‘No tails so far, sir,’ Kang replied promptly. ‘I’ve been keeping an eye on the mirrors and there’s been no suspicious activity.’ Reasonably satisfied with Waris’s condition, Brijesh also spoke for the first time in a while. ‘I don’t like the idea of going to the harbour in a straight line. Drive around to throw anyone who may be following us off our tail,’ he told Kang. Then he turned to Vikrant and asked, ‘How much ammo do we have left?’
Vikrant pursed his lips. ‘Not very much, I’m afraid. One MP5 is out of ammo, the other has six rounds, and the pistol I picked up on the way out has two rounds.’
‘I’ve got four,’ said Laila, referring to her pistol – which had been instrumental in saving Kang from a number of attackers at the warehouse.
‘So, twelve rounds,’ said Brijesh. ‘We have twelve rounds and they’re probably mobilizing a small army to hunt us down. I don’t like the odds. Have we checked the van for any weapons?’ Vikrant chose not to respond and instead, clambered into the storage section of the van to hunt for anything resembling a gun. ‘Nothing in the glove compartment or around the front seat,’ said Laila.
‘Where did you stash the spare weapons you guys bought?’ Brijesh asked Ray, who fumbled for an answer before offering, ‘The thing with that is, sir … Well, we didn’t really stash anything anywhere. And the guns and rounds we were carrying were either used up or taken away when we were apprehended.’
‘We were captured, Ray. Not apprehended. Never use “apprehend” in this context,’ corrected Brijesh.
‘Yes, captured,’ repeated Ray.
‘Guys, you are not going to believe this,’ came Vikrant’s voice from the storage area. Ray and Brijesh turned to find Vikrant cracking open a case. It revealed a dusty rocket-propelled grenade launcher with two rounds. ‘Is that a—’ began Ray. Ever the pragmatist, Brijesh interrupted and said, ‘Only two rounds. That’s not very reassuring. Also, an RPG is going to attract far too much attention.’
The glee on Vikrant’s face dissolved. His expression seemed to say, ‘At this point, I don’t care.’
‘Set it up anyway,’ said Brijesh. Whether or not to use it, we shall figure when we get there.’
Meanwhile, Afridi was sitting in the front passenger seat of an armoured jeep in a convoy of five vehicles, barking orders into a walkie-talkie. He had often been compared to a shark in ISI circles – now, he had the taste of blood and was moving in for the kill.
‘Do we know which way they went?’ he yelled into the walkie-talkie.
‘Heading south, sir,’ came the crackling response.
‘Get the Karachi Port Trust on to it and put out a description of the van and those bastards immediately!’
‘Yes, sir. One more thing. HQ wants a report about how they were able to escape after being captured.’
‘CAPTURED?’ shot back Afridi. ‘Those people are criminals. We apprehended them. As for the report, I’d rather hand HQ their sorry carcasses than some dumb report.’
Afridi dropped the walkie-talkie between his feet and turned to the driver. ‘If we lose these … these … criminals,’ he blurted out, failing to find a profanity vile enough to suit the occasion, ‘if we lose them, you will be out of a job, we will all be out of a job, so pull your thumb out and DRIVE FASTER!’
For the next ten minutes, Afridi sat in silence, mulling the consequences of letting the team escape and the glory in which he would be bathed once he finally got them by their necks. The primary target of his aggression and anger would be that gormless lackey, he thought, as he visualized himself using every instrument at his disposal to make Ray squeal for mercy.
Just then, his walkie-talkie crackled to life.
‘Sir, KPT has been alerted and we’ve had a sighting four kilometres from your location.’
‘Finally! Some good news! Where exactly?’
‘Keep travelling southeast, sir. It’s 12.45 a.m. and the roads are emptying out. You’ll catch them on the emptier roads.’
‘Keep me posted,’ said Afridi with a wide grin, as he reached into the glove compartment for his trusty sidearm.
‘He’s fading,’ said a concerned Brijesh, as he watched Waris slip back into an unconscious state after mumbling deliriously for five minutes.
‘We’ll be at the harbour soon,’ said Kang reassuringly. ‘Once we hit the Lyari Expressway, it’s a straight stretch and we’ll be in harbour territory. After that, it’ll be a case of finding the right jetty.’
‘And if we run into any trouble …’ said Vikrant, as he patted the locked and loaded RPG that sat on his lap, ‘we can deal with it.’
‘Let’s try and leave Karachi intact when we leave, if it’s all right with you, Vikrant,’ said Brijesh.
‘Of course, it’s a last resort, that—’
At that moment, a vehicle slammed right into Kang’s side of the van and they were propelled across two lanes as a result of it. The van stalled, the door and frame caved in on the driver’s seat, and Kang was stuck.
‘Oh my God!’ screamed Laila, as the vehicle prepared to smash into their van again.
‘Shoot out its tyres!’ yelled Kang, trying to get the engine running again.
Brijesh leaned out of the window with a pistol and shot out the front tyre, causing the army jeep to veer off the road and slam into a tree. ‘DRIVE!’ he yelled. The engine seemed to oblige as the van started up again and accelerated, leaving the driver of the jeep behind as he stumbled out of the vehicle, bloodied and disoriented.
‘This is the first of many vehicles and soldiers we are probably going to encounter, so everyone, stay alert,’ said Brijesh. Waris stirred and said clearly, ‘I want a status update’. Brijesh placed a hand on his shoulder gently and said, ‘Just a little hiccup, nothing to worry about, sir.’
Waris shrugged Brijesh’s hand off his shoulder almost dismissively. ‘I’m fine,’ he said gruffly. Unfortunately, the same could not be said of Kang, who was struggling to keep his focus on the road while concealing the injuries he had suffered when the jeep had rammed straight into him.
He bit down on his lower lip and grimaced as every movement of his shattered right leg and arm sent a shockwave of pain through his body. While his left arm and leg tried to take over the steering wheel and the pedals respectively, it was easier said than done, particularly when driving at such a high speed. Vikrant leaned over.
‘Are you all right?’ he asked, as he tried to see the damage for himself.
‘I’m fine,’ said Kang hurriedly. ‘Totally fine.’
Kang wasn’t one to complain about his injuries generally, but this was unlike him, Laila noticed. That was when she saw his splintered ulna sticking out of his forearm – and more damage below. Her eyes widened in shock and she was milliseconds away from letting out a scream, when Kang shot her a look. The mission was at far too critical a stage for him to jeopardize it by panicking everyone else, he reasoned. He looked over at Laila and blinked and she seemed to get the signal, despite her horror at the sight of his mangled arm and leg.
She turned back to see if anyone else had noticed, but seeing Ray peering nervously out of the window, Vikrant busy prepping the RPG after the collision and Brijesh taking care of Waris, she knew she had to keep quiet. But for how long? She didn’t have too much time to ponder – her attention was diverted by the screech of tyres and the approach of two motorcycle-riding, gun-toting men in grey uniforms. They didn’t seem to be army uniform, or of any other forces for that matter. Judging by their finesse with an automatic rifle while hitting incredible speeds on a motorcycle, they were from some special unit.
A flurry of bullets ricocheted off the van and Waris flinched.
‘Get them off our tail, Kang!’ yelled Vikrant, as he grabbed the only MP5 with ammo and fired one of its last six rounds at the motorcyclist. Brijesh held his breath, knowing the value of those precious few rounds and their potential to come in handy later on. Negative impact, he thought to himself as he watched the bullet deflected by the handle
bar of the motorcycle. The motorcyclist returned fire with a volley of bullets that broke the rear window and punctured the roof of the van.
‘That was too close,’ said Vikrant, reaching for the RPG. ‘Vikrant, no!’ said Brijesh. He took the MP5 from Vikrant and took aim, as enemy bullets bounced harmlessly off the side of the van.
‘Bull’s eye,’ said Brijesh under his breath, as he saw the motorcyclist’s limbs flailing – he flew off the bike and hit the road like a ragdoll, with a smoking hole in his forehead. The motorcycle flipped a number of times before coming to rest in the middle of the street, its front wheel still spinning.
There was still one more motorcyclist to deal with.
Afridi gnashed his teeth as he heard his motorcycle-riding assassin confirm that his partner had been taken out. The surviving assassin had apparently dropped back a few metres and was tailing the van.
‘Don’t you fucking dare lose them or I swear I’ll destroy your entire family,’ he growled, thinking of what he would do to Laila after Ray was disposed of.
Just look at the way she dresses and behaves around men, he thought to himself. The best thing to do to her would be to put a bullet through her head and dispose her of like the pile of garbage she is. And that pretty boy, he thought, needs to be put in his place. I’ll probably have him publicly whipped before rolling him in some salt and broken glass and then hang him for all of Pakistan to see what happens to anyone who decides to wage war on our country.
He stirred out of his vision to the news that the motorcyclist was closing in on the van again, and that his own convoy had finally arrived at Lyari Expressway. Catching up with the van wouldn’t be a problem now.
‘Step on it,’ he said to the driver. ‘I want first crack at them.’
‘Yes, sir,’ said the driver, as he pushed the vehicle into top gear.
‘Update,’ said Afridi into his walkie-talkie. He hoped the motorcyclist had managed to kill at least one of them. He just hoped it wasn’t Waris. That pleasure was to be all his.
No response.
‘Update,’ he repeated, the impatience palpable in his voice.
No response.
‘Where is this moron?’ he said to no one in particular before slamming the walkie-talkie on the floor between his feet. He scrunched his eyes shut and massaged his temples. It felt as though everyone had ‘ruining Afridi’s day’ as the number one priority on their agendas.
The motorcyclist had caught up with the van but did not expect Brijesh’s arm to reach out and grab him around the neck before he could so much as fire one solitary shot. Brijesh took hold of the gun – another MP5 – and tightened his grip around the hapless man’s throat.
‘Shoot him!’ said Vikrant, but Brijesh staunchly refused.
‘We … need to save … ammo,’ he said through gritted teeth, struggling to snap the assassin’s neck.
‘Brijesh! You can spare one bullet. Do it or I will,’ said Vikrant, growing increasingly concerned with the motorcyclist’s resilience.
‘Kang! HIT THE BRAKES!’ yelled Brijesh, and a startled Kang did as ordered.
Laila was sensibly secured by her seatbelt, but Ray and Waris slammed into the front seats. Ray helped his boss sit back and looked over to find Brijesh calmly sitting back down. ‘Drive on,’ he said matter-of-factly.
‘Did you get him?’ asked Waris, back in his senses.
‘He did. He really did,’ said Vikrant, as he watched the van speed away from the disjointed-looking body across two lanes of the freeway. The sudden brake applied by Kang had caused his neck to snap but the violent whiplash effect might have even cracked his spine in half, he realized – not that any of the team members were remotely interested in finding out. Aside from dispatching the assailant sent for them, they had just doubled their ammo count.
‘Nine rounds,’ grinned Vikrant, as he checked their latest acquisition. ‘So we have eighteen in total. Good enough for now, I think.’
‘How much longer till we reach the dock?’ piped up a voice no one had heard for a long time.
‘I don’t know, Ray,’ said Brijesh. Then, sensing the young techie’s anxiety and trying to lighten the mood, he told him, ‘But it’s good to hear your voice after such a long time.’ Ray smiled nervously and opened his mouth to say something, but was interrupted by Laila. ‘Roadblock, guys, all the lanes are blocked,’ she said, anxiety in her voice.
‘Can you go through them?’ asked Brijesh.
‘I don’t know,’ replied a groggy Kang.
‘Do they look strong enough to stop us?’ persisted Brijesh.
‘I don’t know,’ repeated Kang, dreading the jarring jolt that would go through his body upon impact.
‘Punch through,’ said Brijesh.
The team braced for impact as the police unit that had assembled the road block began waving their sticks furiously, ordering the van to stop. A senior policeman seemed to be reaching into his holster for a revolver. He took aim. Laila began to slide down in her seat, trying to make as little of herself visible. The policeman fired and the bullet ricocheted harmlessly off the bonnet of the van, as Kang accelerated – with the impact only milliseconds away.
Fortunately, the barricade seemed to have been set up in a very ad hoc fashion and the van was able to cut right through it. Sections of the roadblock flew left and right as the van powered forward and the sound of the collision masked the pained grunt that emanated from Kang’s mouth. The broken bones in his leg were now unaligned. The slightest movement caused excruciating pain to surge up and down his body. Not long to go now, he said to himself.
As the convoy arrived at the spot where the body of one of the two motorbike assailants lay prone, Afridi got on the radio with the last car in the group. ‘Don’t leave this man lying out here like this,’ he said. ‘He died for a noble cause and I want to see him given a burial with the dignity he deserves. I will personally write a letter to his family.’
‘Yes, sir,’ came the response.
‘WITH THE BLOOD OF THOSE BASTARDS!’ raged Afridi, as he exhorted the driver. ‘How many more of our people do you want to see killed by those Indians? DRIVE FASTER!’ His thoughts returned to revenge again. The sardar, he thought, there’s some unfinished business. He would get that drill and make holes all over his body and let him bleed slowly to death.
Along the way, the last vehicle in the convoy picked up the second fallen assassin with the same dignified burial in mind.
Afridi glared at the incompetent policemen as they drove past the remains of the barricade they had assembled. The morons, he thought, why must he be surrounded by such buffoons? It was almost as if they wanted the Indians to escape.
‘We have visual, sir,’ announced the driver triumphantly. Afridi finally had his eyes on his prey.
40
Kiamari Village, Karachi
‘Patience,’ said Brijesh soothingly to Waris. ‘We’ll be there soon.’
The calm in his voice belied his tension, which was written clearly on his face as he looked back through the rear window and a cavalcade of Pakistani armed forces vehicles was gathering on the horizon a few kilometres down the Lyari Expressway. The team was only a short distance from the turnoff that would take them straight to the harbour but before that, they had to outrun a fast approaching army of very pissed-off Pakistanis. This, thought Brijesh, is going to be a tight photo finish.
‘Guys, just give me the word,’ said Vikrant, crouched on one knee with the RPG over his shoulder. Shaking his head at his colleague’s impetuosity, Brijesh leaned forward and asked Kang and Laila, ‘How are we holding up?’
‘Okay,’ said Laila. Kang merely nodded.
‘ETA?’ Brijesh persisted.
‘Soon,’ muttered Kang.
Kang’s mood had been deteriorating ever since they had left the warehouse, thought Brijesh. He leaned back and allowed the man at the wheel his space.
In fact, the only person who knew exactly how Kang was doing was Kang himself. All Laila co
uld see was that his movements had become more economical; his face was frozen in a contorted mask of pain and agony and his skin had gone very pale. She dreaded to imagine the pool of blood collecting below his seat. She looked over at him in concern and he blinked. That was her signal to back off.
The reality was that Kang would probably need to be cut from the vehicle. Chunks of metal had devastated his right arm and leg, and entered his thorax from the right. He kept gulping down the blood that came gurgling up into his throat as a result of the internal bleeding, but he had no way of knowing just how badly his organs were skewered. It was probably not too useful to dwell on that, particularly in light of the fact that Afridi’s bloodthirsty hordes were descending on the team.
He used his left hand to apply pressure to his ribs – when his hand returned to the steering wheel, it was covered with blood. Blood was trickling down his body to his ankles and collecting in a little puddle below the accelerator. He tried to focus on the road signs for the port and its various jetties.
The only thing that stood between the team and home was five kilometres – and a crew of angry Pakistanis.
Afridi grinned for the first time in a long while. He thumped the driver’s shoulder.
‘Well done, my son,’ he said effusively. In his darkest moments, Afridi hadn’t completely ruled out the possibility of not catching up with his prey at all. He would lose credibility, the ISI would lose its fear factor, Pakistan would lose face and, of course, the media would take a gigantic bite out of him for this goof-up. He could not let that happen.
He leaned out of the side of his vehicle and took aim with his trusty sidearm. The bullet ricocheted off the side of the van, causing it to swerve. A few more shots and I’ll have them for sure, he thought. The cavalcade began closing the gap between themselves and the van when his car suddenly swerved. An irritated Afridi glared at his driver, who said hesitantly, ‘They seem to be throwing luggage at us to slow us down, sir.’
Mumbai Avengers Page 31