by S Venkatesh
He whirled around and looked at the sea of commuters. Among the dozen or so faces that he saw, one seemed vaguely familiar. It was lean, with a big nose and slightly shifty eyes.
The same sixth sense reminded him that the face was that of a man he had seen sitting at one of the tables in Olly Pub.
Bani stopped dead in his tracks. He could not resist looking back again, even though one corner of his mind warned him that this could alert his pursuer.
One glance back, and the hint of recognition on the lean man’s face told Bani what he needed to know.
He needed to get away from here, and he needed to do it fast.
***
It was a crowded street, filled with pedestrians, and the crowds were preventing a swift escape.
Bani looked at the traffic signal, and it was red at the moment. An idea struck him.
He braced himself for a run without giving out any outward signs of inching towards the road.
As the signal turned orange, Bani abruptly turned and commenced his sprint across the road, hoping to pull a fast one on his pursuer.
Unfortunately, the driver of a red Honda sedan was in a hurry, and had set his car in motion before the signal turned green.
The last thing Bani saw before the searing pain hit him and he lost consciousness was the crowd of people rushing to his aid. Even in this age of apathy, Kolkata is one place where people step forward to help.
With the last vestiges of consciousness, Bani helplessly took in the crowd of people. The man with the lean face and big nose was among them, and moving towards him quickly.
CHAPTER 32
The Mansion, Tuesday, 2.30 p.m.
The Maestro whistled softly. So his man was on Bani’s trail. Would Bani lead him to the antidote?
The antidote would be the key to his larger plans. The Delhi Demo, after all, was just the beginning.
***
After going underground post the shutdown of Project Darkworm, the Maestro had managed to take things to the next level. He and his team—working in the shadows, and wedded to no country—developed a version of Pathogen Z that had an even more deadly characteristic.
Unlike the original Pathogen Z, which decreased in strength as it spread, this version would actually get stronger as it moved from primary to secondary to tertiary hosts, as the bacterium mutated by acquiring new genetic material from the host which enhanced its ability to multiply. This made it self-perpetuating, causing a chain reaction. This had been his second eureka moment. He had called the version Pathogen Z2.
Unfortunately, the Demo in Delhi would have to be a controlled one using the original Pathogen Z, not a chain reaction involving Pathogen Z2. A chain reaction using Z2 could spiral out of control, and eventually infect entire continents, including possibly his own team and the North Koreans.
In the absence of an antidote, he could not risk it. So the Demo was only phase one of his plan.
***
The Maestro’s statisticians had calculated that if a critical mass of the self-propagating Pathogen Z2 was let loose simultaneously in thirty carefully chosen cities, possibly using helicopters, then things would be very different from Delhi. Pathogen Z2 would, like a snowball gathering momentum, become progressively more infective and virulent as it spread. It would proliferate uncontrollably, affecting more and more people in larger and larger areas, forming an ever-widening circle of influence and unleashing a gigantic bio weapon chain reaction which would spread far and wide across the globe.
None of the known biological or chemical weapons, such as sarin or anthrax, could match up to even a millionth of this impact.
The damage would be far more than from a single nuclear bomb. The appetite of this bio weapon chain reaction—the bio bomb— would increase as it spread, much like a demon getting hungrier and deadlier with every kill. The only comparable effect would be from a series of nuclear bombs detonated across the globe.
The entire world order as we know it would be brought down to its knees, leaving a power vacuum that could be filled by the right individual, supported by the right weaponry and the right infrastructure.
That would be phase two of the Maestro’s plan.
The objective was not to just cause mayhem. Nor was it about the money. Despite living among the Americans for many years, he never did imbibe their single-minded devotion to it.
He was about bigger things—about a vision for the world; about power being in the hands of the intelligent and the ambitious; about the right place in history for connoisseurs who understood nuances of science, history and human behaviour.
But there were still some hoops to be crossed before he could execute phase two of his plan.
***
The Maestro needed infrastructure to mass produce and weaponise the pathogen, and he needed a sponsor. Not just a splinter group with money, but a nation that could partner with him in his rise.
That’s why the shopping around—meetings with the Colombian drug cartel, the Serbian mafia, the North Koreans and the African dictatorships.
He had finally settled on the North Koreans. But the Maestro first needed to show them what he could do. The Demo would do exactly that.
The North Koreans had an axe to grind, and that always helped. They were still seething from their betrayal by the Chinese—their erstwhile friends—who forced them into a humiliating peace settlement with the Americans. The primary suspicion—and wrath—of the US for the Demo would be directed at China, and that would be sweet revenge.
Ji-hoon Kim had left India on Monday night after having committed North Korean support, subject to the Demo being successful.
Once the North Koreans had bitten, the Maestro could start to execute phase two of the plan.
But one thing stood between him and the realisation of his grander dreams.
The antidote.
***
Through all the years of testing, the Maestro had still not found the antidote.
Sylvan had been made to believe that he had been vaccinated with the antidote, but this deception would not suffice for a thirty-city operation that needed to be executed flawlessly. Besides, a thirty-city attack using Pathogen Z2 would almost definitely spiral out of control and eventually threaten his sponsors—North Korea—and the Maestro himself. The only protection would be the antidote.
And that was exactly what he did not have.
***
It was serendipitous that he had gotten on to Bani’s trail.
When he heard a few months ago that a well-regarded Indian professor was discreetly checking with bio weapons experts on a mystery toxin called KaalKoot from the Himalayas, he had ordered the wiretaps to be put on him. Through Bavdekar, they had latched on to Bani as well.
The Maestro’s ears had perked up further when the wiretaps mentioned effects of KaalKoot on humans that seemed remarkably similar to those of Toxin Z, the dystolinum toxin.
And then the Maestro’s mind, ever alert, worked it out. The atmospheric conditions in the Himalayas were likely to be conducive to the propagation of certain ticks from the Ixodidae family that were likely to be carriers of Clostridium dystolinum, or Pathogen Z. The low oxygen and temperature conditions in the Himalayas might mean that the bacteria would exist as dormant spores at high altitudes, but the moment an infected person reached even a marginally higher temperature zone, the bacteria would start multiplying, producing the toxin and spreading through air.
Could it be that Manohar Rai and the elusive Yogyaveer had indeed stumbled on Pathogen Z decades ago?
Implausible though it seemed, the symptoms described matched too closely for it to be a coincidence.
The Maestro had people travel up to the Himalayas, complete with hazmat suits, and test for sub-species of Ixodidae ticks that might be carriers of Pathogen Z. Sure enough, the results were positive.
So, the Yogyaveer had indeed stumbled on to Toxin Z. Or KaalKoot. The Maestro liked the latter name better. There was so much more character to it.
<
br /> This presented an even more fascinating possibility. That Manohar and the Yogyaveer had knowledge of the Prativisha, the antidote to Toxin Z, whose prescription was preserved in a hidden cave.
A cave which was out there somewhere, waiting to be found.
***
The Maestro knew, better than anybody else, that there was no room in history for those who almost won.
There had been enough goof-ups already—Steve’s disappearance, Bani’s escape, and the botch-up up in Goa. Yet, he was still hot on the trail of Bani and the Prativisha, the antidote.
Again serendipitous. But this time he could not take any chances.
He called one of his men. ‘I want more people in Kolkata. Get them to organise ammunition and mountain transportation gear.’
He continued: ‘And keep arrangements ready in case I, too, need to go.’
CHAPTER 33
Kolkata, Tuesday, 3.30 p.m.
Sam’s satellite phone rang. It was Damini, who was now at the ACG office in Mumbai, telling him that Bani was in Family Hospital in Kolkata. Two ACG agents, to whom she had made a discreet personal request, had been tailing Bani, and had witnessed the accident. In fact, unknown to Bani, it was an ACG man who had taken him to the hospital.
The other ACG agent had chased and managed to apprehend the man with the lean face and big nose, but a bullet from behind had got him within seconds of that. The lean-faced man had died a swift death on the crowded Kolkata street.
The man had clearly had accomplices—accomplices who were tailing him and had unambiguous instructions to shoot and kill if any of their compatriots were in danger of being compromised.
***
Family Hospital, Kolkata, Tuesday, 4.30 p.m.
Bani had fractured his leg and had lost some blood. It took the doctors an hour to stem the bleeding, stabilise the bone and bring him back to consciousness.
Bani struggled to focus as he stared at the ceiling in the intensive care unit.
Despite being on painkillers, he could feel the searing pain. Yet, he paid scant attention to it, consumed as he was by a sickening realisation.
He was not going to be the Yogya Dayada, the Worthy Heir.
The opportunity of a lifetime, the moment for which he had let go of everything—his fame, his laurels and even his family—was almost upon him, and yet here he was, immobile.
For the first time since the night Muneera had left him, he felt his eyes moisten.
***
As Bani felt the tsunami of despondency begin to engulf him, a distant memory came back to him. Of that fateful day, many years ago, when Professor Mitra had first taken him to the Asiatic Society of Bengal.
Even in his current state, the memory of that afternoon gave him goose bumps. He could still remember the quiver in Professor Mitra’s voice, and the awe with which a young Bani had listened to him as he realised that he had found his life’s passion.
It had never been about the accolades and the recognition. It had always been about the love of history.
And today, that same love of history required that he should place getting to the Gupt-Kandara and its contents above any selfish considerations.
Bani sighed. Distasteful as it was, he knew exactly what he had to do.
He had to marvel at life’s irony.
Here he was, having given up everything in single-minded pursuit of his goal; yet, the cocky upstart investment banker and the unsubtle secret agent represented his only hope to get to the Gupt-Kandara.
Between the young man and the secret agent, however, he somehow felt a kinship with the young man, despite all the outward animosity.
Bani sighed again. Maybe destiny had willed it this way so that it could test Bani’s passion.
Ignoring the stabs of pain shooting through his leg, Bani braced himself for handing over the fruit of his life’s labour to the young man.
He had barely registered that he had no means of actually contacting the young man before he passed out from the effect of the sedatives.
***
It was a further thirty minutes before the doctors reluctantly allowed Sam to meet Bani in the ICU.
Sam did not say anything. He just went and sat by Bani’s bedside.
Bani spoke feebly. ‘Thanks for not giving me the smug look.’
Sam threw up his hands in a placatory gesture. ‘Nothing personal, Prof. I’m just a guy trying to find his girlfriend.’
Sam felt a lump in his throat as he used the word ‘girlfriend’. How much he had resisted using that word when Ananya was around. Would he get a chance to make amends?
‘You might want to get to the Gupt-Kandara fast, then,’ Bani said weakly.
‘What do you mean?’
Bani had a resigned smile. ‘I’m finished now. Totally stranded. I might as well tell you everything before the villains get to it.’
His chest heaved as he squirted out the next few words. ‘But promise me you’ll not chicken out.’
***
Taking short breaks for rest, and with the nurses periodically reprimanding him for straining himself, a mellowed Bani told Sam everything, starting from the story about the dying Yogyaveer handing over the scroll to the priest from the Nepalese monastery, to Bani’s interpretation of the first few verses based on Steve’s clues at Solaris Hospital.
‘Whew, that’s a lot of stuff,’ Sam whistled. ‘You sure keep your cards close to your chest, don’t you, Prof.?’
‘Occupational hazard, buddy,’ Bani began laughing, and then bit his lip as pain shot through his body.
Sam nodded, and then he, too, started laughing. Bani was the last guy he expected to call him ‘buddy’, and not just because of the age difference. Funny how the absence of choices made the unlikeliest of people shed their inhibitions.
***
Bani had passed Sam a sheet of paper with the verses from the scroll written on it.
‘So, these verses are supposed to provide clues to find the Hidden Cave, and also to crack the traps inside it, huh?’ Sam asked.
‘The ancient Indians were masters at allegory, at describing man’s inner struggles through colourful external imagery,’ Bani replied. ‘The verses are not to be interpreted at face value. You need to look for deeper meanings in them.’
Sam read the second verse out aloud.
Verse 2
Seven yojanas from the origin of the river the Master had to cross
Eight yojanas from the Courtier’s second home
There exists a settlement with the ten noises complete
Ten yojanas away lies the Gupt-Kandara.
‘What is a settlement with ten noises complete?’ Sam asked.
‘That’s a euphemistic way to refer to a city in ancient Pali literature,’ Bani replied. ‘The ten noises of a flourishing town, according to the texts, are elephants, horses, chariots, drums, tabors, lutes, song, cymbals, gongs, and the sound of people crying “eat ye, and drink”.’
‘These ancient dudes sure had a sense of humour,’ Sam muttered.
Bani continued. ‘This city being talked about here is Gangtok. So, ten yojanas away from Gangtok lies the Gupt-Kandara. That’s a hundred thirty kilometres. You have your task all cut out.’
‘Really?’ Sam exclaimed. ‘A hundred thirty kilometre radius is over eight hundred kilometres of circumference, amidst snow-clad peaks, inaccessible dirt tracks, dense fog, treacherous mountains and zero visibility. I would rather take a chance finding a needle in a haystack.’
‘Easy, hero,’ Bani motioned, as he suppressed a dart of pain from his wound. ‘The third verse contains more clues to the location.’
Verse 3
Climbing unwaveringly up the path beyond the Garden of Heaven
Walking by the river through blinding mists
Crossing the greatest moat of them all
The lion’s mane shall meet the scorpion’s claws.
‘What in hell’s name is this?’ Sam exclaimed.
‘From Gangtok, you ne
ed to follow the path to some place called “the Garden of Heaven”. Then you need to walk by a river.’
‘I got that bit,’ Sam interjected. ‘But what is the “greatest moat of them all”?’
‘A moat is typically a water body surrounding a fort, to guard it against attackers. Some Sanskrit texts talk about human fear as forming the greatest moat.’
‘Fear?’ Sam queried. ‘You mean, like people are afraid of going to a place for some reason, and that itself keeps them away, and forms an effective moat?’
‘Yes,’ Bani replied. ‘So you need to walk along the river towards some place that people are afraid of going to.’
Sam read the last line.
The lion’s mane shall meet the scorpion’s claws.
‘Pray, explain,’ he said.
Bani wheezed a little. ‘No clue. I have not found any references to this in the ancient texts.’
‘Maybe the answer is not to be found in the texts. Maybe it’s a local legend,’ Sam said.
Bani looked at Sam with sudden respect. ‘Maybe you’re right.’
‘Maybe…’ Sam pondered, as he looked at the fifth verse.
Verse 5
The Worthy Heir shall reach the sanctum
Only after enduring the four Great Agonies
Through faith, fearlessness, stillness and silence
Shall the Worthy Heir conquer the Agonies.
Sam’s eyes widened. The only way to enter the inner sanctum of the cave, which was where the Prativisha was presumably preserved, was to go through this obstacle course: the four Great Agonies. He looked at Bani questioningly.
Bani looked a little sheepish. ‘Er . . . Ashoka had set up a “Chamber of Torture” during his reign where transgressors were put through the “Five Great Agonies”. The Gupt-Kandara is probably modelled on this.’
Sam winced as Bani continued. ‘There are some interpretations which refer to the hard reality of death as the fifth agony. Maybe that’s why there are only Four Agonies in the Gupt-Kandara.’
Sam breathed hard as he realised the significance of what he was hearing.
The Gupt-Kandara was no ordinary cave. It was a death trap for anybody who would be foolhardy enough to attempt to clear the four Great Agonies.