“The kid comes with us,” Mirza said.
***
An MP5-wielding commando blocked Mirza’s path. “You cannot enter.”
Sonia stood behind Mirza with Atal at her side. “Let him through!”
The NSG guard gave Atal a sneering once-over. “No one gets through.”
Mirza’s nose wrinkled. The stench of smoke filled the air. He glanced at Atal and nodded.
The street urchin stepped up to the commando. “Mister, mister, do you have any food?”
“Fuck off.”
“So many pouches, surely you have some food.” Atal’s fast hands plucked at the guard’s vest.
“Listen, kid, I’m not going to tell you again.” He shoved Atal back. “Fuck off!”
While Atal played out his diversion, Mirza slipped past and raced up the street to a pair of fire engines. Ignoring his bruises and pains, he darted between vehicles, dodged NSG commandos and medics, and slipped through the splintered orange gate. Reaching the courtyard, he stopped dead. Half the safe house was gone. Fire had blackened the concrete. The roof had caved in. Chunks of rubble were strewn across the square.
On the drive over, he’d called Himesh’s phone a dozen times, with no answer. Now, Mirza feared he knew the reason. Charging into the shattered building, he began a frantic search, shouting his partner’s name on each breath.
A fireman grabbed his arm. “No one’s allowed in. It isn’t safe.”
“My partner’s in there.”
“No, he’s not. They’re bringing the last one out now.”
Two firemen carried a stretcher with a body covered by a blood-stained sheet. One of the men stumbled. An arm flopped out from under the sheet. It was clad in the bloodied khaki of a police uniform.
“Put him down,” Mirza ordered. The two firemen looked at each other, shrugged, and placed the stretcher on the ground. Fearing what he’d find, Mirza peeled back the sheet. Ranbir. He yanked the sheet off. Bullet holes riddled the Sikh’s broad chest. “Are there others?”
“Yes. Out on the street.”
Mirza pulled the sheet back over the police officer’s face. “I’m so sorry, Ranbir,” he whispered. He pivoted and strode past the fire engines until he spotted an ambulance parked behind an NSG armored truck. As he neared it, he saw bodies laid out on the street. The mangled corpses of the terrorists had been dumped for all to see. Another three bodies were set to the side and covered with white sheets.
He marched over and pulled back the sheets. The first two were NSG operatives, their bodies blackened and torn by the explosion. The third body was his friend and his mentor.
Grief hit Mirza like a blow to the chest. Tears filled his eyes and his hands shook as he reached down and touched Himesh’s cold, dead skin.
He gave himself a moment, then forcing emotions aside, inspected the body. As with Ranbir, ragged bullet holes covered his partner’s chest. His eyes narrowed as he realized they were exit wounds. Peering closer he saw the holes appeared to be from low-velocity hollow points. Focusing on the task at hand, Mirza emptied his friend’s pockets, taking the phone and wallet.
“What the fuck is he doing here?”
Mirza stood up and glared at Prasad. “You bastard. We told you about the terrorists and you did nothing. Nothing! And now you’ve killed two good men.”
Prasad’s mouth turned up at the corner. “I’d be very careful when throwing around accusations.”
Mirza swung a lightning fast punch that caught the NSG commander on the jaw.
Prasad reeled back clutching his face. “Somebody fucking arrest him!”
Before he had a chance to react he was doubled over by a blow to his stomach and his arms were wrenched back.
Mirza struggled for air, as his wrists were zip-tied. “You’re a murdering bastard, Prasad,” he said between gasps.
He was pushed against the armored truck and the empty Glock ripped from his belt.
Prasad spat blood. “You can’t blame me for the death of your partner. If you hadn’t interfered, he’d still be alive.”
Was it possible the NSG commander was right? “He was shot in the back with nine mill,” he said hoarsely. He didn’t need a forensics team to know an NSG officer had killed Himesh. The terrorists were all carrying AKs, not 9mm MP5s.
“Then maybe deep down inside he was a coward.”
“I know what you’ve done. And you’re going to pay for it. Special Group isn’t about to let this go.”
“I’m not the one under arrest.”
“What’s the meaning of this?” Sonia’s voice cut through the emotion.
Prasad jerked and shock flashed across his face. “What are you doing here?”
“This man,” she pointed at Mirza. “Just saved my life. I was kidnapped by terrorists who attacked the Imperial Hotel. So I’m very interested to know why he’s under arrest.”
“To put it frankly, that’s none of your business. I’ve told you before, keep your nose out of my operations.”
“I’m making it my business. Now, what are the charges?” snapped Sonia.
“Assaulting an officer, unlawful carriage of a firearm, interfering with a police investigation, disobeying a lawful order. Do you want me to go on?”
“This whole thing’s a mess, Prasad. There will be a thorough investigation to determine exactly what went wrong and who’s responsible.”
“My people will handle the initial investigation efficiently and effectively.” He turned to one of his men. “Corporal, kindly escort Miss Jayaram from my crime scene.”
“What do you want done with this one?” asked the sergeant restraining Mirza.
“Take him to our compound.”
Mirza glanced back at Himesh’s body lying on the ground as the sergeant threw him into the rear of the armored truck.
CHAPTER 23
Locked in an NSG interview room, Mirza sat at a desk, his hands zip-tied behind him. Doubts occupied his thoughts. Second guesses assailed him. Had he and Himesh taken the right actions? Should they have left it to Prasad? Was it Mirza’s fault his partner and Ranbir were now dead?
After an hour, guilt and rage still warred for supremacy. His eyes flicked to the heavy steel door as it creaked open and Prasad entered.
He strolled to the desk and sat down. Then he placed a folder on the table, set a pen next to it and lit a cigarette. “You’re in a lot of trouble, Corporal Mirza Mansoor.” He winced as he opened his swollen lips to inhale from the cigarette.
Mirza stared at a spot on the wall. He refused to give the Lieutenant Colonel the courtesy of looking him in the eye. “Your men killed Himesh and Ranbir.”
Prasad laughed. “They got themselves killed. You fool, you assaulted a terrorist stronghold with three men. What did you expect?”
“You sent your men in with orders to kill everyone, knowing they were inside.”
Prasad waved his hand. “It was a tragic accident. We all know that in the heat of combat accidents happen.”
“You know damn well it wasn’t an accident. You knew exactly what was in that safe house, didn’t you? Ever since your men spoke to Neeraj.”
“My men? My men with Neeraj? Good luck proving that, Corporal. You were running unauthorized ops, carrying illegal weapons, and you fucked up my operation. Two of my commandos are in the morgue because of you and your moron partner.”
“We had to take action. They were about to attack the stadium!”
“No. You compromised my op and allowed terrorists to escape and attack the Imperial. What the fuck were you thinking? Three amateurs assaulting a terrorist stronghold? You’re going to be bloody lucky if you ever see the outside of a cell again.”
An icy calm settled over Mirza. He neither blinked nor glanced at the NSG commander. “I want to talk to Major Jayaram.”
Prasad chuckled. “Special Group can’t help you now, Mirza. You’re done. You’re going to be transferred to Karol Bagh Police station, where you will be charged with both military and civil off
enses.”
The threats failed to unnerve Mirza. They only strengthened his thirst for justice.
“Of course if you were to sign a confession admitting Captain Arjun’s orders were what resulted in the bungled assault, I’d make sure the charges are downgraded.”
“I don’t lie and won’t start now. We came to you with our information. We told you where the terrorists were. We provided pictures. You refused to act. You forced us to take action.”
Prasad opened the folder and pushed over the document. “Sign the statement, Corporal. It’ll make things easier for everyone. You’ll be allowed to go back to your unit. Back to your friends.”
Mirza didn’t respond.
“If you don’t, I guarantee you’ll rot in a cell. You’ll take the fall for everything.” He stood and circled the table.
“I won’t sign a confession.”
“Oh, you will sign it. You will sign it for your mother. Because without your wage, she can’t afford her medical treatments. Who knows what might happen to her.”
Mirza focused on his breathing as he struggled to keep control of his mounting rage. “I will not sign.”
Prasad hauled him out of his chair. “Yes, you fucking will. By the time I’m finished with you, you’ll sign anything.”
Mirza let himself go limp a second before he was thrown across the room. He bounced off the wall, spun, and faced the cleft-chinned murderer. The sweating colonel grasped him by the neck and pinned him to the wall.
“If you want to live, sign the fucking statement. Your friend is dead, nothing will change that.”
“You’re right,” Mirza said hoarsely. “But he and Ranbir deserve justice.” He had been working on the zip ties for over an hour, twisting the two locking mechanisms against each other to weaken them. With a flex of his forearms, he snapped the restraints. In one fluid motion, he grabbed the lieutenant colonel’s arm, wrenched it off his neck, and flipped it into a wrist hold.
Prasad yelped and hunched over to alleviate the pressure.
Mirza guided him over to the table and slammed his head into it. Stunned, he collapsed to the floor.
With a snort, Mirza strolled out of the interview room, past the single guard drinking coffee, and headed for the stairs. His rage overwhelmed any fears he had of being stopped. He passed a group of NSG officers on the stairs. None of them looked twice at him. He nodded to the clerk manning the front desk as he walked out the building and onto the driveway.
An NSG officer intercepted him a few feet from the exit. “Stop! What are you doing?”
“Leaving.”
The man pointed to the card hanging from his own neck. “You’re supposed to be wearing your ID or a visitor’s pass.”
He shrugged. “I’m sorry. They didn’t issue me one.”
“Stop that man!” Prasad screamed.
The NSG officer reacted instantly, drawing his pistol from its holster.
Mirza grabbed it and pushed back against the man’s wrist as he elbowed him in the face. Then shoulder barging him out of the way, he ran, taking the pistol with him.
“Stop him!” Prasad screamed.
Mirza knew there was no way he could make it past the heavy steel gate and the guards without being shot. Instead, he ran to the vehicle park in the corner of the compound. He leaped onto a Mitsubishi Pajero. Its hood bent under his weight as he vaulted from it onto the roof. He jumped from the car onto an unmarked NSG van.
The last vehicle in the line, one of the huge black armored trucks, was parked near the perimeter wall. He sprang from the van to the side of the truck, scrambled up it, and paused, judging the two-yard gap to the wall.
“He’s armed! Shoot him!”
Mirza sprinted across the top of the truck as bullets cracked around him. He hurdled into the air, clearing the wall. He smashed into a sapling. The tree flexed and dumped him in a garden bed.
“Mirza, over here!” a familiar voice called out.
He gathered himself and saw Atal waving at him from the back seat of a tuk-tuk. He limped across the road and climbed in beside the kid. Before he was even seated, the taxi sped off down the road and entered the chaotic traffic of New Delhi.
“You OK, boss?”
“I’m fine. Who’s your friend?” He nodded at the driver.
“He’s OK. You can trust him. He hates the Black Cats.”
“Don’t we all.”
CHAPTER 24
Back at the hostel, Mirza sat hunched on his bed and stared at Himesh’s belongings. He knew he had to pack them to send home. With the NSG hunting him, he also had to find a new place to stay until he could prove his innocence and Prasad’s guilt. Yet, he kept running through the sequence of events that led to Himesh and Ranbir’s deaths.
“What are we going to do now, boss?”
He glanced at the boy sitting beside him. “Don’t know.”
“He was a very good man. When I grow up I want to be like him.”
Mirza managed a weak smile.
“Come on, boss, you can’t sit around all day. You’ve got to do something. You’ve got to make the bad men pay. We’ve got to find them; kill them like you killed bug-eyes on the roof. You can do it, Mirza, I know you-”
“Enough!” Mirza pinched the bridge of his nose. “Sometimes, Atal, you need to shut up.” The moment the words were out of his mouth, he regretted them. The look on Atal’s face said it all as tears welled in his eyes.
Mirza put his arm around the kid’s shoulders. “I’m sorry, Atal. I didn’t mean that. It’s just… I can’t help but wonder if Prasad’s right.”
“About what?”
“Himesh and I messed the operation up.”
“Not true. You stopped them from bombing the stadium. The Black Cats wouldn’t have stopped it. Everyone knows it was the Burka Warriors. Everybody’s talking about it. Black Cats didn’t do nothing till after you guys attacked. I was watching, remember?”
“Thanks, Atal. But I’m not sure that’s going to help.”
“You should talk to Neeraj. He knows the truth.”
“Neeraj is still alive?”
“Yes. The Black Cats are looking for him. But we all know those idiots couldn’t find a tuk-tuk in Chandni Chowk.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure of that.”
Himesh’s old phone, lying on the bed, started to vibrate its way across the sheet. Startled, Mirza didn’t pick it up until it almost fell off the bed. “Hello.”
“Mirza, is that you? Thank god you’re all right,” Major Jayaram said. “Before you say anything, I want you to know I’ve spoken to my sister. I’m forever in your debt. If not for you, I would have lost her.”
“You’ve heard about Himesh?”
“Yes, I’m trying to get access to his body. Those NSG bastards are blocking me at every turn.”
“That’s because they killed him and Ranbir, a policeman.”
Silence greeted his comment. Eventually the major cleared his throat. “That’s a serious claim.”
“Yes, sir. Himesh was shot in the back with 9mm hollow points. Ranbir’s chest was riddled with the same wounds. The terrorists were armed with AKs.”
“Shit, maybe Sonia’s right.”
“What do you mean?”
“She’s trying to pull together a team to independently investigate the incident.”
“She can do that?”
“Yeah, she can. Look, I’m sorry about Himesh. We lost a good operative and a good friend. But you’ve got to come in. Technically, you’re AWOL.”
“So Prasad can have me thrown in jail again? How can I find out what really happened, if I’m in jail?”
“My sister is going to handle that. I’ll message you her number after this call. You can phone her. She’ll let you know exactly what’s going on and can get you into a CBI safe house.”
“I can’t make any promises, sir. I need a little time to think about this.
“I understand. At least call Sonia, I know she wants to hear from you. If an
yone can find the truth, it’s her.”
“I’ll call her. Just give me some time.” Mirza terminated the call and placed the phone on the bed. Then he checked the magazine from the Browning pistol he’d stolen at the NSG compound.
“What are we going to do, boss?”
He slid the magazine back into the pistol, cocked it, and applied the safety. “Can you find Neeraj?”
“Easy. You know me; Atal can find anything and anyone you want.”
“Good. Neeraj and I are going to have a little chat.”
***
Neeraj had waited for darkness before he made his way to the makeshift surgery. He knew he should leave town but his priority was treating the gunshot wound on his arm. Now, he sat in this old geriatric’s ‘surgery’ and wondered if he’d made the right choice.
“You’re very lucky, Neeraj. Word on the street is the Black Cats killed everyone in the building.”
“Those fucking pricks also shot Salim and Jamal when we ran across the roof.”
The backyard doctor mumbled something and finished closing the wound with a tug on the thread.
“Take it easy. I’m not a bag of fucking rice.” Sweat rolled off the gangster’s face. He took a long swig from a bottle of palm wine then rested it on his belly.
“Word is you had some real bad Pakis at your place.”
Neeraj glared at him. “I’m not paying you to talk shit. Fix my arm and shut the fuck up.”
The old man shrugged and cut the length of thread hanging from the wound. As he dabbed it with alcohol, there was banging on the door and he called out, “Wait, I’m coming.”
Neeraj put the palm wine on the bench and grabbed him. “It’s late. Are you expecting anyone?”
“Just another patient. Business has been good this week.” He brushed off Neeraj’s hand and left through the curtains separating the dingy room from the storefront.
Neeraj heard the squeak of the front door followed by, “Get out of the way, old man.” He flew from the chair and bolted out the back door. Not daring to glance behind him, he fled down the poorly lit alley. His heart pounding, he skidded around a corner and collided with a musclebound giant.
PRIMAL Starter Box Set (PRIMAL Series) Page 12