Book 2
27
8 Pm, Dehradun
The Mussoorie Diversion Road in Dehradun gives a breath-taking view of lush green valleys and hills to travellers. While driving down the road comprising of numerous estates and hotel resorts, one can almost miss a quaint and silent estate named Jayanti Greens. A closer look on its perimeter however, suggests an unusually secure and protected campus. The estate is protected by thick walls, with barbwires passing over its top and a few smooth wires running parallel to them. Garbage collectors often find rotting carcasses of crows, squirrels and sparrows in a dustbin kept along the wall. ‘Poor creatures’, they moan. ‘They touched the smooth wires.’
No structure inside the compound is visible from outside with thick rows of deodar and mango trees obstructing the view of curious onlookers. The campus houses a two-storied sprawling mansion with CCTVs mounted at strategic positions.
Jayanti Greens is owned by the Kushwaha family, which runs one of the largest private security companies in India. Bastion Corp provides security services to a large number of corporations, industrial installations, construction sites, hotels and even to political parties. It also provides need-based security to people who can afford its high price tag. Its clientele has often included visiting celebrities, sports stars, business tycoons and politicians.
The patriarch of the family, Tejeshwar Kushwaha, stood on the balcony on the backside of his mansion, with a grim face. His wrinkled face and a set of deep lines running on his forehead made him look way older than his sixty-nine years. He was so thin that his dazzling-white kurta-pyjamas and waistcoat fluttered unimpeded in the gentle breeze.
The man was rarely seen in public, but was highly regarded and often feared in the inner circles of business and politics. It had taken about three generations of Kushwahas to build that reputation, and he hoped he would see its pinnacle soon.
It was dark outside but he did not bother getting the lights turned on. He loved the view of the hills far away in the darkness and the twinkling lights of vehicles moving on narrow roads over them. The hills looked like giants in front of the tiny vehicles; mercifully letting them move and pass. He sometimes felt the same about himself. A man who pulls the strings from above while the world moves.
He looked at his watch. His elder son Vinod was about to arrive. They would be meeting after almost a year. Not for family bonding, but for business. He had slowly handed over the reins to his son’s Vinod and Adesh. However, things had not gone that smoothly. Bastion Corp was doing well, no doubt, because of the heightened need for private security after the on-going spate of terror attacks on the country. Had it been their real business, he would have felt good about it. But his sons needed to understand that their family’s real business was power and influence. They had to protect it and earn more of it. Like he had done till now. And to do that, he knew he would have to remind his sons again what the Kushwahas stood for.
He was proud that he had witnessed the evolution of his family business from mere ‘guns for hire’ and professional assassins to political power brokers. As he stood in the dark, his mind went over the four decades he had spent at the helm of affairs.
He had received a fledgling organization from his father, with the Marwaris as their major customers. They had hired them to protect their tea estates in West Bengal where a rebellion among the proletariat was brewing. The Kushwahas were used to assassinate a lot of their leaders and crush the uprising, which unfortunately didn’t happen. Tejeshwar was not happy with these low-end operations. He wanted to be at the centre of power. That meant spreading their tentacles in Delhi.
The power circles in Delhi at that time were in serious need of some firepower and muscle. They accepted the Kushwahas with open arms. The country was going through a construction boom. New industries were coming up. Land was scarce and often needed to be acquired through force. That’s where the Kushwahas came handy.
Tejeshwar build a loyal set of clients, who used his services quite often. Many businessmen, leaders and social activists would later die; some would vanish overnight. Political parties would blame each other and neighbouring countries, while the puppeteer behind the scenes, Tejeshwar, would march on with a smile.
He was a clever man. To stay clear of the law enforcement authorities, he wanted to give a legitimate face to his business. It resulted in Bastion Corp, one of the early private security companies of the country. Behind the veneer Bastion Corp, the dark business of the Kushwaha family flourished.
He hired ex-army men, mercenaries and professional killers, and provided them with the best of equipment and training. Average performers would find themselves in Bastion Corp; while the best of the best would go on to become professional assassins. This business was not for the light hearted. There was no going back once the men accepted the dark world. Misfits and the apologetic would often vanish, purged mercilessly.
Over the years, Tejeshwar built contacts with private military organizations and mercenaries across the world and supplied them with people. His men were hired by the militia in Sierra Leone and Yugoslavia. Private military companies like Blackwater employed his men on contract during the gulf war to guard their oil exploits and reconstruction business. In India, RAW, the external intelligence agency used the Kushwaha men for their black-ops in Pakistan and Bangladesh.
Today, they had the capability of arm-twisting governments in South-Asia. Their power in India was spread like cancer – in the government, law-enforcing authorities, business and even in smaller cities. Every businessman and politician who saw an unprecedented and surprising rise owed something to their family. Yet nobody took their name in public discussions. Officially, there was no such family or organization.
Tejeshwar heard footsteps behind him. His bodyguard Dara Singh walked into the balcony.
“Vinod Bhai has arrived,” the man said.
“Send him here,” Tejeshwar said without turning around. “And switch on the lights”.
Tejeshwar knew that if his son was here to discuss business, it must have been something important. Their business from private military companies had seen a dip over the years, with the US planning to move out from Iraq and Afghanistan. There was also a backlash against private military forces worldwide and they were being seen as mercenaries not bound by any law. That was not good for business. The world needed new wars and he knew it. The action was in Asia. Islamic extremism was claiming new territories. They would need our support.
But he was often anxious about Vinod’s vision for their future, because it differed a lot from his own. Tejeshwar accepted the fact that every son in his family had often discarded the vision of his father and then gone on to find his own way.
But Vinod’s thoughts were so radically different that he was left worried. His son wanted the family to expand into the business of ‘specialized’ weapons. His vision was that in future, it would matter little who carried the weapon. What would matter is the weapon. That was a fundamentally different thought from his ancestors, who had believed in letting the best man do the job.
Tejeshwar knew he would not survive to see which direction his family takes. He had sent his other son Adesh for military training the same way he had done for himself and Vinod. He wondered what ideas that lad would bring. Better leave some things to destiny.
He sensed someone standing behind. He turned around. It was Vinod.
The old man studied his son. He looked different. The last time they met, his son had short hair. Today, he walked in with slick black, long hair drooping over his eyes like a waterfall. His throat was bonier and lips unusually dark. When will he stop smoking?
“You have become so thin, father,” Vinod said with a smile and hugged him.
“So have you. Doing too much work, eh?” Tejeshwar said, patting on his shoulder. “You must sometimes devote some time to the fairer sex also.”
“I am, nowadays.” Vinod winked.
“What makes you visit me so urgently in the night
?”
“There is a lucrative party from Iran. The Quds Force. They are planning a mission in India,” he said looking straight into the eyes of his father. “We need to talk.”
28
9:30 Pm, Ambala City
Prakash’s back was aching now. He had been squatting in pitch darkness since an hour. The visitors had left the warehouse, locking it again. But Mrinal and he had decided to wait for some time before moving out. From the corner of his eyes, now adapted to the darkness, he could see the silhouette of Mrinal sitting beside him. He wondered what the guy was thinking.
“Shall we call the police?” Mrinal whispered.
“Not until our lives are in danger,” Prakash replied. “I want to see what these people are up to.”
“Once we are in danger, we might not live long enough to call the police.”
That’s true, thought Prakash, but decided to ignore him. He knew that ideally they should be calling the police. A crime had been committed or was to be committed. But the journalist in him implored him to wait and unravel the whole mystery first. He was too close to regress now. If they called the police, these foot soldiers would be charged with a minor felony and then let go on bail. That would be frustrating.
He was curious to check out the man in the adjoining room, who had not made any sound since then.
“I’m going to check out the cages. Need to find out who’s the guy,” Prakash whispered. “You move out of this place. Be there in our car.”
“Don’t be crazy. They’ll kill you if they catch you.”
“I have done this before. So don’t worry,” Prakash said, trying to assure him. But the truth was, he had never dared to do such a thing in past.
“Then I’ll wait here in this room till you come back,” Mrinal protested.
“No. You have to move out. At least one of us should be safe,” he argued. “To call for outside help if needed.”
Mrinal thought for a moment and then said OK. It sounded logical.
Both of them moved out of their hiding place, careful not to stumble on the iron rods and make any noise. Once they were on the ground, Prakash gave a thumbs-up signal to Mrinal to move on. He stood there as he saw Mrinal climb over the back gate and then get down on the other side.
He now lighted his torch and walked into the ‘cage’ room. He saw a body lying on the floor of the first cage, facing the backside wall. His slender body was covered with a yellow T-Shirt splotched with bloodstains and a pair of tattered blue jeans. He had curly hair, radiating from his scalp like strands of coir. The man’s hands were tied behind his back with induction tape. Is he dead or alive?
“Hey, are you OK?” he whispered to the man.
No response.
After asking the same thing thrice, he saw some movement in the man’s body. He groaned, waking up from unconsciousness. With great effort, he turned his body towards Prakash and got into a sitting position. His face was smeared with dried up blood and mouth had been taped.
Before the man could say anything, Prakash pressed a finger on his lips and said, “Shhh. I am not one of them… If you agree not to make any sound, I will untie you.”
The prisoner nodded and wriggled towards the grill. He grimaced as Prakash removed the sticky tape from his mouth. Then he turned around, projecting his tied hands towards him.
But Prakash did not untie him. Not so soon.
“First tell me who you are,” he said. “Then I’ll do something about this tape.”
The prisoner turned around to face him again. He kept looking at Prakash with a frown, studying him.
“Look. I’m a journalist. I’ve been following these men for long,” Prakash said, trying to convince him. “I can help you.”
“Why have you been following them?” The man finally spoke. His voice was croaky.
Prakash weighed his options. How much should I tell him?
“I am investigating a case. You know about Nitin Tomar, the murderer of eleven children?”
“He is dead.”
“You know about it, then. My investigation has led me to this place. Now, are you going to tell me who you are… or do you want me to leave you here just like that?”
“My name is Kunal Chaubey. I think I can help you with some answers.”
“You know something about the Nitin Tomar case?”
“I know things which will make your jaws drop,” he said. “But first let me out.”
Prakash wanted to interrogate him further, but it struck him that he was in enemy land. Need to move. He sliced the tape behind Kunal and studied the lock in the grill. It was a large padlock. Will take time to saw it and cut.
“I will have to cut the lock,” Prakash said, taking out his Swiss knife. It had a small saw in it. He started sawing on the shackle.
It took about half an hour for the shackle to be cut. Prakash’s hands were quivering with fatigue. Cautiously, he swivelled the cage door to let Kunal out. He was walking with a limp.
“Can you climb?” Prakash asked, eyeing his hurt legs.
“Yes. With some help.”
Both of them hurried towards the backside door of the warehouse. Prakash told Kunal to climb first. He propped him up to let him hold the pointed tops. The metal door creaked under Kunal’s weight. With a thrust he reached its top.
There was a noise on the front gate of warehouse. Someone was coming.
“We need to move out fast,” Prakash said in panic. “Hurry!”
Kunal ignored his pain and jumped over to the other side.
It was now Prakash’s turn. Not a second was to be wasted. The front gate of the warehouse was opening. He hauled himself up the door and jumped to the other side.
The next moment, he heard someone shout and raise an alarm.
The duo dashed into the sugarcane field. Kunal was running with a limp, trying to catch-up with Prakash.
As Prakash approached the place where they had parked their car, he yelled, “Start it, Mrinal! They are coming!”
Mrinal started the car and both of them quickly entered it. Go. Go. Go. He pushed the accelerator and they sped off. Prakash looked at the rear-view mirror. He saw the headlights of a car coming towards them.
“They are after us and closing in!” Prakash yelled. “Drive fast.”
He thought about the places where they can go before their pursuers caught up with them. Wandering into a side-alley could throw up a dead end and they might get cornered. The best defence seemed to be in getting into a residential area and abandoning the car.
“Let’s get into a busy area where we can disappear into an alley,” Prakash said.
Mrinal kept driving at a high speed, keeping the followers in pursuit. The car was now in an area with a lot of commercial and residential buildings on both sides of the road. He took a sudden left in an alley and kept going.
“I don’t know where I am going,” Mrinal muttered.
Prakash didn’t say anything. I don’t have any better ideas.
Mrinal zipped through a maze of interconnecting bylanes and avenues. They were surrounded by flats and apartment buildings now. Prakash looked behind. Their pursuers were no longer in view.
They got into a dark alley with barely enough space for two vehicles to pass side-by-side.
“Let’s stop here and get out,” Prakash suggested. “We can hide in the basement of one of these houses.”
Mrinal slowed down in response. But before he could stop the car, his face was flooded with the light from a car coming from the opposite direction. The man sitting on the front passenger seat looked like a walrus, his long moustache drooping beyond his jaws. He had projected his hand out of the window, holding a pistol.
Their pursuers had showed up right on their faces. Shit!
“Don’t stop!” Prakash screamed at the top of his voice. “Even if you hit their car, don’t stop!”
Mrinal pushed the accelerator hard, keeping their car to the left side of the road. A collision seemed unavoidable. But at the las
t moment, the other car veered to their right. The bodies of the two vehicles sheared against each other, with headlights and mirrors getting smashed. Mrinal did not lift his legs from the pedal till their car had completely moved clear of the other car.
In their rear-view mirror, they could see their pursuers stopping their car. Walrus-man opened his door and rushed out clutching his arm. He was hurt from the collision, but still aimed his pistol at their car. Mrinal pushed the throttle to its maximum in response. The man fired two shots before they were out of his view.
No one from the trio uttered a word till they had driven for a few minutes. “Are you alright, Mrinal?” Prakash asked, his voice stuttering.
Mrinal nodded. His hands on the steering were trembling.
“And you?” Prakash asked Kunal, turning around.
“Got saved by inches,” Kunal said, holding a puff of foam in his hand. There was a gaping hole in the rear seat.
29
There was bright light everywhere. Seema tried opening her eyes, but they burned. She was lying flat on the cold marble floor. As she tried to lift her torso, a throbbing pain inside her head made her dizzy. Have they drugged me?
With some struggle, she made herself sit and then studied the room. It was cubical in shape with a low-height ceiling. Everything was white – the walls, the ceiling, the air-conditioning ducts, the floor and even the door. The room was filled with an overpowering, almost blinding dazzle. It was as if a halogen-lamp had been lit inside a room made of mirrors.
Her eyes paused at a small white-coloured cylindrical device mounted at a corner of the ceiling.
A fucking camera! I’m being observed!
30
Brutal Page 11