Assassins (35 page)

“How're you feeling now?” She sat beside him, studying him closely.

“Better, thank you.”

“Good.” She gave him a hug. “Why don't you get ready then? We need to go to the gurudwara sahib for the
antim sanskar
.”

Ravinder was marveling at Jasmine's composure as he showered. He'd never seen her so collected before; it filled him with pride. Also sorrow that she had had to learn this lesson at such a terrible cost.

Emerging from the bath he headed for the bedroom to get dressed and then realized Simran was no longer there to lay out his clothes, something she had done every day for the twenty-eight years of their togetherness. Wiping away the tears that suddenly clouded his vision, Ravinder turned heavily to his cupboard and dug out a black turban, white sherwani, and churidar pajama. It took him a while; he had paid scant attention to his cupboards once he had surrendered them to Simran when they got married. Usually not big on early morning conversation, Ravinder now missed Simran's chatter.

Twenty minutes later he stood before the full-length mirror and checked everything was in order.

Turban. He tucked in an errant hair.
Check.

Sherwani. He smoothened out the front.
Check.

Pajama.
Check.

Juttis.
Check.

Wallet. He confirmed it had his credit cards and enough cash.
Check.

All good.

Good. Jasmine needs me to be strong.

Taking a deep breath he headed out. His hand was raised to push open his bedroom door when the thought struck him.

There should be a checklist for people, too.

Heart. Strong and happy. Check.

Head. Clear and focused. Check.

He faltered, squeezing his eyes tightly to push back the sudden flash flood of tears. But it was a while before he felt in control enough to open the door.

Jasmine emerged from her room on cue. She took his arm and headed down. He could feel the tremor in her hands and knew she was on the brink, too.

 

TWO

Leon took stock of himself. Though a large, dark red welt remained on his right arm, the pain was almost gone. His stomach was feeling more settled, too; time, gallons of water, and the Norflox seemed to have done the trick. He flexed, taking deep breaths, and stretching his body. Barring that tight knot of tension in the pit of his stomach and the fact that he had not exercised the past few days, he felt fighting fit.

Then he took out the bag containing the three remaining sets of microphones, adaptors, and clickers that Nitin had weaponized for him. He transferred two sets to a well-worn, brown leather Hidesign wheelie bag, the kind professional speakers use: as ubiquitous at conferences as the black carry-on bags air crew use at airports.

From the final set he placed the clicker in his jacket pocket and the microphone and adaptor in a smaller Nike sling bag, which was already half filled with money.

Finally Leon packed all his belongings, barring the clothes he had worn when he had gone to rent the Sarita Vihar service apartment. Checking that he had gotten everything, he then donned a pair of surgical gloves and began to scrub the Jorbagh apartment clean. In the unlikely event the cops managed to get this far, Leon had no intention of gifting them with a set of his fingerprints. He was almost done when the text from Vishal came in.

All items have been correctly delivered.

Brimming with energy, Leon finished cleaning; things were falling into place nicely.

 

THREE

Vishal was surprised when Philip called.

“Please make sure Archana and you are in time for Mrs. Gill's funeral.” He sounded rushed. “I may be slightly late and Saina is busy interrogating Verma. I want him constantly under pressure.”

“Sure, but…”

Philip cut him off. “Sorry, man, got to rush now. I think we finally have a break.”

“What kind of break?” Vishal was suddenly anxious.

But Philip rang off with a hurried “I will tell you when we meet.”

Vishal was fretting as he got ready.

What had Philip managed to get his hands on?

That bit about Saina keeping the heat on Verma also gnawed at him; he wondered how Verma was faring. Vishal wished he could rush to the office and give Verma a covert morale boost, but knew it was a terrible idea, and also there was no time. Texting Archana to meet him outside the Nanakpura gurudwara, he headed there.

 

FOUR

Jasmine felt Ravinder slow down as they left the car and walked into the Nanakpura gurudwara sahib. They were the first to arrive; but for the sewadars, (the helpers), there was no one else about. She was filled with reluctance; as though going through with the ceremony would make Simran's death final. No longer deniable.

Jyot milee sang jyot reh-i-aa qhaal-daa.

(My light merges with the Supreme light, and my labors are over.)

The hymn rolling out of the gurudwara sahib, suffusing the area with its haunting beauty, greeted them as they entered the compound.

“Do you know why we Sikhs call it
antim sanskar
?” Jasmine noted the quaver in her father's voice. She saw he was struggling to compose himself and needed to talk. “It is the celebration of the completion of life's journey.” He seemed to be searching for words. “It is the merging of the soul with the Divine.” Another pause. “Death is our final destination. We should not lament or mourn it.”

“You are right, Dad. We should not. Mom is always going to be with us … in our hearts and our thoughts.” She saw him grow more morose and tightened her grip on his hands. “No. Don't forget you're on my watch now.” Jasmine tried to force a smile. Nearly succeeded.

“But of course, Princess.”

Jasmine felt her heart break as she saw him struggle to return her smile. “We have to be strong. Mom would have wanted that.”

Ravinder looked away. Silent. Finally looked back at her, nodded, and then gave her a long hug. So long Jasmine wished it would never end and she could stay safely hidden in his arms forever.

Then several cars drove up in quick succession. Soon a sea of relatives had surrounded them. Within no time the prayer hall was full; also flush with the soft but pervasive scent of incense and the melody of hymns, washing over them like balm.

Jasmine watched as the ceremony progressed and they bid farewell to Simran.

Friends. Relatives. Colleagues. Neighbors. People she had not met in years. Some not at all. But today they had all come together. To stand by them.

Jasmine felt as though she was hovering near the ceiling, breathing in the incense that wafted up. And she was watching everyone from up there, listening to them sing, seeing some cry and some remain stoic. Aunt Harmala, right in front, nearly hysterical; Jasmine knew how close the sisters had been. Her husband, looking distressed and somewhat embarrassed, was consoling her, without much success. Across the room were a string of Simran's cousins and their spouses, all suitably somber. One of them, Jasmine struggled to remember his name, kept eying his watch. Rekha stood beside her, deeply concerned.

Jasmine felt her anxiety. She wished she could tell Rekha she would be okay. But she could not; Jasmine didn't know if she would.

And despite everything Jasmine could not cry. She wanted to but could not. Frozen, she watched the ceremony slide by in slow motion. Acutely clear yet bereft of feelings.

Jasmine realized the ceremony was over only when people started drifting out of the prayer hall into the courtyard. Jasmine knew they would wait outside in the gurudwara sahib courtyard, to offer condolences to Ravinder and her.

When the prayer hall was empty she took Ravinder's arm and led him outside, Rekha on his other arm. He moved as though catatonic, but his face was composed. Barring a murmured automatic response, when people came up and offered their condolences, Ravinder seemed oblivious.

Then a Mahindra Bolero jeep pulled up at the gate, an official vehicle complete with a red light on top and the Delhi Police logo on either side:
WITH YOU, FOR YOU, ALWAYS
. A familiar-looking man alighted. It took Jasmine a moment to place him: Philip Cherian, the task force officer who had spoken to her at the hospital.

She saw Philip halt, poised on the periphery. He surveyed the crowd, spotted Ravinder, and began to walk toward them. His purposeful stride was at odds with the solemnity of the occasion and serene ambience of the gurudwara sahib. Jasmine felt a pulse of alarm; she
knew
Philip was not here to offer condolences, but for something else. She also knew that whatever it was, she did not want her father to hear it.

Enough. He's done enough and given enough. I don't want Dad upset any more.

She was trying to decide whether to confront and stop Philip from speaking to her father or warn Ravinder to ignore him when she felt a tap on her arm.

“Jas, my parents want to talk to you,” Rekha murmured solicitously.

Though she did not want to leave Ravinder's side, Jasmine reluctantly allowed Rekha to lead her to them. Rekha was not just her best friend, she was almost a sister, and Jasmine knew Rekha's parents cared for her, too. Checking her impatience, Jasmine distractedly heard them out. Condolences. Meaningless words that did nothing to alleviate the pain. Yet needed to be said. Perhaps more by the person saying them than by the one they were said to.

A moment later, when she turned toward her father again, Philip was by his side. And Ravinder looked like death. Alarmed, she rushed to his side.

“They have caught the truck driver, a repeat offender called Kapil Choudhary.” Ravinder said to her, his voice a monotone. “He had been paid to hit your car.”

Jasmine felt as though someone had punched the air out of her lungs.

“Paid by a cop.” Ravinder's face was a death mask. It stunned her. She had never seen him like this. “A damn cop! How could a cop stoop so low?”

“Dad.” He was scaring her.

“I'm going to find out who paid him.” She now felt the fa
ç
ade that had been holding him up crumble and his rage begin to peak. “And when I do…”

Jasmine felt death whisper past. “
Dad!
” She clutched his angrily flailing hand. The thought that Ravinder was getting back into the game terrified her. This deadly mission had already taken her mother's life. The very thought that something could happen to her dad also was too awful to contemplate. “
Please
, Dad. Let it go.”

Jasmine felt her nail snap as it pressed into the metal band of Ravinder's Rolex. But she felt no pain. Nothing.

 

FIVE

Leon was really irritated by the time he drew up outside the Sarita Vihar apartment. He had wanted to be early, but the traffic proved impossible and it was almost half past eleven. His dismay deepened when he let himself in and saw Om Chandra waiting for him inside the apartment. The first thing he noticed was the weapon in Om Chandra's hand.

“Don't mind this.” Om held up the country-made 12-gauge with the barrel sawn off. At that range, in the close confines of the living room, Leon knew it could cut him in half. “Just insurance, sir ji. You have nothing to worry about as long as you don't try anything smart. All I want is my money.”

“I don't want any trouble either.” Leon held up the black bag like a peace offering. “Here's your money.”

“Put it on the dining table and open it.” When Leon had done that, Om waved him away with the shotgun. “Back off … to that end of the room.” Keeping him covered Om went through the bag one-handed. He first counted the bundles of money, seemed surprised they were correct, and then suspiciously began to rifle through the bundles, checking if they were real currency notes. Still not satisfied, he overturned the bag. “What's this?” Om asked as a Mac adaptor and then a microphone fell out.

“I didn't realize they were there. Sorry. May I have them back, please?” Leon held out his left hand, palming the clicker into his right and arming it as he did so.

“But what are they for?” Om suspiciously held up the Mac VGA adaptor.

“Nothing really,” Leon replied, depressing the slide-back button on the clicker, activating the adaptor. Despite being well out of the danger area Leon could not help holding his breath. Triggering the sarin, he began to count down.

Leon had hit the count of five when Om's expression changed. Puzzlement. Then concern as his breath ran short. Panic followed. Perhaps he realized Leon had tricked him because Om tried to raise the gun, but was unable to. His eyes bulged. Dropping the gun, his hands desperately clutched first at his throat and then his chest.

By the time Leon hit the count of twenty-three, Om was dead.

Though assailed by a sense of urgency Leon waited till the count had hit a hundred and fifty before he moved. He had no idea whom Om had told about him and that he was coming here, but Leon knew he needed to get the body out of sight and get clear of this apartment as soon as he had dealt with Vishal.

Then I will worry about anything else.

Kicking the sawn-off shotgun under the living room sofa and replacing the money and used Mac adaptor into the Nike sling bag, he caught the dead landlord and dragged him into the master bedroom.

In his hurry Leon missed the microphone and one of the bundles of cash.

 

SIX

Ravinder was staring at Jasmine's broken nail with sightless eyes. “Does that hurt?” He was aware she'd replied, but her words failed to register. He felt her shake his arm hard. Then harder still.

“Dad!
Dad!
” Jasmine's voice finally reached him, through the fog of anger enveloping him. “Please don't do this. Nothing will bring Mom back.” He now saw tears streaming down her cheeks. “If something happened to you, I would…”