Assassins (40 page)

“Guys, can we have this lesson in international relations and geopolitics later? We have a job to do.” Ravinder cut in, surveying the packed stadium. Though he had been expecting something like this, the full extent of the challenge they faced in stopping Leon struck Ravinder only now. He was overwhelmed.

Picking his way through the crowds he led them to the security control room.

It took them a while to find Aditya Trivedi, the stadium security chief. And he did not look too happy at being found. Obviously the last few days had been trying; Trivedi looked harried and frazzled. “Yes, Mr. Kurup told me to expect you.” He was surly, just short of hostile. “What can I do for you?”

“Could we begin with a security update, please?” Ravinder asked.

“Seriously? You want me to brief you?
Now?
With a match about to start?” Aditya growled. “I have been looking after the security of this stadium for two years.” He wagged an impertinent finger in Ravinder's face. “Nineteen international matches without the smallest incident and now you barge in here and…”

“Perhaps you would like to talk to Mr. Kurup again?” Nostrils flared, Archana jumped in before Ravinder could respond.

That worked like a Molotov cocktail tossed in a smoldering gas station; Ravinder saw Trivedi's face go bright red, as though he was having a seizure. Being threatened by newcomers in the heart of his domain was bad enough. That an upstart female about half his age had done it irked him no end.

“Sure, missy,” Trivedi grated. “Why don't you do that? I have better things to do right now.”

Ravinder realized the situation had escalated needlessly. “Calm down, everybody.” He stepped in between them. “Let's all calm down.”

“I
am
calm,” Trivedi shot back. “Tell the lady here to relax.” He glowered. “Do you realize I have a match—an
Indo-Pak
match—starting in less than two hours?
And
I have the Pakistani PM in attendance, along with God knows who else.”

“That's precisely why we are here.” Ravinder forced himself to stay calm; there was too much at stake and too little time left.

Just then an inspector rushed in. “They have found a bomb in East Hill stand.”

“What?” Trivedi looked as though it had exploded between his legs.

 

FIVE

Leon got rid of the housekeeping lady after making it clear his room was not to be disturbed in his absence, then called room service and ordered breakfast.

Twenty minutes later he was working his way through a bowl of muesli with cold milk, followed by a plate of cheese, ham, and turkey sandwiches. By the time he had downed the coffee Leon felt fortified and the misgivings he'd woken up with had receded. But he felt his nerves getting tauter, normal in the terminal stages of every operation. Today, for some reason, they seemed drawn tighter. The chocolates in the welcome pack by his bedside looked appealing; two of them gave him the sugar rush he craved.

A sudden burst of sound from the television caught his attention. It showed a long shot of the Ferozeshah Kotla stadium. The morning fog had lifted. Almost gone except for some errant wisps hovering over the pitch. Half a dozen teams with rollers were working briskly, smoothening and drying out the ground. The stands were awash with colors. Banners fluttered in the brisk breeze. Also visible were scores of dungaree-clad, gun-toting security men. They were everywhere. And they looked alert.

Leon knew the sheer numbers looked awesome and posed a credible psychological deterrence, but not a foolproof obstacle to a professional.

Have they found either of the sniper rifles or the bombs yet?

He hoped they had and wondered if Ravinder had taken the bait.

Where are you, Ravinder? Stadium or auditorium? Zardosi or Masharrat?

The clock on the stadium's giant scoreboard reminded him of the time.

0957.

Time to move.

He could start out a bit later, but in the past week had realized how unpredictable Delhi traffic could be. The thought of failing to finish the job because he had been stuck in a traffic jam made him smile. Almost.

After a final check to ensure he had everything he needed for the strike and had left no clues behind, Leon shouldered Naug's brown leather wheelie bag, caught hold of the food trolley, and pulled open the door.

As he parked the food trolley along the wall outside his door, he surveyed the corridor. In the distance past the elevator bank, he could see the housekeeping cart and three women heading for the elevator, one in hotel livery. The other two, leotard-clad, looked like they were headed for the gym. The woman in the pink and purple leotard certainly needed gym time, about ten kilos of it.

But nothing else.

No sign of anything out of the ordinary.

Confirming the
DO NOT DISTURB
sign was still in place, Leon watched the door click shut, double-checked it, and then headed for the elevators.

Leon was waiting in the porch for his car, which the valet had paged, when Pramod Jha, the supervisor who had been manning the control room during the night shift, emerged from the staff entrance.

 

SIX

Pramod Jha was crossing over to the two-wheeler parking area where he had left his motorcycle when he spotted Leon. It was the coat that caught his eye—the same coat Leon had worn when he had gone to the toilet last night.

Memory synapses fired, and Pramod recalled not just when he had seen that coat, but also the man who had been wearing it. The APB photographs, lingering on the periphery of his memory, surged to the forefront. But before he could make the connection, one of the night-shift security guards, also going off duty, called out to him.

“Heading home, Boss? Can you give me a lift?”

“Sure, Naresh. Come along.” Pramod knew Naresh lived en route.

“Thanks, Boss. I hope we can get back in time to watch the cricket match.”

Pramod checked the time. “It's about to begin. But we should be able to catch the bulk of it.”

“Hopefully.”

The two got busy chatting as Pramod started the bike and Naresh hopped on. The coat and the man in the corridor early that morning both faded from Pramod's memory.

 

SEVEN

Leon felt Pramod's gaze linger on him; his senses sent up a flare. But by the time he turned, all he saw was two hotel security men in casual conversation. Then the car sent for him by the conference organizers, a swanky gunmetal-colored Lexus, pulled up beside him. And he lost interest in them.

Nerves now as taut as piano wires, Leon got in; aware that from this point on the danger would escalate geometrically. Caught up in a multitude of thoughts, incessantly playing and replaying dozens of contingencies in his head, Leon hardly noticed the city passing him by as they hit the Ring Road and turned left toward Siri Fort auditorium.

“We will be there very soon, sir,” the smart white-liveried chauffeur commented, startling Leon. That is when he noticed there was hardly any traffic.

“How come there is no traffic today?” Based on his experience of Delhi traffic the past week, he'd factored in forty-five minutes for this drive.

“It's the cricket match, sir. India and Pakistan are playing a one-day cricket match today.” He saw the driver's grin, wider in the rear-view mirror.

“I see.” He didn't, though.

“Is cricket popular in your country?”

“Not really.” Leon wasn't quite sure which country the driver was referring to and chose the safer answer to avoid conversation.

“We Indians love cricket.” His grin was broader now. “An Indo-Pak match is a big deal. This one more so because it's the first time we have allowed their team into India since they carried out the terrorist attack on Mumbai. Many people will have taken leave today.”

From the bare roads Leon saw it was a lot more than many people. They were making very good time. Inwardly he grimaced; now he would arrive much earlier than planned. Every additional minute onsite exposed him to more people and enhanced the chances of exposure. The unnecessary risk worried him.

 

EIGHT

Ravinder could see Trivedi was badly shaken by the discovery of the bomb.

“How's that possible?” Trivedi confronted the inspector. “Every stand was swept yesterday and the stadium has been locked down since. No way a bomb could have gotten in.”

Realizing this could be a blessing in disguise, Ravinder tapped Trivedi on the arm. “May I have a word with you? In private.”

Trivedi seemed too dazed to object. Ravinder led him away from the others.

“That's what I wanted to tell you,” Ravinder continued when they were out of earshot of the others. “We have evidence some of your men have sold out.”

“But that is not…”

“Please, Mr. Trivedi,” Ravinder cut him off. “We don't have time. There is going to be an assassination attempt on Zardosi and some of your men have been subverted or compromised. That much is certain. As you yourself pointed out, how could the bombs have gotten in otherwise?”

“One of my men is a traitor?” Trivedi looked devastated. “I'm going to kill him when I find him.”

“Be my guest. But right now let's focus on keeping the Paki PM alive.”

That sank in; Trivedi nodded.

“We need to work together, Mr. Trivedi. That's the only way we can beat this.”

Trivedi nodded again, more vehemently now. “You have my assurance. Please tell me what you know.”

Ravinder gave him a succinct summary.

“Bloody hell!” Trivedi was shocked. “So what do you suggest?”

“Let's do another sweep. Dogs, detectors … the full works.”

“It'll be hellish.” Trivedi surveyed the stands; they were chockablock. Drums and music rocked the stadium. Madly gyrating, skimpily clad cheerleaders were busy hyping up the crowd. “It's a fucking
tamasha
out there. If we set off a panic, hundreds could die in the stampede.”

Even more if a bomb goes off in the crowd.

But Ravinder sensed he didn't need to say that; the thought must have struck Trivedi, too; he looked grave.

“But it has to be done, so let's do it as discreetly as possible … and the sooner we start the better,” Ravinder emphasized. “I suggest we start with the VIP stands and work outward.”

On more certain ground, now that the action required was clear, Trivedi walked back to his lieutenants and began barking out orders. They in turn got onto their radio sets. Soon Ravinder saw teams of khaki-clad men converging on the VIP box.

“How long before the match starts?”

Trivedi checked his watch. “Ninety-five minutes, but the VIPs will be here in an hour.… . at the latest. There's the opening ceremony and the toss; forty-five minutes before the match.”

“Damn!” Ravinder swore. “That's cutting it too fine. We need to move fast.” He turned to Chance and Archana. “Keeping the VIP box as the target, why don't you two work out possible sniper positions and help Mr. Trivedi's men search them.”

“We've done that already, but I think it's a good idea to double-check.” All traces of hostility had evaporated. Trivedi seemed relieved someone else had taken charge. “Let me give you some men.” He called four constables from the control room.

Then Ravinder saw Kurup enter from Gate No. 1 and wave him over. He walked over and together they started toward the VIP box. Ravinder could not help notice how closely the director was scrutinizing him.

 

NINE

Kurup was aware heads would roll if they failed to stop Leon from assassinating either target; his one of them. And he was unsure about Ravinder's stability; only natural considering the man had just lost his wife. Vishal's betrayal and Verma's complicity had shaken them all.

Lousy bastards! I wish we had taken Vishal alive.

“Trivedi's men found a bomb.” Kurup jolted as Ravinder dropped that bombshell in his lap.

“What?
Where?”

“That stand.” Ravinder indicated East Hill stand, to the right of the VIP box.

“How on earth did it get in? I thought the stadium had been swept and sealed off last night.”

“Looks like the handiwork of the blighters in cahoots with Vishal.”

“Any idea who?”

Ravinder shook his head. “We're working on it. But my immediate worry is Leon.” Kurup nodded agreement. “By my reckoning he should already be in the stadium.” Pause. “I would, if I were executing something like this. I would be right out there”—Ravinder swept an arc around the VIP box—“somewhere in striking range.”

Kurup saw doubt on Ravinder's face as he surveyed the teeming, pulsating crowd. The stadium was packed to full capacity and the crowd seemed in the mood to party.

As though to reinforce that, a roar exploded through the stadium. Everyone was cheering. Many were pointing and waving at the gigantic projection screens on all four sides of the stadium. On screen, Kurup saw a knot of colorfully clad people making their way toward the VIP box: Bollywood stars. A couple were waving and smiling at the crowds, exciting them further.

“Damn!” Kurup heard Ravinder mutter. “I hope they don't plan to put Zardosi's journey across the stadium on display.” He slammed an irate fist on the VIP box wall. “We may as well gift-wrap Zardosi and hand him over to Leon.”

“I agree.” Kurup realized they had overlooked that. “Let's ensure that doesn't happen.”

Both started at a rapid trot toward the control room. They had gone a dozen feet when another roar broke out; the picture on the screens changed. Surrounded by dozens of Black Cat commandos, the Indian prime minister could be seen walking alongside Zardosi. They had entered from Gate No. 1 and were making their way across to the VIP stand.