The Perplexing Theft of the Jewel in the Crown

by Vaseem Khan

  Having set the explosive outside of the door Kartik had then taken the crown from Kanodia and placed it beneath his fake turban before securing the turban back on his head. Chopra guessed that he must have also taken the nose filters from himself and Kanodia – together with their latex gloves – and pushed them into the plastic explosive in an attempt to obliterate this incriminating evidence. He now had only to light the detonation fuse.

  Then he and Kanodia had lain down in the gallery and waited for the explosion, just two more innocent victims of the heist.

  When the Force One team had hustled them out of the museum just minutes later, Kartik – the crown concealed beneath his turban – would have set off the metal scanner. But he had simply pointed to his kara. The guards already knew that he had taken it in with him. They had not bothered to look further.

  It was a very clever plan. All that was left was to frame Shekhar Garewal.

  ‘You and Kanodia planned this together, didn’t you?’ said Chopra. ‘Backed by the Chauhan gang.’

  ‘Kanodia?’ Kartik sneered. ‘Kanodia wouldn’t have the brains or the guts to pull off something this big. As for the Chauhan gang…’ He laughed. ‘This was my caper, Chopra. I merely brought Kanodia in to authenticate the diamond and remove it from the crown without damaging it. I knew of his past record. I knew he would keep his mouth shut.’

  ‘But why? Why did you do it? You have everything. It makes no sense.’

  ‘You wouldn’t understand,’ said Kartik.

  ‘Try me.’

  Kartik hesitated before speaking: ‘Have you any idea what it’s like, being the man who has everything? From the moment I was born there was nothing that I had to work for, nothing to strive for. My every whim was taken care of. I had only to crook my little finger and Daddy would take out his chequebook. Everyone around me was there to do my bidding. I was never allowed to achieve a single thing for myself.’

  ‘Millions would kill for such a life.’

  ‘But where is the challenge, Chopra? What made Alexander conquer nation after nation? Why did he lie down and die when his men forced him to turn homewards? Without challenge, life has no meaning.’ Kartik’s face was shadowed in the marine night. ‘My father expects me to follow in his footsteps. To take over the empire he has built. But I have no interest in an empire I had no hand in fashioning. I created the Bombay Billionaires Club so that I would have something that was mine; something that belonged to me. It is that simple.’ Suddenly, Kartik’s voice was feverish with excitement. ‘You cannot imagine the rush! To plan something that pushes your abilities to the limit, that requires daring and courage and carries with it the genuine risk of danger. To then execute that plan to perfection. Let me tell you, there is no thrill like the thrill of besting fate.’

  ‘You are a thief,’ said Chopra flatly. ‘And a killer.’

  ‘Killer?’ Kartik’s face radiated confusion. ‘What are you talking about?’

  ‘Prakash Yadav. The man you sent into the museum to plant the gas canisters and the plastic explosive.’

  Kartik laughed, the noise echoing over the moonlit water. ‘Yadav – as you call him – is very much alive. His real name is Naresh Gadkar. He was my bodyguard, and a very sharp chap for all that. Now there was a man who understood challenge! He performed his role perfectly. And once he had done so, he understood that he could not hang around. He is thousands of miles away from here, back in his native village in the south. A wealthy man for the rest of his days. Gadkar understands that wealth and health do not always go together. He will never return to Mumbai and he will never open his mouth. He took a risk and it has paid off for him. He is content. And very much alive.’

  ‘What about Garewal? Your actions have sentenced him to a living death.’

  Kartik shrugged. ‘One cannot make an omelette without breaking eggs. Besides, Garewal is a cop. No one is going to miss one more cop in Mumbai. They are all as crooked as the day is long. The things they do each day make my crime pale by comparison.’

  ‘I was a cop for thirty years,’ said Chopra stiffly.

  Kartik stared at him. ‘Now I remember where I have seen you before. You are the one who cracked that trafficking ring. “The one honest cop in Mumbai.” Isn’t that what the papers called you? It seems to me as if you are taking your press a bit too seriously, my friend.’ Kartik leaned forward and began to speak more quickly. ‘Look, this does not have to end here. I will return the diamond. You can take it back, be the big hero. Earn yourself some more headlines. All you need to do is look the other way. By tomorrow I will be on another continent. I am thinking South America, one of those hot and humid countries with no extradition treaties. Fast women and samba music. Loud shirts and beach parties till dawn. What do you think?’

  ‘Garewal has a family. You would have let him rot in jail, just so that you could have your challenge.’

  ‘When you steal a wallet, you can get away with it. But when you steal the Koh-i-Noor diamond, someone must pay. They won’t just let it go. I am afraid Garewal simply drew the short straw.’

  Chopra’s face was suffused with rage. ‘That’s all you have to say? “Garewal drew the short straw”?’ He cocked the revolver. ‘I am taking you in, Kartik. You will answer for your crimes. Let us see how you like it in Arthur Road Jail.’

  Kartik reached into the pocket of his tuxedo. He held out his arm and opened his fist. In the centre of his palm lay the Koh-i-Noor diamond.

  ‘This is what they want, Chopra. Not me.’ With a flick of the wrist he flung the diamond across the boat. Instinctively Chopra made a grab for the jewel… From the corner of his eye he saw Kartik lunging towards him. He turned back, one hand grasping for the diamond, the other attempting to keep the gun trained on his assailant. He failed on both counts.

  The diamond bounced off his sleeve and spun away until it was perched on the very rim of the boat, just beside the outboard motor. At the same instant Kartik steamed into him, carrying them both to the floor.

  Chopra’s finger tightened around the handgun’s trigger. The gun bucked in his hand, the shot echoing harmlessly over the silent waters.

  The two men grappled in the bottom of the boat. Chopra struggled furiously, but Kartik was bigger and stronger. Eventually Kartik landed a solid blow that knocked the wind out of him.

  The younger man staggered to his feet as Chopra wheezed beneath him. Stars swam before his eyes, adding new constellations to the ones visible behind Kartik’s shoulder.

  Kartik reached down and plucked the gun from the bilge.

  ‘I’m really sorry to have to do this, but you leave me no choice. I tried being reasonable, but some people just won’t listen to reason.’ He levelled the weapon at Chopra’s leg. ‘Don’t worry. I am not going to kill you. As I have said I am no murderer. I am merely going to incapacitate you long enough to escape. I am afraid I have nothing with which to tie you up, and I cannot pilot the boat and keep an eye on you at the same time… Now, which leg would you prefer to be shot in?’

  ‘Neither,’ wheezed Chopra and lashed out with a foot, catching Kartik squarely in the groin. With a howl of pain, the younger man doubled up.

  His finger tightened on the trigger and the gun went off. By a whim of fate the bullet struck the Koh-i-Noor, pinging it over the edge of the boat and into the water.

  For a brief second it bobbed on a wave lapping against the boat’s hull and then sank into the inky darkness.

  Chopra struggled to his feet.

  He leaned down and took the gun from Kartik’s unresisting grip. ‘You do not need ropes to incapacitate a man,’ he said. ‘I have always found that a well-placed boot is just as effective.’

  Kartik remained curled up on the floor of the boat, the occasional mewling sound the only message from the particular circle of hell into which he had descended.

  Chopra turned to the boat’s stern. His dark eyes scanned the swirling seawater beyond the hull. But there was no sign of the diamond.

  A tremen
dous disappointment roared through him. The harbour was deep out here and the currents unpredictable. The chances were that the diamond would never be recovered, no matter how many men and how much money the governments of Britain and India threw into the search. It was not the resolution that he had hoped for.

  In one sense he had failed.

  But then again, his duty was to his client, to Shekhar Garewal, and he had succeeded in proving Garewal’s innocence.

  And that was good enough.

  He turned to the front of the boat.

  Scanning the simple set of controls, he managed to switch on the motor. The boat roared to life.

  Chopra grabbed the wheel and steered the speedboat back towards The King’s Ransom. Behind him, twinkling like a thousand fireflies in the night, were the lights of the city that he had guarded for more years than he cared to remember.

  His city.

  Mumbai.

  A CELEBRATION AT POPPY’S

  The three policemen from the Railway Protection Force, with their distinctive blue berets, looked around as the accordion-player strained the notes of a bittersweet melody from his instrument. One, moved by the song’s lament, raised a beer to the young man and flung a rupee in his direction, the spinning coin deftly plucked from the air by the black-faced langur perched on the youth’s shoulder. The monkey stuffed it into the jingling bag of coins clutched in its paws, then looked up expectantly for more.

  The youth turned and almost walked into Chopra, who had just entered the restaurant.

  On another day he would have dismissed the young man – he did not wish to encourage troubadours and beggars in his place of business – but tonight he had much on his mind.

  Head down, he barrelled past the accordion-player and stormed into his office, where he discovered Poppy and Rangwalla waiting for him.

  Having greeted them both, he slumped into his seat behind the desk. Poppy, who had summoned a plate of Hyderabadi egg curry and steamed basmati rice from the kitchen in anticipation of her husband’s arrival, lifted the bamboo cover from the tray. Chopra’s nostrils twitched at the smell, but recent events had deprived him of his appetite.

  It had been a night of furious activity.

  Having returned to The King’s Ransom with a subdued Sunil Kartik he had waited with DCI Bomberton for the forces of law and order to arrive.

  The wait had been anything but orderly.

  The detained crowd included some of the richest and most powerful men in India – who were not about to be cowed by an Englishman and a private detective. Before the cavalry could arrive many had slipped away on hastily summoned launches, even as Bomberton did his best to corral them in the ballroom. From those who remained came a constant stream of invective, dire threats and wild-eyed oaths. Mobile phones grew hot beneath the fury of the nabobs.

  Chopra had advised Bomberton to ferry those left behind to the nearby Colaba station. He had called Poolchand and asked the station’s holding pens to be cleared to make room for their grandiose new visitors. Bomberton had reluctantly agreed to the plan, but before they could get within a mile of the place a pack of ravenous lawyers had descended, nonplussing the station in-charge and making him regret the fact that he had chosen to work on Christmas Day.

  Thus began the machinations that would ultimately end with not a single one of those present for the Koh-i-Noor’s ‘auction’ remanded on charges. Chopra, weary with exhaustion, had grown hoarse in his attempts to convince his seniors that these men were as guilty as Sunny Kartik and Bulbul Kanodia.

  He should have known better.

  He remembered the words of ACP Suresh Rao, who had been incandescent with fury to discover that Chopra had stolen his thunder. ‘You may think you have won, Chopra, but you are wrong. You have made enemies of some of the most powerful men in the country. Worse, you have made them look foolish. They will not forget. And they will never forgive.’

  The Commissioner of Police and the state’s Chief Minister had been equally scathing.

  ‘What exactly are we to charge them with?’ asked the Commissioner acidly. ‘Attending a masked ball? Their lawyers will make mincemeat of us. That is if they don’t tie us up in red tape for the next ten years. You do not even have the diamond. All you have is Kartik and Kanodia, and Kartik’s father will move heaven and earth for his son. Circumstantial evidence won’t hold up in court, Chopra.’ He had relented long enough to offer the former policeman a few words of grudging praise. ‘Be content with what you have achieved. Do not try to bite off more than you can chew.’

  What had he achieved? Well, at least he could take consolation from the fact that he had made good on his promise to prove Shekhar Garewal’s innocence.

  Garewal had been released an hour earlier amidst a blaze of publicity. Yet, instead of issuing an apology, the authorities claimed that Garewal’s arrest was a ruse designed to flush out the real culprits, and that Garewal had been helping them with the investigation all along.

  Garewal himself remained tight-lipped. It was obvious that a deal had been struck.

  As he drove Garewal home, his former colleague had choked back tears of gratitude. ‘Chopra, you have given me back my life. Without you, I was a dead man.’

  ‘I should never have doubted you.’

  ‘You didn’t,’ said Garewal. ‘Not where it mattered. Here.’ And he had touched his chest.

  Garewal had asked Chopra to stay for a celebratory drink but he had declined. He knew that what his old colleague needed most was time with his family, time to sit back in his own home and reflect on his narrow escape. How that escape would shape the remainder of his life was a question that only Garewal could answer.

  Chopra realised that Poppy was speaking. He concentrated now as she explained to him exactly what had been going on in his absence.

  Poppy told him that Irfan had returned to the restaurant late the night before, at about the same time that Chopra had been on the yacht with Bomberton. He had been accompanied by Ganesha who, Chopra was horrified to learn, had been abducted by Pramod Kondvilkar from the Maharashtra Dangerous Animals Division.

  No one seemed to know how Ganesha had escaped from Kondvilkar’s clutches or, for that matter, how he had ended up with Irfan. From the boy there came only a simple explanation. ‘Ganesha found me and brought me home. If you will permit me to stay, I will never leave again.’

  Poppy had broken down in tears when she discovered the two of them back where they belonged, safe and sound. Chopra listened as she painted a picture for him of their happy reunion…

  Following their dramatic escape, the two fugitives, weary and battle-scarred, had made their way back to the restaurant. Here they had been greeted with cries of delight by all the staff and an overwhelmed Poppy, who had come in looking for her errant husband, displeased that he had pulled another of his vanishing acts.

  ‘Where have you been, you naughty boy?’ she had said crossly, simultaneously hugging Irfan and scolding him. ‘Who gave you permission to go?’ She held him at arm’s length and inspected him. ‘You have lost weight! And look at those bruises! Why did you go with that man? Was he really your father? Oh, if only that villain was in front of me now!’

  ‘You do not have to worry about him,’ said Irfan, glancing at Ganesha. ‘He has gone away and will not be coming back.’

  Poppy squinted at him suspiciously. Then her face broadened into a smile. ‘Well, if he ever comes looking for you again, he will find me here. And heaven help him then!’

  She hugged them both again, then looked them over with a practised eye, her nose crinkling. ‘You two need a bath.’

  A look of intense worry alighted on both Irfan and Ganesha’s faces. It was not that they disliked bathing; it was simply that Poppy’s idea of a bath differed greatly from their own. They liked to roll around in the mud and then use a hosepipe to rinse themselves clean. A bath orchestrated by Poppy meant soap, lotions, talcum powder, loofahs, moisturiser and a veritable alchemist’s cupboard of oils that left
them smelling oddly for days.

  ‘Ah, I see you are back. Had enough of lazing about, have you?’ Poornima Devi hobbled into view. ‘Well, instead of standing around why don’t you fetch my tea? I am not paying you to gawp at the walls.’

  ‘Mummyji, the poor boy has been through enough!’ said Poppy sternly.

  ‘Nonsense!’ said Poornima. ‘When he is my age and must live with pain each and every waking moment, when he is surrounded by ingrates and buffoons, when he is thrown to the mercy of a boorish son-in-law, then he can say he has had enough.’

  ‘One chai coming up, Poornima Madam,’ said Irfan brightly. He gave Poppy a last hug, then skipped from the room, Ganesha trotting close behind, a bright moon of happiness rising inside him.

  Irfan could never tell Poppy and Chopra how much it had pained him to leave them, that he had only done so to protect them from his evil father. The word ‘family’ had been an alien concept in his life. But for the first time, he was beginning to understand what other children took for granted. He prayed that he would never be away from them again, even for a single day.

  In spite of his grim mood Chopra found himself smiling as he listened to the tale. He had not had the opportunity to return to the restaurant before now, having spent the entire night at CBI headquarters with Bomberton and the senior echelons of the Brihanmumbai Police. Halfway through the night he had been asked to accompany a police diving team into the harbour to try and pinpoint exactly where the Koh-i-Noor had gone down. As he had suspected, the search had so far proved to be a fruitless task.

  Finally, having been thoroughly debriefed by the Commissioner and the Chief Minister, a weary Chopra had been released, along with Garewal.

  As if by divine providence a knock sounded on the door at that very moment, and Irfan entered, drawing Chopra from his moribund thoughts.