Assassins (9 page)

Unable to resist the sudden urge for contact, pulling out her mobile she called her cousin to check on Zaki.

“He misses you, Fatima. Almost every hour he asks when you will be back.”

“Aww.” She felt her heart lurch. “Put my baby on.” And everything faded into insignificance the minute she heard Zaki's excited yell. “When are you coming back, Mommy? Where are you? What are you getting for me?”

She was glowing when she finished answering his questions and finally ended the call, reluctantly. And the pain in her heart was physical, as strong as the urge to hold her boy close.

No more. Once this is over I will not leave him alone.

Fatima grimaced as she realized how much of her life had been sucked away by this vendetta.

But I have to do this. For Zaki … his father, and the sister he never got to see … and for Aunt Benazir.

Anger swept aside everything else.

Just a few more days.

Gritting her teeth she called Vishal and told him to meet her after he had met Leon.

“But that is going to be very late.” Vishal was speaking in a hushed tone; she sensed he was with people.

“I don't care how late it is.” Like Leon, Fatima had decided information signified power and control. She was determined to keep an eye on things. On the hunter
and
the hunted.

 

ELEVEN

Jasmine sensed something was amiss when she walked into the living room. The atmosphere in the stable-size room was like half-melted ice cream, thick and cold.

Simran had planned the room as a display window for their royal heritage. And she had spared no expense, compensating for the relative frugality she had been forced to show in the officially allotted houses they had lived in whilst Ravinder had been in police service.

The ceiling was twenty-four feet high, with a pristine white marble floor and ice blue, nearly white walls. The room was massive, like a royal audience hall. Huge sofa sets, adequate to seat twenty people, occupied three sides of the room. The fourth side had two elegant mahogany doors, one on either side. The outer one that led to the porch was the guest entrance. The second led to the kitchen and service area. Centered on the wall, between the two doors, was the life-size portrait of a grim-looking Sikh gentleman, Ravinder's grandfather and the last maharaja. Arrayed around this were dozens of photographs of both arms of the family in all their regal finery. The family vanity wall, as Ravinder referred to it, was Simran's pride and joy. A well-coordinated array of Persian carpets, large brass flowerpots, and other knickknacks were tastefully distributed around the room.

Jasmine, who'd been bursting to share with them news of her acceptance for the Master of Laws program by three American law schools groaned inwardly when she spotted Simran's stiff posture and icy glare. Ravinder, looking equally distressed, was tiredly pacing the room. He stopped in mid-sentence when he saw Jasmine.

“What's going on, Dad? Mom?” Jasmine gave them a questioning look.

“Your father is losing his marbles.” Simran threw Ravinder an angry look. “Why don't you tell her what you've agreed to do? Let's see what she has to say.”

Jasmine noticed Ravinder's face was bright red. In light of the doctor's warning a fortnight ago, that alarmed her. “I think that can wait, Mom.” Taking Ravinder's arm she led him to a sofa. “Why don't you sit down, Dad? Looks like your blood pressure is acting up again. Didn't the doctor tell you to take it easy?”

“That is
precisely
the point,” Simran raged. “Despite that, your father has decided to take on another case … to stop some assassinations … and that too he is going to be working with that rascal Kurup from the NIA.”

What the hell?

Jasmine was stunned. Kurup and his accusations against Ravinder for failing to protect the Peace Summit was a hot topic in the Gill house. There were no points for guessing that Suresh Kurup was not high on their dinner invitation list. Jasmine's instincts screamed at her to ally with her mother. But worry about Ravinder's health and their collective peace of mind trumped that. She knew this wasn't the time to allow her emotions to take charge.

“And the worst is, he refuses to even tell me what he's going to do.” Simran's anger had spiraled out of control. “That's why I know it's dangerous … he always…”

“Guys, guys.” Jasmine mustered her most soothing tone. “Could we take a moment? Have a cup of tea … and calm down a bit.”

“Calm down?” Jasmine saw Simran's lips thin out and knew she was on the verge of going thermonuclear. “How can…”

“
Mom!
” Jasmine realized that came out a lot sharper than she had intended. Both Ravinder and Simran looked startled. And Simran looked offended, too; no one spoke to her like that.

Realizing she'd gone too far, Jasmine took a deep breath. Contrite. Softened. “Mom.
Please.
I'm sorry. I didn't mean to raise my voice, but getting worked up is not going to help anyone.” Her mind whirling, she rang for the maid and ordered tea.

It came and was consumed in uncomfortable silence. But the stress in the room had abated, enough to permit a nearly civil conversation.

Half an hour later, the facts lay bare before Jasmine. She felt strange; having to arbitrate between her parents was a new and quite nerve-racking experience. As a lawyer in training, she now got a sense of what it was like to be a judge; to make decisions with the pressure of getting it right, every time. It discomfited her.

Glad that's not going to happen to me any time soon.

Realizing she was procrastinating, Jasmine focused. Ravinder's decision to reenter the fray dismayed her. Jasmine was aware Ruby's death had been a tremendous shock for him. That she'd died at his hands had all but killed Ravinder. She had seen how hard he'd struggled to hold it together, especially during the inquiry that followed. Though Ravinder never spoke about it, Jasmine sensed his self-esteem and confidence had both taken a massive beating.

Yet …
Jasmine could see the change; now his shoulders were level and, though he looked worried and stressed, that familiar, determined gleam was back in his eyes. Jasmine sensed Ravinder needed to do this. Badly. She decided to help. If he succeeded, the father she hero-worshiped and doted on would be back.

If he fails …
Jasmine pushed away that awful thought and turned to her mother.

“Mom, I understand where you are coming from.” Simran, sitting straight as a soldier, shimmered with righteous anger. “I know it's only concern for Dad's health, which is upsetting you. But let's look at it from his point of view, too.”

“
What. Point. Of. View.”
Each word was delivered explosively. “Are you
supporting
him?” Jasmine saw her fighting for control, incredulous. “What do
you
know? You're just a child.”

“I am
not
a child, mom.” Jasmine kept a tight leash on her anger, but was firm. “And I worry for
both
of you.” Simran made to speak, but Jasmine headed her off. “No, Mom, please allow me to finish.” A shocked Simran subsided in her chair. “We've all gone through so much in the past few months. Especially Dad … we've both seen what he has been through. And yes, we are both worried about his health,
but
…”

“No buts, Jasmine,” Simran interrupted coldly. “I will
not
sit back and allow my husband to self-destruct. He has done enough and given enough for his precious uniform. And it has gotten him nothing …
nothing
but trouble and hurt.”

“Mom, do you remember when I was learning to ride and fell off the horse on the very first day?” Jasmine was not sure where the words came from. But she sensed that if she did not get the situation in check, it would spiral out of control. And without knowing why, she knew she had it in her to do so. “You remember how badly my leg had been hurt?”

Simran nodded, puzzled. “So?”

“I still remember what you did the next day. You told me to get back on the horse.
Don't let your fears stop you from doing what you need to.
That's what you told me, Mom. Likewise, today if Dad needs to do this, we must support him.”

Jasmine saw her parents staring at her. Despite the tension-ridden atmosphere, there was, as always, love in their eyes. Today, along with the surprise, there was something else, too.

Respect?

A wave of warmth swamped Jasmine. Her bubble of self-confidence and poise burst. Knowing she was about to tear up, she left the room hurriedly.

 

TWELVE

Ravinder was unable to keep the pride out of his voice. “Simran, our baby has grown up.”

Simran could not look away from the door slowly swinging shut behind Jasmine. “Yes, she has.” She sounded subdued.

Ravinder sensed her confusion; knowing Jasmine was right, and yet disliking the implications. “Jasmine is right.” He added gently, “I
need
to do this, Simran. Please.” Simran stiffened. “I need your support, Simran.” He was barely audible now. “I need to find myself again.
Please.
”

Ravinder saw her look away. Torn. But she was silent. Finally, in a low, hesitant tone, as though not sure if she should voice the fear at all, she said, “I have always supported you, but … what if you…” Simran was unable to complete the sentence.

For a very long moment that fear hung between them. Dark and heavy, like a rain-laden cloud.

“I will not fail,” Ravinder said firmly. “I
cannot
.” That last word was expelled forcefully. “If I pull back now … if I don't finish this, I will not be able to live with myself.”

Silence returned.

When Simran finally looked up, Ravinder saw desperation in her eyes, and a compelling need to leave this moment behind.

“You are right. Our baby has grown up,” Simran said loudly. Much louder than usual, as though keen to drown out the thoughts plaguing her. “This is the first time I have seen her like this.”

Relief hissed through him. He knew Simran well enough to know he had just received her support, though she would not say it out loud. Not just yet, anyway. He smiled, grateful for that, and the diversion. “I know what you mean. For a moment there, I could have sworn that was you talking.”

Simran gave a wan smile. “Haven't I been telling you that we need to find a boy for her and get her married?”

“There you go again.” Ravinder was relieved to see her smile. “But I hear you. And between the two of us I think you're the best person to do so. You obviously have much better taste in spouses than I do.”

They both laughed. The laughter submerged the tension. But not too deep. Ravinder sensed it lay just beneath a wafer-thin layer. And would linger there, just waiting to break surface, till this whole thing was over.

As if to reinforce that, Simran said, “I still think it's a lousy idea, Ravinder.” Then, after a longer pause. “I have a really bad feeling about this mission of yours.”

Ravinder didn't know how to respond; he was feeling lousy, too, but he knew he couldn't
not
do it.

So be it.

Ravinder knew his best bet was to wrap up this messy operation
fast
.

Where are you, Leon Binder?

Knowing Leon, he was aware the hunt would be hard. And deadly.

Cross-country, chess, shooting, boxing … no matter what …
Ravinder remembered Leon had always bested him.
Except fencing …
but even that had been a close thing; Leon had won as often as he had lost.

Yet there is no way but forward. Damned if I don't. Maybe even if I do. But at least there is a chance if I try. I must. I
have
to.

Ravinder steeled himself for the hunt.

 

THIRTEEN

Leon knew he needed to find another, safer place to stay. The Sarita Vihar serviced apartment did not give him good vibes. Though, when he broke it down, he could not find any specific problem with it. Located in a middle-class residential complex, the apartment was secluded, was safe from prying eyes and, most important, in addition to the main entrance, had two possible exit points, which would be invaluable in case of an emergency.

It's that damn landlord.

Om Chandra gave him the creeps. Leon had learned to trust his instincts. That's what had saved him so many times.

Especially that day in Istanbul.

Suddenly Leon realized why Om Chandra was making him so uneasy; he closely resembled the owner of the service apartment Leon had hired in Istanbul when he had been engaged to take out that diamond merchant.

What
was
his name?

Leon tried hard, but twenty-six years had rolled by and the names had been eradicated from his memory: of the diamond merchant he had terminated and of the landlord he'd hired the safe house from.

Funny! Both of them almost got me killed and now I can't even remember their names.

An ironic laugh escaped him.

Luckily he had been alert that day. The landlord's shiftiness had first alerted Leon. That's when he began to notice all the telltale signs: the landlord was sweating profusely, exhibiting a twitch on his right side, repeatedly checking his watch, and constantly peering out the window. When Leon heard cars screech to a halt outside, he'd been sure. By time the cops broke in, the snitch was dead and Leon gone. Vanished in the byways of Istanbul.

That was the last time Leon had operated from a single safe house. Since then, having one secure base per tactical identity was an essential part of his SOP. For this mission Leon needed at least two. And, if he managed to find time, three.