Assassins (16 page)

And that, too, straight from the horse's mouth.

 

EIGHT

Leon was feeling drained and queasy, but knew he could not avoid stepping out any longer; a recon of both venues, collection of the sarin,
and
handing it over to Nitin
had
to be done.

A couple of bananas, a bowl of curds, and another dose of Norflox steeled his resolve. However, it was past noon by the time he felt stable enough to leave Jorbagh. The GPS suggested that, of the two venues, Siri Fort auditorium was closer, so he headed there.

NEW INDIA TIMES SUMMIT

Red and white banners on both sides of the road and progressively larger billboards guided him to the auditorium as effectively as the GPS.

With the summit just four days away, the auditorium was a hive of activity. From painters prettying up the walls, men erecting shamianas, trolleys bustling around with an assortment of furniture, security men installing metal detectors, and electricians stringing up lights, everything seemed to be happening simultaneously. And chaos ruled. To the untrained eye, it would have seemed the venue would never be ready in time for the conference, but from past experience Leon knew this is how things happened in India; everything would fall miraculously in place at the eleventh hour.

The chaos was familiar to Leon, who had cased many such venues. Aware that confusion invariably favored the attacker, he found it reassuring.

Behind the auditorium was a restaurant complex with a huge car park. Leaving his car there, Leon ambled back to the auditorium, again in his American hippie avatar—a camera slung around his neck, a water bottle, and a tourist map in hand. He was coming up to the gate when he saw Fatima waving at him from across the road.

What the hell!
Leon froze, furious.
Didn't I tell her to go back to London?

“Where do you think you are going?” The policeman accosting him looked irritated; he had been turning away tourists since morning.

Leon switched on his happy hippie smile. “I was just…”

“
There
you are.” Smiling broadly, Fatima sashayed up and took his arm. “I have been looking for you everywhere.” Then turning to the surly policeman, she switched to Punjabi—heavily accented, but passable enough for someone who was obviously a foreigner. “We are here on our honeymoon, Inspector. Do you mind if we look around for a few minutes?” She ramped up the charm. “We only have a couple of days in Delhi and are trying to see as many places as we can.”

The constable looked them over. But Leon saw his surliness replaced by a hint of amusement. “Okay. Go ahead. But don't go inside. The auditorium is presently closed to the public.”

“Oh, really.” Fatima did her dumb bimbo thing again. “Is something going on?”

“That conference in a few days.” The cop waved at the banner overhead. He had now lost interest in them and wandered off to shout at another furniture-laden lorry blocking the gate.

“What did you tell him in Indian?” Leon asked as Fatima led him away, still clutching his arm.

“Indian? There is no such language. That was Punjabi.”

“Whatever.”

“Just that we are here on our honeymoon.”

“Very funny,” Leon said dryly. “And what exactly are you doing here? I thought I'd made it clear you were to leave Delhi.”

“I'm not going anywhere till this is over,” Fatima said firmly. “And aren't you glad I came by when I did.” She gestured at the cop.

“Seriously?” Leon freed his arm. Making no attempt to curb his sarcasm he quipped, “I can take care of myself, thank you.”

“But you will admit a couple is less likely to draw attention,” Fatima pointed out.

Leon began to reply, then did not.

Why not? I don't need to take her everywhere … only where it suits me.

However, Leon had been on his own too long and the thought of having someone around unsettled him. It made him feel like a goldfish in a bowl. Especially when that someone was an emotional and easily excitable woman. Not to mention that freaky likeness to Farah Fairfowler.

Yet … what the hell?

“You will do
exactly
what I tell you to. No questions,” he said firmly. “At no time must you draw attention to us. Clear?”

Delighted at his capitulation, Fatima agreed. She followed him as he circled around the auditorium.

Leon didn't need much time here; he needed only to see the layout, especially possible entry and exit points, and the security arrangements at both. That did not take very long. However, not wanting Fatima to notice any difference in the time and effort he expended at either venue, he poked around a bit more before leaving for Ferozeshah Kotla stadium, where the cricket match would be held.

By now they had been together for over an hour, but having her around still felt strange to Leon. He had operated on his own so long that he'd even forgotten what it was like to have company. And, loath though he was to admit it, Leon liked the change, especially that she was so easy on the eyes. But he was still uncertain how much, if at all, this excitable client of his would listen to him.

Aware how important this reconnaissance was, Leon tried to blank everything else out and focus, but Fatima was making him nervous. He also worried she would draw attention to him.

 

NINE

Fatima could sense Leon's unease, but her fascination at being able to see the mission actually being implemented overshadowed everything. This vendetta had occupied a large part of her life and now, being here with Leon, the man who would bring it to fruition, seeing it come alive, suddenly made it so tangible. She was excited beyond words.

“Did you find what you wanted?” she asked as they exited Siri Fort.

“Yes.”

“What?” She looked perplexed. “I didn't notice … err … you didn't take any notes or anything?” Less than an accusation, more of a question. It earned her an exasperated look. But that only enhanced her curiosity. “What exactly are we looking for?”

Leon did not bother with a reply, just a cold glare.

Fatima wasn't sure what she had expected, but she had expected
something
. So far she had seen him do nothing except wander around and occasionally take photos, apparently of nothing in particular. At least, nothing she could discern. Yet she was fascinated, as much by what they were doing as by the man; Leon intrigued her. His broody aloofness was so refreshing; men usually tried their best to endear themselves. Not Leon.

How can anyone be so remote … so detached?

Fatima was puzzled. And, for the first time since she had hit puberty, she found herself jockeying for attention. It excited her, making her nervous and even more talkative.

“Have you decided which of the two you are going to … attend to first?” she asked as they entered Ferozeshah Kotla stadium, for the tenth time since morning.

“I'll let you know when I do.” Also on tenterhooks, Leon snapped testily.

“Oh.” Fatima was crushed by his tone. She felt the urge to appease him. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

“As a matter of fact you can. By not asking so many questions and allowing me to focus.”

Fatima was speechless, unable to handle the sudden rush of emotions. She didn't realize he was equally conflicted: enjoying her attention, but not liking that fact. Tears sprang to her eyes. Fatima saw him flush, sensed he was embarrassed.

Or is he just worried I'm drawing attention to him?

Suddenly angry, Fatima wiped away her tears. “I don't have to put up with this shit. I'm surprised how easily everyone forgets who is paying the bills around here,” she muttered bitterly. “First that bastard Vishal and now you.”

“And don't
you
forget, I told you to stay away and let me handle this,” Leon retorted, but she had his attention; the comment about Vishal intrigued him. “What is that about Vishal?”

“The son of a … he tried to hit on me last night.” Fatima realized she would be in a mess if Leon asked why she had called Vishal to her hotel late at night. She couldn't handle all this anymore. “To hell with it. I don't need to take this, from you or anyone else. Just make sure you do the job.” She walked away, leaving him surprised.

A moment later Fatima was regretting her outburst, worried how Leon would take it. But by the time she turned, Leon had crossed the parking lot and was entering the stadium. She contemplated going back and then decided against it.

Feeling more confused and lonelier than ever, she headed back to her hotel.

 

TEN

Leon was surprised at the churn of feelings as he watched Fatima walk away: dismay at his churlishness, intrigued by her comment on Vishal, relief he could get on with his tasks, and yet, for some strange reason he couldn't fully fathom, sorry to see her go. Fatima intrigued him; especially the way she'd shared her story so openly. Leon couldn't even imagine making himself so vulnerable to anyone. The very thought terrified him.

Is that why I've been pushing her away? Because she is getting to me?

Leon was so surprised he halted.

Who are you, Leon Binder?

This question, which had been nagging him more and more, especially recently, hung heavily before him.

Where are you going next? Yes, twenty million pounds is a lot of money and will allow you to stop running. But from what? And for what?

As before, Leon hit a blank wall.

What
are
you living for?

Leon tried to visualize what life would be like when this mission was over. But all he could see were sterile safe houses. A never-ending line of them. Luxurious houses, but not homes. Impersonal. Bereft of personality. Barren walls. With none of the photos, paintings, and knickknacks that made a house a home … and had been such an integral part of his childhood … his only abiding memories of that place people called
home
.

Leon tried harder.

Niks.
Still nothing.

He tried to look for a face other than his own. Someone to talk to.

Anyone.
But still only blackness.

Fatima? Is that why …
Leon was seized by the urge to turn around and go looking for her. The urge was so strong it stunned him. But he couldn't turn. Rooted to the ground by the deepest, darkest fear he had ever experienced. He tried hard, but was unable to understand the crippling fear. Let alone overcome it.

Waves of sadness overwhelmed him. He felt so tired he wanted to lie down right there by the road. Lie down and just let go. Of everything.

What's happening to me?

You're getting old, that's what's happening.

Leon tried to laugh it off. Couldn't. He felt even more dismal.

No! Really … where did it all go? When did life pass me by?

But he was too tired to even think.

Then from that blankness arose a deep dark fury.

If Gill and Kingsley hadn't crucified me, I also would have had a life … a
normal
life.
Leon was shaking with anger now. It rejuvenated him.
I would have also had a home. A family. And someone to …

A shout from behind jolted him back into the present. A bunch of workers were setting up barricades to funnel the flow of people into the stadium. Their supervisor seemed upset at the pace of work.

“What are you? A bunch of old women?” the portly supervisor yelled. “Get moving, girls! We don't have all day.”

It reminded Leon he would draw attention if he didn't get moving. He threw a quick look around to check if anyone was watching him. No one was.

Why should they?

Leon realized he'd spent the last thirty years of his life blending in, ensuring no one saw him or noticed him.

Now no one does.

The need to be acknowledged suddenly seized him, shockingly strong. But no one was looking at him. Life and people swirled all around him, but no one seemed to even notice him. As though he didn't exist. As though he were trapped in an opaque bubble. He reached for his mobile, unable to resist the urge to call Fatima.

“Hullo! Sahib!” He looked up, startled; the supervisor was giving him an exasperated look. “Could you move to one side, we are trying to finish up here.”

With an almost grateful nod Leon moved on, returning the mobile to his pocket. Even that slight interaction was enough to appease his need.

I have to stop allowing these things to bother me.

Not now!

Not ever, actually!

Leon did what he was best at and had been doing so well the past three decades: pushed away these draining emotions and got on with the job.

Though his eyes didn't miss a single detail and his camera captured everything he deemed relevant, Leon was unable to keep his mind from wandering back to Fatima and his own life. This was the first time he had been thrown in such close quarters with the emotions and motives of any client, or such an attractive client, who dared to feel
and show it, too
, so blatantly. Consequently, the long-bottled emotions that had been unleashed unsettled him.

His mind was still muddled with these thoughts when he finished with the recon of the stadium and went to collect the sarin.

Perhaps that is why he missed the man at the far end of the alley when he walked up to the address given to him by Ri Yong Ho in Seoul.

The Sanjay Gandhi Transport Nagar, as the name suggests, houses the offices and warehouses of dozens of transport companies. The Batra Transport Company, which was located in the seedier part of it, was one such company. It was in the center building. The office-cum-warehouses on either side were unoccupied, in a state of disrepair.