Assassins (13 page)

But I will get even. I will find Ravinder and kill him. If it takes a lifetime, so be it. But he will pay for what he has done to me.

*   *   *

Leon lashed out. His arm angrily scattered the wooden chessmen across the living room of the Sarita Vihar service apartment. The rage jabbing at Leon was as sharp as it had been thirty years ago. No! Nurtured by the years, sharper.

You bastards made my mom beg. You made her grovel. You drove her to the grave.

Yet again her grief-stricken face swam before his eyes, and her sob-soaked pleas echoed painfully in Leon's head.

You crucified me … for your own misdeeds … just because Farah was a slut.

Leon's face tightened in rage.

Now I will show you … you and that arrogant prick, Edward.

He bounded to his feet, his tiredness now swept aside.

One way or the other I will make you suffer the same pain and humiliation.

Mechanically retrieving and replacing the fallen chessmen on the board, Leon switched off the lights and left the apartment. Soon he was in his car, heading for Jorbagh, now eager to get a good night's rest and looking forward to the morrow.

No matter what the cost, I will bring down at least one of the targets … right under their bloody noses.

In the darkness of the car Leon grimaced, as though in physical pain.

It will be so much fun to hurt Ravinder. To make him squirm. And that bloody Edward, too. The arrogant prick.

The irony brought a smile to his lips. A cold, cold smile. That the same men who had been responsible for setting him on this deadly path now stood between him and his targets.

I was always better than the both of you. Definitely better than you, Ravinder Gill … you fucking cloth head.

Leon hammered the steering wheel with an angry fist. The horn blared out in the dark night, like a battle cry.

 

TWENTY-THREE

Fatima swung instinctively when Vishal placed his hand on her thigh. In the close confines of the hotel room, the slap rang out like a pistol shot. Equally shocked, she watched his expression change; stunned disbelief swept aside by a blinding rage. Fatima felt a rush of fear.

This man had shown no compunction in kidnapping, torturing, and killing his own boss.

Her fear escalated into panic, but she fought to keep it off her face.

“You bitch.” Vishal's face suffused with rage. He made to rise.

The venom with which the words were expelled unleashed something in Fatima. She
knew
if she showed the slightest fear, he would …

“
How dare you!
” Clamping a lid on her terror, Fatima put as much force into her tone as she could muster, ensuring she did not break eye contact. “Do you think I'm one of your floozies?”

That hit home. She saw Vishal sink back into the sofa, but he was glaring at her angrily.

“Don't
ever
forget who is paying the bills around here.” Fatima forced herself to match him glare for glare. “Now get out.” She pointed at the door, willing her finger not to shake. “
Out!
”

But the danger was far from over. Vishal maintained eye contact. His rage was now replaced by a cold, calculating look, which made Fatima more fearful. Then he rose, towering over her. She almost shrank back instinctively, but forced herself not to cower.

“This is not over.” Vishal leaned over her. “You horny cougar.” Fatima suppressed the urge to scream. “Not by a long shot.” The hand he wagged in her face seemed like a chopping knife. “I will get you for this.
Bitch! Just you wait!”

Her finger, still pointing at the door, had now begun to tremble. But Fatima did not break eye contact. “Get out. And make sure you give me daily updates on everything happening in the task force and between Leon and you. Otherwise you can kiss your money good-bye.”

Still glaring at her, but fighting the urge to smack her, Vishal headed for the door. Then he was gone.

Fatima sat stunned as the door clicked shut behind him. When she was sure he would not be back, she ran to the door, slipped on the security chain, and rushing to the toilet, threw up. Only then did she start crying.

How much worse will it get?

She felt drained and awfully alone. Another bout of vomiting racked her.

Perhaps I should leave for Dubai and let Leon handle it. That's what I am paying him for.

Then her need for revenge asserted itself. She knew she did not want to leave anything to chance; she'd given too many years of her life to this. She wanted to be here and keep things on track, just in case some new complications arose.

No.
She stiffened her spine.
I will see this through.

Her eyes took in the time on the wall clock. Almost midnight.

Just four days more. On the fifth day one of the monsters would die. Zardosi or Masharrat. I want to be here to see it happen. I have earned that right.

Her thirst for vengeance steeled her resolve.

 

TWENTY-FOUR

Vishal strode angrily through the Maurya Sheraton lobby, sure everyone could see Fatima's hand imprinted on his cheek. It fueled his rage. Face burning with humiliation he retrieved his car from the valet, furiously engaged gears, and headed home.

That fucking cocktease; I know she wanted it.

He rubbed his cheek angrily.

Just four days more. The day I get my money I will nail this Paki cunt … fucking high-and-mighty Fatima Basheer.

The decision came to him instantly. Soon as this mission was over he would let her have it, then clear out of the country and start off as an independent contractor, like Leon Binder, but bigger.

Bigger than anything this world has seen.

No more working for the chickenshit government. He grinned.

This Paki bitch is going to be my first one.

Grin widening, he floored the accelerator, hurtling through the semi-deserted Delhi roads. He again felt energized and good about himself. And the future seemed bright.

Soon as I get my hands on this money … no more penny-pinching … no more measly Marutis and fucking Fords … I'm going to get me a Merc or a BMW … something swish.

Vishal's grin broadened.

And I'm so done with this shit-kicking country. Puerto Rico. Mexico. Spain … or perhaps Greece. Or maybe check them all out … travel for a year and see which one I like the most.

Exploring all these pent-up dreams filled him with excitement.

And I'm going to find me a sexy Sheila … big ass, big tits … someone hot and willing to spice up my nights.

He contemplated changing direction and heading for a pickup place. It had been a fortnight since he'd gotten laid.

It's not as though someone's waiting for me at home.

Home? Which fucking home?

An orphan, Vishal had no recollection of his parents. He had no idea who he was or where he'd come from: rich, poor, Hindu, Muslim, Christian, Jew, or …

Vishal shrugged.

What fucking difference does it make? Whoever they were, my parents didn't want me. And home had been … what?

His earliest memories were of the dingy state-run orphanage in Daryaganj. High ceilings, peeling paint, crumbling walls, the perpetual stink of decay, and food that tasted like uncured leather. And of course the lanky warden and his two fat, sweaty matrons, who ran the place. Who loved making the kids go down on them, when they were not busy humping each other.

The Holy Trinity.

Vishal laughed, a cold, hate-filled half laugh, half cry.

Without realizing he was doing so, Vishal began wiping his mouth, trying to get rid of that nauseating taste, which had been a part of his life since he was five. For seven horrid years.

Vishal's emerging hard-on of a moment ago had vanished; now he was tearful. And filled with rage. A cold, limitless fury, which the very thought of the Holy Trinity always unleashed in him. Even today. Three decades had gone by, but that disgusting taste, the foul smell, and his burning rage were stronger than ever.

Vishal realized he was gripping the steering wheel so hard his hands were hurting. Rolling down the window he lit a cigarette and took a deep drag.

Why bitch about it? At least I got out.

As the consequence of a Delhi Police CSR project, a thirteen-year-old Vishal had found himself first in a Delhi Police boarding school and eventually in the Police Academy. Both had been strict, the discipline harsh, even impersonal, but that's the only time in his life Vishal felt safe. And he blossomed, excelling both in academics and sports.

Otherwise where would I be now? Perhaps still in a police station, but on the wrong side of the bars.

By now Vishal's mood had swung; all thoughts of picking up a whore had melted into the night. And the darkness within had grown deeper. He could feel the viciousness grow, stronger and wilder.

Vishal was parking outside his apartment in K-Block Green Park when a clock in one of the houses began to chime. Twelve tinny strikes echoed out in the otherwise silent night. And just like that, the twenty-second of December mutated into the twenty-third.

It was with a heavy, angry tread that Vishal went up the narrow flight of steps to the third-floor one-bedroom studio apartment he called home these days, ever since he'd been posted to Delhi. It was nearly identical to the ones he'd occupied in the various cities that police life had taken him.

And same as the ones that would come … unless I follow the Binder model and build a new life.

The idea was growing more appealing by the minute. Vishal
knew
he could not …
would not …
live out his days in such surroundings.

Just a few days more …
then a new country, swanky house, sleek car, money in the bank, and of course a hot dame.

For the moment, everything else faded. Vishal smiled.

 

DECEMBER

23

 

ONE

Ravinder awoke to the bonging of the grandfather clock kept in the dining room. Imported by one of his ancestors, a mahogany longcase from the house of William Whipp, dating back to the 1700s, its chimes were loud enough to liven up a graveyard. Ravinder would have gladly given the damn thing away, but Simran loved it.

He tried to go back to sleep, but his restless mind refused to cooperate. And memory lane seemed like a street he didn't want to go down. Not right now. He was already feeling awfully muddled.

Kurup and Kingsley suddenly landing up at his house. Leon resurfacing in his life, bringing back memories of Farah and that horrific evening when he'd walked in on Leon raping her. Then her horrible death at Leon's hands. And what followed—that had been even worse: his being forced to choose between his two best friends. Even though Leon had broken their trust by sleeping with Edward's fianc
é
e, taking Edward's side to testify against Leon had been hard; all three had been so close, Ravinder was not certain he would have done so if Leon hadn't killed Farah.

And now this, his agreeing to lead the manhunt for Leon. The grave implications if he failed. And of course, Simran's surprisingly strong resistance to his decision.

But I understand where she's coming from.

Ravinder was aware Simran had never fully reconciled to his past, either his first marriage to Rehana, or Ruby, his daughter from that marriage. Nor had she liked his decision to join the Indian Police Service. As a royal, albeit from a minor Punjab principality, and a bright one at that, Ravinder had been expected to join the more glamorous Indian Foreign Service.

Why on earth would you want to be a chowkidar?
That had been Simran's derisive comment when he'd shared his decision to join the police after their betrothal.

His
to protect and serve
quip had so enraged Simran that Ravinder had been surprised she'd not broken off their engagement. He guessed only the dread of embarrassment had stayed her hand. The memory made him smile, but it was a fleeting, rueful one. Replaced soon by the troublesome thoughts besieging him.

Damn strange! The way those years in London keep coming back to haunt me. First Ruby, and now Leon … like the bloody fog in London, never ending.

Guilt and anger swamped him. But Ravinder pushed them aside, determined not to get bogged down. With his confidence already at low ebb Ravinder knew he needed to focus on the mission. It was tough enough to stop one of the world's deadliest assassins, one whose career had lasted longer than the life-span of most people in this bloody profession.

I
have
to ensure I get off to a good start with the task force officers. No other way. With just four days left I cannot afford to dilly-dally.

Another twinge of apprehension.

I wonder what they have heard about me?

It doesn't matter.

I will have to earn their respect … and fast.

Shelving his apprehension, Ravinder attacked the tasks confronting him.

First, understand the strengths and weaknesses of the team.

He had gone over their dossiers, but Ravinder knew documents could tell you who had done what but
not
why. People are people; dossiers and annual performance appraisals cannot capture their essence. To lead them effectively, Ravinder had to find out what made them tick.

Second, go through the routes and routines of both targets, identify the most vulnerable points, and secure these against an attack by Leon or his henchmen. Not that Leon used many, and seldom for anything important, if his past hits were any indication.