‘He has an alibi for Dhingre’s death, and has no connection to Afreen.’
‘Who else could it be? Nothing else makes any sense.’
In the light of Shayak’s latest revelations and his being framed in Afreen’s murder, there was a possibility that needed to be considered: What if none of this was about Kimaaya at all? What if it had nothing to do with secret marriages and divorces, or blackmail and extortion or Bollywood? What if it was about bringing down Shayak?
The marriage data was leaked. Not to harm Kimaaya but to put the spotlight on Shayak. To make him India’s most famous face. To expose him and thereby to compromise the covert operations that depended on his anonymity. Dhingre was killed only incidentally, to stop him from going to Kimaaya with what he knew, which could potentially have prevented the scandal.
Then why kill Afreen? She must have known something. But not about Kimaaya – about Dhingre’s killer. About Shayak. Was it something she had seen?
I was suddenly certain. ‘None of this is about Kimaaya,’ I said, telling Terrence what I could about Shayak’s arrest.
‘Well, that changes everything,’ he said.
‘But I can’t figure out how Afreen fits.’
‘What do we know about her?’
‘Call girl who wanted out. Starlet just making it in Bollywood. One of her clients, or perhaps a boyfriend, got her a big break.’
‘Who is he? A producer? This is Bollywood we are talking about. This guy could be all kinds of criminal.’
Her film was being produced by Manmohan T. Mahindra. He was an industry veteran, but had seen better days.
‘This is all just speculation,’ I said. Right now I needed to focus on the concrete, otherwise I would be lost again. ‘We’d be better off looking at the solid, incontrovertible facts.’
‘How was Shayak framed?’
I told him about the fingerprint and gun. ‘Someone must have planted a serious amount of information in what must be one of the most secure systems in the business.’
‘Which tells you what?’
‘That this – at least some part of it – was an inside job.’
‘Shit, man,’ said Terrence. ‘You’d think Titanium would be above this.’
If any of Titanium’s special assignments for the government were compromised due to an internal breach, the ramifications could be catastrophic – for much more than Shayak and his company. ‘I need you to hack an e-mail account,’ I said.
‘Child’s play. Shoot.’
I gave him the two e-mail IDs I had for Pranav Adlakha.
‘Who is this guy?’
‘My boss.’
‘Why him?’
I told him what I could, though it was all circumstantial. Pranav Adlakha seemed to nurse more than a little resentment against Shayak, not to mention the fact that he would know exactly what sort of incriminating evidence to plant, what would be required to create a case against Shayak and how best to go about it. He had access to all aspects of the system, would have known about Kimaaya’s safe and her security arrangement. And then the fact that Shayak had given this case to me instead of his far more experienced investigator.
‘I doubt you’ll find much in his e-mail,’ said Terrence. ‘He’d have to be smarter than that.’
‘Then what do you suggest?’
‘Get me into the office and let me play around on his computer.’
‘Impossible. That place is a fortress. Without some major clearance, I’d have no hope. And with everything that’s going on, forget about it.’
‘Can’t the boss man get it done?’
My silence told him what he needed to know.
‘Lover boy has left you out in the cold, has he?’
I tried hard to hide it, but his words bristled. ‘Kind of hard to help when you are in lock-up,’ I said. ‘Can’t you hack it remotely?’
Terrence gave me a look of undiluted shock.
‘What?’
‘You want me to break into the Titanium system? These guys keep every corporation in the country secure.’
‘I have been told that nothing is un-hackable.’
‘Some are less hackable than others.’
‘Do it, Terrence. I know you can.’
‘I won’t get arrested, will I?’
I would have liked to have been able to issue a categorical ‘no’ but with Shayak in jail, who was I to say? So I qualified my answer. ‘Not if you do it right.’
Terrence gave me a glare that smacked the happy-go-lucky air straight out of his face. ‘Give me something to work with here.’
I closed my eyes. I called Archana. When I hung up, I had a name and a number. ‘Neeraj Surana – the man who built the current Titanium system. Heard of him?’
‘Of course I have.’ Neeraj, Terrence informed me, was something of a prodigy. By age eighteen he had hacked several government websites, had almost been arrested and received job offers from leading IT firms. He turned them all down to drop out of high school and start his own company. ‘It would be great to work with him,’ Terrence said.
It was late, but I called Neeraj anyway. He heard me out.
‘You want me to do what?’
In half an hour, Neeraj, who looked not a day over fifteen, was seated in front of me.
‘You want me to do what?’ he repeated.
‘Hack Titanium.’
‘You do realize I have nothing but the word of a woman I have never met before that one of the tightest security systems I have ever set up has been breached?’
‘Shayak trusts you. I was told to go to you and no one else.’
‘And I can’t contact Shayak in any way for confirmation of this story?’
‘No.’
He shook his head. ‘How do I know you even work with Titanium?’
‘Terrence here doesn’t. I do. Have you met Archana?’ I asked, dialling her number.
‘The admin woman? Yeah, she made me sign a bunch of forms, took my fingerprints and practically asked me to piss in a cup.’
‘Archana,’ I said, ‘I have Neeraj Surana in front of me. He is afraid to proceed without some form of official communication about what we discussed earlier.’
‘Put me on speaker,’ said Archana.
‘Go ahead,’ I said.
‘Neeraj,’ said Archana, ‘Reema Ray is authorized to act on Shayak’s behalf for the moment.’
‘Even if that means breaching Titanium’s own security mechanisms?’
‘Even if it means blowing up the building.’
Neeraj’s eyes widened and, with an incredulous shake of the head, made it clear what he thought of all of us.
‘How do I know this won’t come back to bite me in the ass? Where’s the paperwork?’
‘There’s no time for that.’
‘Then I don’t think I am comfortable– ’
‘If we double your hourly rate would you care so much?’
‘Hell no!’
‘Then get to it.’ With that, Archana hung up.
‘What precisely do you want me to do?’ Neeraj asked.
‘We think someone inside Titanium is somehow involved with the murders of Ashutosh Dhingre and Afreen. This person has manipulated requisition forms, altered e-mail communication and has almost certainly been monitoring and perhaps doctoring surveillance footage. We need you to find out who it was.’
I shared the mail sent to Arora where Lalu Prasad’s name had been inserted, and the requisition for the gun. I gave him an approximate window when our man Lalu was on the island, if that might help him determine whether the security tapes had been tampered with in some way.
‘That’s days of footage,’ he said.
‘Yes.’
‘I’m the only one authorized to see this?’
‘Apart from us, yes, for the time being.’
‘Then screw the footage. Even if it was doctored, it won’t tell us much. Let me get to work on this other info.’
Half an hour later, another pot of cof
fee on, Neeraj was still shaking his head. ‘I can see where the intrusions occurred. They definitely did. But I can’t say where they are originating.’
‘They are from within the system?’
‘Knowing what I know about the system, I would say yes. But at this time, that is an educated guess. Someone with exceptional skills – and I mean skills to match mine – could have cracked it from the outside. Especially the e-mail tampering. But this gun requisition is tricky. Plus, if you look at the serial numbers and all the additional information this person needed to have, it seems the most likely scenario is an inside job.’
‘If I give you a username, will you be able to see its activity?’ I asked.
‘Sure.’
I scribbled Adlakha’s account information and passed it to him.
‘Adlakha?’ he said, his surprise evident.
‘You know him?’
‘I worked with him when we were setting this up.’
‘He knows about this stuff?’
‘Actually, no. He knows very little about anything of a higher tech profile than signing in to e-mail. He’s old school.’
‘Why did he work with you then?’
‘He briefed me about Titanium’s vulnerabilities, and which sections of company data needed to be closely guarded. He picked up where Shayak left off.’
Shayak involving Adlakha in ramping up security meant two things: Shayak did not share my suspicions about the investigator, and Adlakha had all the information he needed for an attack. ‘That means he’d know, in theory, how to work the system, maybe in collaboration with a hacker?’
He shrugged. ‘It’s possible.’
‘Check it out,’ I said.
‘Right.’
In half an hour, Neeraj gave me another negative. ‘I can’t find anything here. If Adlakha is working with a hacker, he didn’t give him access to his account.’
‘In other words, it’s unlikely?’
‘I’d say it doesn’t make any kind of sense. But I only know what you’ve told me.’
‘Any other ideas?’ asked Terrence.
‘I can’t really keep throwing names out at random,’ I said, the frustration creeping up on me. ‘It’s a huge company, and I’ve been there only a couple of weeks.’ There were half a dozen offices on the fourth floor belonging to senior Titanium staff, and I didn’t even know their names. Then there was Archana, who seemed to have her finger on the pulse of the organization. Except that Shayak seemed to trust her above all else. Till I could speak to Shayak, anything I would say would be guess work; without foundation and irresponsible given the circumstances.
‘Give me something more to work with and I’ll do my best. But there is nothing here to identify your virtual intruder,’ said Neeraj.
‘Fair enough,’ I sighed. ‘Thanks. I’ll call you if I can think of anything else.’
twenty-two
It wasn’t easy getting a foot onto MTM’s set. It was my persistent badgering and dire warnings regarding the fate that would befall Shayak without Kimaaya’s utmost cooperation that caused her to direct Nimisha to do the needful. It turned out to be nothing more inconvenient than making a phone call.
On the floor were scenes of far greater chaos than I had ever imagined, and far fewer – zero, in fact – stars hanging about in their dressing gowns, sipping Bellinis at an inappropriate hour. It was kind of dingy around the corners and, with the cameras quiet, dimly lit. A few extras hung about but mainly it was the production crew.
This would have been Afreen’s new project. Her big break.
I had arrived before the cameras started rolling for the day. Spot boys were serving hot tea. Samosas were piled onto a tray, and I had to fight my growling stomach and stay seated. I was directed to Manmohan T. Mahindra’s office, and made to wait.
Mahindra finally walked in. A lackey trailing in his wake got an earful about something that had nothing to do with his job; he poured two cups of tea for his boss and me, and left.
Mahindra seemed to have embraced every cliché about suspect Bollywood producers without any trace of irony: he was a hulking figure in a safari suit and photo-sensitive glasses that were dark despite his being indoors for some time. He had a thick gold chain around his neck and a tika on his forehead. He barely looked at me.
‘Yes!’ he barked.
‘I am Reema Ray. Nimisha from Kimaaya Kapoor’s office spoke to you about me.’
‘Yes, yes,’ he said, scrolling through messages on his phone. ‘What you wanted? An audition, no?’
Was that what Nimisha said to get me in? ‘Actually, I need to speak to you about Afreen.’
I had his attention. ‘Are you with some media?’ he asked.
‘No, I am investigating her death.’
‘Police?’
‘No. Private investigator.’
‘Accha.’
‘I was wondering if you could tell me anything about her?’
‘Meaning?’
‘Anything, really. What was she like?’
‘Sweet girl, but nervous, very nervous. First big role and all.’
‘How was she selected for it?’
‘Meaning?’
‘Did she audition for you?’
‘Are you implying that there was some improper business?’
‘No– ’
‘Is this a sting operation? Like how you media got hold of Shakti bhai?’
‘I am not with the media.’
‘Get out!’ he shouted.
I tried to hold my ground.
‘Get out now before I throw you out!’
I exited hastily, cursing his bizarre behaviour. But I was far from done. I looked around for an inconspicuous spot away from MTM’s glare, hoping to get lost in the melee. Once I found a suitable corner, I lounged around with my teacup, trying to blend in.
A few moments later, actor Adil Khan strolled on to the set. He looked like he could do with a couple more hours of sleep, or a couple of months in rehab. Director Anupam Khattri was furious, but didn’t say a word. Perhaps because it was Adil who had convinced MTM to come on board and was rumoured to have arranged the funding, it appeared he could get away with anything on set. Or maybe this was how it always worked.
Adil retreated to his vanity van and came out after fifteen minutes, not looking ready for anything, apart from perhaps a fight sequence.
‘Madness, isn’t it?’
The words came from beside me: a man, quite a bit taller than I, a head of unruly dark brown hair hanging down to his shoulders, a beard covering half his face. He was dressed in a faded T-shirt, well-worn skinny chinos and blue rubber chappals that had survived at least a year or two beyond their throw-by date. Despite the casual attire, he was well groomed. There was a tattoo on the inside of his right wrist, a Japanese character. It looked familiar, and not just because of six months of college Kanji, but I couldn’t recall what it meant. His skin was swarthy, so it was hard to tell his origins – he sounded British but looked like he could be from anywhere.
‘Can’t argue with you there,’ I said.
‘It’s a mad industry. You are not an actress, are you?’
‘No.’
‘You should keep it that way.’
‘Why?’
‘This is pretty tame compared to what I have seen, and I am new here too.’
‘You look familiar. Are you sure I haven’t seen you in anything?’
The man doubled over in laughter. ‘That will be the day! I’d be just another British villain speaking ridiculous Hindi.’
British, then. ‘So, no relation to the film industry at all?’
‘Just a curious onlooker. But you really do fit the part. I’d run for my life. Never know when you’ll be waylaid. It might even be contagious.’
I smiled. ‘I think I must be immune to this particular disease. I wonder if this film will even get made.’
‘Oh yes,’ he nodded. ‘It might take a few years and will probably do quite badly, but it’ll get
made.’
‘I heard that young actress who died recently was supposed to be in it.’
‘Yup,’ said the man, face grim. ‘But this is Mumbai, and it stops for no one.’
With that, he moved on to have a word with Adil Khan.
I saw the boy who had brought tea earlier. ‘Who is that?’ I asked, nodding to the stranger.
‘That is George sa’ab.’
‘Who is he?’
‘How should I know? I only serve tea.’
‘Is he part of the production crew?’
‘No.’
‘Where is he from?’
‘Outside.’
He moved on, bored by my questions.
I heard ‘George sa’ab’ talking to MTM in flawless Hindi. As I got close enough to hear what was being said, MTM turned around and his eyes settled on me. I took that as my cue to exit.
Where had I seen that man? I got home and hit Google first thing.
‘George’ and ‘Manmohan T. Mahindra’ threw up nothing. There was precious little written about the film and there was no mention of a George anywhere, not even on MTM’s older projects.
Then I thought of his conversation with Adil Khan, what I knew about the film’s financiers. I entered ‘George’ plus ‘Adil Khan’.
No wonder he looked familiar – I must have seen his photograph in any number of lifestyle pages, possibly in the magazine I used to write for. George Santos, current guru to every mover and shaker in Mumbai, who had rehabilitated a string of disillusioned foreign millionaires through his enlightenment programme run in a camp tucked away in the farthest reaches in south Goa. There were several pictures of him arm in arm with film stars, including Adil.
He had no website, but I found a blog written by someone who had been through one of his workshops. George Santos’s motto? ‘See the way to the truth.’
The very same words Afreen wrote to her parents, the words I had overheard between her and the mystery woman on Maaya Island.
The pieces of the jigsaw were finally coming together. I was inches away – I could feel it. And, somehow, George was also part of this picture.
But I couldn’t function at full capacity on an empty stomach, so I opened the fridge to put together a hasty lunch. I threw together a simple salad and piled ham and cheese on bread and, while it toasted, I worked on a vinaigrette.
The Bollywood Affair: Reema Ray Mysteries Page 24