Assassins

by Mukul Deva

For a moment Vishal hoped that Saina would do something. Anything that would give him even a remotely plausible reason to fire. Also, the desire to gun Ravinder down nearly overwhelmed him. But realizing this was a dumb idea he lowered the pistol, slid the safety back on, and holstered it.

  Ravinder noted Vishal’s hand was still on the butt of his weapon and gave him a filthy look. But he turned to Saina. “Why? Why did you warn Ali?”

  “Is he really dead?” She looked dazed.

  Ravinder nodded.

  “Sikander is … was my brother-in-law.”

  Vishal could see her falling apart. He also sensed the opportunity had just gotten better for him. “Is that why you warned the bloody traitor?” he interjected.

  Saina’s reaction stunned Vishal. She drew herself together and yelled back, “Sikander was not a traitor.” Suddenly she seemed bigger, even taller.

  “Then why did you call him?” Vishal shot back.

  “I was shocked when I saw his name on Archana’s list of suspects.” Saina shrank again. “I only wanted to check if…”

  “So you also thought he was the traitor.” Vishal cut her off triumphantly.

  SEVENTEEN

  Ravinder saw the situation deteriorating and knew he had to take charge.

  “Stop that. Both of you.” He held up his hands, warding them both off. “Sit down, Saina.” He tensed as he saw her right hand head for her handbag. And he noticed he was not the only one. Gyan, standing directly behind Saina, had his hand on his service revolver. So did Cherian on her left. Vishal’s hand was still resting on the butt of his weapon. Archana had backed off. Ravinder knew the slightest misstep on Saina’s part could unleash hell. But she was only returning her mobile to her bag.

  Ravinder breathed easier when she put down her handbag and sat … more like collapsed into a chair. She seemed on the verge of a breakdown.

  “Why didn’t you tell us, Saina?”

  “I didn’t know what to say,” Saina whispered. “I have known Sikander all my life. I know he was not a traitor.” She was crying now, but soundlessly. Just a steady trickle of tears down both cheeks. No sobs, no sniffs.

  “Are you saying he was murdered?” Much to Ravinder’s irritation Vishal hijacked the conversation again.

  “There is no way he would kill Shama. Or himself.” Saina seemed to be on surer ground now. “They loved each other and were happy. Just last week they were talking about adopting a child.” She looked away, not bothering to wipe her tears. “I know they were happy.”

  “So why would anyone murder them? Unless he was…”

  “That I don’t know, but he was not a traitor.” Interrupting Vishal, she turned to Ravinder. “He swore by Allah he was not.”

  “Do ask Allah to pass that on to Goel.” Vishal’s tone was bitingly sarcastic. “That would be such a comfort to him.”

  “Don’t go there, Vishal.” Ravinder was angry now. He needed to concentrate; Vishal’s incendiary behavior and these distractions were not helping.

  If what Saina is saying was true, then … Ravinder turned to Philip. “Take someone and bring the other deputy—Ashok Verma—in. If Saina is right…”—he altered direction—“no harm having a chat with him.”

  “Let me first check where he is.” Archana reached for her phone; she seemed relieved to have something to do. A moment later: “Verma has already left the office.” She checked his address on her laptop. “So I am guessing he would be home in about an hour … max an hour and a half, depending on traffic.”

  “Where does he stay?”

  “Malviya Nagar. Not far, actually, but South Block to Malviya Nagar at this time of the evening would be madness.”

  “But Malviya Nagar is not far from here,” Philip pointed out.

  “True.” Ravinder nodded. “We could pick him up from his house.”

  Ravinder’s mobile buzzed; a text from Jasmine.

  We are en route. Pick you up in twenty. Max twenty-five. Okay?

  Ravinder remembered he was to dine with Rekha and her parents.

  Damn!

  He was sure Jasmine would be disappointed if he bailed, but also knew he could not sit this one out; Ashok Verma could well be the key to catching Leon. The odds had certainly narrowed.

  Best I explain to her in person when she reaches here.

  Texting her that he would meet them at the gate, he refocused on Philip. “Why don’t you bring him back here and we have a chat with him?”

  “Sounds good.”

  “I will go with him,” Vishal volunteered.

  “And me,” Saina added grimly.

  “Fine.” Ravinder knew that denying her the opportunity to go along would imply he did not trust her. That did not seem fair, not in light of recent events. “Let’s get this show on the road.”

  “Get ready, guys.” Philip checked his watch. “We leave in twenty. That should easily get us to his house before him.”

  They scattered to organize.

  EIGHTEEN

  Vishal was seething. He had not expected his ruse to fall apart so fast; thanks to Saina, all the risk he’d taken to knock off Ali had gone to waste. Vishal knew he was skating on thin ice again and needed to do something quickly, before the game spiraled out of control.

  What the hell is Kapil Choudhary doing? Why hasn’t he … Vishal fretted, hoping the trucker hadn’t lost his nerve.

  “I forgot my wallet in the car,” he told Philip, and ran out. His mobile was out and dialing when he slid into his Ford Fiesta. Parked on the far side of Ravinder’s BMW it was masked from the office.

  “Where the hell are you?” Vishal asked when Kapil Choudhary, the truck driver, answered.

  “Right behind the women you wanted me to attend to.” Kapil’s voice was faint, as though he was on a headset.

  “Why haven’t you done what you were supposed to?” Vishal hissed.

  “I couldn’t. They drove down this morning to a spa in Vasant Vihar. Traffic was so heavy that I could barely keep up with them.” Kapil sounded peeved. “It’s only now they have left Vasant Vihar.”

  “They? Which one are you following?”

  “Both of them; the wife and the daughter. They are in the same car. The younger one is driving. They are coming down the Outer Ring Road, toward Nehru Place.”

  “Oh.” Vishal was momentarily confused.

  One or two, who cares?

  “Excellent.”

  The more the merrier. Ravinder will be so fucking devastated that Binder and the investigation will be the last thing on his mind.

  Then something struck him. “How the hell are you driving around in a truck inside the city? Isn’t this the no-entry time for heavy vehicles?”

  “Of course it is.” Kapil sounded exasperated. “That’s why I’m using the smaller one … one-tonners are allowed.”

  “Is it enough for the job?”

  “More than enough.”

  “Fine. Then do it now.”

  “Now?”

  “As soon as you can, but be careful … and don’t fucking get caught.” That done, he dialed Leon. But the call went unanswered. Stressed and eager to find a solution to the Verma dilemma, he dialed again. And then again. Still no response.

  Is that bastard ignoring me?

  Vishal hated that thought. He checked the time. Twelve minutes had already elapsed. Aware he had to get back, Vishal tried once more and then returned to the office, his anxiety escalating with every step.

  I cannot allow Verma to be taken alive. If he talks, I am … No!

  Unwilling to even countenance the possibility, Vishal struggled to spot a solution.

  Perhaps I can goad Verma into making a run for it … that will give me an opportunity to gun him down.

  He was glad he had volunteered to go with Philip. Not so glad Saina was going with them too, aware that with two pairs of eyes on him, he would find it harder to pull something off. Also, he knew Saina would be desperate to prove Ali innocent. And for that she needed Verma alive and talkin
g.

  NINETEEN

  Leon settled himself on the bed with his iPad and opened the file Hakon had sent on Naug—five pages and about twice that many photos of Naug and his family. He paused at one with Naug in the middle, his wife, a platinum blond as tall as him and two equally blond eight-year-old girls, twins, one on either side. There was even one of his parents and his in-laws. Leon was pleased; Hakon had done an excellent job. He was halfway through the first page when unwittingly he turned and his weight landed on the hurt elbow. Leon gasped; the pain was searing.

  Must be worse than I thought.

  He took another look. The area around his right elbow was bright red and had ballooned to twice its size. The slightest movement made him wince.

  Leon realized he could not ignore it any longer.

  Kak!

  He didn’t realize he had lapsed into Afrikaans till he said it aloud. Not that he minded; kak sounded so much more elegant than shit.

  Better not risk it. I need both my hands in working order.

  Flipping open a new Safari window on his iPad, Leon began looking for a hospital. His previous visits to the Indian subcontinent had taught him that a government hospital would afford him the most anonymity; due to the sheer number of patients, paperwork in them was almost nonexistent, unlike private hospitals. And some money delivered into the right palms would get him past those endless queues common at most Asian hospitals.

  Google informed him that the All India Institute of Medical Sciences was closest to Jorbagh. That sorted, he decided to use yet another identity for this hospital visit. Moving gingerly, ensuring he put no weight on his right hand, from the spare passports in his bag Leon picked that of Colm Honan, an Irish businessman. The change in appearance from the British identity he was using for Jorbagh was the easiest, and Leon knew he could stop somewhere and do it in the car.

  Popping another Combiflam to ease the pain, he headed out. Stopped a mile away to switch disguises. But with his right hand almost out of commission, it took much longer. Even the slightest movement made him wince.

  TWENTY

  Ravinder was watching his team check their weapons when his mobile buzzed.

  “We are almost there, Dad.”

  “I’ll be at the gate, Princess.” He walked out with the others. Philip gave him a questioning look, as though to ask if he was coming with them, too. “No. Just need to talk with my daughter,” Ravinder explained. “My wife and she are passing by.”

  His back was turned, so Ravinder did not see the strange look that crossed Vishal’s face.

  Then he saw Jasmine’s car pull up outside the gate, but she was on the other side, across the road.

  “Best of luck, guys,” he called out to the team. “I will be waiting here for you.”

  Waving to Jasmine he began to cross the road, afflicted by the fuzzy feeling that the sight of the two lovely ladies in his life evoked. And he was thinking hard.

  How do I break it to them nicely? Jasmine will be very disappointed. And Simran miffed at having to go alone … again.

  Rekha’s parents were good people, but even in the best of times could not be accused of being good conversationalists or entertaining company; dinner with them always meant excellent food and plenty of silent time to ensure one could chew each mouthful thoroughly.

  TWENTY-ONE

  Jasmine had insisted they travel in her car—a silver Maruti SX4 that her parents had gotten her as a graduation present when she had completed law school last month.

  Having missed the turn off for the STF office, she was forced to go around the block and found herself on the wrong side of the road. There was no median physically dividing the road, so she waited for a break in traffic to cut across into the STF office compound. That is when she saw Ravinder wave out to her. Relieved at not having to cross the busy road she pulled over to the side and watched him start toward them.

  Jasmine was feeling really excited and happy. The day had gone well. Both Rekha and she had gotten confirmation for the Master of Laws program from Duke University School of Law in North Carolina, which was their first choice, and they were thrilled about it.

  “What do you say, BFF, should we wait for the formal invitation letter or should we tell them?” Jasmine smiled, remembering Rekha’s naughty grin and her reply.

  “Let’s tell them today during dinner, Jas. May as well give them more time to get the college fees ready.”

  And this was the start of Simran’s fiftieth-birthday celebrations. She smiled, knowing how delighted both their parents would be at the news, and tried to visualize their expressions when Rekha sprang the surprise; a dozen of Simran’s closest friends were going to be at Rekha’s house to ring in Simran’s fiftieth.

  “Alagamun-lah, weh, wakun, heya.” Jasmine’s smile broadened as Psy’s K-Pop song “Gentlemen” burst out of the car radio. The peppy beat went perfectly with her mood. She turned up the volume.

  “Good Lord.” Beside her Simran groaned. “I have no idea what you see in such music.” Pop music, Korean or otherwise, was clearly not high on her list of favorites. Jasmine, head bobbing to the music, responded with another happy grin. Throwing her hands in the air, Simran unbuckled her seat belt and reached for the door handle. “I better go back and let your dad sit up front with you.”

  Suddenly the revving of an engine overpowered the music. Jasmine turned to see what was causing the annoyingly loud sound. Her mouth fell open as she saw a one-tonner truck bearing down on them. A scream began to form in her mind. Before it could reach her lips Jasmine felt a massive blow strike the rear of her car. The sound of metal tearing apart sundered her mind. Then there was an explosion of glass. And suddenly Simran was no longer by her side.

  Her seat belt locked, snapping Jasmine back against the seat. And the airbag exploded, cocooning her in white.

  She blacked out.

  TWENTY-TWO

  Ravinder was waiting for the green man guarding the pedestrian crossing to light up when the unusually loud revving of an engine made him look up.

  At first the sight of the one-ton type truck rushing toward Jasmine’s car didn’t register. Then, horrifyingly, everything seemed to slow down and speed up simultaneously.

  Slow enough for him to see the yellow lemons tied to the front of the truck with a black ribbon. To see the garish orange and black stripes painted on its front, radiating away from the bonnet, like a tiger’s snarl. Faded, patchy, but visible. And the bearded driver hunched behind the wheel. His face caught in a tight scowl. Tense. Concentrating madly.

  Yet so fast that Ravinder had barely taken a couple of strides when the truck smashed into Jasmine’s car. Lifting it up and bashing it forward several feet.

  His mouth caught open in a soundless scream, Ravinder stood rooted to the ground as he watched Simran hurtle through the windscreen. Even from across the road Ravinder could see shattered parts of the windscreen spray out, like killer graffiti. He blanched as Simran hit the ground. Hard. In his head Ravinder heard the soggy thud. Simran lay still. Then, miraculously, she swayed to her feet. Ravinder saw her turn toward the car. She took a couple of steps. The first two, tentative. The next two, firmer. Then, deflating, like a leaking balloon, she slowly collapsed in a heap.

  Ravinder wanted to run forward, but his legs seemed to have frozen.

  There was a blood-curdling screech of metal tearing. Ravinder saw the truck reverse, shaking itself free from the shattered remains of Jasmine’s car.

  That shattered his inertia, jolting him into action. Ravinder’s hand raced for his shoulder holster, for the weapon that should have been there. It came away empty. Regardless he ran toward the truck. Which by now had broken free. With another burst of horsepower it roared down the road.

  “Shoot!” Ravinder screamed at Vishal. “Shoot him!” He pointed at the fleeing truck.

  Vishal drew his gun but shook his head. “Too many people around.” Vishal’s yell reached Ravinder as though from very far away.

  By now
the killer truck had bulldozed its way around the corner two hundred feet ahead.

  “Get him!” Ravinder yelled back as he raced frantically across the road. Aching to get to Simran and Jasmine. Yet dreading what he would find.

  Galvanized, Saina and Vishal ran toward his car. Philip followed Ravinder across the road. Archana was on the phone, calling for an ambulance.

  Minutes later, with a wailing of sirens, an ambulance from All India Institute of Medical Sciences arrived.

  By now, Ravinder had cut away the seat belt, freed her from the airbag and pulled Jasmine from the wrecked car. Fearful the leaking petrol tank might explode, Ravinder had carried her several feet away. Then with Philip’s help he moved Simran and gently laid her down beside Jasmine, who by now had begun to stir.

  The ambulance doors flew open as it screeched to a halt. Then the paramedics were upon them. Within minutes they had checked both and loaded them into the ambulance.

  “I’m not leaving you alone, sir.” Philip was ready to jump into the ambulance.

  But Ravinder desperately wanted to be alone with his family. Simran lay lifeless on the stretcher. Jasmine looked dazed, but was sitting up. She seemed to have escaped unscathed, barring the odd nick here and scrape there; the airbag had taken the brunt.

  “No need, Philip.” Ravinder stalled him. “I’d rather you keep things on track here … find that bastard who did this … whatever it takes. I want to take him apart … how could he…” He broke off, looking helplessly at Simran, watching the paramedics work on her.

  Philip halted uncertainly, half in and half out of the ambulance. “I will, sir. I promise you we will find the man who did this.”

  “I’m banking on you, Philip. You have to take charge. There is little time left,” Ravinder urged, and goading him out, closed the ambulance door. With a scream of sirens it sped away. But Ravinder didn’t hear it; the screaming in his head was much louder. He wanted to find the man at the wheel of the truck and punch him … and punch him … and … With a shudder he controlled himself. Aware that Simran and Jasmine needed him to be at his strongest, he held himself together.