Assassins (26 page)

His back was turned, so Ravinder did not see the strange look that crossed Vishal's face.

Then he saw Jasmine's car pull up outside the gate, but she was on the other side, across the road.

“Best of luck, guys,” he called out to the team. “I will be waiting here for you.”

Waving to Jasmine he began to cross the road, afflicted by the fuzzy feeling that the sight of the two lovely ladies in his life evoked. And he was thinking hard.

How do I break it to them nicely? Jasmine will be very disappointed. And Simran miffed at having to go alone … again.

Rekha's parents were good people, but even in the best of times could not be accused of being good conversationalists or entertaining company; dinner with them always meant excellent food and plenty of silent time to ensure one could chew each mouthful thoroughly.

 

TWENTY-ONE

Jasmine had insisted they travel in her car—a silver Maruti SX4 that her parents had gotten her as a graduation present when she had completed law school last month.

Having missed the turn off for the STF office, she was forced to go around the block and found herself on the wrong side of the road. There was no median physically dividing the road, so she waited for a break in traffic to cut across into the STF office compound. That is when she saw Ravinder wave out to her. Relieved at not having to cross the busy road she pulled over to the side and watched him start toward them.

Jasmine was feeling really excited and happy. The day had gone well. Both Rekha and she had gotten confirmation for the Master of Laws program from Duke University School of Law in North Carolina, which was their first choice, and they were thrilled about it.

“What do you say, BFF, should we wait for the formal invitation letter or should we tell them?” Jasmine smiled, remembering Rekha's naughty grin and her reply.

“Let's tell them today during dinner, Jas. May as well give them more time to get the college fees ready.”

And
this was the start of Simran's fiftieth-birthday celebrations. She smiled, knowing how delighted both their parents would be at the news, and tried to visualize their expressions when Rekha sprang the surprise; a dozen of Simran's closest friends were going to be at Rekha's house to ring in Simran's fiftieth.

“Alagamun-lah, weh, wakun, heya.”
Jasmine's smile broadened as Psy's K-Pop song “Gentlemen” burst out of the car radio. The peppy beat went perfectly with her mood. She turned up the volume.

“Good Lord.” Beside her Simran groaned. “I have no idea what you see in such music.” Pop music, Korean or otherwise, was clearly not high on her list of favorites. Jasmine, head bobbing to the music, responded with another happy grin. Throwing her hands in the air, Simran unbuckled her seat belt and reached for the door handle. “I better go back and let your dad sit up front with you.”

Suddenly the revving of an engine overpowered the music. Jasmine turned to see what was causing the annoyingly loud sound. Her mouth fell open as she saw a one-tonner truck bearing down on them. A scream began to form in her mind. Before it could reach her lips Jasmine felt a massive blow strike the rear of her car. The sound of metal tearing apart sundered her mind. Then there was an explosion of glass. And suddenly Simran was no longer by her side.

Her seat belt locked, snapping Jasmine back against the seat. And the airbag exploded, cocooning her in white.

She blacked out.

 

TWENTY-TWO

Ravinder was waiting for the green man guarding the pedestrian crossing to light up when the unusually loud revving of an engine made him look up.

At first the sight of the one-ton type truck rushing toward Jasmine's car didn't register. Then, horrifyingly, everything seemed to slow down and speed up simultaneously.

Slow enough for him to see the yellow lemons tied to the front of the truck with a black ribbon. To see the garish orange and black stripes painted on its front, radiating away from the bonnet, like a tiger's snarl. Faded, patchy, but visible. And the bearded driver hunched behind the wheel. His face caught in a tight scowl. Tense. Concentrating madly.

Yet so fast that Ravinder had barely taken a couple of strides when the truck smashed into Jasmine's car. Lifting it up and bashing it forward several feet.

His mouth caught open in a soundless scream, Ravinder stood rooted to the ground as he watched Simran hurtle through the windscreen. Even from across the road Ravinder could see shattered parts of the windscreen spray out, like killer graffiti. He blanched as Simran hit the ground. Hard. In his head Ravinder heard the soggy thud. Simran lay still. Then, miraculously, she swayed to her feet. Ravinder saw her turn toward the car. She took a couple of steps. The first two, tentative. The next two, firmer. Then, deflating, like a leaking balloon, she slowly collapsed in a heap.

Ravinder wanted to run forward, but his legs seemed to have frozen.

There was a blood-curdling screech of metal tearing. Ravinder saw the truck reverse, shaking itself free from the shattered remains of Jasmine's car.

That shattered his inertia, jolting him into action. Ravinder's hand raced for his shoulder holster, for the weapon that should have been there. It came away empty. Regardless he ran toward the truck. Which by now had broken free. With another burst of horsepower it roared down the road.

“Shoot!” Ravinder screamed at Vishal. “Shoot him!” He pointed at the fleeing truck.

Vishal drew his gun but shook his head. “Too many people around.” Vishal's yell reached Ravinder as though from very far away.

By now the killer truck had bulldozed its way around the corner two hundred feet ahead.

“Get him!” Ravinder yelled back as he raced frantically across the road. Aching to get to Simran and Jasmine. Yet dreading what he would find.

Galvanized, Saina and Vishal ran toward his car. Philip followed Ravinder across the road. Archana was on the phone, calling for an ambulance.

Minutes later, with a wailing of sirens, an ambulance from All India Institute of Medical Sciences arrived.

By now, Ravinder had cut away the seat belt, freed her from the airbag and pulled Jasmine from the wrecked car. Fearful the leaking petrol tank might explode, Ravinder had carried her several feet away. Then with Philip's help he moved Simran and gently laid her down beside Jasmine, who by now had begun to stir.

The ambulance doors flew open as it screeched to a halt. Then the paramedics were upon them. Within minutes they had checked both and loaded them into the ambulance.

“I'm not leaving you alone, sir.” Philip was ready to jump into the ambulance.

But Ravinder desperately wanted to be alone with his family. Simran lay lifeless on the stretcher. Jasmine looked dazed, but was sitting up. She seemed to have escaped unscathed, barring the odd nick here and scrape there; the airbag had taken the brunt.

“No need, Philip.” Ravinder stalled him. “I'd rather you keep things on track here … find that bastard who did this … whatever it takes. I want to take him apart … how could he…” He broke off, looking helplessly at Simran, watching the paramedics work on her.

Philip halted uncertainly, half in and half out of the ambulance. “I will, sir. I promise you we will find the man who did this.”

“I'm banking on you, Philip. You
have to
take charge. There is little time left,” Ravinder urged, and goading him out, closed the ambulance door. With a scream of sirens it sped away. But Ravinder didn't hear it; the screaming in his head was much louder. He wanted to find the man at the wheel of the truck and punch him … and punch him … and … With a shudder he controlled himself. Aware that Simran and Jasmine needed him to be at his strongest, he held himself together.

“Don't worry, Jasmine.” He tousled her hair, cocooning her in his arms. “Everything is going to be fine.” But he could not sound as convincing as he wanted to. And a part of him still wanted to run out and chase the truck and dismember the man who'd been at the wheel.

 

TWENTY-THREE

Vishal smacked the palm of his hand with an angry fist. “The bugger got away,” he told Philip, pretending to be furious. However, Vishal was pleased with the way his get-Ravinder-off-the-case operation had panned out.

“He wouldn't have if you had driven faster.” Saina, trailing a few feet behind, scowled fiercely.

“I don't know what your problem is.” Vishal rounded on her. “What did you want me to do? Fly over the traffic?”

“It was not
that
bad.” Saina faced him down. “We almost had him at the traffic island. We would have, too, if you hadn't stopped.”

“I did
not
stop; the bloody car stalled. Anyway, who is to argue with you?” Shrugging, Vishal turned to Philip, who was watching the exchange, his expression disturbingly curious; it shattered some of Vishal's composure. Ignoring that, Vishal asked, “How is Ravinder's family?”

“They have reached the hospital.” Philip's tone turned businesslike. “Meanwhile we continue.”

“Shouldn't we go to the hospital to support Ravinder?”

“No.” Philip seemed in no mood to relent. “The best thing we can do right now is keep the investigation on track and free him from this worry.”

Vishal saw he was determined.

“Whoever is behind that”—Philip waved toward the gate, where Jasmine's battered car still lay—“is out to derail us. Obviously the same people who murdered Goel. It has to be Leon and his henchmen. We have to stop them.”

Philip then turned to Saina. “Put some cops on the job. I want the bastard who was driving that truck.” She headed for the phone. “Tell them to report to me every hour till they find him. Then come with us to bring Ashok Verma in. Let us find out if you were right about your brother-in-law.”

The sudden gleam in Saina's eyes drove Vishal's dismay deeper. He desperately hoped Leon had received his warning and would do something about Verma.

But what? What the hell
can
Leon do?

That was haunting him as Saina finished her call; the three of them got in to Cherian's car and headed for Verma's house.

I hope Verma panics and makes a break for it.

That buoyed him. He began to develop the idea.

Perhaps Verma would panic enough to try and shoot his way out. Maybe even take that silly bitch Saina with him.

Not likely, though.

Perhaps I can induce the panic.

Vishal liked that better.

“Vishal…”—Philip's voice tugged at him—“you secure the rear of the house. Saina and I will go in from the front door. No guns,” he stressed. “Absolutely no guns … unless he comes out shooting. We just want to talk to Verma. Okay?”

Vishal acknowledged that with a mute nod.

How can I stampede Verma into coming out shooting? And if he manages to take out Philip, the Special Task Force is as good as dead in a ditch.

Vishal started to reach for his mobile but stopped; Saina beside him did not miss a thing.

And Kapil Choudhary, the truck driver? Do I need to stress about him?

Vishal considered that.

Nah! Even if they catch him, what can he tell them? That a cop gave him the contract? So what? They already know there is a mole.

That gave him some solace, but then worry about Verma destroyed that.

 

TWENTY-FOUR

Ravinder was dreading the doctor's reply. “When is she likely to recover consciousness?”

“Hard to say, sir. It could … we cannot be sure.” Mandeep faltered. Though a competent surgeon, Mandeep had not yet been hardened and was trying hard to sound reassuring. It did not help that he'd spent the day in back-to-back surgeries and been on his way home when the doctor in charge of emergencies had called him back. He was exhausted and it showed. That he looked younger than his thirty years did not help either. Not with Ravinder.

“Don't you think we should have a specialist check her? Someone … err … more senior.” Ravinder vocalized his concern.

“Sir, Dr. Mandeep
is
a specialist.” The doctor from emergency, who had requested Mandeep, felt compelled to justify. “Your wife is in safe hands.”

But Ravinder wasn't reassured. “I don't want to be rude, but I'd like a second opinion.”

“I understand your concern,” Mandeep replied before the other doctor could. “Let me call in our HOD.” Giving the nurse some instructions, they left the ICU as Jasmine came in.

Ravinder was relieved to see Jasmine seemed better; her wounds had been cleaned up and bandaged. A hospital gown covered her dress, which was dirty and ripped.

She took his hand and they stood beside Simran, who looked so out of place on the large hospital bed, with dozens of wires leading to a bewildering bank of monitors and an intravenous drip plugged to her. Simran seemed depleted.

One of the monitors kept beeping, a rhythmic and jarring sound. It seared through Ravinder, making him want to scream. But he kept a tight leash on himself, aware that Jasmine needed him to be strong
and
he wanted to find the man who'd done this to them.

This has to be Leon's handiwork … and that of his mole … bastards want to cripple the Special Task Force, but to stoop so low … wonder if Leon knows I'm heading up the task force … of course he must … his mole must have updated him. Is
that
why Leon did this?
Ravinder pushed away the urge to rush out and join the hunt for the truck driver.
Simran and Jasmine need me more.
But having to see Simran in this sorry state pained him.

So he glared at the monitor instead.
Philips
was written in bold black letters prominently in the middle of the white lower panel and
IntelliVue MP90
on the top right. A thin green line traveled across the screen, vanishing to the right and then starting all over again from the left. On the top right, a bold green dot pulsed in sync with the beeping.