Assassins (36 page)

But he was feeling disoriented. Her face kept swimming in and out of focus, sometimes Simran and sometimes Jasmine. And Simran's voice kept tugging at him.

“I know you well, Ravinder. I know you will always do the right thing. Just trust your instincts.” Simran was insistent. Refusing to stay quiet. Drowning out whatever Jasmine was saying

Then, as though divinely ordained, the hymn singers inside the gurudwara began to laud the glory of Shakti.

Deh siva bar mohe eh-hey subh karman te kabhu na taro.

Na daro arr seo jab jaye laro nischey kar apni jeet karo.

The hymn echoed through the courtyard, swamping out everything else from Ravinder's mind. The passage of years had done nothing to dim the hymn's powerful appeal. Even today it was brimming with the magic it'd had the day its composer, Guru Gobind Singh, the tenth Sikh guru, had appealed to Lord Shiva, the Liberator.

O Lord, grant me the boon that I may never deviate from doing a good deed.

That I shall not fear when I go into battle, and with determination I will be victorious.

The magic of those words and the transcendental beauty of the music erased all vestiges of doubt from Ravinder and jerked him back to the present. When he turned to Jasmine he felt renewed. All his confusion and fears had been jettisoned.

“I have to do this, Jasmine. The man who took your mother from us is almost certainly the same one helping Binder. I have to find both and make them pay.”

Jasmine did not know whether to be happy the father she'd always admired and adored was back or scared she might lose him. She also saw Ravinder was now beyond faltering. The steel in his eyes stiffened her resolve. Reconciling to this new reality, she nodded. “Make sure you get them, Dad. And come back in one piece. I need you.”

Ravinder gave her a hug, then turned to Cherian. “Philip, get the team back to the office.” Ravinder checked his watch: half past eleven.

Twenty-four hours. Twenty-five at best. That is the maximum we can hope for.

“I'll be with you in a moment, Philip.” Ravinder headed back into the gurudwara sahib and knelt before the
palkhi
on which the Guru Granth Sahib was kept. And he prayed as he'd never prayed before.

When he got up everything had been laid to rest: guilt, fears, anger, hate, and self-doubt. All that remained was the stony calm and steely resolve required to take the battle to the enemy. And the hymn was now echoing in his soul.

Deh siva bar mohe eh-hey subh karman te kabhu na taro.

Na daro arr seo jab jaye laro nischey kar apni jeet karo.

Ravinder headed out, eager for battle.

He knew he would not falter.

Not this time.

 

SEVEN

Jasmine noticed Ravinder's back was straight and his chin jutted forward in that determined manner so familiar to her. He erupted purposefully from the gurudwara sahib, moving fast, heading for the car park.

“Take care, Dad,” she called out as Ravinder crossed her.

“I will.” He had taken two more steps when Ravinder halted and spun on her. “Where's the gun I gave you before the peace summit?”

“With me at home.” Though she hated guns, Jasmine had kept it safely in her bedroom locker. It was precious to her; her half sister Ruby had used it to save the family when Lashkar-e-Toiba terrorists had attacked their house earlier that October. “Why?”

“I want you to keep it close,” Ravinder said tersely. “Whoever did this to us obviously wanted me off this case. They could try again once they find out that I am back in the game.”

“Fine, Dad. If you think there is danger I will do so.” Jasmine nodded. “But only if you agree to carry one yourself.”

Jasmine saw him flinch. As though he had been slapped. But she held his gaze resolutely. Finally, seeing her determined, he nodded.

“Promise?” she persisted, knowing that if he did, he would.

“Promise.” Ravinder spun around again and headed for the car.

Philip followed. At a signal from him, Jasmine saw Vishal and Archana also peel away from the crowd and follow them.

 

EIGHT

Vishal knew something had changed. He had been bursting with curiosity since he had seen Philip come in.

“What happened, Philip?”

“We caught the truck driver who killed Ravinder's wife.”

“Oh!” Vishal managed to keep the shock off his face, but his heart plummeted. He recovered fast. “That's great news. Did he confess?”

“I got him to,” Philip muttered grimly. “He has admitted he was paid by a cop to do that hit-and-run.”

Thank God that bugger cannot point a finger at me.

But Vishal's heart was in his mouth. “A cop? Really?” Philip nodded. “Does he know who?”

“Unfortunately he doesn't.” Philip's frustration showed.

Vishal felt some of his anxiety lift.

“But says he might be able to recognize the cop's voice.”

Vishal's hope crashed and burned again.

“That's not much of a help.”

“I agree. But that's the best we have.”

“Where are we going now?” Vishal felt sudden dread that he would be asked to confront Kapil Choudhary.

Would the bugger really be able to recognize my voice?

“Boss wants us all back in the office. Now. He is taking charge of things again.”

Vishal was stunned. Already struggling to find a solution for Verma, suddenly being told that his truck-driver henchman was now in custody and then, to cap it all off, that Ravinder was back in the game dashed his hopes, demoralizing him completely. It took him a moment to realize Ravinder had halted near his car and was speaking to them.

“Do any of you know of a good security agency?”

“Why?” Vishal heard Philip ask.

“I want some security guards at my house. To ensure Jasmine is safe.”

“Let me send a couple of constables,” Philip offered.

“No. No cops.” Ravinder gave a firm headshake. “Not till we know who the mole is. I prefer private security guards.”

“I do, sir.” Vishal leaped at the opportunity. “My cousin runs an agency.”

“Good one? Reliable?”

“Very.” Vishal fought to contain a smile, realizing Jasmine as a hostage could be an invaluable bargaining chip if things went out of kilter.

“Please get them to deploy four men at my farmhouse 'round the clock. Immediately.”

“I'll take care of it right away.” Vishal added to Philip, “Let me get this done and catch up with you guys at the office.”

“Thanks.” Ravinder looked at Archana and Philip and indicated his car. “Are either of you coming with me? I want to get my hands on that trucker … and Verma.”

Vishal noticed his determination and his anxiety deepened. He sensed Ravinder would be unstoppable in his present mood.

The trucker is no direct threat, but Verma …

Vishal knew he could not allow Verma to talk. He ran for his car.

I have to find a way or get the hell out of Dodge.

The dashboard clock told him it was twenty-three minutes to noon.

Enough time to call the security agency, brief his cousin, and get to Sarita Vihar.

The need to collect his getaway money from Leon and be ready to make a run for it now overrode everything else. Clipping on a Bluetooth headset he dialed his cousin as he gunned the car onto the Ring Road. Taking the first U-turn he headed for Sarita Vihar.

 

NINE

Leon was breathing hard and the pain in his elbow was back. Om Chandra was a big man; lugging his body into the bathtub of the master bathroom turned out to be harder than he had thought and did his elbow no good. It took him a moment to realize the doorbell had rung.

Damn!

So Om Chandra had told others he was here.

The doorbell rang again, more insistently this time.

Who? How many?

He pondered as he cat-footed toward the front door.

Get them inside without a fuss, and then deal with them? Or cut and run?

Holding the pistol ready for instant action he peered out through the spy hole.

Vishal was raising his hand to ring the bell again.

What the hell is he doing here so early? He was supposed to come at one.

With a quick look to ensure everything was in order, Leon pushed the pistol back into his waistband and opened the door.

“Thank god you're here.” Vishal's rapid staccato tone betrayed his anxiety. “All hell has broken loose. You're not going to…”

“Want to catch your breath first?” Leon asked with a disarming smile, wanting Vishal with his guard down. “Let me get you a drink.” Leon headed for the refrigerator by the dining table.

It worked. Vishal followed, and pulling out a dining chair, threw himself into it. “Ravinder has the truck driver in custody and has gone to the office to interrogate him.” He gave a low whistle; Leon saw he was badly shaken. “Man! I have
never
seen anyone so angry. I am
pretty
sure he will break Verma down today. Then it's curtains for me.”

At that precise moment Leon made up his mind; he could not let Vishal walk out of this room alive. Verma and the truck driver were of no consequence to Leon; Vishal was the only one who had seen him.

The bundle of cash on the dining table, partly covered by the Nike sling bag, caught Vishal's eye. He perked up. “Ah. You have my money.”

“Of course. I told you I would.”

“How much is it?” Vishal eyed the bag greedily. “I hope it is enough for me to…” He broke off.

“Why don't you count it while I get you a drink?” Leon picked up that Vishal was trying to hide something. Ignoring that since he knew, it did not matter anymore, Leon crossed over to the fridge at the far end of the room. “Coke or Sprite?”

“Coke.” But Vishal was not really paying attention. He had reached across the dining table and pulled the bag closer, opening it. “What is this?” he asked as the microphone rolled free from under the bag. He looked at it, perplexed, and then, shrugging, put it down next to the bag and opened it. “Oh!” Leon heard his dismay. “It is all in rupees. I thought you would give me dollars.”

Vishal must also have done a rapid count because he looked up sharply. Leon saw he was steaming. “This is only two million rupees … thirty thousand dollars.
That's it?
” An angry thump on the table.
“
What the fuck do you think I am? A bloody beggar?” He glared at Leon aggressively, as though ready to jump him.

“Cool it, man.” About to pop the Coke can, Leon paused, convinced it was time to end this. He contemplated dropping the Coke can and going for the pistol in his right pocket.

Or the clicker in his other one?

Luckily, both were armed. He mulled, trying to decide between the two. “Vishal, I got hold of whatever I could arrange in this short time. More is on the way and
that's
in dollars.”

Perhaps he didn't sound convincing enough, or something in Leon's eyes gave away the game.

 

TEN

Vishal sensed Leon's tension; evident in the way Leon's eyes narrowed and his hand tightened on the Coke can. The pistol in his shoulder holster suddenly seemed too inaccessible for Vishal's liking.

“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.”
Vishal again remembered what Ravinder had told them.
“Even the few he used never saw him. The ones that laid eyes on him never lived to tell any tales.”

The first pang of fear hit Vishal. Still not sure why, but Vishal sensed Leon had no intention of letting him walk out of this apartment alive. There was a moment of doubt, more like wishful thinking, then sudden clarity.

Pushing off the dining table Vishal shot to his feet and went for his pistol. Driven by desperation, he was moving fast.

 

ELEVEN

Leon saw Vishal's brow unfurrow and knew the jig was up.

Then Vishal moved incredibly fast, shocking Leon.

Deciding with equal rapidity, Leon dug into his coat pocket for the clicker. He got hold of it immediately. But it caught in his pocket.

Leon fumbled, trying to tug it free.

He saw Vishal had gotten hold of his pistol and was hauling it out; it had already cleared the holster and was coming level fast.

Leon yanked the clicker free.

 

TWELVE

Vishal saw Leon reach into his pocket and believed he, too, was going for a gun.

Stunned by his speed, Vishal knew he would never get his gun out in time.

Desperate to distract Leon and slow him down, Vishal grabbed the microphone on the table with his left hand and chucked it at Leon.

It was an awkward throw, but the microphone didn't have to travel very far. It cartwheeled through the air, headed straight for Leon's face.

 

THIRTEEN

Ravinder threw open the cell door. It crashed into the opposite wall with a loud bang. Kapil Choudhary, who'd been huddled in one corner, shot up, shocked. Ravinder went straight for the jugular. Striding up to Choudhary, he grabbed his collar, hauled him up, and began to rain blows on him.

Choudhary was so stunned by the sudden assault that he was reduced to a whimpering wreck by the time Ravinder threw him back into the chair. The push was so violent that the chair broke.

“You're dead if you don't tell me who hired you.” Ravinder, his eyes murderous slits, towered over the hapless man groveling on the floor.

“I promise you, sahib, I don't know.”