Assassins (43 page)

“Time for lunch, sir.” She came up to him, smiling brightly.

“Quite so.” Leon shut the laptop. “I was about to look for you. Would it be possible for me to test my Mac connections to the projector?”

“That will not be a problem, sir. Everything has been checked and rechecked. You don't need to worry at all.”

“But I would prefer to check for myself,” Leon said a little more insistently.

Deepa shrugged. “If that will make you feel better, certainly, sir. May I go and check if the room is free now?”

“Thank you.” Leon was relieved; this would be the only opportunity for him to plant the equipment since Masharrat's speech was right after lunch, just before Naug's talk.

“Meanwhile, why don't you have some lunch?”

Leon had no desire to mingle with the other speakers clustered around the lunch table. Deepa noticed his hesitation. Mistaking it for shyness or the nervousness that many speakers suffer, she added, “Please allow me to get some for you.”

Brushing aside his protests she went off, returning a few minutes later with a loaded plate. “I got a selection of items since I was not sure what you would prefer. And mostly nonspicy things.” Then she headed out.

Leon had managed a few bites of the delicious Tunde kebabs when Deepa returned. “Sorry, sir, but they're having a special session for some dignitaries in that room right now. That will end in only twenty minutes. However, I have checked with the technical officer and he has assured me you will have no problems connecting your Mac.”

Leon let his disappointment show. Deepa noticed, mistook it for pretalk jitters again, and added, “But you're welcome to check if you still wish to, after that session.” She checked the time. “We will still have about ten minutes before General Masharrat's keynote.”

“That's fine, then.” Leon hid his relief; ten minutes was more than he needed to switch the items on the lectern with his own.

“Would you like to attend the general's keynote, sir?”

“That would be wonderful.” If she hadn't asked, Leon would have.

“Excellent. The first row is reserved for speakers, so you'll have a great seat.”

Leon had studied every word of the speakers' invitations and was aware of that. Though he had also planned for the eventuality where he'd have to trigger the weapon from a distance.

He checked his watch; only five minutes had elapsed.

Fifteen more to go.

His mind began to race ahead, planning each step of the journey: switching the microphone and adaptor, triggering the sarin, use the ensuing confusion to exit and get to the airport. There were no major roadblocks he could visualize.

Splashing some mint sauce on the Tunde kebab, he helped himself to another piece, wondering where Ravinder was.

 

SEVENTEEN

Ravinder was so deeply immersed in thought he realized Kurup was by his side only when he felt the tap on his shoulder.

“We have a sighting.” Kurup looked animated. “Leon was seen at the Leela Palace early this morning.”

Kurup's enthusiasm infected Ravinder as the NIA director brought him up to speed.

“The hotel's security supervisor does not remember the room numbers, but he is confident he can point them out. He should be back at the hotel soon. Then we will know which room Leon was spotted coming out from, the one he went to, and who they both are registered to.”

“Brilliant!” Ravinder was excited.

A roar filled the stadium. The crowd was on its feet as another Pakistani wicket fell. Again Ravinder was reminded Leon could be somewhere out there, in the seventy thousand people crammed into the stadium, biding his time, and waiting for the right moment to strike.

And we still don't know how … those bombs and that sniper rifle don't jell … something is wrong … what was he doing at the Leela?

His unease affected Kurup. “I know what you're thinking, Ravinder.” The director was equally somber. “Binder could be out there right now. Moving in for the kill.”

Ravinder nodded. “And we still don't know which of Trivedi's men have been compromised … or how Leon plans to use them.”

“What have we here?” The excited voice of the commentator tugged at his attention. “It looks like Dhoni is keen to exploit these early wickets and is going for the kill. He has given the ball to Ashwin.”

Ashwin! Ashwin!

Bluffmaster! Bluffmaster!

Pack off the Pakis!

Send them home, Bluffmaster!

The crowd was up on its feet now. With only a hundred and eleven runs on the board and six wickets down, the Pakistani tail had been exposed. Another one or two quick wickets and the game was pretty much lost; with the Indian batsmen in form, anything below two hundred runs on the board was certain hara-kiri. Pakistan needed at least two-fifty to pose a credible challenge.

Still preoccupied, trying to pinpoint what he'd missed, Ravinder watched Ashwin run up to the wicket; it was a short, almost lazy run-up. Ashwin released the ball with a gentle flick. Ravinder watched it hit the ground just before the batsman and then spin, arcing wildly in the air. The bat missed it by a mile. There was a collective intake of breath as it snicked past the wicket, missing off-stump by a whisker.

Dhoni had a wicked smile on his face as he collected the ball behind the wicket and tossed it to Tendulkar, who in turn threw it back to Ashwin. Understandably so—Ashwin was known for his uncanny ability to outthink and outmaneuver even the most seasoned batsmen.

The Pakistani tail-ender was feeling the pressure, though he forced a smile when his compatriot at the other end, the only top-ranking batsmen who had survived thus far, said something to him.

The Indian players did not need to guess he had told the tail-ender to take a single and get to the non-striker's end; they closed in on the batsman, adding to the pressure.

Bluffmaster. Bluffmaster. Pack off the Pakis.

The crowd egged Ashwin back to his starting point.

Ravinder saw Ashwin swivel slowly, surveying the field. Then he gave the batsman a smile, the sort a python gives to a rabbit before devouring it.

Despite the tension about Leon, Ravinder could not take his eyes off the players.

Ashwin knew the batsman was wondering where the ball would land—full or short; flighted or flat—and which way it would spin, or if it would spin at all. Both knew the better part of the game was played in the head; that's where matches are lost and won.

And I own the head. Even yours
, Ashwin's smile seemed to be saying.

Watching him on the giant screen, gently rotating the ball in his hand whilst he smiled the batsman to death, Ravinder got a sense why Ashwin had such a deadly reputation.

Then Ashwin moved. Again that leisurely run-up and gentle flick as the ball shot out of his hand. It flew across, deceptively slow, landed well short of the batsman and then shot forward, but hugging the ground. The hapless tail-ender had no chance; it was the sort of ball that would have left far better batsmen gasping; he watched it crash into the center wicket.

“Bowled him,”
the commentator roared. “That one rattled his cage.”

The crowd was on its feet again.

Tendulkar did a victory jig.

Dhoni pumped the air.

Ashwin smiled; again that soft, barely discernible, deceptively lazy smile.

Pack off the Pakis.

Give us another one, Bluffmaster.

Head down, the Pakistani tail-ender began the long walk back to the pavilion. The batsmen at the order end banged his bat on the ground to vent his frustration.

And Ashwin kept smiling. No theatrics. No dramatics. Just that beatific smile.

It was Ashwin's smile that turned the trick. Ravinder knew where he had seen such a smile before: it had been Leon's trademark, whenever he bested anyone at chess.

And Ravinder
knew
he had been duped. Outplayed. Outmaneuvered.

 

EIGHTEEN

Leon checked his watch again; it seemed to be crawling. Fifteen of the twenty minutes promised by Deepa had elapsed. But it seemed much longer.

By now Leon's nerves were stretched to the max. He craved action. Forcing himself to calm down, he fought the urge to get moving.

Across the room he could see Deepa in a cluster of other similarly clad liaison officers. He threw several mental barbs at her, willing her to turn and look at him. But Deepa was engrossed with her colleagues and the plates of food between them. Aching with impatience, but unwilling to attract attention, he decided to wait another few minutes.

 

NINETEEN

Ravinder was momentarily stunned by the realization that Leon might have bested him.

I'm in the wrong place.

No! It cannot be.

But, from all those years ago, the sight of Edward and Leon huddled over the chessboard, by the fireplace of their London apartment, kept rebounding to the forefront of his memory. Of Edward smacking his forehead with his palm as Leon checkmated him. And Leon smiling that inimitable smile. Just like Ashwin had been giving the Pakistani batsmen.

Bluff and counterbluff. Leon never did the obvious.

“Which was the hotel again?” Ravinder spun around on Kurup. “Where they spotted Leon.”

“The Leela Palace. Why?”

This time the name clicked. “Isn't that where most of the conference delegates are staying?”

“Yes.
Damn!
” Kurup's brow unfurrowed. “
Masharrat
.” He looked thunderstruck. “Binder is going for Masharrat?”

It was not really a question, but Ravinder nodded. “Why else would he go to that particular hotel? I'm guessing he plans to enter the conference disguised as a delegate. Perhaps one of the delegates is helping him out.”

“That's possible. Give me a second.” Kurup brought his mobile into action. Three quick calls. The third caller put him on hold. Minutes began to tick away. Agonizingly.

Ravinder could hear Kurup cracking his knuckles against his thigh. Despite the cold, Kurup was sweating. Ravinder checked the urge to start wearing out the floor; instead he used his smartphone to access the schedules and details of both targets and venues; Archana had stored them on his Dropbox.

The caller must have returned; Ravinder heard Kurup bark, “Are you sure?” Ravinder wished he could hear the other half of the conversation. “Damn sure? Okay. Fine. Go find him.”

When Kurup put down the phone he looked shaken. “Bloody hell! That room Leon was spotted coming out from belongs to Professor Naug, a scientist who is scheduled to…”

“Speak after Masharrat,” Ravinder completed, reconfirming it from the conference schedule. “Where's the professor now?”

“Last seen leaving the hotel in a car sent by the conference organizers.”

“So we assume he is either a willing accomplice or Leon has duped him into cooperating. Either way we need to find him.”

“I'll tell them to do so right away.”

“And the other room?”

“Registered in the name of one Noel Rednib, a British national.”

“Noel Rednib.” Ravinder thoughtfully repeated the name a couple of times; it seemed familiar. “Bloody hell! The gall of the man. That's Leon Binder spelt backwards.” He smashed his fist on the seat back; it was as though Leon was taunting them, challenging Ravinder to find him. “We have him now.”

Kurup's mobile sprang to life again. “They saw him leave? What about … okay. I understand. Get hold of a warrant, then, and search that room, too.” He turned to Ravinder. “The hotel staff saw the professor leave and Leon's room is empty.” Kurup looked morose. “They want a warrant before they let us search the professor's room.”

“How did they let them search Leon's without one?”

“My men got lucky; it was already open and housekeeping was cleaning it. But Naug's has a ‘Do Not Disturb' sign on it and the professor specifically told housekeeping not to clean it till he got back.”

“A warrant should not take long.”

“No, it won't.” Kurup looked really upset. “But by now I'm sure Leon is inside Siri Fort already or will be soon.”

“I think so, too.” Ravinder felt his excitement peak; they finally had the break they desperately needed. “We have to ensure he doesn't leave Siri Fort alive.”

“I get that, but I will not allow Masharrat to get on the stage. I cannot take any chances with that,” Kurup said resolutely.

“I agree.” Ravinder knew the director was right. Ravinder was equally reluctant to tempt fate. “Though, knowing Leon, I am not sure how safe Masharrat would be even otherwise, with Leon loose inside the auditorium.”

“I think so, too. I plan to move him out right away. To somewhere safer.”

“Unplanned transit protection is always dicey,” Ravinder pointed out. “Till we can plan a properly secured exit, it might be better to hold him in a secure room, double the guard, and ensure nothing gets in or out. Also, if I were you, I'd move that bugger straight to the airport and send him back to whatever hole he crawled out of.”

“I wish.” Despite the tension Kurup grinned. “But I agree with the need for a planned exit.” He reached for his mobile to put things in motion.

“Please make sure they keep it quiet,” Ravinder cautioned. “We don't want to spook Binder … I want that bastard alive.”

“Easy, Ravinder. Don't take this personally, we have to…”

“We have to find him and bring him in.” Ravinder grated back. “That bastard killed my wife. It does
not
get any more personal.”

Kurup made to speak, but Ravinder cut him off with a raised palm. “Please. I got into this because of you.” Kurup reluctantly subsided. “What time is Masharrat scheduled to go onstage? One thirty, right?”