Weapon of Vengeance

by Mukul Deva

  “Like I was saying, Dad, it is a long story and it has been a long day. I have to get up early for my morning run. Some other time?” There was no way she would tell him where and how Rehana had died. It would only make him suspicious about the timing of her arrival … especially now that they are looking for a female mercenary from England.

  “You are right. I didn’t realize.… Seeing you has brought back so many memories … so many questions. It’s been an emotional roller coaster. For you too, I’m sure. Sleep well, then, princess.”

  The words sounded hollow to Ruby.

  He gave her a hug as they parted ways at her bedroom door. It was a tentative one. And she felt in a hurry to get away.

  As she returned to bed, something kept nagging at her. It was something to do with the second mail she had opened just when Ravinder had come down. She tried hard, but nothing coherent emerged.

  DAY SIX

  Ravinder woke early the next morning, raring to leave for the office. Ruby’s arrival had energized him. And feeling guilt at Simran’s stress also pushed him.

  When he entered his study to pick up his laptop, he immediately noticed the round water mark left on the table by Ruby’s jug.

  He was looking at it perplexed when he heard the gate grate open. Looking out the window, he saw Ruby come jogging down the drive, her maroon tracksuit soaked in sweat. He smiled. Rehana too used to go jogging every morning. How clearly he could still see Rehana come thundering down the road just like that … ponytail flailing the air behind.… Like mother, like daughter.

  Ravinder was going out to talk to her when his phone rang. Returning to the table, he took the call. It was some anal-retentive type at PMO asking for clarifications about the summit security plan.

  “I will need to get to the office and send them to you,” Ravinder told him.

  “Fair enough, Mr. Gill, but we need them urgently.”

  He forgot about the water mark and, pushing the laptop into its bag, headed for the waiting car. His mind was whirling with so many conflicting thoughts and worries that, for the first time in years, he did not return the salute of the men standing guard at his bungalow gates. The two new, additional security guards did not notice it; the regular one did—he’d been with Ravinder’s security detail a while and knew the IG was a stickler for protocol.

  The rain, which had taken a short breather at about daybreak, began again. Drumming down on the car roof with a metallic beat.

  * * *

  By time Ruby got ready and came down, Jasmine had left for college. Simran was sitting alone at the dining table when Ruby entered.

  Ruby nodded: a tentative, hesitant good morning.

  Simran nodded back as she rose, but it was a cold look. “Ravinder left early.” Simran said in a monotone; a weather forecaster would have shown more emotion. It sent an eerie feeling through Ruby, arousing the little girl inside her to seek some emotion, the little girl who had craved her father. Before Ruby could think of anything to say, Simran added, “Please sit down, I will tell the servant to serve you breakfast.” Doing her duty as a host and making it clear that Ruby was only a visitor to this house … would always be one.

  Ruby felt a compelling need to gain her approval—well, if not approval, at least the simple acknowledgment that she existed, that she was there, in the same room, even if with hostility and anger, hatred, anything rather than the hurt of being dismissed, brushed aside.

  “I am sorry,” Ruby called out when Simran was at the door. Simran half turned and looked at her; another expressionless stare. “I know I have disrupted your lives by coming here like this, but—”

  “You have.” Just that, a flat statement, with no hint of an accusation. Even that might have mitigated the wanting churning inside Ruby.

  “I just wanted to meet my father,” Ruby plunged on. “I just wanted to know what he is like. That is all.” Simran did not respond. “He is a good man, Mrs. Gill.”

  “I know.”

  A distasteful silence rose between them.

  “I am glad I came and met him … and you all.”

  Still no response from Simran. Again, not even an angry look. Ruby felt her urge to be acknowledged rise. She could no longer rein it in.

  “I know how you are feeling.”

  Simran’s left eyebrow went up slightly, as though to ask, You do?

  “I promise I will not disrupt your lives much longer.” No response. “I will go away.” Again no response. By now, Ruby was almost shaking; aching to be acknowledged. “Soon.” This last word trembled out.

  “Good.” Simran was out the door.

  That parting word echoed painfully in Ruby’s head. Her resentment escalated. Soon the terrorist was back in control; she was emotionless. Almost.

  Though no longer hungry, Ruby knew she needed energy and plowed through a silent breakfast before returning to her room. There was work to be done. Pushing away the emotions, she picked up the phone. After retrieving the number of the second financier Pasha had provided her, she called.

  “Ahmed Siddiqui, please.”

  “This is Ahmed.” Though with a distinctly Indian accent, the voice was cultured.

  “A mutual friend gave me your number. He asked me to tell you that Sabiha’s wedding is on Friday and the arrangements need to be made.”

  “Ah!” Ahmed replied, perking up. “I have been expecting your call for a couple of days now.”

  “I was busy.”

  “I understand. When would you like to collect the items?”

  “Two hours from now? Is that okay?”

  “Of course. I have it ready.”

  “How big is the package?”

  “A small briefcase.” Sensing her concern, he said. “Barring some for local use, I have kept most of it in its original form so that—”

  “That’s perfect.” Ruby felt relieved; handling large denominations would be so much easier. And also more convenient for her team. “My man will come to collect. He will use the same contact procedure.”

  “I was told you would come yourself.”

  “I would have too, but your security sucks.”

  “What do you mean?” Ahmed was clearly irritated.

  “Do you know Rizwan Khan?”

  Silence. “Of course I do. Why?”

  “Well, so do the police.”

  A sharp intake of breath at the other end. “What are you saying? Are you sure? How do you know?”

  “Go visit him if you want to check? And they may well be at your door before the sun sets.” Ruby was reluctant to continue, even though she knew chances of the ATTF chief’s home phone being bugged were negligible. After confirming the place and time, she called Mark. Although concerned that exposing him to so much cash was not a good idea, in light of the e-mail she had seen last night, she chose that rather than risk exposing herself.

  Then she called Kishore and told him to bring the car. Tomorrow, she told herself, as of tomorrow I will use a self-drive. No more Kishore … or at least hire another cab.

  By the time Kishore arrived, thirty minutes had elapsed and Ruby knew she’d have to move fast if she did not want to be late, first for the cash pickup and then for the lunch with Ravinder. No way was she willing to pass up an opportunity to case the target venue.

  By the time she linked up with Mark and they arrived at Khan Market, they were already a couple of minutes late. They lost another fifteen in the traffic and then in finding the obscure bookstore Ahmed had told her to come to.

  Ahmed was waiting outside the shop, holding a big black umbrella to ward off the rain, now a light but irritating drizzle. Ruby picked him out from across the parking lot and indicated him to Mark.

  “I just go up to him and collect the briefcase?”

  “No, you repeat the contact procedure, then take the case and walk away.”

  “That’s it?”

  “Yep.”

  “What’s in the case?”

  “Nothing that explodes.” Ruby chuckled. Then
she handed him the zippered cloth bag from her handbag and briefed him.

  “Right.” He nodded; satisfied that she was being cautious.

  Ruby tensed as she saw him walk away. Mark paused near the car he had arrived in and dumped the bag in the rear seat, then continued toward the bookshop.

  Ahmed appeared to be behaving strangely, shifting uneasily from one foot to the other, constantly peering at something inside the bookstore. Perhaps Ruby’s news that Rizwan had been blown had spooked him.

  Or perhaps he too has been turned … or blown.

  Ruby felt her breathing even out, as though she were going into combat. Her hand instinctively reached for the gun that should have been on her waist. Nothing. A horrid, naked feeling. Her fingers clenched in frustration.

  Mark stopped near Ahmed. Ruby saw them exchange words. Her tension ratcheted up. She felt so acutely alive, she could feel the blood pulsing through the veins in her temples. If the cops were on to Ahmed also, this was when they would make their play.

  Apparently, they were not.

  Ruby felt her adrenaline recede as Mark collected the briefcase and walked away. However he was not returning to her. Instead he angled across the parking lot. Ruby watched to see if anyone was keeping tabs on him. Her trained eyes swept the area methodically, one sector at a time.

  A beggar standing by the dustbin outside a tea stall caught her eye; he seemed to be watching Mark. Then his attention wandered back to the dustbin and he began rooting inside it.

  False alarm.

  Her eyes kept sweeping ahead and then looping back, stopping whenever they spotted anything out of sync. They rechecked the beggar again. Nothing. They tried to spot people moving in tandem behind Mark. Again, nothing. So far, so good.

  Now the next step.

  Mark returned to his car and ducked inside. She could not see him, but knew he would be transferring the contents of the briefcase into the cloth bag. He was out of sight for barely a minute. When he rose, the bag was on his shoulder and he was moving swiftly, the now-empty briefcase in his hand. Without stopping, he dropped the case into a dustbin. If a tracking device had been placed in it, someone would soon be following a dustbin, or a ragpicker.

  Ruby watched as Mark walked to the end of the parking lot. Without any change in speed, he came on to the road, hailed a passing auto rickshaw, and left the market. Fifty meters behind, Ruby followed, keeping a sharp lookout. Satisfied that he was not wearing a tail, even so, she stayed behind him as he skirted out of the market, drove down toward India Gate and then around it, before returning to Khan Market.

  By the time they got back, Ruby was sure there was no tail on him. Also sure that the auto rickshaw driver Mark had hired would be amused with his foreign passenger’s antics.

  “That’s a lot of money,” Mark said softly as she came up to him, an inexplicable bland expression on his face.

  “Yeah.” She examined him closely, knowing that if greed overcame him, he could be dangerous. Ruby wished she were carrying a weapon, but she kept a smooth face, allowing nothing to show. “You said the guys wanted to be paid.”

  “That they did.”

  “So pay them now.”

  He gave her a long, level look. “I do that?”

  “Sure, Mark. You hired them. Besides,” she added casually, “I trust you.” Her eyes were riveted on his. “I can, can’t I?”

  He did not look away. “Of course you can.” A soft laugh. “I know better than to kill the golden goose.”

  “Good.” Ruby smiled back, a cursory smile; her eyes were hard. “And don’t you go forgetting, bro—this is one hard goose to kill.”

  “I know.” When she extended her hand, he held out the bag. Using the cars on either side as cover, Ruby transferred some of the money to her handbag and handed the rest back to him. “That will take care of the Glocks, the stuff from Chennai, and the team. The rest we pay to them only when we finish the job.”

  “I got it.” Mark slung the bag back on his shoulder. “What next?”

  “The Glocks.”

  “I’ve picked the place for our meeting with Nanda. Scouted it out last evening. Want me to show you?”

  “Yes, good idea. We have the time, if we move fast.”

  “Let’s go, then, boss.”

  * * *

  When Ahmed reached his office, he headed for the phone and called a New York number.

  “I have handed over the items for Sahiba’s wedding,” he confirmed.

  “Good.” The man at the other end was about to hang up when Ahmed spoke again.

  “There is something else. The other party told me that Rizwan bhai is sick … very sick. He could go any time.”

  At the other end there was silence. “I will take care of it,” he said brusquely, and punched off the line. Two minutes later, he was on Skype passing on the message to Pasha in Muridke, Pakistan.

  Pasha spent a few minutes trying to figure out how that could have happened. Realizing it made no difference. It had happened, and now needed to be fixed. He made another Skype call; this one to Aligarh, a small city an hour’s drive from Delhi. The man at the other end heard Pasha out carefully. Ten minutes later, he was in his car headed for Delhi.

  His car left Aligarh just as Ruby and Mark were reaching the venue for the weapons pickup from Nanda.

  * * *

  It was pushing noon by the time they finished checking out the venue Mark had selected. Then Mark proceeded to the warehouse to check on the items sent by Chanderan while Ruby headed for Ashoka Hotel. She had a lunch date to keep. On the way, she swung by the house and left the money she had taken from Mark in her suitcase, taking care to lock it. She quickly showered and changed before heading out.

  * * *

  When the man from Aligarh reached the outskirts of Delhi, there was a long line of cars at the security checkpoint. Due to the security for the Commonwealth Games, they were checking everyone’s identity. The man held out a voter’s identity card.

  The cop took the card. “What are you going to Delhi for?”

  “Going back home, sahib. What else?”

  “Where do you live?”

  The troubleshooter pointed at the card in the cop’s hand; it had a Delhi address. The card was not a forgery, so the man was not worried; it would take more than a cursory check to ascertain that the man it had once belonged to was now playing with his ancestors. And it was no coincidence that the dead man resembled the man now using the card.

  It had been a long, fourteen-hour stint for the cop on duty, the norm. After all, there were only so many men available for duty. The rain, which seemed to have made up Delhi’s annual quota of water in a week, was not helping. He handed the card back with a nod. The man from Aligarh waited till the other two cops had checked the engine compartment and trunk. When both slammed shut, he engaged gears and drove off. His heartbeat returned to normal as the checkpoint vanished in the rearview. Hardened though he was, such encounters always took their toll.

  He now headed for Saket, a residential colony in South Delhi.

  * * *

  Ruby sat back as Kishore navigated through the traffic. The road was covered with large puddles. Every once in a while brownish water sprayed into the air as a vehicle sped past. Ruby watched with unseeing eyes.

  Aware that rest was an imperative, she was using the time to unwind. She now felt a bit relaxed. Now the secret agent was in control; she had pushed the weak woman with her emotional baggage into the background.

  Ruby reviewed the situation, ticking off the action points on her checklist. The money had been collected. The strike team would be in Delhi in a few hours. The munitions from Sri Lanka had clocked into the warehouse. In fact, she checked her watch; Mark should have picked them up by now. He would divide them up between the two Maruti vans they had hired, which the teams would be using, and park them safely. The venue Mark had selected for the Glock pickup was nice and public. As safe as it could get.

  Then that unseeing, uncaring lo
ok on Simran’s face returned to her, stabbing at her. And again her anger began to smolder. By the time the car pulled up outside Ashoka Hotel, it felt simmering inside her, as if waiting to explode.

  * * *

  The troubleshooter sent by Pasha approached Rizwan Khan’s house in Saket. Just before reaching it, on a lonely stretch, he pulled over to the side of the road, retrieved his weapons from the hidden compartment in the rear seat, and checked them. Both pistols were loaded. He most probably would not need them, but out of habit he checked the spare magazines and ensured they were ready.

  Having parked at the entrance of the Saket residential complex, he made his way down the road on foot. Due to the rain, there were not many people about. He maintained an even, steady pace and stayed on the side opposite Rizwan’s house. It took him just one pass to spot the first cop car. Parked across the small colony lot, opposite the target’s house, it was an off-white Tata Safari SUV. He saw three men inside, two in front and one in back. The one in the back had a headset on and two directional mikes pointing out, facing the house. The mikes were well placed, not visible to a casual observer.

  The second car, a sky blue Tata Indigo sedan was harder to spot. It had been deployed in the drive of the adjacent house. He would not have spotted it if one of the watchers had not stepped out for a smoke.

  Still not satisfied, the troubleshooter waited half an hour before making another pass. He needed to be sure there were no more watchers. His life depended on it. Only when absolutely certain did he return to his car.

  He could have done the job right away, but Pasha’s instructions were clear; an example had to be made. He hated such complications, but there was no choice; Pasha demanded his orders be obeyed.

  Pulling out his mobile, he sent off a text. Three minutes later he received the reply. Deleting both messages, he settled himself behind the wheel and began to wait.

  It would be a long wait, but he was patient. Waiting was not just an essential tool of his trade, it was also his forte.

  * * *

  At Ashoka Hotel, Ravinder was almost at the tail end of his security review when his mobile rang.