman,’ Baig said, realizing that he was fighting a losing battle.
‘Would you mind leaving for London on the first available flight and meet me in two days, with your complete assessment of what went wrong?’ Afridi said, his steely gaze boring into Baig’s eyes.
The Brigadier realized there was no point in prolonging this fight. Afridi had good connections with the director and the army chief; he could make his life miserable.
‘Inshallah sir, there will not be any mistakes this time.’ Baig rose, saluted and left the room.
Afridi sat back, satisfied with himself. But he still had the third case to think about.
Bradley’s death was even more mysterious than Umavi’s and Mir’s. He was a convicted felon according to the American justice system. The US courts had sentenced him to thirty-five years of imprisonment. He was supposed to be serving time on US soil in a high-security jail. How had he been found dead in a lake in Stoc
kholm?
It was preposterous to imagine that the Indians could have had anything to do with it. Was the CIA involved? Had the Swedish police helped them? He needed his friend John Hu Wang’s insights into the whole sordid episode.
He picked up his phone and called him. ‘Hey John, they say the Chinese are interested in Africa?’
‘We are planning to give Africa a new future. But I’m sure you haven’t called to express sympathy for Africa,’ John Hu Wang said. ‘Why do I sense worry in your voice?’
‘Come and show me Africa and your projects,’ Afridi said.
‘Okay my friend, we will meet in Dubai and then we can proceed further,’ Wang replied.
‘The usual location,’ Afridi said, matter-of-factly.
They signed off with the usual pleasantries.
Afridi knew that Chinese intelligence, once invoked against the Indians, would definitely help snare those who had perpetrated this mayhem.
Once they furnish the damning evidence, the director will have to sanction some sort of response to India.
18
Dubai
At 829.8 metres, the Burj-al-Khalifa is the tallest man-made structure in the world. Built to accommodate a maximum of 35,000 guests, the imposing steel and glass structure was designed as a modern take on Islamic architecture and is considered by many to be the jewel of the city.
Afridi knocked on the door of the Ambassador Suite at the Armani Hotel Dubai, sitting pretty in the towering Burj-al-Khalifa. He saw Wang enjoying a steaming cup of his favourite green tea. The big smile on his face as he got up from his plush chair, and his firm handshake, were indicative of the army man’s persona. Afridi knew that this younger but shrewder spy had the answers to all of his queries – those worrying little details that had bothered him since Umavi’s killing in Istanbul.
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