Brutal (20 page)

S
ultan’s lips
curved into a smile as he watched the breaking news on Al Jazeera: Another Iranian nuclear scientist dead. Govt. claims ‘accidental death’.

The news anchor said that Kamran Ebrahimi, a retired nuclear scientist, was killed in a car explosion that took place in the basement parking of his apartment. He was 76. Previously, he oversaw a program at the Natanz uranium enrichment complex in Isfahan province in Iran. Hinting at assassination, not accidental death, the anchor expressed surprise at the killing of an old man, who supposedly had no contact with the Iranian nuclear program for the last four years.

The news then displayed a list of Iranian nuclear scientists, who had been assassinated in the last five years. It concluded with the testimony of a few Iranian security analysts who hinted at Israel’s hand in this assassination. According to an analyst, the Israelis might have been helped by the PMI, People’s Mujahedin of Iran, a terrorist organization in Iran. US involvement too, was suspected.

Sultan grinned. This was good news. Qasab had done his job, making the assassination look like a continuation of attacks against Iranian nuclear scientists. The blame had as usual passed on to Israel, PMI and the US. Any attack on Israeli nuclear scientists would now look like retaliation from Iran.
That keeps us out of the picture.

There was some movement behind him. He turned around and saw Vinod Kushwaha standing.

“Good job, Sultan. That was swift and smooth,” Vinod said in a low voice, almost whispering. “But, why choose this old man?”

“Because he was an easy kill,” Sultan shrugged, smiling. “Kamran Ebrahimi was retired and used to live without any personal security.”

“How many people know about our role in this?”

“No one except you and me,” Sultan replied. “Not even your old man.”

“Good. What about the Bangalore mission?”

“On track. We will do it tonight. Unless you tell me to stand down.”

“And why would I say so?”

“Don’t you think that the Iranians might call off our mission after knowing about Kamran’s assassination? Any attack on Israeli people now will obviously point at Iranians however strongly they deny it.”

“That’s not going to happen. I had a discussion with Massoud a few minutes ago. He says our mission is a ‘go’. Iranians are really pissed off with Israel. They want revenge. They have been trying to give back the favour to Israel for years. But all they have achieved is a series of ludicrous failures. Their best chance is now. The Israeli scientists are already in India, out of their comfort zone. So, the Iranians realize that today may be the day to give the Zionists a taste of their own medicine.”

“Hmmm… But the Israelis have become cautious now, after Kamran’s death. They would be fools not to prepare for a backlash from Iran. I’ve heard that a team from the Mossad is already in India, to protect their scientists.”

“Thank God they didn’t pull out their scientists from India. Otherwise, all our plans would’ve come to naught. And as far as Mossad goes, we can tackle them in our country,” Vinod said while leaving the room.

Sultan did not react to Vinod’s boast. He knew he needed additional preparation to handle Mossad’s agents.
Let’s take care of the more pressing issue first.
He took out his mobile and checked for any missed calls.
No calls from Raman and Patil.
He called up Raman.
Switched off.

He frowned and dialled Patil’s number.
Again switched off.

Worried, he called one of his men in Delhi. “Why are Raman and Patil’s phones switched off?”

“It’s bad news, Sultan. Four of our members are dead including Patil and Raman. They got into a horrific accident near our Chattarpur safe house,” the henchman replied.

Sultan closed his eyes, absorbing the shock. He felt rage build up under his skin.
This is getting out of control.
“What about the targets?”

“Kunal Chaubey is dead. One more is heavily injured. But… but the other two targets managed to escape with him.”

“You mean you’ve no idea where they might be?”

“None as of now.”

“Get another team and carry on with the pursuit,” Sultan snapped. “And did you dig up the targets’ identities?”

“Besides Seema Sharma, we’ve identified one more. His name is Prakash Sinha, a reporter for Globe News.”

“Wow, two fucking journos are playing this game with us,” Sultan muttered. “What about the third guy?”

“We’re still working on him.”

“Find out quickly.”

“
W
here are you taking us
?” Prakash enquired.

He had been blindfolded. So were Seema and Mrinal. They were sitting in the rear side of a Mahindra Scorpio, which had been moving since half an hour.

“I told you. No questions,” one of his captors growled.

“My friend is dying,” Prakash said. “He needs a doctor.”

“You open your bloody mouth once more, and I’ll blow your knee-cap away,” the man barked. “Boss will decide what to do with you people. If your friend can survive till then, well and good. Else…”

Prakash stopped bugging them. He wanted to ask the man who his boss was, but then thought otherwise.
I’ll soon know.

Behind the blindfold, his eyes were weary with tiredness. The darkness was suffocating. As he leaned back on his seat with anxiety, he felt a warm touch on his left hand. It was Seema. He held her palm in his.

Are we going to get out of this alive?

O
ver the years
, Hotel Le Regalia has emerged as the preferred destination for global summits and symposiums in Bangalore. It houses one of the largest convention centers in South India. So, when Bangalore decided to host the 6
^th
Nuclear Science Summit, Le Regalia was the obvious choice.

The first day of the three-day summit had begun amid much fanfare, but not without the usual protests from environmentalists and nuclear disarmament supporters. Bangalore Police had placed barricades outside the hotel to prevent the protestors from entering its compound. A couple of water cannon vehicles were ready as part of contingency measures.

Unlike the buzz outside, the atmosphere inside the convention centre was relatively subdued. Discussions ranging from advancements in nuclear instrumentation and radiation technology, to quantum physics and astrophysics, whetted the scientific appetites of the intelligentsia. Representatives from 35 countries and journalists from many more were present there, and the organizers were elated that India and Bangalore were getting the world’s attention.

But their party was going to be spoiled horribly in a matter of hours. Unbeknownst to them, Le Regalia was going to be a battlefield soon. The seeds of the war had been sown two days ago, when a man identifying himself as Tilak Jaiswal had checked-in into the hotel. Wearing a neatly pressed suit and tie, he looked like a senior level manager at a company.

While walking towards his room from the reception, Tilak had made mental notes of the security arrangements and all possible exits. Once inside, he dialled a number from his mobile and said, “Room 406.” He then ordered some food using the room telephone.

In fifteen minutes, he heard a knock on his door. “Room Service,” someone called out. He opened the door and eyed the visitor, a waiter carrying a food trolley. “Everything is ready, Sir,” the waiter said, looking into Tilak’s eyes and nodding slightly.

Tilak checked for any onlookers in the corridor outside. Satisfied that no one else was there, let his visitor in and closed the door.

The waiter pulled out a duffel bag from under the food trolley and kept it on the bed. “Check it.”

Tilak unzipped the bag and went through its contents. He found a small chit in the bag. It had a list of five room numbers and a person’s name against each number. He noticed that all the room numbers started with 7.
7
^th
floor.

“Good. You’re ready to play your part, right?” Tilak asked his visitor.

The man nodded and left.

F
rom the echoes
, Prakash could sense that they were inside a large room with a high ceiling. Walking with a blindfold had made him dizzy. He wondered what Seema was feeling. Her hand felt warm and sweaty. She seemed to be completely silent, complying obediently to their captors’ instructions.

Mrinal was no longer with them. After dropping the two at this place, their SUV had taken off with him. “We’re taking him to a doctor,” one man had said. Prakash did not resist. He knew Mrinal would be dead within an hour without treatment.

An abrupt silence in the room suggested that someone important had entered. The air in the room felt heavy with a sudden urgency. Prakash could hear people moving out and doors being closed.

A commanding voice broke the silence after a minute.

“Seema and Prakash! Two unusually stubborn reporters…” a mocking voice said. “Oh let me say it correctly… two Pulitzer Prize winning, ruthlessly stubborn reporters are standing blindfolded in front of me.”

Prakash could feel some twitching in Seema’s hand. It was followed by her voice.

“I know you… I know you” she mumbled and then said loudly, “I’ve heard your voice somewhere.”

“C’mon… I’m not that popular… Am I? Your blindfolds are still not open and you’ve already started identifying me… No point in playing hide-and-seek then. You can remove them.”

Prakash hastily removed the cloth tied around his eyes, but squinted with pain on opening them. Before he could adjust to the light and recognize the man, he heard Seema gasp and say loudly, “Anwar Shah!”

In a few moments, the shock had passed on to Prakash. He too recognized the tall and lanky figure of the man standing in front of him.
Anwar Shah! The billionaire industrialist.
It flashed into his mind that Century News, the channel for which Seema worked, was owned by Anwar.

“So you’re behind all this… Your company has developed NB-67 and you are running these deadly clinical trials?” asked Seema, gritting her teeth with anger. “You’ve killed so many people.”

“If I was behind these killings, why do you think you’re standing alive here? Why take the pain of bringing you here? Why not kill you and dispose of your bodies?” said Anwar.

There was no reply from Seema.

He looked at Prakash and continued, “As a matter of fact I’m in some ways your saviour.”

“What?” said Prakash, frowning.

“I saved you from your pursuers in Chattarpur. I’ve arranged a doctor for your friend. He is being treated as we speak. How’s that for a saviour?”

“So those were not your men hunting us?”

“No.”

“Why did you have us kidnapped and brought here, then?” Prakash asked.
What’s going on? My mind will explode.

“I want you to do something for me.”

Prakash and Seema looked at each other in surprise.

Anwar continued, “Don’t worry. What I am going to ask will only help you unravel this whole mystery. All the big revelations you’ve seen in the last few days form only the tip of the iceberg.”

“What is the iceberg then?” Seema interjected. She looked agitated.

“You’ll find out soon. But you’ll have to do as I say.”

“Go on,” Seema said.

“To give things a perspective, let me begin with a story. Considering that there are reputations at stake, you’ll keep it only to yourself. Else I’ll hunt you down wherever in the world and give you a painful death,” he said with fiery eyes.

After taking a long breath, he continued, “You must’ve heard about my origins. I spent my childhood in the Dharavi slums. That was thirty years ago. Today, I’m one of the top industrialists of India. My rise hasn’t been easy. India is a difficult place to run a business. Over the years, I’ve taken the help of some powerful entities. People who work behind the scenes and get your job done. People who use all possible means to remove obstacles. I’ve reached the top putting my leg into the footholds created by these people.”

“So that is how you’ve created the Centennium group…” Seema sneered.

“Behind every great fortune, there is a crime. It holds true for everybody. It holds true for me also.”

“Is Diya a part of your sins?”

“No. And you aren’t going to talk to her about all this either.”

Prakash recalled that Diya Shah was Anwar’s sister.
Seema must be having a heart attack.

Anwar continued, “I was late to realize that by using the help from these people I was getting into a morass. I had skeletons in my closet and there was no escape from it. I was a billionaire in front of the world, but these men held me by my balls. They would often use my company’s facilities and warehouses for running their black operations. They used my men as couriers for transporting their arms.”

Prakash thought about the warehouse on Grand Trunk Road.
What was its name? M/s TurboSteels Pvt. Ltd.
“Is TurboSteels a company of your group?”

Anwar nodded. “So you’ve been there? What did you see?”

“There were cages in which humans were tortured… and maybe killed.”

“That’s true. They have many such torture houses where they purge their enemies.” he said.

“What about the facility where I was locked up in?” Seema asked.

“It used to be one of my old factories. Now they are using it to produce NB-67.”

“Holy shit! You know about everything since day one,” Seema said with disbelief.

“Not all of it. I knew they were doing a lot of illegal activities, not only limited to these drug trials. But I didn’t oppose them as long as they were operating covertly.”

“You didn’t oppose them!” Seema snapped. “They were killing people brutally goddamnit. Nitin Tomar massacred eleven children. Kunal Chaubey beheaded three of his friends. God knows how many more people are dead. And you didn’t do anything to stop them?”

“I was helpless!” Anwar shouted back.

“Ohh… So, now when you know that the whole story is about to be leaked, you’re making a case to defend yourself. Isn’t it?” Seema said.

“Who’ll leak it? You two? I can make you guys vanish without a trace.”

“So what do you want?” Prakash interjected.

“I want to make a deal.” He said and waited for a few moments for his words to sink in. Then he began, “I’d turned a blind eye to whatever these men were doing, as long as they didn’t threaten my empire. But they’ve crossed that thin line and I’m not going to sit silent this time. These inhuman drug trials for NB-67 and everything that has been done to brush it under the carpet have set tongues wagging. The cancer has started to spread. I have to limit the damage before it consumes me.”

“You want us to drop the story?” Prakash asked.

“No. On the contrary, I want you to publish it. But you’ll remove any reference to me.”

“And why the hell would we do that?”

“Because I’m going to give you the men who are behind all this. You’ll get to see who pulls all the strings.”

Prakash controlled a deep urge to ask the names of these men straightaway. He wanted Anwar to answer some basic questions first.

“But why make a deal with us? Why not kill us instantly? The whole story would be dead. You’d live to fight another day,” he asked.
Hope I’m not giving him wrong ideas.

“I’ll have you killed in only one case – if you refuse this deal. But being a businessman, I know you’re more beneficial to me alive than dead…. You wanted to know why I’m so desperate to cut this deal. Right?”

“Right,” Prakash replied.

“Because these men have bitten off more than they can chew. They have taken an international contract for some terrorist activity in Bangalore. There is a nuclear summit going on in the city as we speak. These bastards are going to carry out a deadly attack on some people at the summit in a few hours from now,” Anwar said with rage.

He added, “I don’t think you can carry out an operation of such proportions and then remain covert. After this attack, the government and law enforcement authorities are going to come after these people. Some threads will link these men to me. I can’t let the law come after me. I don’t want to lose all I’ve built over the years because of some reckless and sinister designs of these people. No, I won’t let these people succeed at all.”

“But how can we stop them? We’re not commandos. We are reporters,” Prakash protested. “I think you should make an anonymous call to the police and tip them off.”

“What will I tell the police? I still don’t know what exactly they’re planning to do. That’s why I need your help in finding out their plan. If you can stop this attack, I’ll hand you the heads of these men on a platter.”

“Who are these men?”

“A family known as the Kushwahas. Power brokers, guns-for-hire, clan of assassins – you can call them all.”

“A family?” Prakash said, puzzled. “How can a family catch hold of such a drug? Won’t it take a lot of effort in research and development? Do they employ scientists?”

“It was the other way around. A man they call as ‘The Doctor’ approached the Kushwahas with a business deal. He used to work at a small pharmaceutical company in Europe specializing in drugs for the Central Nervous System. The company was hard-pressed for money to fund their drug development programs. They had the patent for this molecule known as NB-67, intended to be a possible drug for Obsessive Compulsive Disorder. The molecule had failed in the human trials, so it wasn’t of any practical use presently. But the Doctor had seen the ghastly effects of NB-67 in humans. He knew exactly where it could be used. He brokered the deal to sell off the company’s rights of NB-67 to the family. The company did not mind. After all they were selling a useless molecule for a few millions.”

“Is this the same Doctor you were talking about?” Prakash asked Seema.

She nodded.

“But how do you know about this deal?” Prakash questioned Anwar this time.

“Because I was a financier for the Kushwahas.”

“You’ve created a monster,” Seema interjected.

“It is what it is,” said Anwar bluntly. He looked at Prakash and Seema for a few moments and then asked, “I have told you all I know. Do we have a deal, now?”

Prakash mulled over Anwar Shah’s words. He realized they had no option. They would always have a chance to tackle Anwar later. But today, there was only one way to stay alive. By saying yes to him.

“OK, we have a deal,” Prakash said, looking at Seema for agreement. Seema blinked once, meaning ‘Yes’.

“Fine then. I have a private jet standing at Delhi Airport. It’ll take you to Bangalore. I’ll get rooms booked for you in the Le Regalia hotel where all the guests for the nuclear summit are staying. Seema, you’ll be there as a correspondent from Century News. Prakash, I hope you can work it out on your own.”

Prakash nodded.
There’s no end to this day.

“And one final thing. Don’t ever think about double-crossing me. Trust me; you won’t like to see me as your enemy,” Anwar said, his face growing dark. “And obviously, your friend will never see the light of day.”