Assassins (38 page)

“Any luck on the owners?” Philip's excitement infected Ravinder.

“Bogus.” Philip made a face. “Names and addresses were false. Right now all of them are switched off … can't even trace the damn things. No breaks there. But that does confirm all three are up to no good.”

Ravinder felt let down, but did not want Philip to feel demoralized. “I'm guessing the new mobile number points at Leon?”

“That's what the timing suggests, since he, too, came to Delhi at that time, but even that's switched off.” Philip brightened. “However, equally important, since yesterday three calls were made to Vishal's mobile from a public booth outside Ferozeshah Kotla.”

“From near the stadium? Damn it, man.” Ravinder jumped up. “You should have told me right away. This means that…”

“Most probably Zardosi is the target,” Philip completed.

“Are we trying to identify the caller?”

“Already on it, sir. Saina has gotten the locals to put a dozen men on the job.”

“Excellent work, guys.” Ravinder was delighted. “I must call the director. We need to lock down the stadium and search it from top to bottom. And circulate copies of the Binder APB to every cop on duty at the stadium.”

“The lock-down is already in place, sir,” Saina chipped in. “As per the security SOP it began an hour ago. Also, the APB copy is being issued to every single man on duty there even as we speak. But I agree about the search. We should send in a fresh team for that.”

“Precisely. We have no idea who and how many Vishal managed to subvert.”

“Scrutinize every man on duty there this past week,” Ravinder tasked Archana. “I want everything … bank records, property purchases … any signs of sudden unexplained wealth. You know, the usual stuff.”

“Already on it, sir, but there are almost two hundred people.” Archana looked doubtful. “We won't be able to complete it in time.”

“I agree.” Ravinder knew she was right. “Put a small team on it nevertheless and run oversight. We may get lucky … or not. Either way, we have to find him … or them … eventually.”

He was picking up the phone to call the director when Philip asked, “Do we take it as a given Binder is targeting Zardosi?”

“Yes. All things considered I think that would be our best bet,” Ravinder replied after some thought, but an errant thought kept nagging him.

What have I missed?

“Logical, too,” Archana concurred, temporarily submerging that worry. “Taking out a head of state in his own country would always be tougher. And I would not want to go to Pakistan if I was Binder. It's crazy out there.”

“True. We go with Zardosi, but let's hedge our bets.” Unable to dispel the nagging doubt, Ravinder made up his mind. “Archana and Chance will go with me to the stadium to keep an eye on Zardosi. Philip, I want you and Saina to be at Siri Fort. Make sure you don't let that bugger Masharrat out of sight.” He saw both of them scowl and explained, “What if we are wrong, Philip? What if Leon is going for Masharrat? We cannot ignore that possibility. That's why I want both of you there. We
have
to cover all bases.”

That seemed to mollify Philip, but Saina still looked unhappy.

Realizing there was nothing more he could do about that, Ravinder called Kurup.

 

TWENTY-TWO

Jasmine was terribly uneasy and feeling lost … adrift; Simran had been her anchor. And Jasmine knew she wouldn't be able to sleep a wink knowing Ravinder was also alone. Despite the best efforts of Rekha and her parents to keep her engaged, Jasmine grew restless as evening fell. Unable to stand it any longer she called Ravinder.

“I'm not staying here, Dad. Safe or not, I want to be home. I want to be with you when you get home.”

Unaware the threat from Vishal had been blunted, she was surprised when Ravinder acquiesced. “Sure, I understand. Pick me up from the office, please.”

“Now?”

“Whenever you are ready.” Jasmine sensed he, too, was happy about not being home alone.

“I'm on my way.” Jasmine was so keen to be with her father again, she could not wait to get moving. It was only as she neared the Special Task Force office that she realized what she had let herself in for. A sense of dread seized her as the site of the accident drew closer. Caught in a web of thoughts she missed the first turnoff and again found herself on the opposite side of the road.

Jasmine felt a wave of nausea as she turned the corner and Ravinder's office hove into view. Her nausea heightened. An agonized scream began to build up in her head as she came up to the same spot, directly across the STF complex gate, where she had parked the last time, three days ago.

Was it only three days?

So much had happened since.

She tried hard, but was unable to look away from the spot where the truck had smashed into her car. By now she was almost parallel. Even in the rapidly gathering darkness, she could see bits and pieces of her car scattered on the berm. Pieces of shattered windscreen. A tiny triangle ripped from her car bumper. A few shards of reflective glass from the tail lamps. They littered the accident site. Glittering intermittently as they caught errant strands of light.

Like tiny tombstones
.

By now the scream in her head had built up into a heart-rending roar. Jasmine felt her head was about to explode. Suddenly galvanized and unable to be there a second longer, she accelerated, plunging back into the traffic, aching to flee as far from that horrid place as possible.

There was a horrific screeching as the vehicles behind her braked or swerved to avoid hitting her car. The driver immediately behind leaned out his window and shouted an obscenity as he swerved past.

As she raced away, Jasmine heard neither the screech of rubber on the road nor the profanity. Nor did she see the trail of near accidents she left in her wake. She was desperately trying to leave her memories behind.

 

TWENTY-THREE

Ravinder was at the office gate when, across the road, he saw Jasmine drive up and slow down. He started, horrified, when he saw her car suddenly jump back on to the road and race madly into the traffic.

Stunned he watched her speed away. He was worriedly dialing her mobile when he saw her car's tail lamps light up brightly in the distance. Then the reverse lights came on. A moment later she was driving up to him.

“What happened, Jasmine?” Ravinder saw her face was covered with sweat and she was shivering, as though running a high fever.

“I…” Jasmine gave up trying to speak, fighting to get a grip on herself, suddenly ashamed.

Ravinder noticed she was sitting stiffly, as though trying to avoid looking anywhere but straight ahead. Suddenly he understood and felt like kicking himself for making her come back to the accident site. “I'm sorry, Princess. I did not realize … I shouldn't have asked you to come back here.”

Contrite and feeling horrible he'd been so insensitive Ravinder took the wheel from her and they headed home. Neither brought up Simran, but she was with them in the car all the way back to the farmhouse. Like the treacly silence.

Barring the security lights and those in the kitchen, the farmhouse was in darkness when they drove in, as though mourning for Simran.

They were getting out of the car when Ravinder saw Jasmine suddenly sway and then double up over the flowerbed. With an awful retching sound she threw up. Again. And again. Till there was nothing left to throw up.

He rushed around the car to her side as the emotions she had bottled up over the past two days surged up. He saw her fighting off tears when she finally stopped retching and straightened up.

“Must have been something I ate,” Jasmine mumbled. She was working her mouth, as though trying to get rid of the foul taste.

Ravinder knew it wasn't that. “You're sure you are okay?”

But she didn't reply. Nodding wordlessly, she hurried up to her room. Ravinder watched her go, helpless. He didn't know what he wanted to do: run after her and console her, or bend over the flowerbeds and puke.

His mobile chirruped to life. Desperate for the distraction, Ravinder hurriedly took the call. “Yes, Saina.”

“Sir, I have managed to get ten men from Delhi Police. They will be at the stadium within the hour.”

“Only ten? They will take forever to sweep the stadium.”

“Even ten took a lot of effort.” Ravinder sensed her tiredness and frustration. “With two major events happening simultaneously and the festive season in full swing, manpower is stretched thin.”

“Thanks, Saina. I know. You've done a great job.” Ravinder realized nothing was going to be easy, not for this operation.

So be it.

“Please keep me posted.” Ravinder wished she would keep talking, but Saina hung up.

 

TWENTY-FOUR

Leon hated making himself so visible. Though he had already switched to his third, getaway identity, he had been forced to stay with the photograph on the passport he had presented while checking in at the hotel. This photo was, unfortunately, not remarkably different from one of those generated by Archana and picked by Ravinder; they had gotten very lucky with the APB.

The Leela Palace has a broad, sweeping lobby, high ceilings, marble floors, and exquisite cornices. The reception desk lies to the left as one enters; almost directly opposite is a bank of elevators. Between the two is an open seating area, and to the left a 24-hour coffee shop.

Probably because of its central location, the hotel was usually full. Today it was packed because it was hosting most of the New India Times Summit speakers and conference delegates.

When Leon came down from his room the lobby was flush with people. Avoiding the crowded seating area between the reception desk and the elevators, Leon headed for the coffee shop. Selecting a corner table where he could keep an eye on the entrance and the reception desk, he ordered tea. A moment later, a young waitress was offering him a selection of teas. Leon picked a Korean organic green tea with brown rice. It was mild, with almost no aroma but with a soothing, earthy flavor. Relishing it, he pulled out an iPad, and mindful of possible watchers, launched the Kindle app and pretended to read a book; aware the human mind tends to gloss over people engaged in such mundane activities as reading and surfing the net. But all the while Leon's attention was on the main entrance, huge glass doors manned by a ceremoniously dressed doorman.

Twenty minutes later Professor Naug entered and went up to the reception desk. Leon used the photograph on his iPad screen to double-check.

Tall, about the same height as Leon, equally fair, with brown hair worn just over the ears, and rectangular, rimless spectacles. Going by the surveillance photos sent to him by Hakon, the professor was wearing what he usually did: a turtleneck pullover, slightly faded cords, a heavy tweed-ish coat, and dark brown slip-ons. He was wheeling along a well-worn, brown leather bag. It was also a Hidesign, like the one Leon had checked in with earlier. Unlike most academics, or rather, unlike the public perception of academics, Naug looked fit and moved with an easy gait, someone who worked out regularly.

Leon felt a huge weight lift off; Naug's arrival in Delhi was another key factor in this already messy mission over which he'd had absolutely no control. And Naug's presence was critical for Leon to get within striking range of the target.

Watching Naug check in, Leon felt his spirits lift; he was now confident he would succeed.

Charging the tea to his room, Leon was already in the elevator whilst Naug was still checking in. Returning to his room, Leon left his door slightly ajar and kept a close eye on the corridor. After a few minutes, he saw Naug emerge from the elevator and walk down the hall to his room. Another two minutes later the bellhop arrived with Naug's luggage—one big suitcase.

Allowing another twenty minutes to elapse, for the professor to settle down and hopefully call his wife, Leon donned surgical gloves, crossed over, and knocked. It was a while before he heard a rustle at the other end. When the door opened, Leon led with the stiletto. He drove the eight-inch-long blade straight into the scientist's jugular.

The attack was so sudden and swift that Naug did not even have time to be surprised. As the stiletto punctured the windpipe, his scream of pain ended in a gurgling, soapy whimper, which died away even before it could properly get started.

Pushing Naug back with the palm of his hand, Leon entered swiftly and heeled the door shut behind him. Now safe from prying eyes Leon aimed carefully and delivered a second blow to the heart. The stiletto slid between the ribs and punched a hole in Naug's heart. Soon it stopped fluttering and Naug lay still.

Moving swiftly, Leon first stanched the blood to ensure nothing spilled on the carpet; even if any housekeeping staff came in, they should find nothing to alarm them.

Not unless they go to the bathroom.

Leon then hauled the body to the bathtub, washed off the blood that had gotten onto his hands, placed a
DO NOT DISTURB
sign on the door, and then lowered the room temperature to eighteen degrees, the lowest it would go. The colder the room, the slower the rate of decomposition; Leon knew he needed to contain the smell as best and as long as he could.

Mindful of security cameras, he checked the corridor was empty of housekeeping staff and then went across to his room. He returned a minute later with his bag.

Back in Naug's room he transferred the clickers, microphones, and adaptors to the professor's capacious brown bag.

Already present in Naug's bag was a nifty 11-inch MacBook Air, a power cord, an assortment of pens, and a sheaf of papers on a variety of incomprehensible scientific topics—the kinds of things one would expect to find in an academic's bag.