The Dust Will Never Settle

by Deva, Mukul

  The Toyota raced past the spot where the children had been playing. Ruby spotted one of them staring open-mouthed from around the corner of a hut. He would have stories to tell for a long time.

  Or maybe not. This was Congo, he was likely to have seen worse.

  They had gone half a mile when the other five vehicles caught up. The convoy pelted down the narrow, potholed road.

  ‘We have them,’ Ruby heard the driver bark into the radio as she replaced the half-empty magazine of her weapon and began to reload. Beside her, Mark was doing the same.

  ‘Jolly good show,’ Mission Control intoned, his Brit stoicism intact. ‘Extractors inbound.’

  Minutes later, the vehicles pulled off the road and ground to a dust-churning halt in a flat, open field. The vehicles drew up in a wide circle. Kevlar-clad agents spilled out and took position behind their vehicles, all facing outwards. Not that they expected trouble, but security drills were what kept them alive.

  The dust had yet to settle when three choppers swept in. Two of them headed straight into the secured clearing while the third, its guns ready, started circling overhead in a wide loop, to ensure nothing on ground interfered with the extraction. And, though the agents could not see them, high up in the sky, a sortie of RAF fighters ran a protective Combat Air Patrol (CAP).

  The ambassador and his wife were hustled into the first chopper with Ruby’s team. She saw Chance and his sniper team jump into the next one as hers lifted off.

  Mission complete!

  There were smiles all around.

  Ruby leaned back and let the stress drain away. Momentarily, the faces of the downed terrorists flipped through her mind. She shrugged.

  The fuckers should have realized what they’d signed up for. The thought induced a shrug. They are wrong. I am right. Well… if not right, at least on the good team. Wasn’t that reason enough for me to pull the trigger? Was it? The thought troubled her only briefly. Of course, it was. That is all there is to it… nothing to fret about.

  Closing her eyes, she shut out the clamouring roar of the rotors.

  As the Nissan van halted again, Ruby was startled back to the reality of Sri Lanka.

  The man whom Ruby and Mark had travelled halfway across the world to meet was waiting for them outside a seedy hotel in Vavuniya.

  Barely five feet tall, the dark-skinned Chanderan was rotund, and like most men Ruby had seen on the streets, wore a checked blue-and-white cotton lungi and a white cotton half-sleeve shirt, its buttons undone almost to the midriff. He proudly led them to the reception desk – a tiny wooden table adorned with a large, well worn guest register and a pink flower vase with plastic flowers in it. Like the table, both the flowers and the vase had seen better days.

  ‘It is all taken care of,’ he announced grandly. Though afflicted by the typical islander accent, his English was all right. ‘I will wait while you freshen up.’

  ‘No worries.’ Ruby was in no mood to tarry. ‘Come on up to the room with us.’ She threw a glance at Mark, making it clear that he was to stick with her.

  The first-floor room Chanderan led them to had a queen-sized bed in the centre, and a small wooden table and chair near the window overlooking the noisy street. The bed was covered with a flowery, cotton bedspread. A stale smell hung in the air, making it obvious that the room was hired by the hour, and it had been a while since it had seen any housekeeping services. With the three of them in it, the room felt claustrophobic. Mark threw an amused look around. No air conditioner, just an ancient looking fan slowly rotated overhead. Ruby thanked her stars that they were staying just the one night.

  ‘Our mutual friend said we could depend on you to get us what we need,’ Ruby said to Chanderan once Mark had closed the door.

  ‘He is most kind. I will try my best.’ There was nothing about him that convinced Ruby that he had been the primary weapons supplier to the Liberation Tigers of Tamil Elam (LTTE), the terrorist group that had held the island captive for two decades. Of course, with the group now decimated, Chanderan’s business had nose-dived. Ruby had been given these inputs by Yusuf uncle when he had last called her from Dubai.

  ‘This is what I need.’ Ruby handed over a short list to him. He scanned it, all at once mutating from a bumbling hotel manager to a seasoned arms supplier. Ruby could see why he had survived so long in this deadly trade.

  ‘The rocket launcher and the rockets will not be a problem.’ Chanderan looked up. ‘The Glocks will take time.’

  ‘How much time?’

  ‘At least two weeks. Maybe more. I will need to check. New stuff stopped coming in a while ago, ever since…’ He shrugged.

  ‘I don’t have that much time.’

  ‘Maybe I can give you something else in that category?’

  ‘No.’ Ruby shook her head – the Glock 17s were crucial. With seventeen per cent of it made of high-tech plastic polymers, the Glock 17 was almost undetectable. When passed through a metal detector, unassembled, it required an expert to ascertain its presence. And its seventeen-shot magazine capacity offered a huge advantage. She needed that kind of firepower for the thirteen targets to be taken down. Not to mention the security men between her and the targets.

  Chanderan was about to say something when Mark spoke. ‘Boss, can I have a word with you?’

  Chanderan took the hint. ‘Why don’t I organize some refreshments while you two discuss things.’ He left.

  ‘How badly do we need them Glocks?’ Mark asked softly as soon as they were alone.

  ‘We need them for sure.’

  ‘I know a guy who can get them for us in India, and he is way bigger and more organized than him.’ He nodded towards the door through which Chanderan had exited.

  ‘You sure?’

  ‘As sure as I can be. I have dealt with him. Anyway, what have we got to lose? This guy can’t get us any in time. So even if the chap in India doesn’t give it to us, we go for the next best option.’

  Ruby nodded. ‘All right.’

  ‘We can even get the rest of the stuff in India. Why cart it all the way from here?’

  ‘We need him to get us out if things go wrong,’ Ruby explained. ‘This guy is also taking care of our fallback escape route, so this is money well spent.’

  ‘Makes sense.’

  After Chanderan returned, it took another twenty minutes to seal the deal. Ruby did not bother to negotiate the price even though she knew he was over charging.

  ‘But, for that price,’ Ruby said flatly, making it clear that her demand was non-negotiable, ‘you will need to deliver our materials to India and also organize a boat for us.’

  Chanderan obviously needed the business; he agreed without a murmur.

  With everything going as per plan, Ruby should have slept well that night but she didn’t. With sleep came the recurring dream.

  The faceless, formless man appeared, urging her on, pleading with her. She woke up with a jolt, feeling nauseous. Gulping down a glass of water, she drew on her inner resources, the way they had taught her during training. It was a while before her calm returned, bringing with it a renewed sense of purpose.

  When she finally fell asleep again, it was a deep, dreamless sleep.

  By the time Ravinder finished checking the Games’ Village security and returned home, it was almost eleven. The road leading up to his house was in near darkness, the power supply had failed again.

  Ravinder noted the two additional security guards, one patrolling along the boundary wall and the other backing up the gate guard. They seemed alert. Mohite had got this one right.

  First thing tomorrow I must caution Simran and Jasmine to be extra careful till those Jaish terrorists have been captured.

  Ravinder let himself into the dark house. He had already called Simran earlier that evening to let her know he’d be late and knew she wouldn’t be waiting up for him.

  Day Two

  Ruby woke up feeling rested. The bright Sri Lankan sun streamed in through the thin curtains, warm
ing her face. Sometime in the night, her mind had scaled a plateau. She felt alive again. There was a spring in her step as she left the seedy hotel room.

  Mark noticed her changed mood. He did not say a word, but he was relieved. Her brooding silences were new to him and he had begun to worry.

  After a hurried breakfast they left for their next destination. Chanderan sat toad-like in the front seat. Filled with purpose, Ruby could not keep still. She kept up a barrage of questions about everything they drove past but that did little to dispel the tension that rode with them.

  Simran was in the living room when Ravinder came down. The Gill family lived in a two-level government bungalow on Satya Marg, allocated to Ravinder by virtue of his position as ATTF chief. They could have stayed at their farmhouse in Chhattarpur – a huge eight-bedroom bungalow with a swimming pool, tennis court and gym – but Ravinder preferred it here. It was easier to commute and spared him the hassle of explaining to everyone how he, a cop, could afford such an extravagant lifestyle.

  On one wall of the rectangular living room hung a bright, cheerful painting of a young boy running with a kite. The painter had caught the boy’s excitement well. On the wall facing it was a sombre, dark mountain-scape with small huts caught in the dying rays of the sun. On a third wall was an array of photographs – ancestors in their regal finery, the large family home in Patiala, men in uniform, the family crest clearly visible. Ravinder referred to this as the family’s vanity wall, a reminder of their royal legacy. A massive Persian carpet, two big, well-polished brass lamps – one on either side of the sofa – and an abundance of antique wooden furniture added to the room’s aristocratic feel. Ravinder liked this room but rarely got a chance to spend time in it. In fact, barring the monthly dinner that Simran hosted for close friends and family, he found himself with little time to unwind.

  Dressed in a fawn sari that had an intricately embroidered border, her waist-length hair neatly tied in a bun, Simran was an elegant woman and carried her years well, despite the few extra inches. An elaborate tea service was placed on the coffee table. Scattered around were some photographs and papers. When Ravinder strode in, she was scrutinizing one of them, her lips puckered in concentration.

  ‘You are just in time.’ Simran looked up. ‘I want your opinion.’

  ‘On what, my dear?’

  ‘You never listen to me,’ Simran said, sounding exasperated. ‘I have been telling you that we need to find a suitable groom for our Jasmine.’

  Ravinder’s sigh was inaudible. He knew he was again going to be drawn into the running battle between his wife and daughter.

  ‘Simran,’ he said, sitting down beside her, ‘why bother? You should know your daughter by now. Jasmine is not going to agree to a marriage proposal. Let her finish her studies and…’

  ‘What does she know? She wants to finish her law studies, pursue her master’s degree, and then work. Girls from our family don’t do that! This is the age for her to settle down. She is a child. It is our job to make sure she follows the family traditions.’ She waved her hand at the clutter of papers and photos. ‘Don’t you realize that these boys are the best we can find… and they are all from a royal lineage…’

  ‘The pick of the litter, are they?’ Ravinder could not resist the quip. It earned him a cold, angry glare, and he regretted it immediately.

  ‘Be serious! Our daughter’s future is at stake.’

  ‘Sorry,’ Ravinder said, but before he could go on, his mobile chimed. Grateful for literally being saved by the bell, he walked out to the garden to take the call.

  ‘Good morning, sir.’ Mohite sounded angry. He launched off without waiting for Ravinder to respond. ‘I have no idea how to deal with these bloody foreign agents.’

  ‘What happened, Mohite?’

  ‘I spent all of yesterday going over the security arrangements at the hotel with them, but that bloody Spillman is not satisfied with anything!’ he exclaimed. ‘And that woman, Jennifer, I have never seen anyone nitpick so much… she has a problem with every bloody thing.’

  ‘Okay.’ Ravinder knew that Mohite was prone to exaggeration and that he needed to get him focused. ‘What were their concerns?’

  ‘There were so many,’ Mohite spluttered, ‘where do I start?’

  ‘Start with the big ones, Govind.’

  Ravinder spent the next twenty minutes listening. As expected, the issues had more to do with Mohite’s hostility towards the two foreigners than any practical concerns. Ravinder diplomatically talked Mohite through them one at a time.

  ‘You’re asking me to give in to them on everything.’ Mohite complained.

  ‘Govind, this is not about them or us, it is about ensuring the damn Summit goes off smoothly. Remember how much Thakur sahib trusts you? Can we afford to let him down? How would he feel if these guys complained to him?’

  There was a pause at the other end. ‘Right, sir, if that’s what you want, I will do it.’ Mohite did not sound happy.

  ‘So where are they now?’

  ‘I told them to take a hike and go see the city for the day… while I fix the problems,’ Mohite replied, now in a satisfied tone.

  Ravinder wondered why they called people like him civil servants. There was hardly anything civil about Mohite and no desire to serve anything but his own interests.

  But we have to work with what we have. No point in bitching. Just deal with it.

  ‘Fine, you work on the issues we have discussed. I will swing by later, once I’ve met Ashish.’

  By the time the call ended Ravinder felt drained, and the day had only just begun.

  ‘Don’t forget we have to go for Navjyot’s wedding reception tonight,’ Simran said as he walked back inside and picked up his laptop.

  ‘Navjyot?’ Ravinder gave her a blank look. ‘My cousin’s daughter, Ravinder!’ Simran said with an exasperated cluck.

  ‘Oh, that’s tonight?’ Ravinder thumped his forehead. ‘Yes, 8 p.m. at the Claridges. Come straight there if you’re getting late.’

  ‘Right, I think I’ll do that.’ Ravinder waved a hurried goobye as he headed out of the house.

  ‘I know, I know. It’s too much to expect you to come home and go with us.’ Her exasperation followed him to the door.

  Chance and Jennifer were already in his office when Ravinder walked in. Chance was sitting, but Jennifer was pacing the room, her agitation evident.

  ‘Mr Gill,’ her frustration burst out. ‘You really need to look into this. Mr Mohite does not seem to understand the basics of security… and he is so rude.’

  Ravinder kept calm. ‘Why don’t you take a seat, Jennifer? Would you like a cup of tea? Or coffee?’

  ‘That might be a good idea, Mr Gill,’ Chance interceded. ‘Jennifer.’ He pushed the chair beside him towards her, trying to calm her.

  ‘These guys had better get their act together,’ she muttered as she sat down.

  ‘Right, so what is the precise problem?’ Ravinder asked after instructing Gyan to get some tea for Chance and himself and coffee for Jennifer.

  ‘We don’t want to be difficult, Mr Gill,’ Chance took the lead, ‘but Mr Mohite is not sharing any information.

  We have no idea what your security plans are. So how can we confirm to our superiors that our people will be safe? Please understand, our agencies will hold us accountable if anything goes wrong.’

  ‘I understand, Chance.’ Ravinder met his gaze evenly. ‘Let me assure you that I will personally look into matters and make sure you are kept in the loop at all times. Give me a day to sort things out.’

  ‘Fair enough, Mr Gill.’

  Jennifer looked unconvinced, but she caught the look on Chance’s face and subsided.

  ‘While I do that, why don’t the two of you do some sightseeing? Delhi has a lot to offer…’ He smiled.

  ‘Seems like a good idea.’ Chance returned the smile.

  Once they left, Ravinder sat down and began to work out how he would resolve the issue without ruff
ling any feathers, neither Thakur’s nor his crony Mohite’s.

  The paperwork put together by Ruby, passing them off as volunteers working with a British aid group, got them through the checkpoints easily, but the constant delays irritated her.

  It was past noon when they entered Vellankulam, a clutter of houses and huts – some of brick, but mostly mud-walled – amidst clusters of palm trees.

  The sun was almost directly overhead, but the heat was mitigated by a sprightly sea breeze as they alighted outside a small house by the sea, with faded wooden doors and windows. Several windowpanes were missing, the gaps boarded over with cardboard and yellowing newspaper.

  On Sri Lanka’s eastern coast, Vellankulam was historically an illegal jump-off point to India. During the war years it was established as a staging post by the terrorist groups for men and war-like materials. So it abounded in fast moving speedboats and men who plied this risky trade. It was to meet one such man that Chanderan had brought them there.

  He was waiting for them when their vehicle navigated through the narrow wooden gate. He seemed to be a taller and heavier version of Chanderan. No time was wasted in pleasantries and introductions.

  The cargo sought by Ruby was already loaded on the speedboat lashed to the jetty. Mark checked each item. The rocket launchers were Swedish 84mm Carl Gustaf, easy to use and effective. Both were wrapped in oily polythene. Accompanying them were two containers of rockets – the first had two High Explosive (HE) rockets and the second two High Explosive Anti Tank (HEAT) rockets.

  ‘Everything seems to be in order,’ Ruby told Chanderan when Mark gave her the thumbs up.

  ‘Of course it is.’ He smiled. ‘Should we move, then?’

  Ruby nodded. They clambered into the speedboat, covered the items with a tarpaulin and took off.

  The sun bounced off the water, blindingly bright. There was a lively breeze, but that did not affect the high-powered boat, since it was skimming the surface of the water.

  For the first few minutes, Chanderan tried to point out places on the coastline, but the wind made talk impossible. And neither Ruby nor Mark was in the mood for a guided tour. They were aware of the dangers of being intercepted by the Sri Lankan or Indian coastguard, even though Chanderan had assured them they could outrun anything that either government could throw at them, but that had not been particularly reassuring. Outrunning another boat was one thing, outrunning bullets was another.