Don't Tell the Governor

by Ravi Subramanian

  ₹

  The next day, Khosla called Aditya.

  ‘I spoke with Mehul, and he is okay to come on board. He wants 10 per cent, to see this through. The interest cost will be on Pallavi.’

  Aditya didn’t say anything. He was just listening. His mind was blank. One part of him was urging him to dump Pallavi. She was becoming a liability. The other side kept pushing him to assist her. Pallavi cared for him, and he did not want to lose her.

  ‘If we go down that path, this seems a reasonable deal,’ Aditya said. The stress on the the ‘if’ was not lost on Khosla, but he ignored it for now.

  ‘However, something Mehul said is bothering me. He said that Pallavi knows where Vicky Malhotra is hiding.’

  ‘What?’ Aditya was surprised. ‘That is not true.’

  ‘Irrespective of what she says, we need to be careful.’

  ‘You have access to her call data. You can figure it out. Like you did last time, when you warned me.’

  Khosla chuckled and the sound of it irritated Aditya. ‘What is so funny about it?’

  ‘You still think it was her phone that was tapped.

  Don’t you?’

  62

  October 2016

  DELHI/MUMBAI

  The Indian Airlines flight IC-814 took off from Delhi to Kathmandu on schedule, at 9.35 in the morning, just around the time Aditya reached the office of the Reserve Bank of India. The meeting on the initiatives to make import financing easier was just about to begin. It had been called by Aditya and two Executive Directors, along with their teams were in attendance. His agenda was to push for extending the tenure of the LOUs from one to three years.

  The discussion lasted for a couple of hours, but didn’t make any headway. Aditya was beginning to get frustrated. Finally, he lost his cool.

  ‘Gentlemen, it is a directive that we have orally received from the Finance Ministry that we need to make it easy for international traders to have access to finance. It will reflect very poorly on us if we were to end this meeting without anything concrete to show for it. Can’t we, all of us experts, come up with one suggestion that can ease the pain?’ He looked around the room, as if asking for sugestions. ‘How about the LOU? Letters of undertaking issued by the banks to importers. Currently the validity of the LOU is three months, renewable up to a year. It puts tremendous pressure on importers to sell their ware and get back cash to pay their banks. Often, these guys end up selling too soon and at far too low a margin because they need the money to pay the banks. Don’t you think there is merit in looking at extending the tenure of these LOUs to one year and making them renewable upto three years?’

  It was a lame suggestion by the RBI Governor, and he did look fairly unconvincing. The proposal was shot down almost immediately.

  After the meeting, Aditya called Khosla. ‘We need a plan B. Plan A didn’t work.’ He walked back to his cabin.

  When Aditya came back to his cabin after the failed meeting, he saw people huddled around a television set. ‘What happened?’ he asked them, wondering if there was some more bad news for Pallavi coming up.

  ‘IC-814 has been hijacked’ someone from the group of people in the room spoke. Aditya turned to the television and soon realized that the Air India flight from Delhi to Kathmandu had been hijacked by four terrorists belonging to Hizbul Mujahideen, moments after it had taken off. They had forced it to head to Amritsar. As per messages received from passengers, sent when the plane landed, the terrorists had guns. Guns which had apparently been hidden in the washroom. Clearly, they were not acting alone. They had had help from someone within the system.

  By the time Aditya reached his cabin and got his thoughts together, the flight had taken off from Amritsar and was en route to an undisclosed location. He put aside the news as another one of the umpteen terrorist attacks across the world and picked up the newspaper. Trupti Sharma and Urmila Gaitonde dominated the front page.

  By evening, it became clear that IC-814 had landed in Kandhahar, Afghanistan, with two hundred and seventy-two passengers and twelve crew members on board.

  The hijackers had not made any demand. Yet.

  63

  3 November 2016

  DELHI

  ‘Sir, we may have a small issue on our hands,’ Victor D’Souza said to Kabir Khan, who was sitting in front of him. ‘You saw the RBI’s response on the cash found on those guys. The Hazratganj boys.’

  ‘Yes, I did. There is something strange there. Doesn’t add up,’ Khan said.

  ‘That’s exactly what I thought, sir,’ Victor agreed. ‘As per the RBI report, the cash was sent from RBI Delhi ten days ago. That too to Tripura. How on earth did it reach Tripura, get withdrawn and make its way back to Hazratganj, all in the matter of a week? As far as I know, it takes ten days for cash to reach Tripura from the Reserve Bank of India in Delhi.’ Victor outlined his concerns.

  ‘More importantly, Victor,’ Kabir Khan opined. ‘Why would Delhi send cash to Tripura? The RBI has currency chests in Kolkata and even in the Northeast. Why wouldn’t those currency chests send cash to Tripura? This doesn’t add up.’

  Victor calmly nodded his head echoing Kabir Khan’s sentiment. ‘And when I see it in conjunction with what the NCRB has said, it just makes it all a bit sinister,’ he added and went on to explain. ‘Those guys in the crash were from very ordinary families. Lower middle class at best. How did they get so much cash? We were able to identify all the dead men, except one. His face was badly mutilated. Beyond recognition. And that guy is the only one in the lot who has a history,’ Victor said.

  ‘History!’ Kabir Khan said. ‘Yes, history. If I go by the NCRB report on the biometric match, then I am worried.’ And he reached into his files and pulled out the NCRB response.

  ‘As per NCRB, this man was arrested a year back, in Delhi, for driving under the influence of alcohol. He had also been booked once earlier on charges of assaulting a security guard in Vasant Kunj area of Delhi. The FIRs filed in these two cases contain the address and other details of the dead man.’

  ‘We need to dig more. There is something wrong here, and we need to find out what it is,’ Khan said, looking worried.

  64

  October 2016

  MUMBAI

  Aditya called Pallavi that night. When she didn’t pick up her phone, he called her up on the landline, only to be told by the maid that she had gone for some awards function.

  A furious Aditya called Pallavi multiple times, till she picked up the call. ‘Where the hell are you?’

  ‘What’s with the tone, Aditya?’ Pallavi said, ruffled by Aditya’s anger. This was the first time he’d spoken to her like that.

  ‘I had specifically told you to stay away from the limelight, and not be seen or talked about till this issue got resolved.’ His worry made him shout at her. They had taken such pains to keep her out of the limelight. ‘Go back home. Now! I will see you there,’ he thundered and hung up.

  Aditya stepped out of the RBI building. He didn’t ask for his car. Instead, he walked a few hundred metres, unnoticed. It was late at night. He hailed a passing cab and got into it. An hour and ten minutes later, he was outside Pallavi’s house. He was about to go inside when his phone rang. He knew the number the moment he saw it. It was the Special Adviser to the Prime Minister.

  ‘Get here as fast as you can. The PM wants you in the meeting he has called for at one a.m.’

  Aditya looked at his watch. It was already nine-thirty. He had no clue how he was going to make it in time for the meeting. He was contemplating what to do when his phone beeped. It was the same person who had called from the PMO. ‘There is a flight leaving at ten-thirty, from the airport. It will wait for you.’ The next message had the details. For a moment, Aditya regretted having shrugged off his entourage. Getting to the airport on time without it was going to be tough.

  Turning around to hail an Uber, he worried that someone would recognize him. Thankfully an Uber was two minutes away. The moment he booked a
car for the airport and looked up, he saw her. Pallavi was getting out of a car – a lavish Jaguar. She was dressed to kill. In a short green dress that flattered her already svelte figure, she looked every inch the film star that she used to be. He waited in the shadows and observed her. The car dropped her and drove on. As the car crossed him, he had just enough time to catch a glimpse of the person sitting in the back seat.

  ‘What were you doing with him?’

  A startled Pallavi turned back in shock. ‘Oh my god, Aditya, are you spying on me?’

  ‘No. I am not. But should I be?’

  ‘As in?’

  ‘What were you doing with Amar Nath?’ Aditya knew Amar Nath. He was a politician from Uttar Pradesh; a fixer. Someone who would not hesitate before getting in bed with the ruling party or the opposition, as long as it served his purpose. And he had quite a reputation when it came to women.

  Pallavi looked at him, her eyes flashing. ‘He had called in the morning. He wanted to know what I was planning to do about the gold scheme. I told him that I have to repay the ₹300 crore that Vicky cheated me out of. He wanted to discuss ways in which he could help. That’s why I met him. I tried calling you; you were too busy to take my calls.’

  ‘I was in the meeting where I was trying to fix the LOU tenures so that Khosla and Mehul could execute our plan,’ he said, walking closer to her. ‘So, what did he say? How did he want to help?’

  ‘He wanted me to perform in UP at some events. The Sahara group was organizing some function, and the chief minister’s birthday is also coming up. He wanted me to sign up for those. He said I could make up to fifty crores through that in two months.’

  ‘Do you really think someone will pay you fifty crores just to perform in some five or ten events in Uttar Pradesh?’ Aditya asked with concern in his voice. ‘Do you really think so?’

  Pallavi retorted angrily, ‘Look, I can’t rely entirely on you and that friend of yours to raise the money for me! I need a plan B,’ she said, her voice growing louder.

  ‘Are you crazy, Pallavi?’ Aditya yelled as they stood in the middle of the road. Pallavi looked around, embarrassed. Thankfully, there was no one in sight. Aditya realized his faux pas too. Lowering his voice, he said, ‘Listen, I’m sorry. Don’t do something stupid, Pallavi. I am trying my best to make sure that this works out for you.’ He held her hands. ‘For us.’

  Pallavi didn’t say anything, so Aditya continued, ‘I am off to Delhi tonight. The PM has called for a meeting. I’ll be back by tomorrow evening, hopefully. Let’s sort this out then. Khosla and I are reaching a closure on this with Mehul. It’s on, Pallavi. It is on. You don’t need to worry. I am here,’ he said, squeezing her hands.

  Pallavi had tears in her eyes. Whether they were tears of pain, of joy or of frustration, Aditya couldn’t tell. He was getting late. He couldn’t wait any longer. His Uber arrived and he headed straight to the airport.

  Another official in the Prime Minister’s Office, Manish Patel, was in the same flight as Aditya Kesavan. He too had no clue as to why the meeting had been called.

  65

  21 October 2016

  DELHI

  Just a few hours earlier, the PM had met with the FM, the Minister of External Affairs and the National Security Advisor Tarun Katiyal and his Core Management Group, which included the Deputy PM and a few other senior members of the Cabinet. The meeting had resulted in Aditya being summoned to Delhi.

  The discussion centred around how to manage the situation arising out of the hijack. The plane had been commandeered out of Indian skies and lay docked in some corner of the Kandahar airport. There were two hundred and eighty-four people on board, including the four suspected terrorists. The Taliban was covering the aircraft and lending ground support to the hijackers. It soon became clear to the government that they had zero leverage with the hijackers. The discussion in the PMO that day largely centred around how they should react to the situation.

  In a brown bandhgala, the Prime Minister sat in one corner, quietly listening to the discussion. The lives of over two hundred Indians weighed heavily on his mind.

  The Minister of External Affairs spoke up. ‘The hijackers have made their demand.’

  ‘What do they want?’ NSA Tarun Katiyal demanded.

  ‘Their message, recorded at ATC Kandahar and relayed to us here, is this.’ The minister walked up to the device kept on the table and switched it on. The terrorist’s voice played on the speakers in the room, in chaste Urdu.

  Siddharth Pande waited till the entire monologue had played out. And then he translated it for the benefit of everyone. ‘The terrorists, who belong to the Hizbul Mujahideen, are demanding the release of Sajid Mir, three other Pakistani terrorists along with a billion dollars in Indian currency. And if we don’t respond to their demands by tomorrow early morning, they will start killing the passengers, one every hour.’

  ‘This is ridiculous. We captured Sajid Mir after a fierce gun battle in Pathankot where we lost four of our own men,’ the Army Chief bellowed. ‘Our best men.’

  Tarun Katiyal looked at him and calmly responded. ‘And if we don’t release him, we stand to lose another two hundred and eighty-four of our own.’

  ‘With due respect, sir, you give in to them once and let Sajid Mir go, they will keep coming back for more. In the past, we have never surrendered to these men. Do it once and it sets a precedent,’the Army Chief thundered.

  ‘I would agree with the Army Chief, sir,’ the Finance Minister said. ‘However, we cannot ignore the impact it might have on our people if we don’t give in and something goes wrong. It will reflect very poorly on us.’

  The debate continued for sometime. The PM was silent throughout the meeting. It was as if he was assimilating his thoughts before he made up his mind. After all, the lives of two hundred and eighty humans, most of them Indians, lay in balance.

  ‘Had the Afghan government been more supportive, we could have sought their help,’ Tarun Katiyal said. ‘Unfortunately, Kandahar is a Taliban stronghold. I don’t think we will get enough support there.’

  The Army Chief took umbrage to the manner in which the conversation was progressing. ‘Well, if the Israelis could do it in 1976, we can do it now.’ When most of the others in the room gave him a blank look, he clarified, ‘Operation Entebbe. In 1976, members of the Popular Front for Liberation of Palestine had hijacked an Air France Plane with two hundred and forty-eight passengers on board. Their demand … the release of forty Palestinian and affiliated prisoners held in the prisons of Israel and a few other countries.’

  The door opened and the Private Secretary to the Prime Minister walked in. ‘Sorry to barge in, but there is a call on the Restricted Area Exchange.’ He looked at the Minister of External Affairs. ‘For you, sir.’

  ‘Let’s go,’ the MEA said and walked towards the door. ‘I will be back,’ he said as he exited the room. Calls on the RAX were rare and normally mission critical.

  The Army Chief continued from where he had left off, ‘The hijackers took the plane to Entebbe, in Uganda. Idi Amin, the dictator ruling Uganda, supported the cause of the hijackers. Israel launced a stealth offensive and stormed the main airport of Entebbe, freeing the passengers and the plane. A number of Ugandan forces were killed along with the hijackers. If they did it in 1976, why can’t we do it now?’

  ‘Were all the passengers rescued unhurt?’

  ‘That’s what the reports said at that time.’

  The Prime Minister turned towards the Army Chief and asked, ‘Do you think it is possible to carry out a rescue mission by storming Kanda...’

  His question was cut short by the re-entry of the External Affairs Minister. ‘We have to put all plans on hold,’ he announced, much to everyone’s surprise.

  ‘As in?’ Siddharth Pande sounded a little irritated at this sudden turn of events.

  ‘The call that I just received was from the Federal Department of Finance, Government of Switzerland. Johann Shneider, the Swiss Mini
ster of Finance, was on the call. We will have to handle the hijack situation with kid gloves.’

  ‘And why would that be, sir?’ The Army Chief was at his menacing best.

  ‘Carlo Pinotti is on board IC-814.’

  66

  21 October 2018

  DELHI

  When Aditya and Manish Patel reached Race Course Road, the official residence of the PM, the meeting was still on. Aditya stood on the sidelines, listening to the conversation. He stood there quietly, wondering what had made the PM send for him, paricularly when the RBI had no role to play in an ongoing hijack drama.

  As if reading his mind, the Prime Minister said, ‘I sent for you, Mr Kesavan, because you are a key man in this entire saga.’ Looking at Aditya’s confused face, he added, ‘Let me explain that to you. Carlo Pinotti of Le Da Spire is on board IC-814.’

  Aditya was stunned. Carlo Pinotti had been in India? How come neither the RBI nor the FM had known about it? Not even Danish Khosla. But then, that’s the way Carlo Pinotti was known to be – extremely protective of his privacy.

  ‘The Swiss want Carlo Pinotti protected at any cost. There is too much money riding on him. He is the custodian of the secrets of many world leaders,’ the PM continued.

  ‘Sir,’ Aditya nodded his head. ‘And courtesy demands that we consider the request.’

  ‘It was not a request, Mr Kesavan. It was a threat. Carlo Pinotti has to be brought back safe at any cost.’ The PM walked to the corner of the room, picked up a glass of water and gulped it down. ‘If it was up to me, I would give instructions to our armed forces to storm the plane and free the passengers. But only if they gave me an assurance that not a single passenger would be harmed. But this Carlo Pinotti had messed up all our plans.’

  ‘Does the press know that Carlo Pinotti is on the flight?’Aditya enquired.

  ‘Even the hijackers do not know that. If they even get a clue that the world’s biggest currency printer is in their custody, they will demand their pound of flesh. Won’t they?’ the PM said.