THE HUNT FOR KOHINOOR BOOK 2 OF THE THRILLER SERIES FEATURING MEHRUNISA (14 page)

Islamabad, Pakistan

Tuesday 9:01 a.m.

R.P. Singh woke up with a jolt as the bus shuddered
to a stop at a traffic signal.

He peered out of the dusty windowpane and figured they were on the outskirts of Islamabad. His watch showed nine o’clock. Since worry wasn’t helping he had forced himself to sleep – a tough day lay ahead. As he stood up to stretch his legs, he reckoned the twelve-hour journey had awakened bones in his body he was unaware of.

Twelve hours after, would Mehrunisa still be in Lahore? The bus would halt at Islamabad for a half-hour break. He would use the time to connect with Pradhan, maybe use a public telephone booth if his–

His phone rang. Crouching in his seat, Singh listened to Pradhan’s tense voice intercut with static. In his mind’s eye he saw dense smoke that shifted to reveal bloodied soil, dismembered bodies and stunned faces. Mehrunisa had survived the assault, but it was only the first…

The bleak sky matched the pallor of his face as he trudged to the driver to consult him on motorcycle rentals. Change of plans. Instead of continuing south to Lahore he was to head eighty kilometres north of Islamabad to Murree – a bike would give him the flexibility he needed. The assailant was on her heels and Singh was in a race against him.

Murree, Pakistan

Tuesday 9:19 a.m.

The mountain loomed in front of them, steep,
stony,
bare of vegetation. It was daubed with snow, thickly in parts, except for the relentless peak that loomed over them. It made for an unlikely hiding place. And the inclement weather would make it impossible to stay warm – unless Aziz Mirza had made a second home in a cave. Raghav had the same thought as he turned from his examination
of the cliffside.

‘Likely, Aladdin’s in his cave.’

A narrow dirt trail wove its way precipitously up the cliffside. The approach was steep and Mehrunisa led the way. Thankfully Raghav’s old-fashioned notions of propriety did not make him a chauvinist and he was happy to let her take charge where she had expertise. She used her stick to test the ground in front before stepping forward. ‘Look for darkened or shiny spots and avoid them,’ she instructed. ‘Those are ice patches, slippery.’

The slow trudge was exhausting and dangerous. The mountain rose steeply on the left, to the right was a sheer drop, leaving them with little space to manoeuvre on the slippery trail. Would they find Aziz Mirza in a cave, trapped there by a genie of his own making? The Sajjada Nasheen had been helpful but Mirza might not be. What if he refused to divulge anything? Worse, didn’t buy their story in the first place? How would Mehrunisa convince him that she was her father’s daughter – yes, how, when she herself had difficulty processing that thought? The rumination was not helping and she brushed it aside. She stuck her tongue out to see if it would catch a snowflake. Soon the inside of her cheeks was icy and she clamped her mouth shut and contemplated the powdery snow softly piling up. They had been walking for half an hour, time in which they had encountered no one, not even another monkey. A breeze had picked up, its wheezing growing steadily as they climbed higher. Ahead was a sharp bend and a whistling sound. Rounding it, they were surprised. The mountain banked deeply to the left and the ledge opened onto a plateau beyond which lay a natural cave. A brisk wind lashed flurry and pitted the fallen snow.

Raghav had his gun in his hand as they approached the cave. The mouth was six feet wide, equally tall, its jaw fringed with icicles. Inside, Mehrunisa shone her torchlight. The cave opened out considerably and the roof was at least ten feet high. But there was no one inside and a close inspection showed no sign of habitation.

‘Strange,’ Raghav muttered. ‘He can’t just disappear.’

‘What do you mean?’ Mehrunisa asked.

‘Well, if Basheer drops supplies at the bottom of the mountain, Aziz Mirza has to be able to access them quickly. Which means his hideout is located nearby. Now we’ve trudged up half the mountain and this is the first spot where someone can actually seek shelter, both from the weather and intruders. But,’ he swung his left hand in an arc through the cave, ‘as you see, it’s empty.’

‘Perhaps there’s another cave,’ Mehrunisa shrugged. ‘One less obvious.’

‘Where?’ Raghav quizzed.

Mehrunisa swung her torch using the powerful beam to cut through the dimness. The cave was a natural one, its rock walls rough, the floor uneven – no sign of anyone having resided there recently. She started to perambulate along the inner perimeter of the cave, shining the torch in a sweep from the floor to the ceiling as she went. Raghav walked beside her, peering closely. At the rear of the cave something caught her eye. Once again, she shone the torch on the floor, bending down for a closer inspection. The spotlight picked out crevices and folds in the uneven rock floor. Within a crevice something moved. She swivelled her head, beckoning Raghav to look.

He joined her in the scrutiny. Slowly Mehrunisa moved the circle along as she tracked something on the floor. A large black ant, and in its limbs was a white grain.

‘A grain of rice!’ Raghav exclaimed. ‘That can only mean–’

‘Aziz Mirza is nearby.’

They resumed their reconnaissance of the cave, a slow and deliberate sweep of the walls, the ceiling, and the floor. It turned up a dud. No ledge on any wall, no crevice that stored anything, no jar or container that would reveal that the cave was in use. Once again Mehrunisa focused the light on where she had first sighted the ant scurrying along. She tried to follow the ant’s trail backwards to its source. It led her to the edge of the floor. She moved her hand alongside it. A depression! She traced it with her fingers, the torchlight insufficient in the tenebrous recess. The depression widened and now she could move her hand through the space. Mehrunisa sidled along the cave floor, trailing her hand in the crevice below. It grew wider until it reached the corner where it became a hole large enough for a person to slide through.

She turned to Raghav. ‘Remember what the Sajjada Nasheen said: Aziz Mirza is
underground
. Literally.’ She pointed to the floor.

Raghav crouched as Mehrunisa shone the torch in the gap. His probing fingers found what seemed to be a step. He wriggled forward and plunged his arm inside. A ladder seemed to be hewn into the rock wall below. He added Mehrunisa’s torch beam to determine its depth. Sure enough, the floor of the cave yielded an underground expanse. How deep, he couldn’t figure. He hurried outside and returned with a rock he dropped into the gap. They heard a clink as it fell. ‘Probably a few metres. Let’s explore it.’

The torch in his mouth, pistol tucked in his waistband, he proceeded to lower himself into the space below even as Mehrunisa shone her torch upon him. Raghav counted the steps of the steep rock ladder on his way down. Ten. Then his feet seemed to have reached the bottom of the ladder. He stretched his foot in an arc – solid ground. Looking up at Mehrunisa, he shouted, ‘I’ll be back.’

Mehrunisa watched anxiously as Raghav disappeared from view. Several tense minutes later, a torchlight shone up from the crevice. She peeped over. ‘It’s an underground cave,’ Raghav’s voice sounded hollowly from below. ‘Can’t see much though. Lower yourself down, count ten steps as you come.’

Mehrunisa followed Raghav into the cave below. She found herself in a damp musty space where the two powerful torchlights were weak and useless against the pitch dark. She screwed her eyes, trying to see her way into the darkness. She quaked as a voice boomed.

‘Hands up!’ The enclosed space reverberated the command. ‘Try anything funny and I’ll shoot you dead.’

Dead, the echo went.

Kabul International Airport, Afghanistan

Tuesday 10:10 a.m.

PIA announced a further delay of the flight to
Lahore. When Argento made enquiries he was informed that a runway needed repair. As Argento pondered the information, he was aware that he continued to be under surveillance. Long Beard was tracking his movements.

Who was he? Had he seen him somewhere?

But dressed in traditional Afghan garb, the long end of the turban over his left shoulder, he could be anybody… He didn’t seem to be unduly bothered with the delay, lounging as he was in a chair in the departure lounge, now four rows across.

The man didn’t look like he was planning an attack. In which case, perhaps he was conducting plain surveillance. For whom? In any case, there didn’t seem any need to heat up the situation right then. He would continue his low-key counter surveillance and see what else he could glean.

The key thing was he had Long Beard in his crosshairs.

Murree, Pakistan

Tuesday 11 a.m.

Raghav and Mehrunisa were rooted, arms above their
heads as they blinked hard and attempted to configure the man whose warning had arrested them in their steps. In a few minutes a powerful beam came on that lit up the dark cave. It was from an emergency light that was a foot high and hoisted on a hook on a wall. As they squinted and attempted to adjust to the swathe of light, they saw a huge figure standing a couple of metres ahead. He was either very fat or swaddled in thick thermals.

‘Who
are
you?’ he boomed.

‘I am Mehrunisa, the daughter of your friend Harry.’

The man stayed silent. Finally he spoke, quiet venom in his blustery tone, ‘Is this some sort of joke? The Harry I know has no family.’

Mehrunisa sighed, loud enough for the man to hear. ‘Well, he does. He just chose to forget it.’

‘Very convenient. So what brought on the memory recall?’

‘The accident in Dras, where you lost a President and my father had a concussion that brought his memory back.’ As the man made an impatient noise, she said, ‘I know, it sounds strange but then, you are hiding in a subterranean cave under a snowed-down mountain, so how strange is it?’

‘Your point is?’

‘It comes with the profession, Mr Mirza, this hiding from the real world.’ Even a deaf man would hear the bitterness in her voice.

‘Daughter?’ The man quizzed in puzzlement. ‘Well, certainly a well-hidden one I’d say.’ He half-snorted. ‘And this,’ he pointed with his gun to Raghav, ‘I presume is Harry’s son.’

‘Look, you have to believe me,’ Mehrunisa gesticulated with her hands. Mirza indicated with his gun that she keep them up. She complied. ‘Begum Ameena, your wife, sent us here.’

He digested the revelation slowly as he studied them in the light that was focused on them leaving him in the shadows. After a while he spoke. ‘This gets curiouser and curiouser. Why don’t you start from the beginning and tell me who you are and what brings you here? And while you are at it, keep your hands where I can see them.’

Mehrunisa proceeded to tell Aziz Mirza of her meeting with Harry’s boss and the instructions to reach him in order to extract where the Kohinoor was hidden. Her meeting with Begum Ameena, the attack on the bungalow that followed, and how they had escaped unharmed.

Aziz Mirza heard her out without interruption. ‘I did get a midnight missive from the Sajjada Nasheen informing me about the attack. And I thanked God that Ameena is safe. These men are ruthless, they will stop at nothing. And now, you might just have led them here.’

‘No!’ Mehrunisa exclaimed. ‘We were not followed.’

‘How can you be sure? You are what – an art historian!’ He snorted again. ‘Age is catching up with Jag Mishra, that wily sermoniser!’

Raghav spoke up now. ‘We watched our backs all the way up.’

Aziz Mirza shrugged. ‘Perhaps. At least you are an agent.’

Her arms were in excruciating pain as Mehrunisa said, ‘Look, can we bring our hands down, please. This is not very civilized.’

‘Civilized!’ Aziz Mirza sniggered. ‘You have to be Harry’s daughter. The only agent I know who goes into battle dressed in a suit. Ha! Civilized. You think this,’ he swung his free hand in an arc around the cave, ‘is civilized? For a rat perhaps.’ He shook his head and flicked his fingers at them to lower their arms.

‘So, you are interested in the Kohinoor?’

‘It is our only hope,’ Mehrunisa said as she pummelled her forearm to get the circulation going.

With a raised brow, Mirza asked, ‘To save your father or the nation?’

‘Both.’

Mirza stroked his bearded chin as he meditated upon something. ‘Tell me, what exactly did you say to my wife that convinced her to believe you? What secret missive did Harry have for her? Hunh?’

Mehrunisa hesitated. The begum had said her husband was unaware of the brief liaison she’d had with Harinder Singh Khosa. And at that precise moment Mehrunisa needed Aziz Mirza to cooperate – affronting him would lead nowhere. ‘Zamzama,’ she offered, and waited.

‘Zamzama!’ Mirza tilted his head back as he snorted.

Raghav looked at Aziz Mirza, then Mehrunisa. She caught his eye but kept a perfectly straight face. Raghav was not privy to what Harry had disclosed, and if needed she would bluff her way through. She tried to recall salient facts about the historical gun she’d first encountered in Kipling’s
Kim
– which at that moment held a terrifying power.

Aziz Mirza swung his head in slow motion. ‘Trust Harry. You know,’ he looked at Mehrunisa, his lips bared to reveal surprisingly white teeth, ‘that is what I called him. Know why?’

She shrugged.

‘Well, it’s not polite for use in front of ladies but so you get the drift, it’s a term men use for friends when they are suitably drunk. For context, remember that Punjab is a land where people speak big, value big things, and the Zamzama is a big gun!’

Mehrunisa’s response was a weak smile.

‘Hmm.’ He cast a look around. ‘Do you want to sit down?’ He pointed to a corner where a sleeping bag was lined up against the wall, a Primus stove placed a foot away. ‘The cave is a refrigerator, which is why I look like a gluttonous Santa. The stove keeps me warm but I can’t use it 24 x 7.’ He looked around him thoughtfully before he said, ‘Perhaps I can suggest the terrace? The view is better and the superior light will enable us to see each other without squinting.’

His transition to a gracious host was unnerving – Mehrunisa nodded in the fashion of a car’s dashboard doll.

Raghav was the first to climb up the rock ladder. Several minutes of reconnaissance before he reported a clear coast. Aziz Mirza meanwhile stripped a couple of layers to allow himself the width that would enable him to slip out of the opening. He hoisted the stove through it and went up as well. Mehrunisa followed next, and was grateful for the sight of the dim light in the cave.

She took the chance to study her father’s friend as he was occupied with the stove. Mirza had probably lost weight in the few days he had been in hiding. The deterioration though was not related to time, it was more to do with the deprivation of all comfort – something a person from the high-class society of the Subcontinent was oblivious to. His cheeks were sunken, the face gaunt. His hands seemed to shake as he worked the Primus, the nails grubby. Only the thick hair visible on his bare hands and in the rough beard was in robust condition. Aziz Mirza looked like a shadow of the man whose photograph Jag Mishra had shown her. He had an arresting face that looked like it had been sheared off from the skull, the jaw jutted dangerously forward such that in profile his face exhibited a forty-five degree angle were a line to run down from his forehead to the nose and jaw.

Soon the stove was burning and the three were sitting in a circle around it. Raghav was fidgety and frowned at Mehrunisa to hasten things up. However, Mirza looked like he could do with company. A little conversation would loosen him up.

‘How do you pass time?’ she asked. From the corner of her eyes she saw Raghav roll his eyes.

‘Meditation,’ Mirza replied, his mouth lifting in a sneer. ‘It is wonderful how much a man will remember God when he has no other distractions.’ He laughed at his observation as he removed his wool cap. He had a belly laugh, in keeping with his sonorous voice. He seemed to be speaking louder than was necessary, perhaps from the lack of visitors. His hair, grey scrub around his head, revealed an arid pate.

Outside the snowfall had stopped. A weak sun was glinting off the ice. The cave entrance was festooned with icicles, thin and long like daggers, as if out of a children’s storybook. Raghav’s voice brought her back to the real world.

‘Where did the President hide the Kohinoor?’

Aziz Mirza grinned. ‘Not for the first time in history are you the only ones in quest of the Kohinoor.’

Raghav was aware of the chequered history of the world’s most famous diamond – Mehrunisa had supplied it en route to Lahore. The origins of the Kohinoor were multiple.
A mythological tale claimed it was once worn by Krishna but was stolen from him as he lay sleeping. Another source had it that the diamond
was discovered in a riverbed in 3200 BC. The first reliable evidence of it, however, was in the writings of Babur, the founder of the Mughal Empire, who named it
as part of the treasure won by Alauddin at the conquest of Malwa in the fourteenth century. The Mughals acquired the
Kohinoor
in 1526. At that time it was said to weigh roughly 800 carats, but through some incredibly ham-fisted cutting and polishing by a jeweller named Borgio, it was reduced to 186 carats. Borgio had been working on it for years, but so enraged was Mughal emperor Aurangzeb at the result, that he confiscated all of Borgio’s worldly goods and contemplated executing him.

Apparently, the Kohinoor, in its time, was valuable enough to feed the whole world for two-and-a-half days.

Now Mehrunisa heard a
grim Raghav speak, ‘We are aware of the legions of stories around the Kohinoor. But as you know, time is of essence and we don’t have the luxury of playing Trivial Pursuit. If you disclose where it is, we’ll be on our way. Ultimately, Kohinoor in the right hands will also ensure that you can leave your hideout and stop living like a fugitive.’

Mirza nodded thoughtfully. ‘Yes, the thought has struck me. But,’ he lifted one helpless shoulder, ‘I am unable to help. I don’t know where the General kept his Kohinoor.’

‘What?’ chorused Mehrunisa and Raghav.

‘Let’s just say the General was a suspicious sort. The only thing he trusted was a mirror.’ He paused, his eyes darting in some internal delight. ‘He took a perverse delight in labelling it “Kohinoor”, precious as the famed gem, for the secrets it held were cherished by all parties involved: US, India, Afghanistan, Taliban. Do you know that in the year 2000, even the Taliban demanded the return of the Kohinoor claiming that their right on the gem is stronger than that of any other party involved in the dispute?’

Mehrunisa urged him now. ‘Okay but you were his close confidant and an aide in the secret negotiations. Surely, you would know what the contents of the hidden papers were?’

‘I wish.’ When Raghav and Mehrunisa continued to regard him, he wagged his head. ‘Look, you have to understand the kind of man the General was. A shy showman! One day strutting like a peacock, the next hiding in his room, refusing to meet his ADC even – aide-de-camp? During one such phase he kept a Saudi prince waiting a whole morning. When the prince threatened to cut his aid, the General emerged for the meeting in his dressing gown and sat the whole time with his face in his hands.’ Mirza shook his head. ‘On those days he didn’t even trust the mirror.’

‘You mean it’s a dead end, you can’t help us!’ Mehrunisa’s voice had risen. ‘Surely you could hazard a guess as to its hideout.’

Aziz Mirza stayed impassive. Raghav muttered an expletive under his breath and abruptly started to pace the cave. A shot rang out and Mehrunisa saw Mirza slowly topple to the floor of the cave. Suddenly Raghav leapt on her, taking Mehrunisa with himself to the ground. Another shot rang out.

‘Fuck!’ Raghav yelled, his face contorted in pain above Mehrunisa. Raising himself on an elbow he touched his left arm; his hand came away bloodied.

Stretched out on the floor he fired rapidly at the mouth of the cave. Mehrunisa lifted herself gingerly from behind him. When no answering shot was heard she crawled towards Mirza who was sprawled on the floor. His mouth twisted with pain as he clutched his right arm; a red patch had grown on the shoulder. ‘I told you,’ he grimaced. ‘You couldn’t have been careful enough!’

Without turning to look back Raghav ordered, ‘Quick, position your gun.’

Mehrunisa swallowed and pulled the Glock out of the waistband of her jeans. She levelled it in the manner Raghav had taught her in the helicopter. Raghav was diagonally across from her, his hand steady. The bullet had probably only glanced him.

Outside the sun was glinting off the snow, rendering everything hazy. It was difficult to focus for long without her vision blurring. Raghav crawled forward on his belly, towards the mouth of the cave. He was halfway across when he went into a spasm.

‘What is it?’ Mehrunisa whispered.

‘A scorpion,’ he said through gritted teeth.

A weakened Mirza supplied from the rear of the cave, ‘They reside in the cave. A real nuisance, especially when they enter your sleeping bag. Ya-Allah! To have suffered all that for this end.’

Raghav shook his right leg furiously. Mehrunisa’s eyes were flitting from outside to her friend when she detected a movement. A hush had descended on the area. A faint scrape, a shape detached from the snowy backdrop, it approached the cave. A man dressed in white blending into the snowy landscape. No time to think. She levelled her gun and fired. Two things happened simultaneously. A white shape appeared at the mouth of the cave and an icicle plunged downwards from the roof.

Mehrunisa forgot to pull the trigger repeatedly as she had been instructed. It was Raghav who let off a barrage of shots. The figure had vanished.

‘Who was it?’ Raghav asked.

Mehrunisa shrugged. She was still shaky from having fired her first shot and was looking at the warm gun in her hand with surprise. Raghav plastered himself to the wall near the entrance. Removing a small mirror from his breast pocket, he angled it outwards and monitored the mirror for reflection. All snow, nothing untoward.