Brutal

by Uday Satpathy

  He continued, “Your empire looks very small in comparison to what I imagine it to be in the future. I have a solid and a liquid formulation of NB-67 ready. It can be added into food. It can be added into water. Soon we’ll have an aerosol formulation also. Imagine the power we’re going to wield. NB-67can be dumped in a reservoir. It can be released in an airport, in a theatre, in a railway station. It will create havoc. Hell, it’ll bring nations to their knees.”

  Tejeshwar’s gulped a mouthful of saliva. The trait of ruthlessness he had talked about was right there, in Vinod’s eyes. And he could now recall where he had seen that look – on TV, on the face of a Syrian rebel who had ripped out the heart of a Syrian soldier and dug his teeth into it.

  71

  Prakash drummed his fingers uneasily on the car window. Their car had been stuck in the traffic for the last twenty minutes. He was lost in his thoughts when his phone started ringing. It was a strange number. He picked up the call with hesitation.

  “It’s Chetan. I’m using a secure line. Listen to me carefully. I’ve dug out some info after our call. Massoud Fallahi, a case officer of the Quds Force, was in India a week ago. Nobody knew why. There were a lot of dots which needed to be connected.”

  “And have you connected them now?”

  “Not completely. But what I have is interesting. A few months back, a couple of Quds Force agents were held in Kenya. They were planning a bomb attack against US and British targets. Similarly, in Bangkok last year, a magnetic car bomb attack planned by them was foiled. The Israeli embassy was a probable target. What’s common to both these incidents is a man. A mastermind who had visited these countries a few weeks prior to these incidents. It turns out that Massoud Fallahi was the man.”

  “So my hypothesis is correct, then?”

  “Iranians plotting an attack against Israelis at the nuclear summit? Yes, it’s quite probable. Just a word of caution for you – you’re dealing with some really dangerous people. So, watch your back,” Chetan said and hung up.

  He told Seema about his discussion with Chetan.

  “But the big question is – how are they going to carry out this attack?” Seema asked, biting her lips in confusion. “Our government has strengthened the security outside the hotel after the news of the Iranian scientist’s death. I don’t think anyone can carry out a 26/11 Mumbai style attack now.”

  “That’s true. We can safely rule out an attack from outside the hotel,” he said. After thinking for a few moments, he continued, “That leaves us with two possibilities. One, the attack will be from inside. And two, the attack will take place once the summit is over and the Israelis are out of the hotel. Maybe on their way to the airport. However, I am doubtful of the second possibility.”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t think our government will let them go without any security cover, especially with a threat looming over them. There’ll definitely be a convoy and a security detail. Besides, the car in which they’ll travel would also be checked for any explosive devices. The only place where our government can’t get in is into the privacy of their hotel rooms.”

  “Hmmm… You might be right. But for an attack to take place now, the perps would have to be inside the hotel already,” said Seema.

  “That’s scary… and surprising too. How can anybody plan this attack so fast? You know, reconnoitring the area, planning this mission, mobilizing the assassins – all needs time.”

  “What’s your point?”

  “I mean when did the Iranian scientist die?”

  “Yesterday.”

  “Exactly. In other words, close to the beginning of this summit. Isn’t it?” Prakash reasoned. “So, let’s assume that Iran is really pissed off with Israel and decides to retaliate. How many hours do they have for planning and preparing for this attack? 24 hours? Maybe a few more. The question which demands an answer now is – how can anyone strategize and carry out such a sophisticated attack in 24 hours?”

  “It means the attack was planned much in advance.”

  “That seems to be the only plausible explanation. But, it is then a coincidence that an Iranian scientist dies just before an attack on the Israeli ones? Or has Iran killed its own scientist to gain sympathy before retaliating?”

  “That’s ridiculous. Scientists are not expendable,” Seema said.

  “It leaves us with one more possibility then. And it’s scary…,” Prakash stopped midway in his sentence.

  Seema didn’t say anything. She just kept looking at Prakash with questioning eyes.

  Prakash continued, “That a third party has killed the Iranian scientist. Ruling out any coincidences, it’s someone who knows about Iran’s plans against Israel. How about the Kushwahas?”

  “Why would they do that?”

  “I don’t know. I guess we’ll soon find out who these guys are and what exactly they are trying to achieve. They’re running deadly drug trials. They’ve a lot of thugs and professional killers on their payroll. And now, they’re planning an attack of international ramifications. These bastards are quite ambitious.” Miss you Mrinal. You could’ve dug up something on this family. Hope you’re safe.

  Seema looked a bit unsettled, probably from a sudden realization. “I’ve an ominous feeling about what these people are going to do. While I was a guinea pig for The Doctor, I asked him his objective behind all these inhuman trials. He refused to tell me. But now, I think I can understand his motives. Why would a family of killers want to have a deadly drug in their repertoire? … Because they want to use it as a weapon. I can recall what the drug did to me. It made me lose control of myself totally. It was as if a murderous rage had engulfed me. Of a sort you can associate with primeval cave dwellers. It was pure horror,” said Seema, shuddering with an inner fear.

  “A weapon? … Sounds creepy.”

  “Yes. It’s deadly.”

  “Deadlier than the chemical warfare agents we hear about. VX, Sarin, Tabun are nerve agents which only kill. NB-67 is something which makes you kill,” said Prakash. “But I still don’t get your point. What’s your foreboding all about?”

  “That they’re going to use NB-67 today.”

  72

  Le Regalia Hotel, Bangalore

  When the meeting Eli Cohen had called was over, Daniel Levy walked to his room taking quick steps. He was one of the five Israeli scientists were attending the nuclear summit. The news of the threat to their lives had made him paranoid. Once he was inside his room (numbered 701), he ran over to his room window and slid it close, hastily drawing the curtains over it. He picked up a mineral water bottle kept on the coffee table and gulped it down. The water tasted a bit odd, but he chose to ignore it. There were far bigger issues to tackle. Bloody Iranians. Why don’t we nuke them and get over with this war?

  He was a professor and the Head of the Nuclear Physics Department at the Weizmann Institute of Science. Quite unlike other people in his profession, he had a fit and muscular body, achieved through his daily workout in the gym. He was six-feet-two and weighed over one hundred and twenty kilos. As he sunk in his body over the mattress and looked at the ceiling, a peculiar feeling of anxiety and rage began to sweep over him. Second after second, his rage kept amplifying itself every second till he was lost in a sombre dream, with eyes wide open. His mind drifted to a bloody past he thought he had left behind.

  The image of a horrific bomb blast flashed before from his eyes. It was the Jerusalem of 1983. His parents had gone out for shopping, leaving him and his kid brother at home. He was having his lunch listening to a popular song on the Israeli radio, when an emergency broadcast interrupted the program and broke the terrible news. A blast had ripped apart a crowded bus in Herzl Boulevard killing six people. His anxiety turned into fear when his parents didn’t return till night fall. Accompanied by his uncle and his brother, he rushed to the blast spot. They were diverted to a local hospital by the police. All the dead bodies and the injured had been dispatched there. Daniel could not find his parents amo
ng the injured. Nor was he able to identify any of the horribly disfigured dead bodies. His parents had disappeared; never to return.

  Daniel shook his head to relieve himself of the gory images. What’s happening to me? He was not able to control the flow of thoughts in his mind. A ghastly TV footage of the aftermath of yet another blast captured his mind now. The place was Buenos Aires, Argentina. The year was 1994. A van loaded with explosives had been detonated in front of the Jewish Community Centre, killing 85 people. In the list of the deceased released by the government, he could see a familiar name – Joseph Levy, his younger brother. Josey. His brother had landed a job as a facilities manager in the Argentine Israelite Mutual Association building, the same place where the attack took place. Two days later, he stood at the airport looking with dazed eyes at Josey’s coffin being unloaded from a flight. With throat choking with sorrow, he opened the lid of the coffin. There was no body. It was filled with stones. A beautiful chit was placed inside, saying that Joseph Levy’s body had been completely annihilated in the explosion. This was all that remained.

  You too, Josey?

  Daniel closed his eyes. Surprisingly, they were not wet with emotions. In fact, he was not feeling nostalgic. There was no sorrow. Only fury. His blood was boiling with rage. He could feel enemies nearby. Demons. Who know nothing but to inflict mortal wounds. Who have taken everything I ever had.

  He sat upright on his bed and looked at his coffee table. There was a sharp knife kept beside a few apples. He picked it up. You’ll have to pay!

  73

  Sultan’s eyes had not moved away from his laptop screen since the last fifteen minutes. A hacker who called himself Neo was trying to get into Le Regalia’s computer network. He wondered why every hacker kept lifting names from the movie ‘The Matrix’.

  He rubbed his eyes to give them some respite. His hands and legs were twitching with impatience. C’mon. Get into their system!

  His Bluetooth headset buzzed.

  “I’m in!” Neo said with a jubilant voice. “It’s time to play God.”

  “Good. Can you show me the CCTV feed from the corridor in front of rooms 701-710?” Sultan asked.

  “Absolutely,” Neo said with heightened excitement. “These idiots have kept remote access capability enabled in their CCTV system. And that too it is so loosely protected. That’s…”

  Sultan interrupted Neo. “Don’t throw jargons at me, kid. Show me what I told you.”

  “OK, boss,” Neo said dryly. “You just spoiled my orgasm.”

  Two screens popped up on Sultan’s laptop. They showed live feeds from two CCTV cameras mounted at the two ends of the corridor. There was nobody on the screen.

  “When will it begin?” Sultan muttered to himself with anxiety. Then he said to Neo, “I want two more feeds. One from the CCTV mounted in front of their control room and another from the hotel reception.”

  It took Neo a minute to locate the feeds and embed it beside the other screens on his laptop.

  Sultan looked at all the feeds simultaneously. Everything is quiet. No untoward activity. But all hell was going to break loose soon. And I’ll watch when it happens.

  “Can you erase this video feed from their server when we’re done?” Sultan asked.

  “Oh, Yes,” Neo said, in style.

  Overconfident jerk.

  Sultan fought an urge to call up Tilak and tell him to check out the Israeli targets. That might spoil the plan. The game was completely set. It was only a matter of time now. The only worry he had was about the possible presence of Mossad agents within the hotel. Tilak will have to take care of them.

  He again focused on the laptop screen. Something odd caught his eyes. On the screen showing the CCTV footage from the reception area, he could see two known faces. He clenched his teeth and slammed his palm on the table. How are these guys here? He picked up his mobile immediately and dialled Tilak’s number.

  74

  Le Regalia Hotel, Bangalore

  “Call your security in-charge,” Prakash beseeched. “Tell him it’s an emergency!”

  The lady at the reception looked confused on seeing two people who had barged into the hotel.

  Seema pulled out her media ID card and handed it to the lady. “We are reporters and we have information that there’s going to be an attack on the Israeli scientists who have come here for the nuclear summit. Who knows, they might be in danger already.”

  The lady’s face started showing signs of panic. She called up the security officer immediately.

  “He’s going to be here in a minute,” she said, placing her receiver.

  “Have you been given an emergency number by the police for security related issues during the summit?” asked Prakash.

  The lady nodded.

  “Call them here immediately!” said Prakash restively. Every minute is precious. “What are the room numbers of the Israeli scientists?”

  She eyed them suspiciously, and shook her head. “We’ve received a circular from the government which prevents us from disclosing the room numbers of our guests for the nuclear summit. I’m sorry; I can’t give you their room numbers till we’ve had a discussion with our security officer.”

  “At least you can call them up and ask if they are safe. Can’t you?” Seema chipped in.

  The lady looked away, avoiding her stare. “I need our security officer’s permission before I do anything like that. Please wait for a minute. He’s on his way.”

  Both Prakash and Seema grimaced with disappointment.

  75

  Tilak stood alongside the door of the control room with his back towards the wall. Thirty seconds ago, Sultan’s team had blocked all the CCTV feeds to the control room. It had helped him reach here unwatched. He felt happy that his boss had even blocked the telephone system of the hotel. The entire communication system is now crippled.

  He raised his silenced Beretta in combat mode. His index finger was on the trigger. His orders were clear – ‘Kill everyone in the control room’. He saw the door being opened and got ready to act. A man in a suit emerged from the room and yelped with fear on seeing the gun in his hand.

  Tilak pumped two bullets into the man’s chest. As the employee staggered and fell backwards, he placed his right foot over his punctured ribcage and bent over to check his ID. Vishal Baruah, Head of Security. Sweet dreams.

  He now yanked the door open and barged into the control room. A wall covered with LCD screens greeted him. All the monitor screens were coloured in blue due to lack of any CCTV signal. Thanks Sultan. His eyes went towards the corner of the room. Two men were cowering behind a couple of office chairs like scared mice. They had probably heard the screams of their boss.

  Tilak fired five rounds of slugs at them, without taking any aim. The corner of the room became instantly splattered with human flesh, followed by a thick stream of blood flooding out.

  “Control room cleared!” he spoke into the Bluetooth headset mounted over his ear. “What next?”

  “Quickly reach the corridor where the Israelis are staying. But don’t engage till I order,” said Sultan, who was on the other side of the call.

  76

  Eli Cohen was sitting on the bed and watching news on the TV. He was not planning to sleep today. There was too much risk. A Glock-22 and three magazines loaded with 0.40 S&W ammo kept on the bed beside him provided some consolation.

  His mobile started ringing. He pounced on it.

  “Code Red!” said a voice frantically. “The perpetrators are already inside. Go now!”

  Eli felt the hair at his back stand up. Code Red meant the confirmation of danger. He picked up his pistol and asked, “Who told you?”

  “Someone called at the emergency number of Bangalore Police two minutes ago.”

  “OK. I’m on my way,” Eli said and hung up.

  Are they launching an attack from inside the hotel? Bloody daredevils they are!

  He cocked his pistol.

  * * *

  “
Activity on 7th floor!” a voice came out from Sultan’s headset. It was Neo speaking.

  Sultan was busy dressing himself up in tactical assault gear. The presence of Prakash and Seema in the hotel had introduced new variables into the equation. It meant only one thing. Plan-B has to be activated.

  “I see a man on the 7th floor,” Neo said again, this time with increased urgency.

  “I heard you,” said Sultan and ran over to his laptop.

  There was some activity on one of the screens. 7th floor CCTV. A broad-shouldered man was walking down the corridor where the Israeli scientists were staying. He was moving slowly, as if sleepwalking. Sultan noticed a pointed object in his hand. Is that a knife?

  The face of the man looked vaguely familiar to him. He took out a wad of photographs from the chest harness of his combat gear. The man on the screen resembled one of the photos. Daniel Levy.

  “He’s one of the Israelis,” he said to Neo, with a smirk.

  “What’s he doing?”

  “He’s doing our job.”

  * * *

  “Goddamnit! Tell me their room numbers!” Prakash asked loudly.

  The receptionist was in panic and almost in tears. None of the phones at her reception were working. The security officer had still not reached. So, she had tried calling his number from her mobile phone. He didn’t pick up his phone. Neither did his two assistants sitting in the control room.

  She finally relented. Sheepishly looking at her computer screen, she blurted out the room numbers of the scientists. “701 to 705.”