by Sanjib Sinha
He demanded, “What is it?”
“Send girls to Jacky Sen with hidden cameras. Take the pictures as many as possible. I don’t want the detail of any explicit sex-act. But they should make him talk as dirty as possible so that intentions should come out clearly. Understood?”
“Yes.”
“Kill the girls once the job is over. Give me a copy and you can sell another to his estranged wife Tara Sen. You can sell it to any media if you wish. All the money is yours. But no physical trace should be remained. If the girls are alive they might later claim that they were planted. So you have to remove them once the job is over. Once you get the video you get five hundred thousand. I get the copy, you get the rest. You won’t get any money for the killing. The ‘SUPARI’ (contract-killing) is quite cheap in Calcutta I know. That is your responsibility.”
“Okay.”
“Arrange it ASAP. I will contact you after ten days and ask for the progress. Don’t try to trace this call. You won’t get me. I will get to you very soon.”
Everything went smoothly. But it was dead past now. Grass was no more. He died on the spot. When Grass had arranged everything he had no idea that anonymous assassins would come one day and they’d kill him too.
He should have taken the clue when he was told - ‘no trace should be there’. The nameless caller had dropped the hint.
The greed for money blunted his vision.
6. Sunday, 7:32 AM, Calcutta
The whole place didn’t look good.
It was pathetic. It started raining heavily half an hour back. The dark clouds came and made a snatch at the sunny look of the city. Now it was cold and dark atmosphere with an unrelenting drizzle of rain. It appeared the bad weather had come here to stay for some time.
Mustafa was a small bearded man with an air of supreme command and confidence. He hardly went to any spot now. But this time Jacky Sen requested him. So he personally took the charge and was present on the spot.
With his men he reached the place within twenty five minutes. But he was late. He saw from a distance: Grass’ dead body lay on the sodden concrete slab just in front of his office and rain was pouring down on him washing the blood away. Few people were running here and there and somebody shouted and asked someone, “Have you called up the police?”
“Yes I have talked to the BOROBABU (officer-in-charge). They are coming.” One office staff replied in hurry and announced, “Nobody should touch the dead body”. As if people were eager to hug the dead body of a rotten gangster.
The crowd was gathering slowly around the dead body. Because of Sunday the whole locality was still asleep. Sudden rain made the slumber deep.
It was not wise to stay here any more, thought Mustafa. He was supposed to take Grass alive – not his dead body.
Who killed Grass? Mustafa was thinking fast. Jacky would obviously enquire. And he had to answer.
He said to his men, “Go back.”
While coming here, he had sent his three men to Grass’ house in another car. They were in police uniform and they were carrying a forged search warrant. He thought that they should be warned at once.
Mustafa called one of them and described the situation here. They had already done their job. They were coming back with the laptop and few pen drives that were seized from Grass’ house.
“At least I’m not going back empty handed.” Mustafa heaved a sigh of relief when he heard it.
He dialled Jacky’s number; it was ringing like the rain outside. There were call-breaks and each time the line dropped he cursed the mobile company. In third attempt it was connected.
“Yes, Mustafa.” He heard Jacky’s grumpy voice.
“Grass is dead, sir.”
“What?” Jacky didn’t hide his annoyance. He was puzzled; moreover, he was scared.
“Yes sir, probably a few minutes before somebody killed him. I saw the colour of blood sir, it didn’t turn black; it had happened just before we reached there. It seemed somebody knew we were coming.”
“Bloody shit. Who could have done that Mustafa? Any idea?”
“That we’ll find out, don’t worry sir. We’ve got his laptop and some pen drives. We’re going back.”
“Okay.” Jacky Sen breathed heavily. Mustafa heard the sound of his deep breath. Jacky relied on Mustafa’s words. His observations had value; his experiences counted. What he told might have been true. It happened just before they reached. But how it happened? How had somebody come to know that they were going to get Grass?
“I hope my line has not been tapped!” Said Jacky in low voice. He had a nagging suspicion that someone might have snooped on him.
In a secluded warehouse in Yelagiri hill station, around two thousand kilometres away from Calcutta, a fat man with little piggy eyes was listening to their conversations. A crude smile was playing around his ugly face. ‘They had got Grass’ laptop’, he was thinking aloud and smiling while he keyed secret super user’s password to enter into Diana’s computer.
‘They won’t find anything.’ He said again. He had already deleted all items from Grass' laptop and installed special software into it so that from now on every key-stroke would be recorded. The laptop of Grass was now empty like the green bare valley.
"Let them be more puzzled in Calcutta." he thought. He would see into that matter later. Before that he had to solve the Mumbai problem. It was urgent; it needed his attention now. Immediately. Otherwise it'd be too late.
The situation in Mumbai was now turning to be serious. He should finish the task there first. It got the priority. This lady shouldn’t meet the Mumbai police commissioner in the afternoon; she would give his vivid description.
It was an error. He had planned it incorrectly. He should have killed this prosthetic make-up artist before everything went wrong. He didn’t guess Diana would volunteer herself in this case. She would give the exact description of his ugly-looking face and the police artist would come out happily with a sketch of his face.
“Horrible. I cannot let it happen! I have to go there.” He told his computers as if they were his true companions. Actually they were. He had no other friends.
He checked the morning flight schedule to Mumbai from Chennai. He had to reach there as soon as possible.
Sammy booked a Mumbai flight ticket in a different name.
No one would ever be able to know his real identity.
7. Sunday, 11:19 AM, Mumbai
Diana had not suspected anything.
It was a typical Rajat-like-invitation. Generally Rajat would not like to meet her secretly on Sunday. But it had happened once as he correctly mentioned in his message today: ‘Remember Di, two months back we went for a long drive.’
Yes, they had gone to a distant resort, in the Mumbai-Pune highway. In that sojourn he gave her a platinum ring. It was damn costly. That time his wife was away to her parent’s home and Rajat was so happy with her.
Diana drove by herself and gave her driver day off. In such secret rendezvous she would usually come alone. She knew her society. All the gossip-mongers; they were all-ears-all-the-time. Rajat also didn’t like the idea of having someone around them.
While driving Diana thought about the evening-meeting. In the evening she was about to meet the police commissioner. A middle-aged sex starved man. Diana was eager to meet him since she met him in a charity months ago and they had exchanged meaningful glances.
“All the men are same. They are married; however, they are always sex-starved. Very strange!” She thought while driving.
It was always good to mingle with high-profile people of society. Diana liked it. So Diana volunteered herself in this case. Helping Sarika was not the real reason behind this voluntary involvement. Diana knew the girl – Sarika, very well from the top to her wide bottom. She was a hungry bitch sleeping around. In their circle she had already earned a bad reputation in such a young age. Diana knew her mother too. Another perfect society bitch. In the name of kitty parties she organized orgy. Diana believed in controlled sex.
She never indulged into activities like that – where people behaved in a wild uncontrolled way, involving sex, alcohol or illegal drugs.
After all she was an artist. One rich person at a time and it should be secret.
She thought about that ugly fat young man also. He had come and requested a prosthetic make up so that he should look handsome. He paid her well. He was probably a spoilt kid of super rich parents. They hadn’t given their kid enough time to grow normally.
There were so many in Mumbai loitering in the nameless parties spending lot of money on women and drug. This boy tried to exploit Sarika; it was not good and Diana didn't support this heinous act. But those were not the actual reasons behind her volunteering in this case. Diana, in point of fact, wanted to meet that middle aged new police commissioner. In the last charity meet her eyes met him; they looked steadily and intently at each other and their eyes had been locked for some time. Diana read the message between the lines. After that all she wanted a good occasion to meet him.
The resort was located inside an artificially made forest. It was secluded and ideal for secret date.
Diana parked her car in the parking lot. It was already almost full.
“There are so many secret-couples in Mumbai.” She sighed and whispered to herself while locking her car door. It was not necessary. The resort had a good security arrangement over there and the security people knew her by the well-known face. Her round soft smiling face often appeared either on the fashion magazines or in the page three of local news papers along with the cinema stars.
And once she entered into the resort premise her messenger beeped. A message from Rajat – “You look beautiful today, Mon Amour.”
It happened before. Rajat would frequently use those French words. Diana smiled. She felt good. Was Rajat watching her from a distance? She was curious to know. But the rule between them was ‘one-way’. She shouldn’t respond to any message. It had been one-way since their affair started. It should stay so because – Rajat told her in the beginning – his wife often checked his mobile. She always smelled the rat.
“What a creepy woman!” Diana was thinking aloud, “Will Rajat give her any gift today?” She got excited in expectation and started singing in low voice. The excitements of previous meetings and memories of valuable gifts touched her heart and it was pounding in expectations. What would be there for her today?
Her smart phone again beeped – another message.
“Please come to the forest side. I’m waiting there. Kiss.”
It was a typical Rajat-like-message ended with a single word – ‘Kiss’. Diana was smiling when she reached the back side of the resort. It was deserted and wild with tall trees, and bushes. Hardly any resort-people would come over here. She had never come before. But it was a nice place to spend some time together. Rajat had always some surprising ideas. Hopefully he’d not suggest an open air sex? Diana looked around and searched the woods for him.
Suddenly she met with a strange sensation. Somebody had been following her for some time since she entered the woods. It was a type of ghostly feeling. She tried to turn back but couldn’t. Two strong muscular hands had already gripped her throat in a way she didn’t utter a sound.
It didn’t take much time. She swished her hands frantically to get rid of the deathly clutch. But the attacker was much stronger than her.
Her lifeless body fell silently under a huge banyan tree. Her pricey wristwatch – it was a gift from Rajat; was lying beside as wrist-band was pulled apart while she was trying to resist.
It was still showing the time of death – eleven thirty two. The impact of struggle made it stop forever for her.
8. Sunday, 11:32 AM, Calcutta
“Can I speak to PG?” Said a polite female voice.
“Yes, speaking.”
“My boss wants to talk to you. Please hold on for a moment.”
He appreciated the female voice. It was sweet and full of melody. It was a sad, cold morning with steady drizzle. Incessant dark clouds, hovering in the sky, cast shadows on his mind. Prakash Gupta – alias PG; was not feeling good. Sometimes memories were cruel. They cut into bones. He sighed and moved his five feet eleven inches tall, sinewy body with lot of effort. He had an aggressive square jaw and looked handsome but he felt alone in such rough weather. He was not in the mood to work today.
A coarse male voice followed the melodious female voice and said, “My name is Jacky Sen. I got your number from the assistant commissioner of police Rakesh Chowdhury. I want to talk to you personally. Can you come to my office now? It’s very urgent.”
PG stopped for a moment. He didn’t like the voice. It was dominating and lacking humility. Secondly this man wanted to impress him by dropping names. It was disgusting – simply put.
Jacky Sen didn’t care of humility. For he demanded it from the world. Being a big industrialist, a film producer and a media baron he made the world bend to his will. In a boastful manner he always wanted to show his power.
“What kind of personal work can he have with me?” PG thought and felt curious but at the same time he didn’t like the way Jacky had just talked to him.
PG took time and swallowed the surprise and anger. He took some time to react. Anger was not good for mind. It obfuscated the path of reasoning. It was bad for health too!
Jacky gave a small cough to make him aware that he was on the line.
PG finally said bluntly, “Sorry, I’m too busy today. I can meet you tomorrow.”
“Can’t you come now? It’s very urgent. If you allow me I’ll send a car to pick you up.” The pugnacious tone suddenly went into a nosedive and it appeared: the creepy industrialist wanted this meeting very badly.
“This man was in bloody hurry. What happened? Who had fucked his moneyed-ass so badly? Somebody like me – probably”, he thought and replied; “My consultation fee is twenty thousand. I get paid first then go for a talk. Besides, I’ll have to skip a job at present and lose over another ten thousand. You have to compensate that too. In total it comes around thirty thousand.”
PG now seemed relaxed. He wanted to teach this man a little lesson. Jacky thought he’d get what he wanted. He should know it was not true for all. He had to pay a hefty price in some special cases.
A moment of silence was hanging between them precariously. PG was enjoying the stillness in air. He had probably screwed up his prosperous ass again – very badly. But he had nothing to lose. He wanted to chat with his fellow hackers in IRC he had made. He was really not in the mood to work today.
Jacky Sen sighed, “My driver will carry the cash – as you said; thirty thousand. Please come. Believe me, it’s really very urgent.”
“Okay, will you kindly pass it to the operator; I will tell her about the timing and my location to pick me up.”
The girl with mellow voice came to the line again and said, “Yes sir, please tell me, where should I send the car and at what time?”
His great intuitions alerted him. The old pervert Jacky Sen was probably listening to the conversation using a parallel line. He wanted to check it first. His mobile line was made anonymous and untraceable by special software he had made before. Besides, he always checked the client’s line. He didn’t like eavesdropping.
He told her to stay on the line for a moment.
He put his mobile on hold while he was connecting the line to his server. It was a 48 GB RAM cool penetration tool. There was software, built for the penetration testing, and sniffing purpose. It was a tracker also. It’d first locate the telecom service provider. It took few seconds in detecting it. Then it connected the dots of ports that were carrying the line. Through maze of providers it’d carry on further search locating the physical addresses. It had every possibility that an office line generally used the government owned Telecom service which was usually insecure and nobody bothered about it. Usually it had many backdoors to enter.
His tracking software immediately detected the service provider and silently went past the feebl
e encryption and firewall.
At once he took their telephone system under his wing – as a teenager he was a phone-freak who loved to make long distance call at local rate in California. Fifty years ago PG was born in US and his father was a mathematics professor in MIT. Suddenly his father died and the world spun around forcing her mother to come back to India to struggle to raise her only child. Prakash Gupta alias PG had another ‘name’ in the hacking community; the hackers called him ‘Perfect Gentleman’.
Not only was Jacky Sen in the parallel line, another snooping-ear was also hooked to the same line at the same time and it seemed to him – very strange. The penetration software was blinking furiously, as if it was protesting this sin of wire-tapping and giving him signals about two spying-ears.
Who could be the second interested party?
‘Why are you so curious man?’ He whispered and smiled again silently. He had been in two minds about locating the lines until he decided that he would block them temporarily because he had no time to make a complete trace-out.
“I’ll do it later.” he muttered.
He exclaimed to the girl, “Sorry for the delay. Actually you woke me up. So I thought let me come out from the bed first.”
She was very courteous as she said, “I am sorry sir. I didn’t guess you were sleeping.”
“No problem, what are you called?” He asked.
She said, “My name is Tanuja.”
He leaned back in his seat, and said, “Well Tanuja, please note down my address.”
As usual it was a false street address located at least seven kilometres away from where he lived. He started typing furiously on his penetration tool laptop. He was curious about the second-snooping-ear. This program would produce a detail map of the call-route.
He heaved a sigh of relief after taking the necessary steps. Now his system would automatically detect the lines if they tried to come closer to his number again.
A gloomy and rainy morning was waiting for him outside.