Assassins

by Mukul Deva

  Leon sensed he was already too late. That fleeting moment of indecision, deciding whether to use his pistol or the Sarin, had lasted too long. But Leon also knew he could not give up.

  I cannot lose. Not to this arrogant upstart.

  He dropped to the ground, pulling the refrigerator door open as a shield just as Vishal’s aim settled on him.

  FIFTEEN

  Vishal was about to fire when he saw Leon vanish behind the fridge door.

  That unsettled him.

  The incoming microphone distracted Vishal further; swaying to the left he swatted it aside.

  Then, pistol extended in a classic shooter’s stance, he started to move around the dining table, seeking a clear shot. Confident he now had his man.

  SIXTEEN

  Leon heard Vishal shuffle to the right. He was unable to see the microphone now but heard a sharp metallic thud and guessed Vishal had used his pistol to swat it aside.

  Leon triggered the clicker from behind the safety of the refrigerator door.

  Sarin exploded out of the microphone a moment after Vishal had smashed it aside with his pistol.

  Vishal took the brunt of the gas directly in the face. There was a muted yell, then a terrible choking sound. Then Vishal crashed to the ground, striking the dining table en route. Two of the chairs overbalanced and landed in a heap around him. The rasping chokes continued for a few more seconds, and then there was silence.

  SEVENTEEN

  Ravinder knew Ashok Verma was his last resort; if he failed to break him …

  Or if he is innocent, then I am up the creek without a paddle.

  That desperation spurred him on.

  Saina, who had not witnessed the short, sharp, and surgical interrogation of Kapil Choudhary, was aghast when Ravinder sailed into Verma. Even Philip, who had been present for the Choudhary interrogation, was surprised.

  On Ashok Verma, the impact of a huge, murderously angry Sikh was devastating. Neither Philip nor Saina had resorted to anything other than relentless questioning; Ravinder slammed into him like a trigger-happy prizefighter.

  Also, Verma had been buoyed by the hope held out by Vishal the previous evening. Already edgy and confused by the sleep deprivation, Verma was shattered when his hopes were dashed. He broke within minutes.

  “Vishal,” Verma mumbled through bloodied lips. “He’s working for Binder.”

  “What?” Ravinder was stunned.

  “I knew there was something wrong with that man,” Saina hissed angrily.

  Philip looked murderous; the betrayal cut deeply.

  “Vishal is the one you want,” Verma repeated. “He’s in touch with Binder and Basheer.”

  “That bastard.” Ravinder felt Philip’s anger break bounds.

  Then Ravinder remembered with horror that he’d entrusted Vishal with Jasmine’s security. Ravinder felt his heart plummet. Grabbing his mobile he ran for the door. “I need to get Jasmine to a safe place,” he yelled at Philip as he hit speed dial. “Find out where Vishal is. Saina, warn the others, too.”

  Jasmine answered on the first ring. “Dad! Are you okay?” She sounded frantic with worry.

  “Where are you?”

  “Still here at the gurudwara sahib. Waiting for the guests to leave.”

  “Thank God!” Ravinder felt relief hiss through him. “Whatever you do, don’t go home.”

  “Why?”

  Ravinder rapidly briefed her, now in a tearing hurry to track down Vishal, aware they could be close to catching Binder. But he needed to ensure Jasmine was safe.

  “Don’t let him get away, Dad.” Ravinder heard her anger.

  “He won’t,” Ravinder promised. “Meanwhile, I want you to go back with Rekha to her house. You will be safer there. Don’t step out till I call you.”

  “I’ll do that, Dad,” Jasmine promised without demur.

  Now certain that Jasmine was safe, Ravinder ran out into the main office. Philip had just put down the phone. “We have traced his mobile. Vishal is at Sarita Vihar. They’re triangulating his location.”

  “Let’s go.” Ravinder paused briefly near his desk, pulling out the pistol he had been issued when he’d joined the task force. It was a standard service issue, 9mm Beretta. Checking it was loaded, he pocketed both the spare clips, chambered a round, flicked on the safety, and shoved it in his coat pocket.

  “Philip and I will bring him in. Chance and Saina, you two back us up.”

  All four headed for the door.

  “I want him alive,” Ravinder added grimly. “He will lead us to Binder … I want both of them to rot in jail for the rest of their stinking lives.”

  “That he will.” Philip’s anger was fearsome.

  EIGHTEEN

  Leon drew a deep shuddering breath. The close encounter and holding his breath till the sarin lost potency had left him shaken. Leon knew he was lucky to be alive. Just one tiny sliver of time more and Vishal would have gunned him down.

  The blighter would have come out of this a hero.

  Pushing the refrigerator door shut Leon got up and surveyed the room.

  Barring Vishal’s body slumped by the dining table and two overturned dining chairs, it was in surprisingly good shape. It was hard to believe two people had forfeited their lives here in the past hour. But Leon knew he now needed to get clear as fast as possible.

  Only a matter of time before someone comes looking for one of these blokes.

  Quickly wiping down the areas he had touched, Leon threw the money back into the black bag and headed out.

  Like the safe house, the car rented from Om Chandra was no longer safe. Parking it at the opposite end of the colony, tucked in behind an Innova that looked like it hadn’t been moved in a while, Leon cut through the housing blocks on foot.

  At the colony market he avoided the auto rickshaw stand, preferring instead to hail one passing by on the main road. Soon he was on his way back to Jorbagh.

  En route Leon opened his mobile cover, removed the SIM card he had been using to communicate with Vishal, and tossed it out the window.

  One person, one SIM card … first Verma when he’d been captured, then Fatima, and now Vishal.

  Leon found the thought depressing.

  Is that all that remains?

  Wonder how many will replace their SIM cards when I go down?

  It took Leon only a moment to realize there was no one.

  No one that matters.

  That depressed him even more. Shrugging off the horrible sinking feeling that threatened to swamp him, he inserted his last unused SIM card into the mobile.

  Blown by the wind and passing cars the discarded SIM card was soon tossing its way down the road.

  Back in the Sarita Vihar apartment, Vishal’s mobile began to ring.

  NINETEEN

  Ravinder looked down at Vishal’s body and suppressed the urge to scream out his frustration. Instead he began to examine the room minutely.

  “Gloves, please, everyone,” he cautioned the others. “And get the crime team here ASAP, Saina.”

  “Already on the way, sir.”

  The can of Coke lying near the fridge caught Ravinder’s attention. The can had rolled halfway under it and was still sweating; obviously it hadn’t been out of the fridge too long.

  “Whoever it was with Vishal, looks like we just missed him by a whisper,” Ravinder said ruefully.

  They had lost valuable minutes trying to identify the apartment, though cell triangulation had delivered them to the right block of apartments. If it had not been for the old lady in the adjacent apartment, they would still have been going door to door.

  Even so, too late.

  Ravinder made a moue.

  “Bag that Coke can,” he ordered Saina. “Run it for prints.”

  “We have another body here,” Philip called out from inside.

  Ravinder went running. Could it be Binder?

  He saw it was Indian. Obviously not Leon.

  Om Chandra had been bundled int
o the bathtub, again obviously in a hurry; he was half in and half out.

  “Who the heck is that?” Ravinder was perplexed; yet another loose end. He leaned in for a closer look. “Strange that neither of them have any marks. What did they die of?”

  “Poison?” Saina hazarded a guess, but she looked dubious; most poisons leave some traces.

  “Guess we’ll have to wait for the autopsy. This body is still warm.” Philip checked. “So he, too, was killed recently.”

  Ravinder returned to Vishal’s body and checked. “This one, too.”

  He now noticed the microphone near Vishal’s outstretched hand; it had rolled to the other side of the dining table. “What have we here?” The microphone puzzled him; not the sort of thing one expected to find in a house. “Bag that too, Saina.”

  Then the crime scene people arrived. Soon a trio of men was sifting through the apartment.

  “Seems to have been wiped clean,” one of them commented.

  “Doesn’t matter, keep going,” Ravinder ordered. “I want every inch of this apartment done. There are bound to be some prints. And those items Saina has bagged. Rush it. Do whatever you have to, but I want the report yesterday.”

  They were on their way out when it struck Ravinder. “Get Vishal’s mobile and check his pockets, Philip. There might be something to point us to Leon.”

  They were waiting for Philip to do that when the chess set in the living room again caught Ravinder’s eye; some of the pieces were in play. The set bothered him. However, they were almost a mile away when it struck him.

  “Leon.” He did not realize he had spoken aloud; saw the others give him curious looks and explained, “That chess set back in the apartment; Binder was crazy about chess.” Not sure why he was so certain, Ravinder added, “I’m sure it was him.” He smashed his fist on the seat. “Damn! We missed him by so little.” There was silence in the car. “Wonder where he is right now?”

  TWENTY

  Leon did not want the landlady at Jorbagh to raise an alarm. That is why he decided not to vanish without warning.

  “It is most unfortunate, Mrs. Kapoor”—he gave her his saddest face—“but my brother has taken ill and I need to fly back to London today.” He noted her disappointment and added, “But you have been very kind to me and I would like to pay for the full week that I had spoken to you about initially.”

  That perked her up. She even sent up tea and sandwiches for him as he gathered his stuff. Leon had already packed and was ready to go, but still had some time to kill. Careful not to touch anything with ungloved hands, he allowed an hour to pass before calling a cab.

  Unwilling to take even the slightest chance, he got the cab to drop him off near Sarojini Nagar market. Crossing to the other side of the market, he got another from the cabstand.

  Traffic was unusually heavy, and the portly Sikh driver equally eager to please his foreign passenger; he kept up a running commentary, pointing out trivia that a tourist would have enjoyed. Leon was in no mood for trivia, but he was unwilling to make himself memorable by telling the driver to shut up, so he stayed silent. It took fifteen minutes for the cabbie to take the hint and finally keep quiet.

  An hour later Leon walked into the Leela Palace, a luxury hotel located in Chanakyapuri, the heart of Delhi’s diplomatic area. The lobby was crowded. Leon spotted several familiar faces and realized he had seen them on the conference posters. He guessed most of the speakers for the New India Times Summit were staying here.

  Getting a room on the fifth floor was harder, and Leon managed that only when he agreed to upgrade to a suite. With that final piece in place, Leon settled down to wait for his quarry to come to him. Like most other not-at-risk conference speakers, Professor Naug was booked on the same floor, though at the far end.

  TWENTY-ONE

  Ravinder saw Philip was bursting with excitement.

  “Most of the recent calls to and from Vishal’s mobile have been to three prepaid numbers. Two of these have been in service for a while now, but one was purchased just five days ago.”

  “Any luck on the owners?” Philip’s excitement infected Ravinder.

  “Bogus.” Philip made a face. “Names and addresses were false. Right now all of them are switched off … can’t even trace the damn things. No breaks there. But that does confirm all three are up to no good.”

  Ravinder felt let down, but did not want Philip to feel demoralized. “I’m guessing the new mobile number points at Leon?”

  “That’s what the timing suggests, since he, too, came to Delhi at that time, but even that’s switched off.” Philip brightened. “However, equally important, since yesterday three calls were made to Vishal’s mobile from a public booth outside Ferozeshah Kotla.”

  “From near the stadium? Damn it, man.” Ravinder jumped up. “You should have told me right away. This means that…”

  “Most probably Zardosi is the target,” Philip completed.

  “Are we trying to identify the caller?”

  “Already on it, sir. Saina has gotten the locals to put a dozen men on the job.”

  “Excellent work, guys.” Ravinder was delighted. “I must call the director. We need to lock down the stadium and search it from top to bottom. And circulate copies of the Binder APB to every cop on duty at the stadium.”

  “The lock-down is already in place, sir,” Saina chipped in. “As per the security SOP it began an hour ago. Also, the APB copy is being issued to every single man on duty there even as we speak. But I agree about the search. We should send in a fresh team for that.”

  “Precisely. We have no idea who and how many Vishal managed to subvert.”

  “Scrutinize every man on duty there this past week,” Ravinder tasked Archana. “I want everything … bank records, property purchases … any signs of sudden unexplained wealth. You know, the usual stuff.”

  “Already on it, sir, but there are almost two hundred people.” Archana looked doubtful. “We won’t be able to complete it in time.”

  “I agree.” Ravinder knew she was right. “Put a small team on it nevertheless and run oversight. We may get lucky … or not. Either way, we have to find him … or them … eventually.”

  He was picking up the phone to call the director when Philip asked, “Do we take it as a given Binder is targeting Zardosi?”

  “Yes. All things considered I think that would be our best bet,” Ravinder replied after some thought, but an errant thought kept nagging him.

  What have I missed?

  “Logical, too,” Archana concurred, temporarily submerging that worry. “Taking out a head of state in his own country would always be tougher. And I would not want to go to Pakistan if I was Binder. It’s crazy out there.”

  “True. We go with Zardosi, but let’s hedge our bets.” Unable to dispel the nagging doubt, Ravinder made up his mind. “Archana and Chance will go with me to the stadium to keep an eye on Zardosi. Philip, I want you and Saina to be at Siri Fort. Make sure you don’t let that bugger Masharrat out of sight.” He saw both of them scowl and explained, “What if we are wrong, Philip? What if Leon is going for Masharrat? We cannot ignore that possibility. That’s why I want both of you there. We have to cover all bases.”

  That seemed to mollify Philip, but Saina still looked unhappy.

  Realizing there was nothing more he could do about that, Ravinder called Kurup.

  TWENTY-TWO

  Jasmine was terribly uneasy and feeling lost … adrift; Simran had been her anchor. And Jasmine knew she wouldn’t be able to sleep a wink knowing Ravinder was also alone. Despite the best efforts of Rekha and her parents to keep her engaged, Jasmine grew restless as evening fell. Unable to stand it any longer she called Ravinder.

  “I’m not staying here, Dad. Safe or not, I want to be home. I want to be with you when you get home.”

  Unaware the threat from Vishal had been blunted, she was surprised when Ravinder acquiesced. “Sure, I understand. Pick me up from the office, please.”

 
“Now?”

  “Whenever you are ready.” Jasmine sensed he, too, was happy about not being home alone.

  “I’m on my way.” Jasmine was so keen to be with her father again, she could not wait to get moving. It was only as she neared the Special Task Force office that she realized what she had let herself in for. A sense of dread seized her as the site of the accident drew closer. Caught in a web of thoughts she missed the first turnoff and again found herself on the opposite side of the road.

  Jasmine felt a wave of nausea as she turned the corner and Ravinder’s office hove into view. Her nausea heightened. An agonized scream began to build up in her head as she came up to the same spot, directly across the STF complex gate, where she had parked the last time, three days ago.

  Was it only three days?

  So much had happened since.

  She tried hard, but was unable to look away from the spot where the truck had smashed into her car. By now she was almost parallel. Even in the rapidly gathering darkness, she could see bits and pieces of her car scattered on the berm. Pieces of shattered windscreen. A tiny triangle ripped from her car bumper. A few shards of reflective glass from the tail lamps. They littered the accident site. Glittering intermittently as they caught errant strands of light.

  Like tiny tombstones.

  By now the scream in her head had built up into a heart-rending roar. Jasmine felt her head was about to explode. Suddenly galvanized and unable to be there a second longer, she accelerated, plunging back into the traffic, aching to flee as far from that horrid place as possible.

  There was a horrific screeching as the vehicles behind her braked or swerved to avoid hitting her car. The driver immediately behind leaned out his window and shouted an obscenity as he swerved past.

  As she raced away, Jasmine heard neither the screech of rubber on the road nor the profanity. Nor did she see the trail of near accidents she left in her wake. She was desperately trying to leave her memories behind.

  TWENTY-THREE