Assassins (39 page)

Peering out from behind the plastic business-card holder was the photograph of a smiling blond woman in her mid-thirties, with two equally blond and cheerful eight-year-old girls. From the dossier complied by Hakon, Leon recognized them as Naug's family. The picture made Leon pause; he wondered what they were doing.

Hopefully not expecting Naug to call any time soon.

Leon needed to ensure Naug's body was not discovered till four p.m. the next day. By then he would have cleared Indian airspace. But he knew several factors were beyond his control. The operation had now entered the terminal stage and he would have to act and react as the situation evolved. Much as one would want it otherwise, as in every battle, chance would now play a significant and increasing role in the proceedings. Now even an overzealous housekeeper who ignored the
DO NOT DISTURB
sign on the door could tilt the balance against him. Leon knew he needed to be extra alert now; the smallest slip could cost his life.

Without meaning to, Leon glanced at his watch: a little past ten. He did not need to calculate; in a few hours both his targets would be in town. In sixteen hours Masharrat would be down and Leon would be clear of this mess.

Or dead.

No way. No damn way.

This time I will not fail. I cannot.

But the words rang hollow. A strange sense of foreboding swamped him. Leon tried hard, but was unable to get rid of it.

Those bastards, Ravinder and Edward, must pay for everything they did to me.

A cold smile fled across his face.

Whether Benazir's vendetta brought satisfaction to Fatima's crowd or not, it would certainly appease mine. They'd look like fools when I cut down the target from right under their nose.

The long pent-up hate was still simmering in his head as he threw himself on the bed and tried to catch a nap. But sleep refused to oblige. Whether he looked forward or backward, it was riddled with restlessness. Conflicted and filled with doubt, Leon tossed and turned.

 

TWENTY-FIVE

Ravinder was unable to sleep, though emotionally drained and physically exhausted. This was the first time he had been alone since morning and he welcomed the solitude. For the first time he was able to put away the mask, not worry about being strong for anyone and allow himself to feel. His grief and pain begged for release, yet lay trapped inside, like a piece of meat trapped in the windpipe, choking him. Ravinder
wanted
to cry but could not.

Perhaps later … after all this is over. Right now I need to focus and ensure Leon doesn't succeed … or get away. He needs to pay for Simran and Goel.

For the umpteenth time he wondered where Leon was and what he was up to. Also if they were right about the target he would strike at.

Is it really Zardosi?

Ravinder weighed the evidence again and again.

I can't afford to be wrong.

He was worrying about that when he heard Jasmine come out of her bedroom and head down, her slippered feet making a soft slapping sound on the stairs. Then he heard her moving around in the living room, the sound echoing dully through the huge empty bungalow.

She has held herself together so well.

He again felt a surge of pride at the way she had taken charge.

Then Simran's caution tugged at him. “Don't get fooled by that tough act she puts on. Jasmine is a softie at heart. Watch out for her, Ravinder.”

Worry returned. So did the thought that he was not living up to his promise.

He got up to go downstairs and check on her, but sensing she, too, needed to be alone, he lay down again, paralyzed by an admixture of grief, worry, and the need to give her space.

Some time later he heard her come up the stairs and return to her room.

Then silence returned to the house.

Sleep followed a while later. With it came the nightmares.

Yet again Ravinder heard the truck engine revving loudly and saw it bearing down on Jasmine's car. He felt the shock as it struck and saw Jasmine's car being thrown forward. And Simran smash through the windscreen, fly over the hood, and hit the road. He saw her rise shakily and then with gathering strength walk back toward the shattered car. Midway she crumpled.

As she fell, she turned her bloodied face toward Ravinder and looked at him beseechingly. And Ravinder realized with horror that it was not Simran at all. It was Farah Fairfowler. And she was glaring at him.

Angry?

Pleading for help?

Accusingly?

Then, engine revving madly, the truck sped past. But now Leon was at the wheel, sneering and shaking a fist at Ravinder as he drove past.

And the ICU monitor flat-lined; its irritating but comforting beep mutating into a horrible whine of protest.

Ravinder's heart was pounding when he jerked awake. Thereafter he could not fall asleep again. Not properly. He lay there spent, dropping in and out of an uneasy sleep, watching the sky outside darken till the darkness was complete. Then slowly, uneasily, it began to lighten up again.

 

DECEMBER

27

 

ONE

Leon was not sure what woke him—probably the icy room temperature and that he had kicked off the comforter while sleeping. He was shivering with cold and bursting to pee.

The bedside clock showed 3:43 a.m.

Groggy with sleep, he stumbled into the bathroom and was unzipping when he spotted Naug's body in the bathtub. The dead man's face had collapsed and he looked deflated. And he seemed to be staring at Leon. Plaintively.

Reality returned with the abruptness of a 440-volt jolt to his nervous system. Unable to relieve himself Leon rushed out of the bathroom. But his bladder was killing him. And the surgical gloves he had fallen asleep wearing were itching. Resisting the urge to remove them he threw on Naug's coat, which he had readied for the next day, and hurried across to his room at the end of the corridor.

Still half asleep, Leon forgot he was wearing the disguise he'd used whilst renting the Sarita Vihar apartment: photograph number two on the APB. He'd meant to change out of it last night, into the Naug persona, but had drifted off.

The bigger mistake was to forget about the security cameras that monitor every nook and cranny of most hotels.

Pramod Jha, the supervisor manning the security control room, could not have failed to spot Leon; he was the only guest moving about at that unearthly hour. Not only did he see him, but Pramod also noticed his resemblance to the APB, which had been circulated by the Delhi Police to all security personnel of all hotels, and was now taped to the wall above the bank of CCTV monitors.

But luck was still riding pillion with Leon. At that late hour, watching over a slumbering hotel, Pramod was sluggish with sleep and the camera image was fleeting enough to preclude certain identification. Perhaps, like most human beings, Pramod was also not expecting trouble, not in
his
hotel and certainly not on
his
watch. Even when he saw Leon make his way back a few minutes later Pramod failed to make the connection between the man on the monitor and the APB stuck above it.

Blissfully ignorant of his mistake and the lucky break he had caught, Leon made his way back to Naug's bed and tumbled into it. Aware that he had a long day ahead of him and needed to be on top of his game, he fell asleep again.

 

TWO

Ravinder could not stay in bed any longer, even though he knew he needed the rest. Feeling sluggish and unrested, but simmering with anticipation, he got out of bed when the grandfather clock struck six.

It was a typical Delhi winter morning: still dark outside; a leaden gray fog shrouding everything, reducing visibility to a few feet.

A stinging hot shower coaxed life back into his tired limbs. Forcing himself not to think of Simran as he got dressed, Ravinder headed down to the living room. The haunting fragrance of incense greeted him. He was about to ring for the maid to get him breakfast when his eye fell upon Simran's portrait mounted in the center of the family vanity wall.

So that's what Jasmine was doing last night.

Done a few months ago, during their last trip to Punjab, it was a good painting; the artist had captured her mood. Simran looked content and at peace.

Ravinder realized he was crying when he felt a tear trickle down his jawline.

“Isn't Mom looking lovely?”

Ravinder started; he had not heard Jasmine enter. “Yes. Yes, she is.” He did not turn to face Jasmine, unwilling to let her see his tears.

But she came up and gave him a hug. “We are so busy being strong for each other … both of us need to let go.” Jasmine began sobbing. “I miss Mom.”

Ravinder felt the dam within burst. All the pain he had been damming up came hurtling out. They clung to each other and were still crying when the maid entered several minutes later. She stumbled to an embarrassed halt and hurried out, but both had sensed her presence and their moment of shared pain and release evaporated.

By the time they reached the breakfast table, both were back in control. Ravinder wasn't hungry, but he was aware that he had a long day ahead and would be plagued by headaches if he didn't eat, so he forced down an orange juice, some scrambled egg, bacon, and toast. Jasmine picked at her food, but she was at the door when he was leaving. And she seemed resolute again.

“You planning to step out anywhere today?” Jasmine's headshake brought him relief. “Excellent. Get some rest.”

“I will.” She forced a smile. “And you make sure you get back … as soon as you can.”

“That's a promise, Princess.”

“I'll hold you to that. And Dad, make them pay.” Her request, almost a command, followed him out to the Bimmer.

Resolve reinforced, Ravinder told the driver, “Ferozeshah Kotla stadium. Go via the office. We have to pick up Archana and Chance.”

Without meaning to, he touched the pistol in his coat pocket. He carried it because he'd promised Jasmine, but he was not sure he wanted it to see action.

 

THREE

Leon reached for the phone out of habit. He had already picked up the call when he realized he was in Naug's room, not his own. A robotic voice informed him it was time to wake up. He did. And this time, despite his distaste, he used the bathroom to get ready. But it was eerie; even after closing the shower curtain to hide away Naug, Leon felt the dead man's stare. It compounded his unease.

Forcing himself to blank out everything, he focused on the makeup, using Naug's photo to ensure he got the details right. That took the better part of an hour. He was almost done when the phone began to ring. Leon knew he could not ignore it though it could be someone known to Naug, his wife, or it could also be the conference organizers. Hoping it was the latter, Leon answered.

“Hei. Du ikke ringe?”
Leon had no idea what she meant, but guessed from her plaintive tone the woman was complaining about something in Norwegian.

“Hello,” he answered. “The professor has already left for the conference.”

“Oh. I see.” The caller switched, her English fluent, with only a slight accent. “Please let him know his wife called.”

“I'll do that, ma'am.”

“And ask him to call me back, please,” she added before ringing off.

Leon was about to breathe easy when the phone rang again.

“Good morning, Professor. This is Amit from New India Times Summit. I wanted to check if you would be joining us for breakfast at the auditorium, or would you prefer to come in later?”

“Later, please.” Leon copied the tone and pitch he had heard Naug use during a TV interview and a TEDx talk he had pulled off the Internet. The hours of practice paid off; Leon was happy with the ease with which he lapsed into Naug's voice. “I am tired from the flight and will come later.”

“That is perfectly fine, sir. Your car will be waiting. Please ask the valet to page it when you're ready.”

“Thank you.”

Now Leon knew there was one final hurdle to cross before he left the hotel. Rechecking his makeup, he got dressed in Naug's suit, reviewed the equipment he had packed in Naug's conference bag, and settled down to wait for the housekeeping staff. He had to ensure they would not enter the room, at least not till evening.

 

FOUR

Ravinder was surprised at the crowd thronging the Ferozeshah Kotla stadium. Despite the early hour there was a mile-long queue at the entrance and cars were backed up bumper to bumper for twice as many miles. It was going to be a full house.

Entering from Gate No. 1, they headed for the security control room, located at the far end of the East Hill stand.

“Good Lord!” Chance looked around, overwhelmed. Though the match was due to start only a couple of hours later, the stadium was already jam-packed. Bollywood music was blaring and cheerleaders of both teams, mostly young Caucasian women, could be seen practicing at opposite ends of the stadium. Cries of hawkers selling soft drinks, snacks, Indian flags of all sizes, and an assortment of trumpets and drums filled the air. “And I thought it was only we Brits who were so crazy about cricket.”

“Seriously? Well, just FYI, we have two primary religions in India: cricket and Bollywood.” Beside him, Archana laughed. “And when it is an India-Pakistan match”—she gave a wolf whistle—“it is nothing short of war.”

“What's with you guys and Pakistan? Don't you think it's time to let bygones be bygones?” Ravinder heard Chance murmur; he was still surveying the teeming stadium.

“Right!” Archana gave him her sweetest smile. “Just like you Brits and the Irish have done?” Chance smiled at her sarcasm. “Besides, we Indians don't have a problem with Pakistan, as long as they stay out of our hair,” Archana continued. “Most Indians don't give a damn what happens in Pakistan, we would rather focus on our economic development, but for Pakistan, it's a different story. You must understand, Chance, that Pakistan is possibly the only country that came into being based on the rejection of another state. The powers that be in Pakistan, their army and intelligence service, will never allow peace between the two countries because that would reduce their importance and thus their hold over Pakistani society and politics. That's why they have never allowed Indo-Pak relations to stabilize … not in the last sixty years … even at the cost of using terrorism as a weapon of state policy, even though that's tearing their own country apart now. All the crap that's going on in Pakistan now is merely a result of their own stupidity. But it suits the generals in power.”