by S Venkatesh
Sam paused to catch his breath. ‘The thing that Bani was hiding— these mysterious verses that Bavdekar referred to in his notes—I think they contain some clues to locate the Gupt-Kandara. That’s probably what Bani was working on with Steve—Steve doing the exploring, and Bani trying to crack the clues. And when Steve called him, it was probably because he had found something definitive about the location.’
Damini nodded.
‘And that’s what the villains kidnapped Steve for. But he somehow escaped. And yet Steve managed to retain enough sanity to divulge something to Bani from his hospital bed.’
Damini looked at Sam. ‘So, our only bet to get to the Maestro is to get to the location of the Gupt-Kandara. And there is only one guy who can help us get to it.’
‘Bani Bhattacharya,’ Sam nodded, baying for blood.
***
Tuesday, 5 a.m.
Bani’s heart was pounding even as he stared defiantly at Damini and Sam.
How the hell had they learnt about the antidote? How much had Bavdekar revealed in his notes?
He would have to go with guesswork for now, and reveal only as much as he really needed to.
‘An antidote,’ he said slowly, ‘called Prativisha in Sanskrit. Something that could be administered to neutralise the effect of KaalKoot.’
‘How did Manohar and the Yogyaveer find it?’ Damini asked.
‘The plant life in the Himalayas is a rich source of both poisons and cures. Our mysterious Worthy One—the Yogyaveer—was apparently an expert in these secrets, starting right from the time he learnt yoga and meditation from a guru in the Himalayas as a teenager. He knew both about KaalKoot, and the antidote, the Prativisha.’
‘What kind of antidote was this?’
‘Some sort of powder extracted from a type of mushroom,’ Bani replied. ‘Fungi can produce certain compounds which can be effective antidotes to infections.’
From the papers Mini had sent her, Damini knew that botulinum toxin binds itself to a receptor at the neuromuscular junction. It then enters the neuron and blocks the release of the crucial nerotransmitter, acetylcholine. Acetylcholine is responsible for activating muscles, so the toxin is able to prevent muscle contraction all over the body, eventually causing paralysis and death. The antidote in this case was probably a substance that could somehow react with the binding sites and neutralise the toxic activity.
‘So, the Yogyaveer basically found KaalKoot and the antidote, while the Imperial Guard didn’t,’ Damini said.
Bani nodded. ‘This was the secret he was supposed to guard, along with all the artefacts and manuscripts, in the Gupt-Kandara. So that in case the Imperial Guard did indeed discover the pathogen and unleashed it on the unsuspecting masses, the Yogyaveer could use the antidote—the Prativisha—to prevent a death toll of hundreds of thousands, maybe even millions.’
‘Would it not have been better to just make the antidote public?’ Damini asked.
‘Not really,’ Bani answered. ‘Sometimes it is best to let sleeping dogs lie. As recently as 2013, when some researchers in the US claimed to have discovered a new variant of Botulinum toxin, they refused to reveal its gene sequence, fearing that it could fall into the wrong ends. Certain things are best kept secret.’
‘And this secret is still hidden somewhere, in the Gupt-Kandara,’ Damini finished.
***
‘What did Steve tell you at the hospital?’ Sam asked.
Bani smirked. ‘Nothing really. I thought I told you that already.’
‘You need to refresh your memory,’ Damini said sarcastically. ‘You can take your time about it while you cool your heels in this safe house.’
Bani sighed. He had not come this far to reveal his life’s work to a bumbling amateur investment banker and a cagey secret agent. But it looked like he didn’t have a choice.
Or did he?
‘I always take a morning walk,’ he said. ‘Helps clear my mind.’
‘You can walk inside the room,’ Damini said.
‘Not the same,’ Bani replied. ‘Not once have I missed my morning walk in ten years.’
Damini knew about Bani’s fanatical dedication to his morning walk from Mini’s dossier. Maybe the morning walk would help the professor make peace and cooperate?
And then another idea struck her, and she decided to play along.
She pretended to hesitate, then murmured a reluctant ‘Ok, but my security guard will follow you.’
As she walked out of the room and passed by the corridor, she whispered something discreetly to the safe house guard, Gautam.
***
Tuesday, 5.20 a.m.
Bani’s mind was far from calm as he took his morning walk. His hands quivered in excitement as he remembered the verses from the scroll.
He was right at the cusp of the discovery of a lifetime. He had to flee from here. At any cost.
He sneaked a look behind him. The safe house guard, Gautam, was unarmed, lagging behind and seemed somewhat inattentive as he talked on his mobile phone. Nearby, a bus was just leaving from a bus stop.
Bani acted quickly. He hoped that he could run at least half as fast as he could as a youth during his soccer days.
***
Tuesday, 5.40 a.m.
‘How the hell did Bani dodge past your security guard?’ Sam yelled.
Damini smiled. ‘Relax, I was the one who instructed the guard to let him escape.’
Sam looked at her incredulously, then calmed down sheepishly as he understood. ‘Ah, the idea is to let him think he’s free, then tail him surreptitiously. Maybe he’ll lead us to the Gupt-Kandara.’
Damini simply nodded. She had also had the Goa police remove their alert on Bani.
‘You secret agents are devious,’ Sam laughed.
For some reason, Damini did not find Sam’s comment funny. The same disturbed feeling came back to her.
We become what we repeatedly do.
***
Dabolim, Goa, Tuesday, 6.45 a.m.
Bani took a moment’s rest to take in the morning sun after he called Souvik-da from a payphone asking him to email a flight ticket from Goa to Kolkata under a fictitious name.
He needed to refer to a couple of books from his home in Kolkata in order to make full sense of Steve’s utterances at Solaris Hospital, but he knew that his home would be under surveillance by the villains.
He would have to ask Mukhshuddi to get the books from the Asiatic Society library.
***
Kolkata, Tuesday, 7 a.m.
‘Samuel Beal’s translation of the Si-Yu-Ki: Buddhist Records of the Western World, by Hiuen Tsang,’ Mukhshuddi said, as he jotted down the name of the fourth book.
‘I will be in Kolkata soon,’ Bani said. ‘I need you to get these books and meet me at Olly Pub.’
‘Olly Pub, aha. That sounds like a plan!’ Mukhshuddi replied. He did not probe further.
***
Goa, Tuesday, 8 a.m.
Damini hung up after speaking briefly on her smartphone.
‘The old man is at the airport,’ she said. ‘He has managed to check-in for a flight to Kolkata via Mumbai without an ID.’
Sam said, ‘I assume you have folks in Kolkata ready to follow him when he lands.’
‘One of my men is getting on the same flight as him,’ Damini replied.
***
Goa, Tuesday, 8.10 a.m.
The Chief was on the line with Damini, and he was livid.
‘I had said no contact with foreign intelligence agencies. I didn’t make any exceptions for ex-boyfriends.’
‘How did you find out?’ Damini asked, incredulous.
The Chief smirked sarcastically as he said, ‘We have our ways.’
It must have been Kunal who must have given her away, Damini thought bitterly. He must have somehow gotten to know; maybe from Mini?
Damini made a desperate attempt to argue her case, but it seemed like her assignment was split into two separate worlds.
&n
bsp; There was the world of the visit of the baddies to India—Jihoon Kim and the characters from the Slav gang, the Cali Cartel, ISIS and the African dictatorships. Then there was the other world: Bavdekar’s kidnapping, Professor Hudson and Project Darkworm.
Only Damini and Sameer believed in the connection between the two worlds—a connection predicated on Damini’s memory of the Maestro’s presence at Kyani Bakery that morning.
But she did not have a shred of evidence to support her case. No records of Project Darkworm existed. At Kyani Bakery, Damini had not been able to pan her pendant-camera to the Maestro. It was just her word.
‘We have tight security at the GSS and the cricket match,’ the Chief thundered. ‘Not even a rat can slip past, leave alone a goddamned bio weapon. I will not compromise my credibility by raising some false alarm based on some irrelevant missing professor.’
‘But Chief…’ Damini tried to explain, but she was abruptly cut short.
‘I am removing you as lead agent from this case. You are to return to Mumbai. From now on, Kunal will lead the investigation, and you are to cooperate with him. Is that clear?’
Damini grit her teeth. ‘Yes, sir,’ she said tersely.
***
Sam checked out the news on the television at the safe house.
The Asian stock markets were on a tailspin ahead of the Global Security Summit on Wednesday evening, as the GSS was to call for strict sanctions against China for its expansionary activities in the South China Sea. The Hong Kong and Shanghai markets were both down by 8 per cent, while the Nkkei was down by 6 per cent.
The US President, never one for controlling his words, had tweeted that the GSS was ‘an opportunity to kick China’s butt in public,’ stirring up more than a hornet’s nest. The Chinese had lined up long-range ballistic missiles along the border with India, Japan and South Korea.
Meanwhile, Russia was not happy either. A reprimand to Russia for its activities in Ukraine was also part of the agenda of the GSS, though this was only a token censure without any new sanctions.
Russia and China had closed ranks and lined up a Nuclear Energy Summit in Beijing where their defence ministers were due to discuss ‘cooperation on nuclear warheads’.
In response, the US had stationed aircraft carriers close to Chinese waters. NATO bases in South Korea and Japan were on high alert. US bombers were staging trial runs as part of joint military exercises with South Korea and the Philippines.
And then it struck Sam. The Demo would do more than just cause a few thousand deaths in Delhi.
It might actually trigger off a world war.
***
Goa, Tuesday, 9 a.m.
Damini looked into the bathroom mirror, and found a distinctly downcast face staring back at her.
The means justify the ends, she had repeatedly told herself. Yet, here she was, deprived of the means to prevent a global catastrophe.
Being a natural rebel, she was no stranger to rebukes and reprimands, but she had never let them get to her. Back home in Mirzapur, a number of framed motivational quotes adorned the walls of her room. ‘Impossible is nothing,’ screamed one quote, with the Adidas logo underneath it. Another was an excerpt from a Nike ad: ‘Failure is not an option.’
A whiff of meaninglessness had sneaked in on her in a couple of previous assignments, but it had never been this pronounced.
For some reason, the phone call with Bob lingered in her mind and took her back to their time together.
She had never had any illusions about the future of their relationship. Yet she seemed unable to let go of the faint memory of the warmth and intimacy she has shared with him. Was it the only redeeming feature in a life filled with adrenaline rushes and transient highs?
The greatest good for the greatest number. Somehow, it all seemed so empty now.
***
Even as Damini stared into the mirror for a long moment, her survival instinct started to kick in.
She might be constrained, but she would still figure out a way to prevent a catastrophe.
Impossible is nothing! The words echoed in her mind. Failure is not an option.
It was cheesy as hell, but she did not give a damn. She never did.
For a brief moment, she contemplated making a run for it. But with the ACG’s tentacles spread far and wide, it would be pointless. She was better off cooperating and staying within the system and using the ACG’s infrastructure informally.
She picked up the phone to make a few calls. She had built up a fan following among various sections of the ACG. This was the time to encash it and call in all the favours she could.
***
Goa, Tuesday, 9.45 a.m.
‘I’m grounded,’ Damini said to Sam. ‘But I have made arrangements to get you to Kolkata on an Air Force plane. I will get you real-time info on Bani’s whereabouts so that you can follow him to the Gupt-Kandara.’
Thankfully, the few ACG agents Damini had called were willing to help her informally. That list included Gautam, the safe house guard.
Damini gave Sam some cash, a fake identity card and a satellite phone. ‘I’m sure the Chief is tapping into my main phone, so I’m giving you my satellite phone number. If it’s a routine update, leave a missed call and hang up after two rings. If it’s an emergency, then wait till four rings and I will call you back.’
‘Buddy, I will help you as much as I can,’ she said. ‘But from now on, you’re basically on your own.’
***
Sam breathed heavily.
Bani’s theory about the Gupt-Kandara might be no more than a shot in the dark, but it was the only lead he had to the Maestro, and possibly to Ananya.
But what if Ananya’s disappearance had nothing to do with the Maestro? Was she even still alive?
What if she was actually in cahoots with the Maestro’s crew? Was there a side to her that he was not aware of?
Sam’s mind, already reeling from lack of sleep, was throwing up progressively uneasy questions like an excavator digging up the earth.
Sam closed his eyes, trying to calm himself. Through all the doubts and the worries, there was only one feeling that lingered: that of love. For the woman whose smile went all the way to her eyes.
He would gladly go to the ends of the earth to find her. Even if he had to swallow the deadliest poison, much like the Lord Neelkanth himself.
‘Kolkata,’ Sam told himself gently. ‘Just get to Kolkata.’
CHAPTER 27
The Mansion, Tuesday, 7 a.m.
After Bani hung up on his call with Mukhshuddi, a tall, heavyset man at the Mansion, who was listening in on Mukhshuddi’s phone calls, heaved a sigh of relief.
Bruce knew that he was on thin ice with the Maestro the moment his men lost track of Bani at Park Hotel on Sunday night. Bruce had fervently hoped that the rave party in Goa would give him a chance to retrieve the trail of Bani, Sam and Steve in one shot.
However, the Goa trail had gotten botched up. Rider and his crew had been unable to control the situation at Solaris Hospital. Bani and Sam had escaped, and Steve had died.
Bruce had panicked and kept the details of the botch-up from the Maestro, desperately hoping to somehow recapture the trail in the interim.
With Bani’s call to Mukhshuddi’s phone, maybe he had just got a golden chance to redeem himself in the Maestro’s eyes?
***
The Mansion, Tuesday, 7.15 a.m.
As Bruce narrated the details to the Maestro, he felt a deep chill spreading across the room.
The Maestro, adept at understanding body language, had sensed the situation quite quickly.
Bruce’s act of treason did not warrant a verbal firing. The Maestro anyway regarded angry verbal outbursts as the preserve of lesser, unsophisticated mortals.
He turned to an underling, his expression not betraying any sign of volatility, exuding instead an ominous undertone of quiet menace. ‘Ask everybody to gather,’ he said.
The powers of evil and darkness were
about to focus themselves on the room.
The Maestro was sorry that he would have to lose Bruce. He was largely swift and efficient.
But an example had to be set. One of the Maestro’s favourite quotes was from Machiavelli: It was more important for a leader to be feared than to be loved.
Meanwhile, a dozen other members of the Maestro’s team had gathered in the room.
Bruce was trembling like a jelly as the Maestro delicately opened his toolkit—his ‘playbox’, as he called it—with a sensitivity that would do an artiste proud.
Somehow, whenever he opened his playbox, an image from his childhood would come to the Maestro’s mind.
He still remembered it vividly. His father had come home drunk, as usual, and in a foul mood. He, a young boy then, had hidden himself behind a couch and watched, frightened, as his mother trembled and suffered as she had done for years.
That night, somewhere in the midst of the shouts, the insults and the violence, something had suddenly snapped inside him. Something that unleashed a force that he struggled to comprehend, even to this day.
He had pushed his father, who fell down the stairs, hit himself on the head and cried out in pain. That was when he had taken the family’s heirloom—a ceremonial dagger—and impaled his father with it.
Even now, as he thought of the incident, a ferocious energy overcame him, unleashing a kaleidoscope of emotions which included rage, a recognition of his own power, and a hunger for control. A hunger so deep that it could not be satisfied by mortal trappings of money and fame.
As Bruce’s face twisted into an expression of unadulterated terror, the Maestro opened his playbox and took out a pair of pliers and an object which resembled an electrical drill.
It was time to have some fun.
CHAPTER 28
Delhi, Tuesday, 8 a.m.
The view of Lutyens’ Delhi from Sylvan’s hotel was spectacular. The placid green lawns of the Connaught Place central park stood out against a backdrop of beautiful Georgian buildings. The monsoons had not yet hit Delhi, so the city was still bathed in a warm, sunny glow.