Weapon of Vengeance

by Mukul Deva

  Located at the Said-ul-Azab village in Mehrauli, the Garden of Five Senses is spread over twenty acres and is one of Delhi’s famous tourist attractions. With geometrically arranged plants, meandering pathways, and beautiful lotus ponds, it was a popular spot, and hundreds of people flocked to it daily—for exercising, de-stressing, or just plain old-fashioned romancing. It was teeming with people.

  For the next half hour, the deadly duo scoured the ground: one visually, and the other physically. Between them they raked through every inch, quadrant by quadrant, checking for anything out of the ordinary. They spotted nothing. No hard-looking goons. No flatfoot cops in civvies. No! Nothing out of the ordinary.

  For once, Mohite had used his brains. All three teams were couples pretending to use the park for what most couples do, some intimate conversation and a lot of necking. But all three teams had their eyes and ears tuned in; eyes on the garden and ears to the tiny earpieces through which Mohite was controlling them.

  None picked up on Ruby, parked at the periphery, but two of them spotted Mark as he entered the park. The third pair was alerted by a hissed communication from Mohite. Six pairs of hands instinctively inched closer to their weapons.

  Sitting in the car park near the garden’s smaller, side entrance, Mohite nodded as he watched their target heave into the ambush site. He was sure this massive Caucasian was the man they sought.

  “I think our man is here.” Mohite excitedly called Ravinder on his mobile. “Blond firangi … huge … like a bloody tank.”

  “Good. That is how Nanda described him … Mark.” Running late, Ravinder was en route. As usual, Thakur had arrived late and kept them hanging till the last minute. “Make sure everyone is alert. I am almost there … the bloody traffic is terrible today.”

  “No worries, sir. I have everything under control.”

  But that was what was worrying Ravinder. Cutting the call, he went back to cursing the traffic. Even with his siren and cop light, they were not making much headway; a truck had overturned somewhere ahead, blocking the road for miles. Agonizing minutes later, they passed the upturned truck and speeded up.

  Ravinder halted the conspicuous cop car away from the garden and covered the remaining distance on foot. He was across the road, opposite the garden’s main gate, when he saw Nanda drive up in his Mercedes, retrieve a blue carry bag from the car, and head into the garden. He halted, unwilling to let Nanda see him. The arms dealer was clearly nervous and might acknowledge his presence; that wouldn’t do, since the terrorist named Mark, or his accomplices, were certain to be watching Nanda now … to confirm if he was alone or—

  Mohite called again. “The weapons dealer is also here.”

  “I know, I can see him. I am now across the road, Govind. Opposite the main gate. Careful now … very careful. Remember, take him down immediately when he hands over the bag.”

  “Wilco, sir.” Mohite appeared overeager to make up for the disaster at Rizwan Khan’s.

  * * *

  Mark spotted Nanda as soon as he cleared the main gate. Mark stayed in the lee of a tree trunk he had taken position behind and watched, looking for signs of movement behind Nanda. He saw none. Despite that, he was racked by unease; something did not seem right. He began to examine everyone and everything around.

  The three surveillance teams stayed immobile, watching. Their hands now within reach of their weapons. They needed only a word from Mohite to close in and seize the terrorist.

  Though still uneasy, Mark waved at Nanda when he felt certain the man was alone. Nanda changed direction and headed for him. Mark spotted the beads of sweat on his brow, unusual, considering the chill in the rain-soaked air. A closer look showed that Nanda was decidedly restive; trying to act casual, he kept furtively looking around.

  Mark’s already tingling internal alarm began to screech louder. He intensified his scrutiny of the people around. The ambush teams stayed still, so he spotted nothing. But he wished to hell he had a weapon.

  Well, I will. Soon. Mark had spotted the bag Nanda was hefting.

  “Are you okay?” Mark asked as Nanda came up.

  “Sure.” Mark’s unbroken stare unnerved Nanda. He got the vibes that Mark was suspicious and tried to make up for it. “I am not used to doing such stuff myself, but because it is you—”

  “Is that the stuff?” Mark ignored him; he was on edge and just wanted to grab the guns and get the hell out. Reaching out, he snatched the bag from Nanda.

  * * *

  Still across the road, Ravinder saw Mark grab the bag and cursed when he saw that none of the teams had moved in.

  “Now! Take him down now!” The man clearly identified himself when he’d accosted Nanda and taken the bag. “What the hell are they waiting for?”

  Stupid motherfucker! Cursing, Ravinder reached for his mobile and dialed Mohite.

  At the other end, the phone rang.

  * * *

  Mohite heard, but his attention stayed focused on the two men in the middle of the garden.

  “Wait! No one move.” He hissed into his radio set: “I want to see who else is with the firangi.”

  The takedown teams stayed still.

  “Nobody move. Give him another minute or two.”

  * * *

  Unzipping the bag, Mark saw four Glock 17s in it. They had been unpacked and looked cleaned, as he had asked Nanda to ensure. Lying between them were two boxes of ammo. He unslung the cotton bag from his shoulder and tossed it to Nanda. “Here’s your money. Want to count it now?”

  “No, no.” Nanda shook his head, too emphatically. He was sweating. The handkerchief in his hand looked soaked from his attempts to dry his face. “I am sure it is all right. I trust you.”

  Mark sure as hell did not. Without another word, he turned and strode away swiftly. The alarm in his head had begun to clamor loudly. The need for the comforting feel of a weapon overwhelmed him. Quickly dipping both hands into the bag, he expertly broke open a box of ammo and loaded a clip. The magazine slid into the weapon with a satisfying click.

  * * *

  Mohite heard his mobile ring again. This time, seeing Ravinder’s number, he took the call.

  “What the hell are you waiting for, Govind?” Ravinder’s fury erupted into his ear.

  “I want to see who else is with him, sir. Don’t worry, I have it under—”

  “Shut the fuck up, Mohite, and tell the teams to take him down. Now!”

  The last word exploded out like a bullet. Dropping the phone Mohite, reached for the radio and then screamed into it. “Move! Move! Take him down now.”

  * * *

  Once he’d chambered a round, Mark meant to shove the pistol into his waistband when he saw the couple in front of him, about thirty feet away, suddenly spring to their feet. Mark simultaneously spotted the weapons in their hands. He knew he’d been blown. His mind automatically triggered a response.

  Instead of pushing the Glock into his waistband, he brought it up and fired at the couple. Once. Twice. Thrice. So rapidly that the sound cascaded into one roar. Despite the distance, his aim was spot-on. Both dropped. Turning, Mark saw Nanda had begun to back off, about to run, panic on his face.

  “Son of a bitch!” Two more shots erupted out of the Glock. Nanda took the first in his chest and the second in his neck. He was thrown backward and hit the ground with a thud.

  After spinning around again, Mark ran straight toward the cop couple he had dropped with his first burst. He knew the surveillance teams in any such operation would be spread out. With the team in front down, that was now the safest way. Clutching the precious bag, he broke into a sprint. He had to make it to the road. With the office rush hour at its peak, that would give him a fighting chance to melt into the crowds. They’d also prevent the cops from firing at him.

  Mark was moving fast, but not fast enough to outrun the bullets that now came at him from two sides. The other two cop couples had seen what happened to the first team. As their guns thundered, the Garden of Fi
ve Senses erupted in pandemonium. People scattered and ran in all directions.

  * * *

  From her end of the garden, Ruby saw the flurry of movement and saw Mark go down. Though the gunfire was barely audible, the picture was clear. She felt an acute pain, not just because she had lost her main man, but also because of the Glocks fallen in the grass. She needed those. Her mind screamed at her to get clear of this area before the cops spread a dragnet. Reversing swiftly, she pulled out into the traffic, weaving through the press of cars as fast as she could.

  * * *

  “Motherfucker! Stupid bastard!” Ravinder was unable to contain the string of expletives that exploded out of him as he ran across the road toward the garden. But it was useless. The terrorist had to be dead. No way he could have survived that barrage. Still, hoping for a miracle, Ravinder ran; maybe he would get a couple of minutes to question him before he died.

  I need to know what the target is … and who else is with him.… Then he ran into a cream-colored Toyota Innova that came barreling down the road. When he’d angrily waved it to a halt, he skirted around it and headed for the park. He was halfway toward the fallen body when it struck him that the vehicle had seemed familiar. Ravinder knew he had seen it before … recently. His mind began to strain.

  “He is dead, sir.” Mohite was feeling the fallen man’s neck.

  “Damn!” Ravinder slapped a fist into the palm of his hand. “Why the hell did you wait so long? You should have ordered them to take him down the minute he took the guns from Nanda. And why had those guns not been dummied?”

  “I wanted to see who else was with him.” Mohite avoided the second question completely. “After all, he was not operating alone. Even Thakur sahib agreed that—”

  “Fuck Thakur sahib. My orders had been very clear.” Ravinder checked his urge to slap Mohite. “And why did you not have the guns dummied?”

  “I forgot,” Mohite whispered sheepishly. “I didn’t think it would matter since we were going to catch him—”

  “You didn’t think it would matter?” Ravinder was having trouble keeping his anger in check. “Tell that to the families of those.…” He pointed an angry finger at the bodies of the cop couple that had been gunned down by the terrorist. He saw his finger was quivering with fury.

  Ravinder controlled himself. It was pointless, the damage all done. Now he had to ferret out the way ahead, to try to salvage whatever they could out of this fiasco.

  There have to be some leads here. There are always leads.… One just has to look hard enough … and be lucky, of course.

  Praying for a break, he brushed Mohite aside and, kneeling beside the dead man, began to search Mark’s pockets. He struck gold in the first one, an almost-new iPhone. Its memory was blank; no record of calls received or made or any numbers stored on it; the man was too experienced not to delete the call history after every call. However, there was an unread message. Ravinder clicked it open.

  Ok. I will meet you at Machan coffee shop at 7 pm. RG

  Ravinder checked the time at which it had been received. Only four minutes ago. Around the time he was shot.

  Ravinder checked; it was almost five. The bloody hotel was at least an hour’s drive away. He would also need time to deploy the takedown teams.

  Rapidly making up his mind, he turned on Mohite. “Get a team ready to leave with me right away.”

  “What happened, sir?”

  “This bugger was going to meet someone at Machan, the Taj coffee shop at seven. I’m going to see who it is—”

  “Should I go with you?”

  “No, just give me four men. You clean up the mess here.”

  By now, cops of all varieties were all over the garden. They seemed to have spilled down from the trees. And throngs were milling around. And soon the media would land up. “And Govind,” he called as he walked away, “I want no impromptu media interviews. Just stay with ‘no comment’ and ‘the matter is under investigation.’ Got it?”

  * * *

  Fifteen minutes later, he was off, with four men from the support party in tow. Ravinder briefed them on the way, making sure he covered all possible contingencies. This time he had to take this man … or woman … this RG … alive, he reminded himself.

  He wondered if RG would turn out to be the person Nanda had spotted … or thought he had spotted with this terrorist, Mark, at the Dilli Haat.

  The thought of Nanda saddened him. Ravinder knew he had a wife and a couple of kids.

  Oh well … at least he is leaving them with plenty of dough. Live by the sword, die by it. He should have chosen a safer profession.

  Then he began to focus on the task now confronting them; hopefully no shoot-out.

  In the confines of a hotel coffee shop, the damage would be … He shuddered and pushed away the horrifying image.

  I wonder what RG stands for? That held his attention briefly. It could be anything. RG. There was something about … Then he remembered Mohite’s G-string joke. “Each of the delegates has a name starting with G … either the first name or the family name … even we…”

  A wry smile creased Ravinder’s face; even the bloody terrorists attacking Delhi had names starting with G. He marveled at the coincidence.

  RG! Ruby Gill? The shock pulverized him. Could it be Ruby?

  * * *

  Ruby’s head was still pounding when she reached home. After the close call with Ravinder, it was a long time before her heartbeat returned to normal. Ravinder suddenly running in front of her vehicle had shaken her. It had been too close a call. If he had spotted her, the game was up. As it was, he had been guarded with her ever since that lunch with Chance and Jennifer. She wanted to be home well before he returned. Home and safely tucked away in bed; that ought to preclude any conversation and awkward questions.

  With the loss of Mark and the Glocks, she would now have to rework the complete battle plan. Her options had narrowed sharply. And they hadn’t been great to begin with.

  “Would you like me to get your dinner ready, miss?” the maid called out as Ruby was ascending the stairs. Jasmine had told her that Westerners liked to eat early, much earlier than the Indian dinnertime of nine or ten o’clock.

  “No, thank you.” Ruby called down. “I have a bad headache. I think I’ll lie down for a bit.” She tore off her clothes and stood under the steaming shower for a good five minutes, finally regaining some semblance of normalcy. Then she lay down to think.

  The soft knock on her door caught her by surprise. She was in no mood to chat and hoped to hell it was not Jasmine.

  “May I come in, please?” Simran’s voice came through.

  Ruby sat up. Shocked. Pulling herself together, she called out, “Please come in.”

  Simran entered tentatively. “The maid told me you have a headache.” She held out a strip of tablets. “So I thought I would get you some aspirin.”

  “Thank you.” Ruby took them, trying to get over her surprise. “Thank you very much.”

  For a moment the two women stood looking at each other. Ruby sensed that Simran wanted to say something; she seemed to be groping for words. Then, with a shrug, she turned and began to leave.

  Simran was at the door when she turned. “It is not you I am angry with.” The words hung between them. “Perhaps it is myself.” By now Simran’s voice had fallen to a faint whisper. “Perhaps it is Ravinder. I do not know.” Another pause. “I am just human, you know. I have the same fears that we all do. Of losing the things that mean so much to me.” A distinct wetness had crept into her voice.

  Ruby could see she was fighting hard to maintain her composure.

  “I understand how important you are to Ravinder. He is a good man … one who will always do the right thing. He is the kind of man who will give his life for his children.” Simran sniffed, still trying to regain control. “He is equally important to me. And Jasmine.”

  Ruby wanted to respond. She needed to respond. She felt the angst in the older woman. But she could n
ot find words. A crush of emotions rendered her speechless.

  “I am sorry about what happened to your mother.”

  Now the silence was deafening.

  “And I do want you to remember … no matter what happens, he is your father.… He will always be your father.… We will always be there for you.… This is your home … always. You can stay as long as you want.”

  Then Simran was gone.

  Leaving behind a mass of pain in Ruby’s heart.

  * * *

  It was sixteen minutes to seven when Ravinder finally took up position in the coffee shop. He chose a table in the far corner, from where he could see the whole place. His four cops were strung out, two at tables on either side of the entrance and two in the center.

  He scanned the restaurant, taking it one section at a time. A large rectangular room with about twenty tables. He saw no single man or woman seated at any of the tables. Not that he could be sure his corpse was to meet just one person.

  No Ruby either. He did feel relieved.

  Six minutes later, a tall, athletic-looking woman wearing a light cotton dress walked in, about thirty, Caucasian. Ravinder studied her; no, her snug-fitting dress could not hold a concealed weapon … not unless a small pistol was taped to her leg.

  But … she is still a possible. Ravinder took note of her position as she sat down at a table in the center.

  Then two men entered separately. It became clear they were together only when they sat at the same table.

  Another cluster trooped in. It was hard to tell which of them were together and which on their own. The possibles now escalated.

  Ravinder maintained a sharp eye on the door; but scanned the coffee shop periodically.

  His cop alarm went off as another man walked in. Hugely built. Broad shoulders, muscled arms, which his light green Lacoste T-shirt displayed. Ravinder saw a colorful eagle tattooed on his right arm, only partly visible. He was slouching, as though to camouflage his sense of purpose. But his eyes gave him away. They were moving across the coffee shop swiftly and expertly; too alert to belong to someone not in the game.