Assassins (32 page)

Strangely, death did not seem to have deflated Nitin. Barring his face, which was still twisted in a grimace with a faint trickle of saliva down one side of his half-open mouth, he could well have been asleep. Possibly because of the cold, he had not yet started to smell. Not badly, anyway.

Just a faint whiff of … What? What
does
death smell like?

Leon realized he was about to take a deep sniff. He shivered. As though someone had dragged sharp nails down his back. Shook himself, trying hard to push away the ghostly feeling, which threatened to unseat him. Failed. Tried again harder, and finally managed to look away.

Ensuring he did not look at Nitin again, Leon surveyed the room. There was no obvious wiring to indicate where the cameras were sending in their feed. However, Leon knew it had to be displayed on some monitor, and the laptop on the study table was the only available option. Leon flipped open the half-closed lid and tapped the keyboard. It emerged from sleep mode. The main gate and garden sprang sharply into focus. Both lay still. As Leon watched, a crow alighted on the grass and pecked at something. Everything outside looked so serene, so normal.

With a start Leon realized that he was losing time. Opening the finder he began to scan the files. Knowing he was looking for large video files made the task easier, and it took only a couple of minutes to find where the feed was stored. Shutting off the cameras, Leon deleted the files and emptied the trash can. He was about to close the laptop but was uneasy, unsure if the data could still be recovered. Disconnecting the power cord he took the laptop with him. Still keeping his eyes averted from Nitin's body he made his way back to the car and hit the road again.

He was halted at the traffic light near Tis Hazari when his mobile informed him a text had been received.

Ravinder's wife is dead. We need to talk. Will let you know soon as it is safe to speak.

Vishal's message stared at him. Leon realized the traffic light had turned green only when the car behind honked, a long impatient blast. With a start Leon drove ahead, his mind in a whirl, surprised he did not feel the satisfaction he had assumed he would.

Spotting a break in traffic Leon pulled off the road and looked at Vishal's text again.

Nothing!

He tried to imagine the pain Ravinder was feeling. That brought him
some
satisfaction, but just a teeny bit and only fleetingly. For some silly reason that he was unable to rationalize, Leon could not get rid of the feeling that what he had done was cheap. Unwarriorlike. Unmanly.

Not cricket, old chap.

That is when Leon realized this was also the first time he had ordered a woman's death. And that too many people had been killed on this mission. Usually Leon ensured the target was the first, and more often than not, the only one to die. Too many deaths always attracted undue attention, something Leon avoided at all costs.

But this time?

Too many bloody firsts on this mission.

Leon cursed.

I should not have taken on this assignment.

His mobile beeped again, a second text from Vishal asking if they could meet later at night and if he could get some cash. Leon sensed Vishal's anxiety even in the bland message.

And I should not have given Vishal such a free rein. The slimeball is hedging his bets … in case I am taken.

That angered him.

I will not be stopped. Or taken down. Not this time. And definitely not by Ravinder the Cloth Head or Edward the Anal.

Their nicknames, from all those years ago, came back effortlessly. Then they had been used in jest. Now they were spiked with hatred.

The admixture of anger and hatred blew away his doubts and misgivings, egging him on.

 

NINE

Jasmine, now more composed and having cleaned up as best she could, ran into the task force officers as she was heading back to the ICU. Barring Chance, whom she had met briefly a few months ago, the others were strangers. Chance and she exchanged strained nods. Jasmine wanted them to go away, to leave her father alone, but knew they were here to show their support. She was wondering what to say when the man to Chance's right stepped forward.

“Hullo, miss. I am Philip Cherian. We all work with your father.” He waved at the others. “Deeply sorry about your loss.”

Jasmine nodded, not trusting herself to speak.

“Please tell me how we can help.”

Jasmine's mind was still blank; she could think of nothing to say.

“Perhaps we can help with the funeral arrangements,” Philip suggested gently.

It was the word funeral that broke Jasmine's inertia. “Thank you very much, Mr. Cherian. I …
we
really appreciate that, but my aunt is already here and others from our family are on the way.” The awkwardness returned with the silence. “I am sure my father would be most grateful if you all kept the work going.” Jasmine was fidgeting, now keen to get back to Ravinder. “I understand you all are working on something very important … perhaps it would be best if you took care of that.”

Philip sensed her discomfort and anguish; however, before he could respond, his mobile vibrated. He saw the call was from the NIA director. “Please tell your father we will do our best,” Philip promised her. “And please don't hesitate to reach out if there is anything we can do. Anything at all.” Excusing himself, he rushed out to take Kurup's call.

Giving the others an awkward nod, Jasmine headed back in, not looking forward to what awaited her there, but aware she needed to take charge. She was at the door when she turned back and said to them, “Please find the person responsible for killing my mother.” But the request was delivered very gently, without any heat or drama. As blandly as though she were asking one of them to pass the salt.

She saw them staring at her. Finally one of the women, Saina, nodded. “We will. I promise you that.”

Jasmine thanked her and resumed her journey back in to the ICU.

 

TEN

Suresh was not sure what bothered him more, Ravinder's personal loss or that the Special Task Force was again leaderless and he had run out of options on that count. He was aware that with barely forty-eight hours left for both targets to reach Delhi, there was no time to bring in a new man.

“You will have to take charge, Philip. I will personally support you every step of the way.”

“Thank you, sir.” Suresh sensed Philip's unease; Philip was a competent man, but he had never been in independent charge yet, especially not in such a high-stakes operation. “I will do my best, sir.”

“That's all I want, Philip. Give it your best shot.”

“Roger, sir.” Philip sounded a tad more confident.

“Update me. Where exactly are we?”

“We have gotten an APB out for Leon Binder.”

“Yes, I saw that. Good work,” Suresh encouraged him.

“Ashok Verma is in custody. He hasn't said anything yet, but we are working on him. If he is the mole then we should be able to get some tangible leads to Binder.”

“Would you like me to come down and talk to him?”

“Not yet, sir. Give me a little more time.”

That is exactly what we don't have,
Kurup wanted to tell him, but realizing Philip was already shaky, he held back on that. Instead he asked, “Anything on Fatima Basheer?”

“Basheer?” Philip was nonplussed. “I was not aware we were looking for her. Is she here? In India?”

“Oh! But the alert was issued from your office.” Suresh checked. “It has been signed off by Archana.”

“Ravinder must have briefed her directly.” Philip realized Ravinder had forgotten to brief him. “Give me a minute, sir.” Suresh heard him call out to Archana and then talk. “Archana confirms we have checked almost seventy percent of the hotels. Those remaining will be done today, sir.”

“Okay. Keep me posted. What else?”

“Nothing on the Goel case yet, but we have come up with some leads on the truck that was involved in the hit-and-run on Mr. Gill's family.”

“That's good. He may lead us to Binder.” But Suresh did not sound hopeful, aware it was too long a shot; Leon would not have exposed himself that way.

Perhaps that came across more strongly than he realized. Feeling pressured and keen to exhibit some progress, Philip added, “Our team has also reevaluated the security plans and the threat perception. Mr. Gill wanted to send them to you. We believe they would help identify weaknesses that Binder could exploit.”

“That's useful. Send them right away, Philip. Keep me posted on the progress … at least twice a day … and if something comes up, no matter what the time.”

 

ELEVEN

Philip felt even more pressured when the call ended, aware he had very little time left.

“Anything wrong?”

Philip became aware his team was ringed around him. Everyone looked tense. Vishal, who had asked the question, looked most anxious.

“That was the NIA director.” Philip used his most reassuring tone, desperate to show he was in control. Failed. “He wanted to know where we were in terms of finding Binder.”

“What was that about Fatima Basheer? Anything on her?”

Again, Philip noted that Vishal looked unduly stressed.

“Why didn't you tell me that Mr. Gill had asked you to put an alert out for Basheer?” Philip confronted Archana, peeved. “We all need to be on the same page. I did not even know she was in Delhi.”

“Sorry. I assumed Mr. Gill had briefed you all.”

“Fine.” Philip saw it was a pointless discussion. “Let us leave it here. Please ensure they finish searching all the hotels today.”

“I just rechecked with the cops. They have only a few hotels left now.”

“Good. If that woman is here I want her found. Alive.”

 

TWELVE

Vishal felt as though he was caught in an inexorably tightening vise: Verma in custody, the APB out for Leon, insecurity about Leon's intentions, and now the noose tightening on Fatima.

How much worse could it get?

He had already given up on the idea of being able to stay on in India after this mission. However, with Leon and Fatima both under threat of capture, there was now a big question mark on the payment he was to receive from them.

Without that I am screwed. Without that payout there is no way I can get out of this shit hole.

Suddenly, the tunnel had become a lot darker. Then he realized Philip was addressing him.

“Vishal, we need to break Verma. I've been talking to Saina and she's certain Sikander Ali was not the mole.”

“Hardly surprising. They were related.”

“No. His death doesn't jell, and she is willing to stake her life on it.”

But Vishal noticed he did not sound very sure. Eager to fan this spark of doubt, Vishal made a moue, but kept silent.

Philip continued, “I tend to agree with her. Assuming
that
is true, then Verma has to be the mole. And if he is … the bastard has a lot to pay for.”

Vishal noted the STF second-in-command's determination and his despair deepened; he cursed Saina silently.

Then Philip inadvertently threw him a lifeline. “You want to help me with Verma's interrogation?”

Vishal clutched at the sudden lifeline with both hands. “Sure. Let me at him.” He felt charged up. “I will kill the bastard if he doesn't talk.”

“No killing.” But Philip's smile was bleak; he was clearly feeling the pressure. “We still don't know for sure if he is the mole.”

“Let us find out then, shall we?”

In his excitement, Vishal forgot to send Fatima the warning he had wanted to.

 

THIRTEEN

Fatima was going stir-crazy. She was fed up with hanging around her hotel room. The wait was frustrating. Even more aggravating was that neither Vishal nor Leon was keeping her in the loop.

Despite repeated reminders and threats Vishal had given her nothing tangible, though he did call in. She had contemplated confronting him, but their altercation on the first night had left her with no appetite for a repeat performance.

Likewise, the rude manner in which Leon had warned her to steer clear had really upset her. Unwilling to spook him again, she had stayed away.

That left her with little to do. Several times in the past two days she had considered joining the other SOB leaders in Dubai; however, her hunger for witnessing the results of her vendetta firsthand kept her in Delhi.

Bored stiff, she threw on a T-shirt, jeans, and sneakers and headed down from her suite on the fourth floor.

Shopping is always therapeutic.

She was crossing the lobby when she saw one of the ladies at the front desk point her out. It was done discreetly and Fatima would probably not have noticed if her attention had not been drawn to the two men talking to the receptionist; their demeanor gave them away faster than any uniform could. They reminded her of the way Vishal carried himself: with that same authority, arrogance, and assurance. Intuition warned her they were cops. Panic seized Fatima when the duo left the reception and purposefully advanced on her. One of them waved to her. “Madam, could we have a word with you?”

Without further thought she turned and ran.

Surprise gave her a head start and fear lent her wings.

This was the sixteenth hotel these two cops were visiting since morning and about the fiftieth since yesterday. At each one, they had been pointed to one or two probable Fatima Basheers. Each lead had to be investigated. So far, all had proven false. By now both were bored stiff and expecting to draw another blank. They watched openmouthed as Fatima fled through the lobby.

By the time they got over their surprise Fatima had already cleared the entrance and was racing toward the road. They gave chase.