Assassins (5 page)

The irritation on Philip's face receded; death was always a great alibi. He backed off.

Retrieving Kurup's number from his mobile's address book, Philip hit dial.

 

SIX

Ravinder gathered from Kurup's stunned expression something was seriously amiss.

“
What?
” Kurup sounded shell-shocked. “Where did they find the body?”

That got Edward's undivided attention, too.

“No. Don't call her, Philip. Go to Goel's house and speak to his wife.” Ravinder saw the NIA director's expression harden. “Actually, let
me
do that. I'm the one who ordered Goel to take charge of the Special Task Force, so I should be the one to break the news to his wife. Text me the address and meet me there in, say, two hours.”

Putting down his mobile, Suresh turned to the two men; both were watching him closely. “They've found Goel's body.” Noticing Ravinder's unspoken query, he added, “Goel was one of my officers … one of the best. I had put him in charge of the Special Task Force we have deployed to stop Binder.”

“Must have gotten too close.” Kingsley looked grave.

“Apparently, but no one knows whom he was going to meet or why. Even the last call to his mobile was from a public booth. We have no idea what he was onto.”

Ravinder felt Kurup's frustration
and
his distress. Despite his dislike for the NIA director, Ravinder felt for him; the loss of a man is not something that goes down well with any commander. And Kurup's willingness to be the one to bring the terrible news to Goel's widow earned him Ravinder's grudging respect.

Perhaps he is not a total arsehole.

Aloud, Ravinder asked, “Was he working on anything other than the Binder case?”

“No. This task force was set up specifically to find and stop Binder.”

“Then obviously Binder is behind this,” Ravinder pointed out.

“Obviously!” Kurup slapped his thigh angrily. “And they have taken him down at the worst possible moment. There is no time to bring in a new man.”

“Let the 2IC take charge.” Ravinder sensed what was coming and was desperate to deflect it. “That's what seconds-in-command are for.”

Ravinder saw an unseen signal pass between the two spooks. Kurup replied, “The problem is, we suspect a mole … someone on the inside who is passing information to Binder.”

“What makes you suspect that?”

“Too many coincidences.” Kurup looked sheepish. “Only a handful of people knew MI6 had tipped us off about this assassination attempt … or attempts. Yet Binder came to know. And now this.” He sensed Ravinder's unspoken query. “Why else would Goel have been taken out? We had not publicized either his taking over the STF or even that a task force had been deployed to hunt down Binder. Everything was being kept under wraps.”

“Why? Why not publicize the hunt and keep Leon under pressure?” Ravinder challenged.

“Politics mostly.” Suresh looked exasperated. “The PM wants it kept quiet.” He gave a defeatist shrug. “We have no idea who the mole is, but it has to be someone in either the National Intelligence Agency or the Special Task Force. No one else is in the loop.”

Taking the cue, Kingsley arrowed in on Ravinder. “You have to do this, Ravinder. Please. You're our best bet.”

“Ravinder.” Kurup added to the pressure. “I know it is going to be tough, but you know how it is when it's anything to do with Pakistan, especially after the Mumbai attack. PMO doesn't want a word of this Binder assassination attempt to leak because the Pakis will use it to raise a hue and cry, and divert international attention from their own involvement in funding terror activities across the globe.”

Ravinder felt claustrophobic. He wanted to back off, tell them to go away, but couldn't.
Not now.
Not with a fellow cop down. Even the thought felt disloyal. Though riddled with conflict, he reluctantly nodded. “But I need to speak with my family first.”

“That's the spirit.” Suresh jumped to his feet. He looked as though he'd spotted light at the end of a long, gloomy tunnel.

“Thank you, old chap,” Kingsley added, with an understated half smile. But Ravinder sensed his relief.

“We shall give you every possible support.” Kurup again reached for his mobile. “Let me instruct my deputy, Ashok Verma, to get the STF officers together. When would you like to meet your team?”

“Tomorrow morning. First I need to talk with my wife and daughter,” Ravinder repeated. “They're not going to be…”

“But why waste the whole—” Kurup began.

“Tomorrow morning would be fine.” Kingsley cut him off. Kurup's agitation was evident. He was about to speak, but Kingsley again preempted him. “And if you want, I can make Chance available to you for this assignment.”

“Chance?” Ravinder was surprised. “Chance Spillman? He's still in India? I thought he'd be back in London, convalescing.”

“He's okay now. I brought him back.” Kingsley shrugged. “He could be a useful liaison between our agencies.”

“I see.” Ravinder eyed him narrowly. “You were sure I'd agree?”

“You're not the kind to back off, Ravinder. Not when the cause is right.” Kingsley murmured, again with that half smile. “You never were.”

Isn't that what you said when I was feeling bad about testifying against Leon?

Ravinder was unable to block that thought. Unsure how he felt about that, Ravinder changed the topic. “Having Chance on the team would be great.” And he was surprised how light that made him feel. He
had
developed a good rapport with Chance during the peace summit and respected the MI6 man's professionalism. They had come within a whisker of stopping Ruby's attack on the Israeli-Palestinian summit.

This time we will succeed. We
will
stop Binder.
Ravinder made a silent promise.
No cop killer could go unpunished.
“When do the targets reach Delhi?”

“The cricket match and the summit, both are on the twenty-seventh of December.” Kurup replied. “Both Zardosi and Masharrat arrive early that morning.”

Damn!
Dismay swept through Ravinder. “But that gives me only five days.”

“Six.” Suresh gave what he believed was an encouraging smile. “If you count today.”

“Yeah, right.” Ravinder's sarcasm was pungent enough to strip paint. Then another thought struck him. “Since both events are on the same day, can you at least ensure both targets are onstage at the same time?”

It took only a second for Suresh's brow to unfurrow. “Ah! I see. That will halve our problems, since Leon can only go for one target at a time.” Then he frowned again. “Unless he uses someone else for one of them.”

“That's not Leon.” Edward and Ravinder spoke simultaneously.

“That's not how Leon operates. He's a loner,” Kingsley elaborated. “He never uses an accomplice for a hit. For support tasks, yes, but never for the hit. Hasn't ever done it.”

“Good thinking, then,” Suresh acknowledged, but grudgingly, as though wishing he'd thought of that. “Of course an exact overlap is not going to be possible. Much as Masharrat
mian
loves the sound of his voice, the cricket match will obviously last longer.”

“Place his speech in the middle of the match, then,” Ravinder suggested.

“That shouldn't be a problem.” Kurup nodded. “I will do my best.”

“That's all anyone can do.” Ravinder gave him a penetrating look, as though to say,
I also tried my best to stop Ruby. Remember that. Remember that when you judge me.

If that registered with Kurup he showed no sign of it, or perhaps he was too caught up in the worrisome situation. “This time we
have to
succeed. Benazir's vendetta could rip the already fragile Indo-Pak peace to pieces. Let's not forget, hell hath no fury like…”

“Women squabbling.” Edward completed with a chuckle, trying to lighten up the tense atmosphere.

All three laughed. However, the laughter was forced and the lightness fleeting. Doubt and conflict were already swirling through Ravinder as he saw the spymasters to their car and watched them depart.

The wind picked up suddenly. A shiver traced its way up Ravinder's spine as the chill sliced through the reluctant recruit's blazer. Apprehension flailed him, about what he had allowed himself to be talked into, as well as the disastrous consequences, if he failed …
again.

The sour taste of his failure to stop the attack on the Israeli-Palestinian Peace Summit still lingered in his mouth.

“I cannot …
will not
.…. fail this time,” Ravinder vowed. Then louder. And then a third time, louder still. “And you will not escape this time, Leon Binder.”

He was still lost in thought when the gates swung open again and a gleaming BMW 750Li drove in. Ravinder could see the white-liveried Jagjit Singh at the wheel. In the rear was Simran, returning from the gurudwara sahib. Always a deeply religious lady, Simran had dived deeper into religion ever since the Ruby incident.

I hope she is feeling calm, full of peace and divine love.

Another wry smile fleetingly creased his lips. Ravinder knew his wife would blow a gasket when he told her what he had agreed to do. Totally fed up with his police life, she had compelled him to resign after Ruby's attack on the Israeli-Palestinian Peace Summit. Not that Ravinder blamed her. He knew his job and his past had brought far too much grief to the two people he cared for the most, Simran and their daughter Jasmine. The thought that he was going to cause them more worry tore at him.

But I have to do this.

Ravinder girded himself for the coming battle.

The Bimmer halted and Simran, clad in a light pink sari, alighted. She was a few pounds overweight, but very feminine and elegant. Her black waist-length hair was braided in a thick plait. A well-maintained, wrinkle-free skin hid her years well. She looked at least five years younger than her age.

Ravinder did not need to do the math; with Jasmine planning a
surprise
party for the past few weeks, it was impossible to forget that Simran's fiftieth birthday was three days away, on the twenty-fifth of December.

Despite his apprehensions, he was unable to bottle up the smile that the sight of her brought. That elicited an equally fond smile from Simran.

Ravinder sighed. He sensed he would not be at the receiving end of such smiles for much longer.

 

SEVEN

Leon was finding it tough to reconcile the fact that he had decided to expose himself to a client; and that too, so close to ground zero. It was a big first, and it was weirding him out.

Nothing about this mission makes sense. Why the heck did I take it on?

The thought troubled him again.

The money, of course. Twenty million pounds is enough to retire in style.

Five was already collecting interest in his bank.

Well, not really. When do the damn Swiss ever pay interest?

And Fatima was to hand over another five today.

His mind idled, wondering what she was like. So far his contact with her, or anyone from SOB, had been in his usual ultra-cautious manner; first through a cutout, then electronic, and eventually telephonic. Seldom had he met a client face-to-face.

But never has a client exposed me like this.

Leon needed to know if he'd been betrayed or SOB had simply fucked up. Just the thought he could have been set up enraged him.

“Sir, would you like me to show you around?” A tap on his arm brought Leon back to earth. “Authorized guide, sir.” The man who had accosted him held up a metallic badge, simultaneously exposing a set of tobacco-brown teeth. He was swathed in a bulky blue jacket, ideal to conceal several weapons.

“No, thank you. I'm good.” Leon waved him off, instinctively checking if his wallet was still there. It was.

Not for long if you keep daydreaming,
Leon admonished himself. But he was glad he'd chosen the Qutb Minar for this meeting. There were plenty of tourists around, mostly Asians, common enough these days, but a fair number of Caucasians, too. Leon was confident he blended in.

Using his camera for surveillance, Leon sectored and scanned the area. The Qutb Minar, the main monument, a 72.5-meter-high red sandstone and marble minar, was to his right. To his left the Ashoka Pillar: a massive iron pillar. Around both were lush green gardens: immaculately tended grass, ringed by flowerbeds and neatly trimmed thigh-high hedges. To the right of the main gate, stretching away in the distance, were a row of low sandstone buildings, possibly as old as the minar. A few score people, mostly foreigners, thronged the area. Cameras, Cokes, chips, and water bottles were visible in abundance.

But nothing else.
Leon could detect no cause for alarm.

Yet.
He reminded himself.

Ever cautious, he retraced his steps and rechecked. Finally, crossing over to the other side of the Ashoka Pillar he settled down in the grass, making sure he had a clear view of the entrance. Though it was only half past three, the weak winter sun had already begun to wane. Waves of people moved in and out, the last-minute rush before closing time.

His mobile chirruped, an incoming text. Fatima confirming she was outside. Leon asked her to describe what she was wearing and told her to come toward the minar. He read her reply and then settled his attention on the entrance.

A moment later, Leon made her out immediately. It was not only the attire she had described, but also the way she was gawking around, obviously trying to spot him. Fatima was dressed very Indian: bright red kameez, black salwar, contrasted with a black thigh-long cardigan, and bandhani dupatta.