Assassins

by Mukul Deva

  Mindful of the huge sum of money Fatima had promised him, and aware he was already in too deep, Ashok Verma, deputy director NIA and one of Kurup’s principal aides, stifled his exasperation and repeated, “Very little actually … once I told him you were reaching Delhi today.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yes. He was livid about the security leak at your end.”

  “Did you tell him that we have…” Fatima floundered, searching for palatable words. She hesitated to say it out loud, though she had felt great satisfaction in having Cherry killed. “… ensured there would be no further leaks?”

  “I tried. I did everything you asked me to, but he did not seem inclined to listen.” Uncomfortable with such a dangerous conversation on his office phone, Ashok was in a hurry to end the call. “He said the damage had already been done.”

  Fatima sensed his reluctance to talk. Exhausted by the long flight from London and already freaking out at this latest setback, she snapped out of control. “Tell me exactly what he said,” she hissed coldly, wanting to remind Ashok she was in charge.

  It did.

  Now regretting that he had allowed himself to be talked into this thankless task of being the conduit between Binder and Basheer, Ashok elaborated. “He said that since MI6 and the NIA have been alerted, it would be too risky to even make an attempt. Not to mention the Special Task Force hunting for him.”

  “But did you remind him that there are only five days left and now that we have eliminated Goel, the task force chief, they are completely disorganized … hardly in a position to stop him?” But Fatima realized the futility of this conversation; it was Leon, not Ashok Verma, she needed to convince.

  “I did. That proved to be the last straw. He blew up when he I told him what had happened to Goel.” Ashok had been reluctant to get involved with that. He had agreed only when Fatima doubled his payout and because Vishal had carried out Goel’s kidnapping and interrogation.

  “Why?” Fatima was perplexed; she had hoped that would appease Leon.

  But Ashok’s nervousness had reached the end of its tether. “You can ask him yourself. He wants you to meet him at the Qutb Minar at three p.m.”

  “The Qutb Minar? Did he mention how I am to find him?”

  “He said he’d find you.”

  Swamped by a sea of gloom Fatima ended the call and tossed her mobile on the bed. She had no idea how she was going to convince Leon to continue with the mission, but knew she had to do it. Finding and making contact with the right man had taken her seven months. Convincing the SOB council to agree to the huge payout demanded by Leon had taken almost as long.

  And in one stroke that double-crossing bitch Cherry shafted us. All for the sake of a few pounds.

  Fatima’s grimace deepened.

  Well, not really. A lot more than a few.

  Fatima remembered how stunned they had been to learn Cherry had siphoned off most of the fifty-million-pound SOB war chest, hard-earned money donated by the thousands of Pakistani sisters who had sworn allegiance to Benazir. After paying Leon his first instalment of five million pounds, and the five million now due to him on reaching Delhi, there was barely enough left to buy toilet paper.

  The thought of telling Leon she did not have money to pay his last two installments of five million each, after he terminated both targets, petrified her.

  But I cannot let him know right now. Not till he has done the job.

  Deciding she would worry about it later, she focused on the immediate problem—convincing Leon to keep going.

  I have to make this work. I’ve waited too long for this revenge. I cannot fail. Not with the end in sight.

  She checked her watch. There were still a couple of hours before she needed to start out for her meeting with Leon. Pacing the hotel room she began to rack her brains, trying to figure out how best to counter the impact of Cherry’s betrayal and convince Leon.

  Once again, anger at Cherry for placing her in this dangerous dilemma gripped Fatima. Her hands clenched in tight, hate-filled balls. She regretted not having driven the knife into Cherry’s throat herself.

  Treacherous bitches like her need to die slowly and painfully. And to think she almost got away with it. She would have, too, if I had not taken Zaki to the zoo that day.

  Using the stub Fatima lit another cigarette and took a long drag, trying to calm herself down. But she was unable to prevent her thoughts from turning to the past.

  * * *

  Like all eight-year-olds, her son Zaki had the energy of a dozen men and the enthusiasm of twice that many. By time they reached the monkey enclosure of London Zoo, Fatima was ready to have him placed with them.

  “Don’t go too far, Zaki. Mommy needs a break.” Dying to take the weight off her feet, Fatima collapsed on the bench by the bushes. The bench was not too clean, but it was the only unoccupied one in shade. Pausing long enough to pull a packet of salted peanuts and a Coke mini from her bag, Zaki joined the crowd of kids making faces at the monkeys. Left to her own devices, Fatima nodded off.

  Voices from the other side of the bush woke her. More probably it was that one of them was familiar; Fatima would have recognized Cherry Rehmat’s high-pitched voice anywhere. It was raised even higher in disagreement.

  “But that’s not what we agreed upon,” she heard Cherry say. “It’s too dangerous for you to call me. Let me…”

  “Pipe down.” The man she was with cut her off, but he was speaking in a low tone and Fatima could not make out what he said subsequently. Intrigued, she peered through the bush. Cherry’s back was to her. There was nothing exceptional about the man Cherry was talking to, but he may as well have had the word SPOOK branded on his forehead. One glance and Fatima knew; the daughter of a man who’d spent his life steeped in Pakistani politics and served twice as the governor of Sindh, Fatima had grown up seeing him surrounded by such security and intelligence types. Her skin was tingling as she watched them converse, their voices now too low for her to overhear.

  A moment later Cherry said, “Give me five minutes to get clear.” And walked away. By now every nerve ending in Fatima’s body was on fire.

  Brushing aside Zaki’s protests she rushed him out to her car and was ready by time the man emerged, found his car in the packed parking lot, and drove out. Fatima followed him all the way to the Vauxhall Cross SIS building, MI6 headquarters. There she sat, parked at a safe distance from even the prying cameras she knew would be watching everything around, but with a clear view of the building. Her heart sank with every passing minute. An hour later she could deny it no longer; Cherry Rehmat, the SOB financial controller, was cavorting with MI6. It did not bode well even in the best of times. Right now, with the Binder mission recently launched and a special diktat in place for all of them to lie low, the implications left Fatima breathless. Then anger arrived. It was raging by time she dropped Zaki home and arrived outside Cherry’s house. Zeenat, a loyalist whom she had called from outside the MI6 office, was already there, parked three houses away. And Zeenat was equally furious when Fatima briefed her.

  “You watch the back of the house in case Cherry tries to run.” Fatima waited till Zeenat called to confirm she was in position and then headed for Cherry’s front door; gripped tightly in her right hand was an Electric Shock 3.8 Million Volt Tactical Security Stun Gun. A cute little thing, just two inches by four inches, and pink to match her outfit, it was part of every woman’s accessory kit in these insecure days.

  Fatima was a raging inferno when she rang the doorbell. In the minute or so it took for Cherry to get the door, her anger had peaked. By time Cherry opened the door, Fatima’s grand plan to deal with this in a collected, masterful manner was a faint memory.

  Cherry blanched when she saw Fatima on her doorstep. And Fatima knew. As certainly as though Cherry had delivered a signed statement: guilt danced naked in her eyes.

  “You bitch!” Fatima hissed, suppressing the urge to shove the stun gun in Cherry’s face. “You told them about Binder?” I
t was hardly a question. But Cherry nodded, unable to take her eyes off Fatima.

  “Everything?” Fatima grilled her. “They know about his targets? And Delhi?”

  Another dazed nod.

  “MI6?”

  Yet another nod.

  “Why?” That erupted as a despairing sigh.

  Cherry’s mouth fell open, but only a useless flurry of words emerged. And the last vestiges of Fatima’s control snapped. “You fucking bitch.” She pulled out the stun gun. Cherry’s eyes widened. Her panic shattered her inertia. Slamming the door in Fatima’s face, Cherry turned and ran toward the rear of the house.

  Fatima’s hand, extended out to stun Cherry, took the brunt of the door slam. It hurt like hell, but prevented the door from closing. Cursing, she pushed it open again and ran behind Cherry. Straight into the umbrella stand by the door.

  By the time she got up and reached the back door, Cherry was on the kitchen floor. Her chopping knife was trapped awkwardly in her throat. Bright red blood pulsed out in a thick, rich stream from the punctured jugular artery. Zeenat stood over her, horror and satisfaction fighting for dominance on her face.

  “What the hell?” Fatima flipped. “I needed to question her … find out how much she told MI6. Why the hell did you have to…”

  “She attacked me.” Zeenat pouted, defensive.

  Fatima sensed Zeenat was lying. “Fuck!” She wanted to slap her. Instead she knelt and checked if Cherry was alive. No chance. Now Fatima was in a hurry to get away. Already the smell of fresh blood was filling up the room.

  Wonder where Cherry’s husband and kids are?

  But it was only curiosity. Not fear. Right now if they had chanced upon her, Fatima would have done them in herself; her anger at Cherry had not yet found release. Aloud, Fatima said, “Wipe your prints from everything you’ve touched, Zeenat. And make damn sure you lay low till this blows over.”

  And there was regret in Fatima’s heart that it had ended so quickly for Cherry. That feeling escalated when she decided to take her own advice and get out of the country. Parking Zaki with his cousins in Canterbury, Fatima decided to convert her trip to Delhi into an extended holiday to Dubai; always a good place to shop.

  Fatima was arranging the second-stage payment for Leon when she realized Cherry had embezzled the bulk of their funds. And she wished it had been she, not Zeenat, who had driven the knife into Cherry.

  * * *

  Fatima started as the cigarette stub seared her fingers. Using it to light another, she tried to soothe her jangling nerves.

  Now the important thing is to ensure Leon doesn’t pull out. But how?

  Fatima resumed pacing the hotel room as she wrapped her head around that.

  The money! That should be a good starting point.

  She checked the banking app on her mobile. The five million payable to Leon was ready for transfer. But she worried money alone would not be enough to keep Leon in the game.

  What else can I do?

  I need to make him see how important this is. How much it means to me … to all of us?

  But why should he care about that?

  Nervous fingers lit another cigarette.

  FIVE

  Vishal Bhardwaj grimaced as he surveyed Goel’s mangled remains, surprised how quickly the body had decayed. And dismayed it had been discovered so fast. When Vishal had dumped it under this culvert, in the midst of an abandoned field near Najafgarh on the Delhi border, he’d been confident it would not be discovered anytime soon. And it wouldn’t have been, if it had not been for a bunch of village kids who had picked this very field to play in. Vishal could see them clustered in the distance, gawking.

  Fucking hicks. He wanted to strangle the lot. But right now he needed to muddy the waters, to ensure his involvement was not discovered and the Special Task Force (STF) was kept so busy chasing its tail they had no time to worry about Binder. That’s what Fatima Basheer was paying him for, and he had every intention of collecting that payment. Vishal shivered, rubbing his hands to keep away the cold. It didn’t help; a brisk wind was sweeping the open field, and neither his brown woolen trousers nor the matching jacket were adequate to combat it. And the damp was seeping into his thin-soled loafers. He contemplated getting back into their car, but was reluctant in case he missed something the crime team came across.

  Would they?

  Vishal was pretty certain he’d left no clues, yet he couldn’t stop worrying.

  “Damn!” Beside him Philip Cherian, the heavyset, graying STF second-in-command, dressed in his trademark black suit, white shirt, and thin black tie, was shaking with anger. “No one deserves to die like that.” Goel’s body was riddled with marks of torture: cigarette burns on his face, several nails pulled, and an eyeball gouged out.

  “I agree.” Vishal’s reply was muffled by the handkerchief he’d pressed to his nose, vainly trying to keep out the stench of decaying flesh.

  “Poor bugger.” Philip looked tearful. Understandably so, as Philip had served with Goel for several years, most recently as the second-in-command of this task force. “I wonder how they got him. Goel was always very cautious.”

  “Obviously, not cautious enough.” Vishal turned away from the body, which had been removed from under the culvert and was now being examined by the Crime Scene Team. Watching from the road were three paramedics, waiting for the CST to finish. One of them was leaning against the ambulance, smoking. The other two squatted beside it, looking bored. For them death was an everyday occurrence.

  Until it comes for them.

  The thought dropped into Vishal’s head, randomly.

  And it does, for all of us.

  Strange how often we forget that.

  Wonder if they will scream as loudly as Goel had.

  Vishal remembered how easily he had broken the Special Task Force commander.

  Fucking girl. He had squealed like a bitch.

  He realized Philip was giving him a strange look. “What?”

  “Are you okay, Vishal?”

  “Of course. Why?”

  “I asked you a question. You seemed…” Philip jerked a thumb at the body. “Sometimes they get to you.”

  “I’m okay.” Vishal stepped away and removed the rumpled handkerchief from his nose. “What did you ask?”

  “Tell me again, what did Goel say when he left the office that afternoon?”

  “He said he’d received a tip about Binder and was going to meet his source.” Vishal had thought through the story and was confident it would stick.

  “Any names, places…”

  Vishal shook his head.

  Cherian persisted. “Anything else?”

  “No. Nothing. I offered to go with him, but Goel refused, saying he didn’t want to spook the source.” Vishal, a clear six inches taller than the second-in-command, gave him a defiant glare. “Haven’t we been through this already? Don’t you think you should be informing the director we’ve found Goel, instead of wasting time playing twenty questions?”

  Philip’s eyes narrowed into angry slits. Vishal realized he’d gone too far; the man was his superior officer, and now with Goel dead possibly the new STF commander. As it was, their relationship was not the rosiest. Knowing he could not afford to be kicked out of the task force, especially if he wanted to continue two-timing for Fatima, Vishal made a sorry face. “I apologize. That was uncalled for.” He looked at the body, which the paramedics were now wrestling onto a gurney, and added. “I guess all this is getting to me … more than I realized.”

  The irritation on Philip’s face receded; death was always a great alibi. He backed off.

  Retrieving Kurup’s number from his mobile’s address book, Philip hit dial.

  SIX

  Ravinder gathered from Kurup’s stunned expression something was seriously amiss.

  “What?” Kurup sounded shell-shocked. “Where did they find the body?”

  That got Edward’s undivided attention, too.

  “No. Don’t cal
l her, Philip. Go to Goel’s house and speak to his wife.” Ravinder saw the NIA director’s expression harden. “Actually, let me do that. I’m the one who ordered Goel to take charge of the Special Task Force, so I should be the one to break the news to his wife. Text me the address and meet me there in, say, two hours.”

  Putting down his mobile, Suresh turned to the two men; both were watching him closely. “They’ve found Goel’s body.” Noticing Ravinder’s unspoken query, he added, “Goel was one of my officers … one of the best. I had put him in charge of the Special Task Force we have deployed to stop Binder.”

  “Must have gotten too close.” Kingsley looked grave.

  “Apparently, but no one knows whom he was going to meet or why. Even the last call to his mobile was from a public booth. We have no idea what he was onto.”

  Ravinder felt Kurup’s frustration and his distress. Despite his dislike for the NIA director, Ravinder felt for him; the loss of a man is not something that goes down well with any commander. And Kurup’s willingness to be the one to bring the terrible news to Goel’s widow earned him Ravinder’s grudging respect.

  Perhaps he is not a total arsehole.

  Aloud, Ravinder asked, “Was he working on anything other than the Binder case?”

  “No. This task force was set up specifically to find and stop Binder.”

  “Then obviously Binder is behind this,” Ravinder pointed out.

  “Obviously!” Kurup slapped his thigh angrily. “And they have taken him down at the worst possible moment. There is no time to bring in a new man.”

  “Let the 2IC take charge.” Ravinder sensed what was coming and was desperate to deflect it. “That’s what seconds-in-command are for.”

  Ravinder saw an unseen signal pass between the two spooks. Kurup replied, “The problem is, we suspect a mole … someone on the inside who is passing information to Binder.”

  “What makes you suspect that?”

  “Too many coincidences.” Kurup looked sheepish. “Only a handful of people knew MI6 had tipped us off about this assassination attempt … or attempts. Yet Binder came to know. And now this.” He sensed Ravinder’s unspoken query. “Why else would Goel have been taken out? We had not publicized either his taking over the STF or even that a task force had been deployed to hunt down Binder. Everything was being kept under wraps.”