‘It’s Ray,’ he said, as he answered it. ‘Tell me, Ray, what have you got for me?’
‘I’ve sent a presentation to you, regarding the 3D reconstruction and mapping procedures. There is also a spreadsheet which will break down the cost of the entire procedure.’
‘Surely you haven’t called to tell me just that?’
‘Of course not,’ Ray replied. ‘There’s going to be a slight hitch. UNESCO has already received a proposal from a certain Singaporean firm that is, believe it or not, genuinely interested in reconstructing the edicts using the same technology.’
‘Well, that’s not good. How similar is their technology though?’
‘Very. They’re doing it for a cheaper price too, and the last I heard, they’ve already been signed on.’
Brijesh was silent for a moment. Then he sighed and said, ‘Thanks, Ray. We’ll see what we can do. Can you send in a dossier on the firm that has sent the proposal?’
‘Already have,’ Ray said.
‘Thanks. Bye.’ Brijesh disconnected the phone and turned to Laila. ‘Check the inbox.’
‘What’s happened?’
Brijesh called Vikrant and explained the problem. They looked at the computer screen, at a picture of an Asian woman with long straight hair, in her mid-forties, who smiled disarmingly at them.
‘Nicole Wong,’ Vikrant said with a wry smile. ‘So she’s the one in charge of the reconstruction.’
‘Yes, she is also the head of the NGO.’
Upon further research, they realized that Nicole Wong’s father was a well-to-do entrepreneur who had started the NGO on his daughter’s insistence.
‘What next?’ Laila asked. ‘We can’t conduct our reconnaissance any other way.’
There was silence, as Brijesh walked to the mini fridge and pulled out a can of Coke.
‘Put Waris sir on the line,’ he said. She nodded and dialled the number instantly.
‘Hello,’ Waris said wearily. ‘This had better be important. You don’t know how difficult it is to get sleep at my age.’
Brijesh kept his Coke aside and spoke softly into the phone. ‘Sorry to have disturbed you, sir.’
‘Well, go on.’
‘There’s a slight glitch in our plan. As you are aware, our cover was to infiltrate Mansehra as UNESCO volunteers and offer to reconstruct the Ashokan edicts with our technology.’
‘Yes, so what’s the problem?’
‘A Singaporean agency has already offered to help them using the very same technology. And they’re doing it for less.’
‘Who runs it?’
‘A certain Nicole Wong. Apparently, her father is a hotshot real-estate tycoon. And her LinkedIn profile shows that she has studied Eastern Asian history at Cambridge.’
‘Wow,’ Waris said. ‘Someone is actually bothered about those edicts?’
‘Clearly,’ Brijesh said.
There was a brief pause. Brijesh sipped his Coke while Laila and Vikrant stared at the screen.
Waris eventually broke the silence. ‘Hop onto the next flight to Singapore.’
Brijesh raised an eyebrow at Vikrant. Laila at once looked up the next available flights.
‘Tomorrow early morning seems plausible, sir.’
‘Vikrant, Brijesh, pack your bags. Laila, stay with Kang.’
And without another word, their leader disconnected the call.
Helipad Rooftop Bar,
6 Eu Tong Sen Street, Singapore
Vikrant and Brijesh had been tailing her for three days. Nicole Wong’s life seemed ordinary. She left her house at eight in the morning for a jog and would be back by nine-thirty, after which, she sent her eight-year-old son off to school. She was a divorcee. She freshened up and refuelled herself for another ordinary day. She stepped out, and drove an electric blue Toyota Prius to her father’s seven-storey real estate office, the top floor of which was used solely for her NGO and welfare activities. It was a Saturday and she wouldn’t be long at the office. At seven in the evening she met a girlfriend and they headed out together. Brijesh and Vikrant tailed them in their black rented Honda sedan and took the elevator after them to the Helipad Rooftop Bar. Vikrant wore a sharp black blazer over a crisp white shirt. He ruffled his hair and opened a few buttons to show that he had just finished with a long day of tedious desk-work. Brijesh wore a casual blue jacket over a white T-shirt, with a pair of dark blue jeans. After looking around for a bit, they finally spotted Nicole, with a woman who looked roughly her age.
‘Go work your charm.’ Brijesh winked at Vikrant. ‘On the right one, though.’
‘We don’t want any accidents.’
‘Don’t act suspicious.’
‘You know what, Brij?’
‘Don’t ever call me that again.’ Brijesh looked annoyed. ‘And no, I don’t know what.’
‘We both need a date. And, clearly, the two of them need dates as well.’
‘I don’t think—’
‘Come on,’ Vikrant urged, smiling. ‘Be a man. Besides, that way, there is no fear of the wrong one being swept away by my charm.’
Brijesh looked at him sternly, then nodded. They walked over to the two women, who seemed to be swapping stories over a plate of shrimp cocktail and flutes of champagne.
‘Let me do the talking,’ Vikrant told Brijesh in his ear. ‘We use our real names and we are new in town, working at the Indian Bank on a short-term project.’
Brijesh nodded and walked towards the one he knew wasn’t Nicole.
‘Hey,’ he said. ‘I’m Brijesh. And you are?’
The woman hesitated for a moment as Vikrant walked up to Brijesh.
‘Forgive my friend,’ he said, looking at Nicole. ‘He may have had a drink too many. He loses his way with words when he’s with pretty women.’
‘Michelle,’ the other woman then replied with a smile, looking at Brijesh. ‘And my friend here is Nicole.’
She had long jet-black hair and a seductive smile.
‘I’m Vikrant,’ Vikrant said, putting a confident hand out towards Nicole. ‘Mind if I buy you a drink?’
The women looked slightly amused by the two Indian men popping up out of nowhere. They looked at each other and shrugged.
‘Sure,’ Nicole replied. Vikrant handed Brijesh his wallet with a display of nonchalance and sat beside Nicole. Brijesh walked over to the bar.
‘So, what do the two of you do? Are you new in town?’ she asked.
‘Yeah,’ Vikrant smiled, making eye contact. ‘We are working on a short-term project at a bank. Heading back to our country in a couple of days, and we thought we’d soak in some Singaporean atmosphere before that.’
Brijesh walked back over with two glasses of the Helipad special mojitos. He placed one in front of Nicole and the other he gave to Michelle.
‘I was just telling them about how we are new in town,’ Vikrant said to Brijesh.
‘Don’t worry,’ Michelle said. ‘We’ll make you feel at home, even if only for a night.’
‘How about we continue the celebrations at our hotel then?’ Vikrant said.
Nicole smiled and sipped her mojito.
‘Why not?’
They split up in pairs and drove back to the Hilton hotel. Vikrant and Nicole took her car, while Brijesh and Michelle took the Honda. On the way, Nicole told him about what she did and how much she was enjoying working on the NGO’s latest project, which had something to do with some edicts in Pakistan. Vikrant appeared to be disinterested but smiled politely through the journey.
Nicole couldn’t keep her hands off him once they arrived at the hotel, and she started kissing him in the elevator on the way to the room.
Vikrant fumbled with the key card clumsily before he finally managed to open the door. She pushed him into the room authoritatively.
Vikrant had never slept with an older woman before. Well, there’s always a first time, he thought to himself. She pulled his jacket off, and then his shirt. She pushed him on to the bed and admired his
perfectly chiselled upper body. Without any hesitation, he reached for her and they made passionate love until they were both exhausted and beads of sweat had formed on Nicole’s hairline.
‘That was something,’ Vikrant said as he got off the bed. ‘Want another drink?’
‘Yes, please,’ she smiled. Vikrant poured her one and emptied into it the contents of a little sachet that sat hidden beside the bottle. She’ll be pretty ill by tomorrow morning, he thought.
‘You don’t look like a banker,’ she told him, as she scanned his muscular body in awe.
‘You don’t look like a social worker. More like a supermodel,’ Vikrant smiled as he handed her the drink. She took two long sips and smiled.
‘Tell me when you’re ready again,’ she said.
‘I’m always ready,’ Vikrant grinned.
The next morning, Nicole woke up in her own house. She was confused. She was wearing what she had worn the previous night and Michelle was fast asleep beside her. She looked at her phone and saw that it was one in the afternoon. She realized she hadn’t dropped her son to school, but then it hit her that it was a Sunday. She looked around her and found a note. She squinted at it.
‘You seemed in no condition to drive, but directed us to your house well. We had a great time last night. Your friend seemed out of it too, so we asked her to spend the night at your house. We hope to see you again some time soon. All the best with the Pakistani edicts you told us about. Regards, Vikrant and Brijesh.’
Another wild night out. She felt feverish and then, without warning, she vomited on the floor.
Islamabad
Vikrant had a rather uneasy flight from Singapore to Islamabad. He hadn’t been able to catch any sleep and his conscience was bothering him. He had never carried out an operation that involved tricking a woman. He tried his best to get some rest, but sleep evaded him. There was a lot to be done in the days to come and he knew how much was at stake for him and his country.
When he got down at Islamabad under his Bangladeshi alias, the man at immigration seemed to be very interested in him. He asked him various questions about Bangladesh and UNESCO, then took his passport away for further verification. He came back smiling, apologized for the delay and wished him luck.
He made his way to the JW Marriott hotel where a suite on the eighth floor had been reserved under his false name. He unpacked, undressed and stood under the shower for a good half hour. Then he ordered himself tandoori chicken through room service. He waited for a while, and then brought out his laptop and placed a call to Brijesh.
Brijesh had boarded another flight and would have landed an hour before him. They didn’t want to take the chance of being seen together publicly, especially after the failed attempt on Azhar that had left Kang severely injured.
‘Yes,’ Brijesh said as soon as he answered the phone. ‘I’ll come to your suite in an hour. I’m on the fifth floor.’
‘Good,’ Vikrant replied. ‘We need to make the arrangements as soon as possible.’
‘You go ahead and call the rent-a-car agency,’ Brijesh said. ‘Book one for yourself for the moment. I’m still trying to figure out how our stuff will reach us.’
They were close to the end of their most ambitious mission. Vikrant got up and stared out at Islamabad from his window. He picked up his cellphone and searched for a good service cab agency. He found one online and dialled the number.
‘Salaam alaikum,’ said a voice. ‘Regent Taxi Service.’
‘Alaikum salaam,’ Vikrant replied. ‘My name is Nasiruddin Rafique. I plan to go to Mansehra by road.’
‘It won’t be a problem, sir. What kind of car would you like?’
‘I have some equipment to carry. I’ve been sent here by UNESCO on a project regarding the Mansehra edicts.’
‘So you’ll need an SUV?’
‘Yes, please. And you’ll be sending a driver with me, right?’
‘Yes sir, of course. Will a Toyota SUV do?’
‘Perfect. So we’ll leave in the morning, day after tomorrow. I’ll message you the details. I’m at the Marriott.’
‘Inshallah, sir. I’ll call tomorrow to confirm.’
‘Khuda hafiz,’ Vikrant said with a strong Bangladeshi accent.
The chicken had arrived, but Vikrant didn’t feel like having it any more. He decided to lie down for a while, until Brijesh decided to visit him. Within a few moments, he drifted into a deep slumber.
‘Sir, Vikrant plans to make his way to Mansehra in a rented car. Once he assesses the scenario, he’ll signal for me to follow.’
‘And what scenario is he assessing?’ Waris asked Brijesh.
‘He’s going to meet the Pakistani personnel from the Museums department and explain the technicalities to them. In the interim, how do we get the equipment? I could disassemble them so they can fit into our so called “equipment cases”.’
‘Sounds good. The equipment is already on its way. A courier will come soon and deliver it to your hotel, just give me your room number,’ Waris said. ‘One thing; you might have to arrange for the grains,’ he added.
‘The equipment is already here! How did you …’
‘I’ll explain later. Keep me updated.’
‘I will, sir. Thank you.’
Brijesh took a lift to Vikrant’s floor. He looked ten years older than he was, he thought, looking in the mirror. There were wrinkles he had never seen before, his temples were greying and his eyes looked tired and soulless. To add to this, he had an unruly salt-and-pepper beard which he needed to maintain his Bangladeshi cover. He would have to shape it soon enough, or the folks at UNESCO might laugh at how he couldn’t ‘reconstruct’ his hair but wanted to reconstruct a heritage site. He knocked at Vikrant’s door.
Vikrant opened it, and without as much as acknowledging him, turned around and went back in. He wore a plain T-shirt and a pair of Nike track pants. His beard looked disastrous too, but he seemed to look the part more than Brijesh did.
‘I’ll be leaving the day after tomorrow in the morning,’ Vikrant told Brijesh. ‘What about the equipment?’
‘It will be delivered to us tonight,’ Brijesh replied as he picked up a piece of chicken that Vikrant hadn’t eaten. ‘I’ll go over first and set everything up. You should get some rest. You look like shit.’
‘This entire mission,’ Vikrant said abruptly. ‘It’s emotionally draining. I look at ordinary people around us and wonder, can you and I ever lead a life like them?’
Brijesh sat silently.
‘I’ve thought about it and I don’t think so,’ Vikrant continued. ‘I mean, we were destined for this. This is our life. I can’t imagine living it any differently. Even though I want a family, I’m not sure I’ll be able to be there for them.’
Brijesh still didn’t say anything. He just stared at the wall.
‘It makes me stop and wonder,’ Vikrant said. ‘Will this ever end? Will there ever be peace? So that everyone can just live their own fucking lives?’
‘It’s a choice we made, Vikrant.’
‘Don’t get me wrong, brother. I’m not regretting any of this. If I could start my life all over again, I’d still choose the same road.’
‘It’s because of people like you and me that everyone else has a shot at normal life. And we aren’t doing this for recognition.’
Vikrant smiled at Brijesh.
‘So, what do you plan to do after this mission?’
‘Try and lead a normal life,’ Brijesh replied. ‘Whatever that means. Unless, of course, duty calls.’
‘My plans exactly,’ Vikrant said.
‘Look, the consignment is expected at my room anytime now. I’d better go and wait for the guy,’ Brijesh said.
‘Fabulous. The old man is so resourceful that sitting in Delhi he can get a sophisticated sniper gun delivered to us in our hotel room in Islamabad,’ Vikrant muttered.
‘We have to arrange for the bullets. He is only sending us the gun.’ Brijesh smiled and started for the
door.
‘Vikrant,’ he said suddenly, turning and looking at him. ‘For what it’s worth, we are each other’s family. Now get some rest. There is work to do.’
26
Islamabad, 5:30 a.m.
‘Salaam alaikum.’ The driver flashed a toothy grin at Vikrant, as he helped him stuff his two heavy equipment bags into the boot. ‘I am Abdul Hafeez.’
‘Alaikum salaam, Abdul bhai,’ Vikrant replied. ‘I am Nasiruddin Rafique.’
‘You look sleepy, sir. You can lie down at the back. It’s quite a distance from here to Mansehra. Around two and a half hours.’ Vikrant nodded and smiled. ‘I slept well enough, bhai.’ Abdul Hafeez shrugged his thin shoulders. He looked like a man in his mid-twenties. His beard was scanty and he wore a tight skullcap. He assumed his position in the driver’s seat as Vikrant got in the back. He switched the air-conditioning on, muttered ‘Bismillahir Rehmanir Rahim’ and started the engine.
The roads weren’t crowded at all and they sped up the clear stretches at a steady speed of seventy to eighty kilometres.
‘Rafique bhai?’ Hafeez turned and looked at Vikrant. ‘Is it okay if I play music?’
‘Of course.’ Vikrant smiled back. ‘What kind?’
‘I have Salman bhai and Shah Rukh bhai’s songs,’ he grinned. ‘Who do you like more?’
Vikrant sighed, having come from a land that constantly played the songs of these two Bollywood superstars. He replied, ‘Any Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan?’
‘Yes bhai, of course. Is he big in Bangladesh too?’
‘He’s big all over the world, Hafeez bhai.’
The man smiled and fiddled with a disc set, then finally pulled out a Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan compilation and slid it into the music player. The soulful music changed Vikrant’s sombre mood. He hummed along to the pleasantly crackling voice of the maestro. Abdul Hafeez seemed to speed less; it was calming him down too.
‘Which hotel will you be staying at, bhai?’
‘Hotel Shamiana,’ Vikrant replied. ‘That’s where the other members of the crew are.’
‘Are you shooting a film?’
Vikrant laughed. ‘No, Hafeez bhai. We aren’t shooting a film. There are some historical writings on stone called the Ashokan edicts there. I’m part of an international organization called UNESCO.’
Mumbai Avengers Page 20