Assassins (29 page)

It was Leon's usage of the word
us
that turned the trick; Vishal was pleased Leon considered him a part of the inner circle. “Absolutely. For the rifles, any preference?”

“Not really, Vishal. I'm comfortable with most. You decide if you have a preference. You'll be using one of them.” Leon sensed that would also appeal to Vishal's ego.

It did. Hugely. “Let me figure it out then. Where and when do we need them?”

“Ideally, we should get them into the stadium after the last security sweep and just before the final shift comes on duty … say, the twenty-sixth at night.”

“So you
are
planning to hit Masharrat yourself. That's why you want me to take out Zardosi.” Vishal sounded pleased. “I thought you would go after Masharrat.”

Ignoring that, Leon said, “If we take them in too soon there is a chance they will be discovered. And if we leave it too late we may not be able to get them in … the final security shift is generally the most alert.”

“Leave that to me,” Vishal said confidently. “I know how to make that happen. Just tell me what you need the bombs to do.”

“I want them to give us the diversion we need.”

Once again, Leon's use of the word
us
did not escape Vishal's attention.

“You want them to be found or to go off?”

“Interesting.” Leon marveled at Vishal's deviousness; that had not struck him. “How about one of each?”

“Nice.” Vishal smiled. “So if the one placed more strategically is found, they will assume the threat has been blunted. Then when the next goes off it will throw them in disarray. And
that
is when we can strike. Very nice.”

On that note the call ended.

And Leon was alone again, with the APB photos Vishal had sent him.

Though he had kept his tone light, unwilling to share his fears with the hired help, Leon was uneasy when he lay down, aware the odds had just gone up. All the photos were good, but one was uncannily similar to the American disguise he'd used while renting the Sarita Vihar apartment
and
with Nitin. Leon, now worried Om Chandra would recognize him, decided he would no longer use the Sarita Vihar safe house. Also, Leon sensed Vishal, though useful, was a dangerous addition; extra danger was something he could do without.

The photos and the APB stayed in his head as he fell asleep. He knew his freedom of movement had been strongly curtailed. And it was time to abandon both these identities.

 

THIRTY-TWO

Vishal was feeling good after the call. But the one dark patch on his horizon was Verma blabbing. If he could put that to bed, he was sure he would come out of this winning. Eager to find out the score on that front, he called Philip.

Vishal sensed his tiredness when the STF second-in-command answered. “Would you like me to help with Verma's interrogation tomorrow? I can be there first thing.”

“Thank you, Vishal, but I want to handle that myself.”

“Cool.” Vishal masked his disappointment. “How is it going?”

“Not as well as it should.” Philip's sigh was audible. “I sometimes worry we might be barking up the wrong tree.” He made a humming sound, like a mental shrug. “Though everything tells me Verma is our man … perhaps because Sikander has already been ruled out and I am not sure if anyone on our team…” Philip must have realized he was sharing more than he wished to and broke off. “Anyway, thanks for the offer. I'll call you if I need help.”

Tossing the phone on his bed, Vishal did a happy jig around it. If the first call had left him happy, this one made him ecstatic. Verma should be able to hold out another couple of days.

The bugger has as much to lose as I have.

More, actually. Verma has a wife and kids.

Also, with the decision to become a professional like Leon now clearer, Vishal did not dread being blown as much. The additional money promised by Leon had ignited many dreams; he could now see himself living in Europe or America.

Maybe not. I need to check which countries have no extradition treaty with India … and no death penalty.

But most important, knowing Leon would now have to rely on him more due to the APB, made Vishal feel more secure.

For the first night since the start of this operation, Vishal slept soundly.

 

DECEMBER

25

 

ONE

Ravinder was in two minds about leaving the safe confines of his bed. Despite his eagerness to be back by Simran's side, trapped in a discordant patchwork of thoughts, he lay huddled there. However, eventually the deathly quiet gripping the house began to close in on him. It felt claustrophobic. As though the house was mourning Simran's absence. The intercom buzzed, startling him. Ravinder threw off the quilt and reached for it.

“Good morning, Dad. Should we meet for breakfast in half an hour?”

Ravinder noticed Jasmine sounded deeply tired. He sensed from her soggy tone that she had been crying. “Are you okay?”

“Of course.”

But Ravinder could tell that the lightness in her voice was forced. Promising himself to support her by keeping a firm grasp on things, he got ready and headed down. The mail on the dining room sideboard caught his eye. Mingled with a stack of bills was a letter from Duke University School of Law in North Carolina, addressed to Jasmine. Ravinder knew Jasmine had been awaiting admission results from US universities and handed it to her when she entered. Suddenly animated, Jasmine ripped it open, then squealed with delight.

“I'm in, Dad. Duke has accepted me for the Master of Laws program
and
I have a twenty-five percent tuition waiver.”

Ravinder laughed as she punched the air and did a victory dance. “I knew they would.” He felt proud and equally delighted. “Your mother is going to be thrilled … how many people manage to win a tuition waiver?”

“I can't wait to tell her.”

That reminded them Simran was waiting. Rushing through breakfast they headed for the hospital. They were driving out of the gate when Jasmine remembered. She smacked her forehead. “Dad! It's Mom's fiftieth birthday today. How on earth could I have forgotten?”

“I had forgotten, too.” Ravinder felt sheepish, but knew how tumultuous things had been. “I guess…” He left it there. And then, unwilling to let the gloom return, patted her hand. “No worries. We will have a gala celebration the day she gets back from the hospital.”

Jasmine smiled. Ravinder didn't want to dampen her joy by telling her that, but he was aching to have Simran back home so he could focus on finding the man who'd ordered the attack on them.

 

TWO

Vishal realized what a shitty feeling it was, not being able to put a finger on what he was missing. And he
knew
something was amiss; that feeling had nagged him since morning.

Verma's being in custody and the fear he would spill the beans
was
bothering him despite Philip's admission that they were not making any headway on that front. Vishal was aching to get to the office and find out what was happening. If possible give moral support to Verma by letting him know the STF had nothing concrete on him; killing him in custody was an option he had explored and discarded.

For the moment, at least.

Other than that, the morning had gone blazingly well. He was up at the crack of dawn, fresh and raring to go. Eager to prove a point to Leon, Vishal had gotten cracking on the rifles and bombs.

Aware that finding preassembled bombs was unlikely, he concentrated his hunt on bombmakers. It took him two hours to find one who was not in jail, had access to explosives,
and
was willing to do a rush job. Unwilling to reveal his identity to the bombmaker he called in a favor and got a constable to do it, one he had bailed out of a messy and suspicious shootout. Vishal was confident he would have the bombs by midnight.

With the sniper rifles he had been luckier; finding a factory-sealed box of three, complete with sniperscopes, at the Kapashera police station evidence room. They had been recovered from an arms dealer who made the mistake of crossing the wrong people and consequently was now pushing up the daisies. With him gone it was unlikely the guns would be called into court, hence would not be missed. Getting them out of the evidence room had meant cashing in some more chips with another willing-to-bend cop in that police station. Vishal was sure that the guns, too, would be in his hands by nightfall. He also knew that he was calling in too many markers for this mission. Too many for his own good.

“There is no way I can remain in India once this goes down,” he told Leon when he called to update him. “I will need to get out of the country for sure.” At Leon's noncommittal
uh-huh
he added, “I have given this a lot of thought. That's why I think it's only fair that you pay me at least a million dollars for helping you complete the project.”

The silence this time stretched so long that Vishal thought the call had been dropped. “You there?” he asked.

“Yes,” Leon responded finally. “Fine. I see your point, but a million is too much. I can do half that.”

“It's not too much. Not if you want me to take on an active role,” Vishal countered. “I'll be exposed to the same risk as you.”

Some haggling eventually got them to agree on seven hundred thousand.

“Half now and half later?” Vishal asked, happy at the bargain he had struck. With that kind of money he actually looked forward to getting out of the country and starting afresh.

“Give me till tomorrow,” Leon replied. “I can transfer the money to whichever account you want.”

“I will send you the account details, but I'd like some in cash.”

“Let's meet tomorrow then. I will message you when I have the cash ready.”

But Vishal was increasingly uneasy after the call ended.

He was entering the office when the reason hit him.

“I would like to point out that not once in all his years as an assassin has Binder ever used an accomplice for anything other than support tasks.” Ravinder's caution of two days ago echoed in his memory. “Even the few he used never saw him. The ones that laid eyes on him never lived to tell any tales.”

The recollection sliced through Vishal like a hot knife through butter.

Would Leon dare do that? When he needs me so much?

Vishal pondered that.

Nah! There is no way he can pull off the stadium job without me … He won't even be able to get hold of the rifles and bombs at such short notice.

He felt better. But his mind seemed in no mood to relent.

What if he doesn't really need me? What if he is stringing me along? What if I am just the fall guy?

Philip emerged from the rear room where Ashok Verma was being held. He looked smug, as though he had cracked something, and Vishal's worry escalated even further.

 

THREE

Leon was uneasy. Instinct warned him something was not kosher. Parked across the road, he again surveyed the house where he was to meet Nitin. It was a large, old-style bungalow, set toward the back of a large garden, which had not met the business end of a lawn mower for a while now. And the whole place had an air of disuse. It stood out like a sore thumb amidst the plush spacious houses lining both sides of Model Town, the kind of property builders acquire and convert into a garish glass-and-cement high-rise.

Nitin the Nerd is sitting on some prime real estate. So why is it in such crappy condition?

Only the twelve-foot-high boundary wall had been freshly painted. Then Leon spied the notice: large white letters painted on a black metal sheet, stuck to the top right of the metallic gate, informing the world the property was disputed in court.

That's as good an explanation as any.

But there was not a soul in sight.

“Strange.” Leon muttered.
Nitin should be expecting me. We spoke barely an hour ago.
He rechecked his watch.
Perhaps because I am a bit early.

But it still didn't feel right. Perhaps it was the knowledge that an APB was out for him; Leon had been on edge ever since Vishal's call last night. He surveyed the street again. Barring half a dozen cars parked sporadically, and the two security guards outside the house at the far end, the street was strangely devoid of life. Leon scanned the parked cars one by one.

Empty.

Still uneasy, he got out and headed for the gate. Alert. Ready to swing into action instantly. He was reaching for the doorbell when the gate clicked and began to swing open on well-oiled hinges. That's when Leon noticed the cameras, two of them. Well concealed. Leon guessed there were more. But Leon assessed even these two would cover the house frontage.

The front door cracked open and Nitin peered out, waving him on. Leon's grip on his pistol remained firm as he stepped up the pace.

“Any problem finding the place?”

“Not really.” Leon shivered; it was even colder inside. A layer of dust covered everything; the living room hadn't been used in a while.

The damn place looks like the set of a Hollywood horror movie.

Nitin noticed his scrutiny. “No one comes here. Not since I put up that property in dispute notice.” He jerked his thumb downward. “Let's go to the basement … my workplace.”

Leon followed him past the dining room into what once would have been the wine cellar. Immediately the landscape altered; starting with the wooden stairs everything had been scrubbed clean. The wine racks had been replaced by long workstation type tables along the two longer sides of a brightly lit basement. Along the third wall, facing the door, was a study table; on it were a half-open Sony laptop, a printer-cum-scanner, a couple of mobile phones, and some newspapers. On the left of the door was a water dispenser and to the right a tea/coffeemaker. Leon automatically absorbed the surroundings.