Assassins (17 page)

It was a fair drive from Ferozeshah Kotla and Leon might not have found it had it not been for the GPS-equipped Honda City that Om Chandra had provided him. Even then it took over an hour, and his stomach was acting up again by the time he reached there.

Alerted by Leon's call, Batra, the company owner, who moonlighted in many dubious areas, had been expecting him; he had deployed a man at either end of the alley.

Leon picked the one at the end from where he entered. It would have been hard not to; over six feet tall, with a build that would make a Mack truck feel small, the watcher stood out like a sore thumb. His clumsy attempt to maintain a low profile made him even more conspicuous.

The one at the other end was smarter and blended in with the trio of men working on a truck parked near the mouth of the alley. Loud metallic clangs rang out as they worked on the truck's body.

They allowed him to enter before following him to Batra's office.

Leon had a bad feeling; hijackers were a constant worry whenever collections were to be made or payments delivered. Leon had encountered them several times at this stage of an operation and come to accept them as yet another challenge to be dealt with. But that didn't make it any easier. In fact, to bypass that danger, he would not have come here if he hadn't been worried that transit damage might have made the sarin containers fatal. Leon needed to ensure the sarin was still safe to handle before he came near the damn thing. He could not do that in a public place and hadn't wanted Batra to come to his; people dropping dead at a public place was the last thing Leon wanted.

Having identified himself, Leon asked Batra, a fifty-something man who had obviously never seen the inside of a gym or walked more than a dozen feet in any direction, “You have my items?”

“Of course,” Batra replied in passable English, indicating the cardboard carton kept on his table, about a meter long and half as wide. Despite the winter chill, Batra was sweating profusely.

Later Leon realized that should have forewarned him. And he cursed himself for not being more aware.

“Open it and show me.”

It took Batra a while to cut through the layers of duct tape and open the container. From inside the carton emerged a large, wide-mouthed vacuum flask, blue with a two-liter capacity.

Leon held his breath as Batra unscrewed it. Out came another, smaller vacuum flask, also with a wide mouth, but red in color and half a liter capacity. Leon had to force himself not to step back when Batra began to open that. But he did pull out a handkerchief and hold it to his nose. Aware that the next few seconds could be Batra's last. Also his own, if Ri Yong Ho had screwed up the packaging.

Leon's tension must have shown because Batra now looked taut, almost fearful. “What is in this flask?” He stopped unscrewing the second flask and held it out to Leon, “Here you are. Open it yourself.”

Simultaneously, the large man Leon had spotted at the mouth of the alley emerged from the shadows, closing in on Leon. He looked grim and menacing.

Aware that if the man got in close, his size would give him a deadly advantage, Leon reacted rapidly. Pulling out a .22-caliber pistol from his waistband he fired. Twice. The small caliber weapon made little noise, which is why Leon preferred it to a more lethal, bigger caliber handgun. Aware the weapon load was lighter, Leon had gone for definite kill shots, head and heart. He did not miss. The first bullet took the giant in the left eye. He was already dead when his heart stopped from the second. Dust billowed as he hit the floor heavily. Swirling in the air long after the echoes of the shots had bounced off the warehouse walls.

That distracted Leon. Long enough for the second man to close in. There was a violent blow to his right arm; a sharp shard of pain shot through his elbow. The pistol went flying out of Leon's hand. There was a grunt to his immediate rear and Leon sensed the second attacker, behind him, was priming for another strike.

His mind in overdrive, ignoring the pain in his elbow, Leon dropped straight down, simultaneously swiveling to face the new threat. The second man was luckily not so large, but was armed with a thick bamboo stick. Having smashed the pistol out of Leon's hand, the thug was raising the bamboo to deliver a final killing blow on his head. The bamboo was already at the highest point of its trajectory.

By now Leon was on the ground, his weight distributed evenly on both hands. Using them to pivot, Leon kicked hard, straight at the attacker's balls.

The bamboo man's eyes bulged and he uttered a strangled scream as Leon's kick landed. Delivered with the full force of desperation by a man who had scant respect for the Marquis of Queensberry, the kick doubled him up in agony.

But Leon was not resting on his laurels. Again using his hands, Leon jackknifed to his feet and smashed the man's nose with his knee. Two more rapid blows to his exposed neck and the second attacker went out like a light.

Snatching up his pistol with his left hand Leon spun around on Batra, aware the danger was not yet over.

Flask in hand Batra stood frozen, petrified; his goons had never failed him before.

“You stupid pig! Weren't you already being paid well enough?” Leon's tone was low and all the more menacing for that. “Open it.”

Batra felt his fury. Hands shaking with fear, he complied immediately.

Leon only allowed himself to breath a minute after Batra had pulled out two 100-milliliter deodorant sprays from the smaller flask. He held them up for Leon, one in either hand. The fact Batra was still alive made it obvious the aerosol had not leaked.

Leon checked the signed paper seals he had placed on both cans at Seoul; they were intact. He shook them; both cans seemed full. Then he made Batra put them back into the flask before relieving him of it. Only then, placing the pistol against Batra's forehead, Leon relieved him of his life.

Batra sank to the floor like a beached whale as the low-caliber bullet, lacking the power to push through and exit at the other end, mashed his brains.

Leon headed for the door, stopping only to put one more bullet in the head of the second attacker, who was by now showing signs of life. Whether they had meant to hijack his shipment or just rob him, Leon knew he could not let them live.

Dead men tell no tales and seek no revenge.

Leon was relieved, aware he was lucky to still be alive. Cursing his carelessness he headed back to his car. He was confident the sounds of repair work ringing through the alley had masked the gunfire, but knew the bodies would be discovered sooner rather than later.

Dead bodies always get the cops worked up. Not good!

He rapidly replayed the sequence of events in his head to check he was leaving behind nothing that could lead the cops to him.

Clear.

Transferring the pistol to his left hand and flask to his right, Leon got moving.

Yet his unsettled feeling was mounting, putting him on the edge. Leon did not mind that. He knew the edge would prevent him from any more slipups and keep him alive. But it was draining him fast. By now the pain in his right elbow was bad, rendering his right hand almost immobile. And his stomach was acting up again. Half a mile out he pulled over and popped a couple of Norflox.

Another mile, driving past Babu Jagjivan Ram hospital, Leon wondered if he should go in and look for a doctor; the pain in his right hand was too much to ignore. It worried him. The bamboo stick had landed hard. Leon hoped there were no broken bones. With the strike just four days away, a broken arm was the last thing he could afford.

Not for the first time he contemplated aborting. It wasn't the first time he was going up against alert security forces, but it was definitely the first time they were specifically expecting him. Also it was his first twin target assignment, and that too at such short notice. And now this. Flexing his fingers, Leon wondered if the bamboo had cracked any bones; the pain was terrific.

Bad enough to forgo the last ten million pounds?

Despite the pain, Leon laughed.

Not bloody likely. And not half as bad as what I suffered due to Edward and Ravinder. They stole my life.

Leon knew this was his best and possibly his last opportunity to get back at them.

I'm getting too old for this shit.

And the twenty million pounds from this assignment would be more than enough to afford a peaceful and luxurious life. Enough to wipe out all traces of Leon Binder and begin life with a clean slate.

No way I'm sitting this one out.

Steeling himself he drove on. But the pain in his arm soon left him no choice. Reluctant to draw attention by going to a doctor he stopped at the first pharmacy he spotted on Bahadur Shah Zafar Marg and picked up a crepe bandage, a can of Relispray, and a strip of painkillers.

The pain spray warmed his arm and the tightly bound bandage offered some support but also made driving more tedious. By time he arrived at Jorbagh it was already dark.

 

ELEVEN

Vishal was certain he needed to do something to send Ravinder back to the pavilion. And
fast
. It had taken the man hardly any time to take charge and press all the right buttons.

Right through the day, Vishal had watched with dismay as the room buzzed with energy. Barring a brief break for a surprise pizza lunch that Ravinder had called in, they had worked relentlessly.

Ravinder spent the day either working the phone or on his laptop. Archana seemed to have gone into deep dive mode and was lost in her computer; barring fingers flying across the keyboard, once in a while pushing her hair out of her eyes, and an occasional sightless gaze heavenward, she showed no signs of life. The other three shredded the routines of both targets over and over again. Even the usually dour and taciturn Saina had thrown herself into the discussion, helping analyze weak points in Zardosi's and Masharrat's routines and how best they could be attacked.

Vishal's anxiety mounted as everything he'd gone through with Leon came up for discussion.

I need to get word to Leon. We need a serious rethink.

“
Sir, I think I have the list.” Archana spoke up suddenly. Her excitement touched the others. The room went silent.

“You mean the list of people who knew about the MI6 inputs?” Ravinder jumped to his feet. Archana nodded.

Vishal immediately spotted the change; Ravinder had started looking tired as evening bore down, but now looked energized again.

“There are a total of seven people who knew everything.” By now all of them had stopped working and were hanging on her every word.

Ravinder's mobile rang. “One second.” He interrupted Archana and took the call. “Yes?”

“Dad, it's me, Jasmine. Wanted to ask if you'd like me to pick you up. Jagjit Singh is driving me today. He can take your car back and we can ride together in mine.”

“I will be a while.”

“That's fine. I have just started back from Rekha's house in NOIDA. I will call you when I reach your office. If you are free by then I will pick you up. Otherwise I will leave Jagjit there to drive you back.”

Ravinder was happy; he was tired and not looking forward to the long drive home. Eager to get back to Archana, he agreed and ended the call.

“Yes, Archana, you were saying?”

“Sir, there are a total of seven people who knew about the inputs provided to NIA by MI6,” Archana repeated. “There are three at the NIA. One is obviously Mr. Kurup the director.”

“I think we can safely rule him out.” Ravinder waved her on.

“Then are his two deputies, Ashok Verma and Sikander Ali.”

Vishal felt he had been suddenly thrown on an ice slab. It took all his willpower to contain his shock.

That pansy Verma will go down like a ton of bricks at the first sign of trouble.

Vishal felt Saina, beside him, also stiffen. But he was so engrossed in his worries, it didn't really register.

“Okay.” Ravinder absorbed that. “No one else at the NIA?”

“No.” Archana sounded confident. “I have checked every single paper trail. There are obviously others who knew bits and pieces, but only those three had complete access.”

“I see.” But Vishal sensed Ravinder's uncertainty. “You said seven. Who else?” Ravinder finally asked.

“Four more.” Archana replied. “Here.” She wordlessly pointed at Philip, Vishal, Saina, and then herself. “Logically it had to be one of these seven … who not only had all the intel inputs from MI6, but also knew Goel had been given charge of the STF.”

The room was still now. Cold and silent. Like the eye of a hurricane.

“If anyone betrayed Goel, it had to be one of these seven,” Archana repeated.

The temperature in the room dropped even lower.

Vishal shivered as cold tendrils of fear slowly made their way up his spine.

 

TWELVE

Ravinder could feel every eye in the room on him. Knowing his leadership was now being tested, he felt the pressure. And the anxiety that every commander leading a new team faces; still unsure of their capability
and
reliability, and yet having to be mindful of the team's need to be trusted. Adding to the pressure was his awareness of the rapidly ticking clock; there was much to be done and too little time to do it in. Also, Ravinder could not ignore the fact that his relationship with Kurup was still fragile.

Kurup will freak out if I point fingers at his senior officers without hard evidence.

The worry that Archana may have missed something assailed him. Also that she could be right about one of the STF officers being the mole. Or both. Ravinder was not sure which he dreaded more.

He drew a long, deep breath, forcing himself to stand down; aware pressure and worry would help no one … except the mole and Leon, of course.

But I have to find the rat. Otherwise we are screwed before we get started. Also, that is possibly the fastest way to get to Leon.