Mumbai Avengers

by S. Hussain Zaidi

  ‘Do you have it?’

  Vikrant studied Brijesh’s expression, but he knew he was looking at a man with one of the best poker faces in the business.

  ‘Thank you, Laila. Stand by to track movements.’

  Brijesh disconnected and turned to Vikrant. ‘We’re looking for a battered grey Toyota Camry. Find a place to take a U-turn and go back up the road while I track down the car.’

  They began to drive and Vikrant took the phone to dial a number, only this time he was not talking to Laila – it was the Jeddah police.

  ‘Yes, my name is Azmatul-Haq,’ he said in perfect Arabic, ‘and my grey Toyota Camry has been stolen.’

  21

  Kang’s eyes opened to unfamiliar surroundings. He wasn’t used to waking up in complete darkness – much less waking up with his arms tied behind his back, his legs tied to the chair and his face feeling like someone had used a jackhammer on it. His right eye was swollen to the point where a flesh-coloured bulge obscured his vision. His training had taught him to be aware of his surroundings, even in the dark, but there was no chance of that when most of his senses had been taken out of the equation.

  His sense of smell, however, was still functional and he could smell a hint of dried blood in the stale, musty air. He rocked back and forth, hoping to make the chair topple over and in doing so, wriggle out of the ropes that bound him. At once, a door swung open and the light from outside nearly blinded him.

  ‘Who’s there?’ he screamed, as his eyes began adjusting to the invasion of light.

  No response.

  ‘I said, who’s th—’ His enquiry was cut short by a hand clutching his throat, and he felt his chair being dragged from behind; its hind legs scraped along the bumpy floor, front legs in the air. After ten seconds of dragging, the chair came to a standstill once more and a bright light shone down like a spotlight on Kang’s head.

  For the first time, he could actually see his captors. Even though they wore balaclavas, the white hot rage emitting from their eyes was more than palpable. Realizing the futility of trying to interrogate his interrogators, he sat back and waited. The masked men stood around him, not speaking or attacking; just watching him wriggle to try and get loose – and then giving up the futile exercise.

  Eventually, Kang lost patience.

  ‘What the fuck do you want?’ he snapped.

  Just then, the door opened and in walked a sophisticated looking man with a slight build – slight compared to the men who had brought Kang to this place. But the malice he exuded dwarfed the rage in the eyes of his men.

  He stopped for a minute to dust a tiny shred of lint off the sleeve of his blazer and looked back up.

  ‘Have I taught you guys nothing about how to treat a guest?’ he asked rhetorically, as he walked up to Kang and placed a hand on his shoulder. ‘Did you have a pleasant journey, Maulana?’ he asked with a mocking emphasis on the last word.

  Kang struggled to get free. Who was this man? Was he a CIA operative? ISI? Or worse?

  ‘Stop struggling!’ the man barked at Kang. ‘These ropes are stronger than your weak will!’

  The venomous tone was Arif Afridi’s signature style.

  ‘Now, should we do this the hard way or the easy way?’ he asked calmly, looking over at one of the masked men who was rifling through a set of what looked like dentist’s tools.

  Kang didn’t utter a word. The silence was quickly shattered by a punch to his chin, courtesy one of Afridi’s goons.

  ‘The easy way or the hard way?’ Afridi asked again, the mildest irritation in his voice.

  Again there was silence. And the result was virtually identical, except that Kang, for the second time that evening, spat out another mouthful of saliva and blood.

  Afridi signalled to his man to take a break, before turning to Kang. ‘I don’t think I need to tell you that my men have fists like steel. Fists that have developed over years of pounding bone to pulp. So I’m offering you the chance to cooperate with me and spare your face from turning into mincemeat.’ Kang looked over at the man with the dentist’s kit, who was examining some sort of diabolical cross between a pair of tongs and a knife.

  ‘Oh, I see my associate’s toys have your attention,’ grinned Afridi. He took the hybrid tool from the masked man and held it up lightly. ‘This one is a personal favourite of mine. It’s just a shame that you’ll become virtually useless after I use it on you. After all, what good are you without a tongue to tell me what I want to know?’ Afridi clicked the contraption together, demonstrating just how it could rip a man’s tongue out of his mouth.

  ‘So what’s the point of telling me all this when you’re not going to use it?’ asked Kang defiantly.

  ‘I’m so glad you asked,’ smiled Afridi, as he walked closer to Kang. ‘You see, your tongue isn’t the only thing I can yank out with this.’ He tapped the instrument on Kang’s thigh and walked back to put the device down on a table. ‘For now, this will do,’ he said, as he whipped a ceramic knife out of his pocket and stabbed it into Kang’s thigh, slicing through muscle and sinew.

  Kang screamed in pain as Afridi twisted the blade slightly and then pulled it out.

  ‘What’s the latest position?’ asked Brijesh, as Vikrant drove cautiously along the street that had slowly become less and less busy.

  ‘According to police radio dispatches, they’re tracking the CCTV footage to find the car, but there’s a gap in the footage for around 200 metres,’ said Laila. She added, ‘The car doesn’t re-emerge in the footage taken from the camera after the gap.’

  ‘So that’s where we lost them. Vikrant, get us there on the double.’ Brijesh sensed his opportunity and jumped at it.

  After the complaint about a ‘stolen’ vehicle had been lodged, Laila had been tracking the police radio frequencies. Despite having nothing near the absolute CCTV coverage of a place like London, Jeddah had its fair share of cameras on the streets. The police had dipped into the surveillance tapes to track the vehicle and transmitted its last known location to its patrols. Eavesdropping on that conversation gave Laila an idea of where the cops were heading and ultimately, brought them closer to Kang.

  As the car hurtled down the street towards the junction Laila had identified, Vikrant said, ‘But what do we do if we get there and Kang …’ He trailed off.

  ‘We’ll cross that bridge if we get there. For now, all we have is hope that Kang’s resilience will save him,’ said Brijesh.

  After a few moments, they arrived at the CCTV camera where the car had disappeared. There were no major roads leading out from there; just a tiny lane. ‘Take it,’ said Brijesh, as he looked for any indication of the grey car’s whereabouts. It was then that he noticed the glint of another camera a few hundred metres down the road.

  ‘Pull over,’ he said to Vikrant as he picked up the phone and dialled Laila again.

  ‘I see a camera down this lane. Any word about it in the police radio communications?’ he asked.

  ‘The car didn’t emerge out of that lane, Brijesh,’ said Laila.

  ‘All right, stay sharp.’ He signed off and turned to Vikrant. ‘That means they’re in this area. You search the buildings on the left of the road and I’ll scour the ones on the right. They’re definitely here somewhere.’

  ‘Or they’ve left in another car,’ offered Vikrant, somewhat unhelpfully.

  Brijesh grunted and set about the search.

  Kang writhed in pain as Afridi stalked him slowly, like a predator circling his injured prey.

  ‘I assume that by now, apart from your leg, we’ve also cut through the bullshit,’ said Afridi. ‘And that you’re willing to tell me who planned this little adventure of yours. This game of cat-and-mouse. Clearly, it wasn’t you.’

  Kang’s eyes smouldered fiercely, but he remained silent.

  ‘What’s all this worth?’ asked Afridi, gradually beginning to lose his cool. ‘You think your friends are going to come and find you? They’ve probably run away by now, with their
tails between their legs.’

  Afridi’s irritation showed in his voice. ‘Who are you doing all this for anyway? Your country? You think your country gives a shit about what happens to you? Or how many of your vital organs fail before you die? Or how many pieces you are chopped into?

  ‘Why would your country care? When it’s not busy bullying another, it’s making the life of its own citizens a living hell. And this is the country you are fighting for? You think they are going to care about a worthless little speck like you?’

  ‘You are partly correct,’ said Kang, breaking his silence.

  Afridi smiled, ‘Ah! He speaks!’

  ‘Yes. You are partly correct. No respect for other countries, no respect or care for its citizens. That part is correct. Except, that sounds more like Pakistan to me,’ said Kang calmly, disguising the searing pain coursing up and down his leg.

  Afridi looked at one of his goons and nodded. He obliged by smashing his fist into Kang’s already swollen jaw. ‘That was your final warning. There will be no more. I will simply start cutting off parts of your body,’ said Afridi. ‘I will give you one last chance to tell me who is responsible for these little tricks of yours. Who is pulling your strings?’

  Kang chose to say no more.

  ‘All right, we’ll do things your way,’ said Afridi, as he walked out of the room, prompting the guards to push Kang’s chair forward, towards a table, and then tip it onto its front legs, so he was slumped face down on the table. Still tied to the chair, he was completely immobilised now. He didn’t see Afridi enter the room with an electric power drill in his hand.

  He heard the sound though, as it began to whir and before he knew it, it was burrowing a hole in his back. Shredded flesh and blood flew in all directions, as Kang let out a scream of agony. One of the guards turned away from the horrific scene, but Afridi remained steadfast, the blood and gore splattering all over his determined face. Blinded by the pain, Kang felt the drill make its way through the bone and screamed again – only this time it didn’t sound human. It sounded like an animal in excruciating pain.

  ‘Quick, over here!’ said Vikrant to Brijesh, in a hushed tone. ‘Did you hear that?’

  Brijesh shook his head and ran over to Vikrant’s side of the road.

  ‘I definitely heard a scream,’ Vikrant said, pointing at a building, ‘and it came from in there.’

  The pair entered the compound cautiously and looked around the car park for the grey car, but it was nowhere to be seen. ‘The sound came from upstairs,’ whispered Vikrant, sensing that his colleague did not want to move up the stairs unless they were absolutely sure the car was here.

  ‘Fuck the car! That’s probably—’ Vikrant stopped talking as he saw Brijesh pull a dirty grey sheet off a parked vehicle. Sure enough, it was the car they were searching for. Without another word, they made their way into the building and entered the stairwell. Brijesh pulled out his cellphone and sent Laila a message with their GPS location and an order to arrange for immediate evacuation. She replied to say that she would arrive in ten minutes.

  That’s at least nine and a half minutes too long, thought Brijesh to himself, as the pair noiselessly made their way up the staircase to look for the source of the scream. He reached into his back pocket for a sidearm and checked its magazine. There had better be less than five people there, he thought, thumbing the remaining rounds in the cartridge before slamming it back into the gun.

  They began to move up the stairwell, when out of nowhere, a door burst open. A comfortingly familiar, yet simultaneously alien looking blur ran at them, knocking Vikrant off his feet and smashing Brijesh into the wall. The latter aimed his gun at the blurry figure and then asked incredulously, ‘Kang?’

  Kang’s bloodied face looked up at the duo, who wasted no time in running down the stairs with him and out onto the road, where they were greeted by the sound of screeching tyres. Vikrant helped Kang into the backseat as Brijesh hopped into the front passenger’s seat.

  ‘Drive!’ he said, as he heard car doors slamming behind them.

  The chase was on.

  ‘We need to get to the Indian consulate on the double,’ said Brijesh urgently, as Laila surged the car forward.

  22

  ‘That’s right. A car accident,’ said Brijesh calmly, barely belying the level of panic in the car.

  ‘Let them in!’ barked the security guard at the Indian consulate in Jeddah, as he motioned to his colleague in the control booth. The electronically controlled steel gate gently glided on its wheels and slid open, so Laila could drive them into the compound. A flock of paramedics, armed guards and volunteers gathered around the vehicle. Vikrant’s door flew open as he hopped out and ran around to the other side to help the semi-conscious, blood-soaked Kang onto wheelchair brought out by the paramedics. As this was not a medical facility, there were obviously no stretchers and very little in terms of medical equipment.

  The vice consul, a mild-mannered man of average height, with an elegantly parted and combed head of greying hair, walked briskly out of the main consulate building and onto the driveway. He had been briefed about the situation and its gravity was clearly emblazoned across his face. He walked over to Brijesh and held out his hand.

  ‘Good evening, I’m the vice consul, Naveen Varma. What can I do for you?’ he asked, as he shook Brijesh’s hand politely, lines of tension etched across his forehead.

  ‘Thank you for helping us. We need to have our friend patched up immediately, so we can return to India as soon as humanly possible,’ said Brijesh, without beating about the bush.

  ‘May I ask what actually happened to your friend?’ asked the vice consul, looking at Kang as he was being wheeled into the consulate building with Vikrant and Laila following him.

  ‘It was a car accident,’ said Brijesh, with a straight face.

  Both men knew this was far from the truth.

  ‘A car accident?’ said Naveen, as he looked Brijesh in the eye.

  ‘That’s right.’

  A Mexican standoff.

  ‘It wouldn’t happen to have anything to do with the SUV explosion a few hours ago, would it?’ asked the vice consul sternly.

  ‘I’m afraid I cannot give you that information,’ said Brijesh.

  ‘Well, you will have to give me some information if you want me to help you and your friends return to India,’ offered Naveen, a veteran at negotiations – both diplomatic and otherwise.

  ‘I’m sorry, but all I can tell you is that there are some men who wish India harm, and by association, Indians,’ said Brijesh.

  Naveen mulled this over for a moment and asked, ‘Are you with the government or do you work independently?’

  Silence.

  ‘Look, I have no problem turning you out on to the streets or even to the Jeddah police, considering they’re handling the investigation of the car explosion,’ said Naveen gently, but the threat in his words loud and clear.

  Meanwhile, inside the consulate, one doctor was shining a tiny flashlight into Kang’s eyes every time he regained consciousness, to see if he was responsive. Another doctor was stitching up the horrific cut in his thigh. Laila and Vikrant stood by with their arms crossed, willing their comrade to make a full, and—equally important—timely recovery.

  ‘Can you hear me?’ asked the doctor with the flashlight. ‘How did this happen to you?’

  ‘C-c-car accident,’ mumbled Kang through clenched teeth, feeling every jab of the needle as it stitched up his wound. Stitching up a straight cut or even a crooked one is a fairly simple procedure as the aim is to pull the skin together, stop the bleeding and let the body heal itself. This was why the gash in Kang’s thigh had taken hardly any time to stitch and patch up. The gaping cavity in his back, which was still spewing blood, was a different thing altogether. The hole was a safe distance from his spine, and the drilling had stopped a few centimetres away from his lung. That was the good news.

  The wound was taking longer to fix because after get
ting past the shreds of sinew and muscle and picking out the shards of bone, the skin still had to be stitched together. Vikrant tried to pay attention and follow the procedure, but gave up quickly. All the adrenaline that had been pumping through his system for over an hour, had dissipated.

  ‘This wound in your back, son,’ said the doctor, trying to revive Kang, ‘how did you get it?’

  ‘Car accident,’ came the reply.

  ‘Were you driving? Were there others in the vehicle?’ asked the doctor, as he struggled to keep Kang conscious.

  ‘Car accident,’ replied Kang under his breath, before reverting to a semi-catatonic state.

  Despite the pain, Kang’s training had not abandoned him. He had been briefed on the journey to the consulate and knew exactly what he was supposed to say. Brijesh and Vikrant had taken little time to formulate what they thought would be a plausible story and why the Indian consulate should provide help. Sadly, their version of events proved to be less credible than they had imagined, particularly in the eyes of the vice consul.

  ‘I’m afraid you leave me with no choice,’ sighed the vice consul, as calm as ever before he called out, ‘Security!’

  Brijesh watched two members of the security staff jog over to the two of them.

  ‘All right, listen …’ began Brijesh and almost immediately, Naveen waved the guards away.

  Brijesh glared at the diplomat, then said, ‘I can’t tell you much, but whatever I can tell you, I certainly can’t say it out here.’

  The vice consul invited him into the building, where they could talk in private.

  ‘No.’ Brijesh shook his head. ‘Do you have a garden or a backyard?’