by S Venkatesh
Vivaan’s eyes widened instantly. He could not risk his family’s safety, but he did not want to put Sam in danger either. His voice quivered just a little bit as he cooked up a story. ‘He got off our car half-an-hour ago. Said he was going to go back to Mumbai.’
Unfortunately for Vivaan, he did not know that Deedar had tracked Sam’s mobile to a three hundred-metre radius of his vehicle, and that he knew Vivaan was lying.
For Deedar Singh, Vivaan was eminently dispensable. He had narrowed Sam down to a three hundred-metre radius anyway. If Deedar let Vivaan go, he could create an unnecessary distraction by alerting the authorities.
Everything happened in a matter of seconds after that. Deedar undid the safety catch of his revolver and fired a shot straight at Vivaan’s chest.
Vivaan’s body crumpled and fell to the ground as Riyaa let out a helpless, deafening shriek. That triggered off a barking bout from Bouncer as he started running towards Deedar.
Deedar Singh did not want any witnesses. And he did not particularly care for women. Or pets.
He fired one more shot. The woman’s shriek abruptly stopped, cut off in its prime. The barking continued.
Then he fired another shot, and the barking, too, stopped.
***
From the broken window of the toilet at the abandoned warehouse, a pair of horrified eyes watched as the last shot was fired.
Sam had run to the window when he had heard the first shot. By the time he realised what was happening and could rush out to help, the next two shots had been fired. It had all happened in a matter of seconds.
A gasp escaped Sam’s lips as the magnitude of the evil he was facing dawned on him.
A few images passed through Sam’s mind—first the image of Riyaa and Bouncer curled up on the back seat, and then the image of Ananya and the corpse at the ATM—and Sam’s body involuntarily shuddered in a way that it had never shuddered before.
CHAPTER 16
Mahad, Mumbai-Goa highway, Monday, 6.45 a.m.
Sam stood paralysed for a second before he pulled himself together. It was over for Vivaan and Riyaa, but he still had to try to get out alive. He would have to keep the surging tsunami of guilt aside for the moment.
The towering giant had gotten into the first building and was combing it swiftly. Sam had no more than maybe a minute before he would enter the second building where Sam was hiding.
He had to act fast. It was still dark, and that gave him an advantage. But the morning light was just about knocking on the horizon.
The surroundings were eerily quiet, except for the pleasant lapping sound of the waters of the river, and the unnervingly loud sound of the gigantic man kicking open the broken, mould-eaten doors in the dilapidated first warehouse building.
There was only one door out of the building that Sam was in, and it directly faced the courtyard. If he tried to get out through that door, he would be spotted in the moonlight. And probably shot in the head with the man’s revolver.
He would have to seek another way out. Fast.
***
The answer came to Sam instantaneously. He would have to create a diversion—something that he had seen in many spy movies.
Sam surveyed the surroundings quickly. At a distance of around eighty metres, he could make out the outline of a boat at the river bank, and the silhouette of a few passengers who were probably waiting to board it at the jetty.
He looked around, hoping to find a conveniently sized object that he could throw into the water. There was nothing.
He dug into his pockets. The mobile phone. That’s how they had probably tracked him.
Sam took aim, summoned up all his throwing abilities and threw the mobile phone into the water.
Thank God for all those years spent fielding in cricket, Sam thought as the mobile phone landed in the water a good sixty metres ahead of his position, very close to the jetty and the boat.
He was in luck. Almost immediately, the towering man ran from the courtyard, and headed for the jetty in the darkness, assuming that Sam was there.
Sam was quiet—and swift—as he got out of the second building and ran to the courtyard, to the place where Vivaan’s crumpled body lay.
***
Things moved pretty quickly after that.
Sam stifled a gasp, and a sharp stab of guilt, as he dug into Vivaan’s pockets for the keys to the Accord.
He did not have time to take their bodies to the car. He would have to make an anonymous call to the police later.
Sam ran to the Accord and put it into ignition, hoping that it would be at least a few minutes before the giant realised what had happened. He cranked up the vehicle and headed back in the direction that they had come from—towards Mumbai—instead of towards Goa. If that got the giant confused and bought Sam a few extra minutes, even better.
***
After driving away from the warehouses, Sam abandoned the Accord in a clump of bushes by the side of the road at the earliest opportunity, and hid.
Sure enough, a few minutes later, the Hummer came thundering past, roaring at a dangerously high speed of over 150 kmph.
When the Hummer was safely gone, Sam got onto the road and thumbed a ride from the next vehicle—a Tata Sumo carrying four young men just out of college. They were headed to Shrivardhan, a town located by the sea and accessible by a road that branched off from the main Mumbai-Goa highway.
Sam was grateful that the men in the Sumo did not ask him for any money. It seemed sensible to conserve the cash he had in his wallet.
Shrivardhan might actually be a good idea, Sam reflected. Being away from the Mumbai-Goa highway, it would not be the obvious choice for his pursuer to follow him, and Sam might actually be able to hitch a ride on a boat from there and reach Goa by sea.
After all the activity of the last half-an-hour, Sam felt slightly relieved as he sank into his seat. But he was jolted back up by the realisation that the lifeless bodies of the previous folks who had offered him a lift were now lying abandoned by a dilapidated warehouse. Thanks to him.
***
Shrivardhan, coastal village in Maharashtra, Monday, 8.30 a.m.
The hamlet of Shrivardhan was buzzing with the activity of the morning as Sam got off the Sumo. There were fruit-sellers spreading their wares in the town square, women scurrying past with baskets of fish over their heads, and buses whirring as commuters prepared to head to their place of business.
The bustle suddenly reminded Sam that he was on a sticky wicket at his office. The performance appraisals and employee firings were due to happen today. Not being present in office on such a day would be the equivalent of the American President not showing up in office on 9/11.
At the very least, Sam would need to call Ayush and register his inability to show up.
Sam slowly walked up to a payphone, hating every second of it.
***
Ayush was scathing. Sam was subjected to a rude grilling and warned of ‘severe repercussions’.
Sam banged his knuckles in frustration. ‘Severe repercussions’ probably meant losing his job, accompanied by unflattering commentary in his ‘relieving’ letter.
He desperately tried to compose himself as he walked towards the jetty. He had heard about the boats which carried goods of questionable legality along the coastline, and he hoped that he would get a lift to Goa in one such boat.
He peered into his wallet. He had around three thousand rupees. That might be enough to get him to Goa, and maybe to Ephesus Hotel, but would leave him with practically nothing beyond that.
Sam wondered whether he ought to go to an ATM and withdraw some more cash. But given that his pursuers seemed to have been tracking his mobile phone, there was a good chance that they would be tracking his debit and credit cards as well. He would have to manage with the money he had.
***
The boat pulled away from Shrivardhan, creating large ripples as it cut through the water. To Sam, the spray from the water and the ripples seemed
to coalesce and form an outline of an image of a young couple holding a small puppy.
They seemed to stare at him forlorn, disappointed in him for putting them in danger; and for the fate that his entry into their lives had invited for them.
Sam closed his eyes to mentally distance the image, but it refused to go away. His heart sank as he realised the images of Vivaan, Riyaa and the puppy would follow him everywhere; this was a lifelong burden that he would have to carry.
CHAPTER 17
Mumbai-Goa highway, 12 noon
Deedar Singh was experiencing a very uncharacteristic series of emotions as he reversed his Hummer for the thirtieth time and made enquiries at petrol pumps and restaurants along the Mumbai-Goa highway.
First there was frustration: at not being able to get any leads into Sameer’s whereabouts.
Then disbelief: that an amateur had outwitted him.
And then the overwhelming sense of shame. Back in his village in Haryana, being bested by a city-bred man half your size was not exactly a badge of honour.
And then there was fear. Not just fear, but bottomless, unadulterated terror: of consequences. Of the man they called the Doc.
There was only one thing to do. Deedar Singh barely hesitated as he placed the tip of the revolver into his own mouth and pulled the trigger.
***
Goa, Monday, 6 p.m.
Sam sighed as the boat approached land.
Despite trying his best, he had not managed to sleep even a wink on the boat. The choppiness of the water was magnified by frequent gushes of the monsoon winds, and the rustic crew of the trawler was focused on carrying smuggled goods along the coastline, not on providing a smooth travelling experience. And then there was the guilt; the ever-present guilt.
After parting with two thousand rupees for the boat ride, Sam was still left with one thousand rupees. That ought to be more than enough to get him to Ephesus Hotel, though he would have to find a way to get some cash post that.
He felt fortunate that he was on the verge of completing the journey without being robbed. Or worse, he thought wryly, as he watched a clearly sex-starved deckhand walk past.
Close to twelve hours had passed since Sam’s encounter with the giant in the Hummer. Despite being menace personified, the giant had at least represented a link to the guys who were responsible for Ananya’s disappearance. He now seemed to prefer that to the radio silence of the past ten hours.
As the boat drew closer to a makeshift harbour in north Goa, he saw a somewhat rusted signboard that said ‘Welcome to Goa’.
Sam sighed.
Paradise for many, home for some. Riotous celebration for many, object d’art for some. Weekend getaway for many, pristine slice of heaven for some.
Sam sighed again. He wished he knew what Goa held in store for him. And for Ananya. Wherever she was.
***
The radio was blaring as the cab made its way to Baga beach, one of Goa’s most popular beaches.
The announcer was droning on about a Global Security Summit (GSS) in Delhi on Wednesday, the first time ever that the heads of state of the western powers—the US, UK, France, Germany and Australia, along with Japan—were congregating for a meeting in India. The choice of India as the venue was strategic. The GSS would signal the West’s strategic ‘pivot’ towards India, to serve as a counter to China’s growing influence. The main agenda of the meeting, aside from the usual platitudes about democracy, was to pass stiff sanctions against China for its aggressive military posturing in the South China Sea.
For obvious reasons, this was not going down well with the Chinese.
The monotony of the radio announcer’s voice had a soporific effect on Sam. He had not been able to sleep on the boat, and the sheer featurelessness of the radio commentary was a change from the world of murderers, dead bodies and abductions that he had ended up inhabiting in the last twenty-four hours.
‘This is so boring,’ the cabbie was muttering as he changed the radio station.
Another radio station was playing an interview with the Indian captain ahead of the India vs the ‘Dream Combo’ T20 cricket match in Delhi on Wednesday. As a nod to India’s status as the premier world cricketing power, it was single-handedly pitted against the combination of the best of Australia and England, who had come together as the Dream Combo.
‘Are you nervous?’ the interviewer was asking him. ‘Everybody from the US President and UK Prime Minister downward are going to be watching the match.’
The Indian captain was all charged up. ‘We are going to give the Aussies and the Brits the thrashing of their lives. They are not calling it “Match of the Century” for nothing.’
Sam closed his eyes. Even hearing about cricket seemed like music to his ears, taking him away, albeit fleetingly, from grimmer thoughts.
***
Ephesus Hotel, Baga beach, north Goa, Monday, 8.30 p.m.
As Sam got off the taxi at Baga, he had neither the time nor the inclination to ruminate on the influence of tourism on what used to be one of Goa’s most pristine beaches as he headed to his blind date at the Ephesus Hotel with the guy who called himself ‘Pele’.
The lobby of the hotel was teeming with people.
Sam took a quick look around. He did not know what ‘Pele’ looked like, but the guy probably ought to be around the same age as Bavdekar. And he would most likely be alone, in light of his paranoia about being followed.
Sam made his way to the first floor. It was obvious that the band was playing there—the metallic plucking of the electric guitar was clearly audible in the lobby.
He walked up to the bar, and was immediately transported to a different world. The band was belting out ‘Rock you like a Hurricane’. The reverberating beat of the drums and the searing intensity of the guitar mingled with the head-banging crowd to create a magical atmosphere. The tension in the room was electrifying. Sam could almost see a ray of lightning cutting across the room.
Pele be damned, Sam thought, as he closed his eyes, forgot about all his troubles and soaked in the atmosphere for a few moments.
There were claps and cheers as the song drew to a close. The band leader took the mike and announced that his next song was going to be a contemporary pop hit.
There were groans from some in the crowd, and one man snorted in disgust and walked towards the bar to get himself a drink.
He was probably around sixty years old and was around 5’10”, with salt-and-pepper hair and the general demeanour of a professor.
Sam walked up to him as he neared the bar, looked straight into his eyes and shouted ‘Pele’.
The look in the man’s eyes—a mix of recognition, apprehension and anxiety—told Sam that he had found the man he was looking for.
***
Sameer Rajan and Bhabani Bhattacharya did not exactly start off with a warm hug, to put it mildly.
First, there was the issue of Bani’s attempting to flee the scene, countered by Sam’s firm hand placed between the bar and Bani’s planned flight path. Bani was no stranger to physical combat, having been used to rough street soccer in his younger days, but he did not want to start something which would draw too much attention.
Then, once Sam had tersely given Bani a background of why he was here, there was the issue of boundaries. Bani was a private, almost paranoid, recluse who did not relish having to share details of his secretive quest with a stranger less than half his age.
Sam, on his part, had an innate hostility towards authority figures, starting with his father, and an avuncular professor was as quintessential an authority figure as could be. It did not help that the person in question was trying to be cagey.
‘Pele, or whatever your bloody name is, I’m going to say this as straight as possible. My girlfriend is missing, and I don’t mind having to kill to get her back.’
Bani just snorted.
Sam continued. ‘Your friend, Bavdekar, or Zico, or whatever you kinky guys call each other, is missing, too. You need all
the help you can get, because you sure as hell ain’t getting anywhere trying to find Bavdekar on your own.’
‘It’s Professor Bavdekar,’ Bani interjected, eliciting a murderous glare from Sam.
‘Whatever,’ Sam said. ‘You want him back, don’t you?’
Bani was quiet. Shrikant Bavdekar was among the few friends he had, and he was concerned about him.
‘If we work together, we might get him back. Along with my girlfriend,’ Sam said.
‘…hopefully alive,’ he added.
***
A muscular Caucasian man, wearing beach shorts and a blue T-shirt, got up from his chair as soon as Sam and Bani went down to the lobby of the Ephesus Hotel.
He was known as Rider among the crew at the Mansion because of his driving skills. He had perfected these skills during his early days as a member of a biker gang in Melbourne. He was around 5’9”, but his toned body and six-pack abs would have put professional bodybuilders to shame. He had sharp, observant eyes which missed nothing. All this was concealed beneath a relaxed demeanour and a happy-go-lucky exterior. He did not look out of place among the beach revellers and the Baga crowd.
Rider had arrived in Goa from the Mansion just a few hours ago. Two shooters—an Indian man, Milind, and an Australian woman, Nicole—were backing him up.
Bruce had made sure that the shooters were among the best they had. The goof-up, with Sam giving Deedar Singh the slip, had happened under Bruce’s watch. He had to make sure he delivered this time. He did not want to meet the same fate as Andy. Or Deedar.
As Rider swiftly stepped down to the lobby, he spoke into his Bluetooth micro mouthpiece, through which he could reach Bruce and the two backup shooters at the same time. ‘I have the targets. They are headed out, probably to the rave to meet Jeff.’
‘You know the instructions, Rider. Remain concealed till they lead us to Steve.’
Rider rubbed his hands together. The young man had given the slip to Deedar Singh, of all people. He couldn’t wait to get his hands on him.
***
Lotus Café, north Goa, Monday, 9.30 p.m.