PRIMAL Mirza (A PRIMAL Series Novella) (14 page)

“Yes. Out on the street.”

Mirza pulled the sheet back over the police officer’s face. “I’m so
sorry, Ranbir,” he whispered. He pivoted and strode past the fire engines until
he spotted an ambulance parked behind a NSG armored truck. As he neared it, he
saw bodies laid out on the street. The mangled corpses of the terrorists had
been dumped for all to see. Another three bodies were set to the side and
covered with white sheets.

He marched over and pulled back the sheets. The first two were NSG
operatives, their bodies blackened and torn by the explosion. The third body
was his friend and his mentor.

Grief hit Mirza like a
blow to the chest. Tears filled his eyes and his hands shook as he reached down
and touched Himesh’s cold dead skin.

He gave himself a
moment,
then
forcing emotions aside, inspected the
body. As with Ranbir, ragged bullet holes covered his partner’s chest. His eyes
narrowed as he realized they were exit wounds. Peering closer the holes
appeared to be from low-velocity hollow points. Focusing on the task at hand,
Mirza emptied his friend’s pockets, taking the phone and wallet.

“What the fuck is he doing here?”

Mirza stood up and glared at Prasad. “You bastard. We told you about
the terrorists and you did nothing. Nothing! And now you’ve killed two good
men.”

Prasad’s mouth turned up
at the corner. “I’d be very careful when throwing around accusations.”

Mirza swung a lightning
fast punch that caught the NSG commander on the jaw.

Prasad reeled back clutching his face. “Somebody fucking arrest
him!”

Before he had a chance to react he was doubled over by a blow to his
stomach and his arms were wrenched back.

Mirza struggled for air, as his wrists were zip-tied. “You’re a murdering
bastard, Prasad,” he said between gasps.

He was pushed against the armored truck and the empty Glock ripped
from his belt.

Prasad spat blood. “You can’t blame me for the death of your
partner. If you hadn’t interfered, he’d still be alive.”

Was it possible the NSG commander was right? “He was shot in the
back with nine mill,” he said hoarsely. He didn’t need a forensics team to know
a NSG officer killed Himesh. The terrorists were all carrying AKs, not 9mm
MP5s.

“Then maybe deep down inside he was a coward.”

“I know what you’ve done. And you’re going to pay for it. Special
Group isn’t about to let this go.”

“I’m not the one under arrest.”

“What’s the meaning of this?” Sonia’s voice cut through the emotion.

Prasad jerked and shock flashed across his face. “What are you doing
here?”

“This man,” she pointed at Mirza. “Just saved my life.
I was kidnapped by terrorists who attacked the Imperial Hotel
.
So I’m very interested to know why he’s under arrest.”

“To put it frankly, that’s none of your business. I’ve told you
before, keep your nose out of my operations.”

“I’m making it my business. Now, what are the charges?” snapped
Sonia.

“Assaulting an officer, unlawful carriage of a firearm, interfering
with a police investigation
, disobeying
a lawful
order. Do you want me to go on?”

“This whole thing’s a mess, Prasad. There will be a thorough
investigation to determine exactly what went wrong and who’s responsible.”

“My people will handle the initial investigation efficiently and
effectively.” He turned to one of his men. “Corporal, kindly escort Miss
Jayaram from my crime scene.”

“What do you want done with this one?” asked the sergeant
restraining Mirza.

“Take him to our compound.”

Mirza glanced back at Himesh’s body lying on the ground as the
sergeant threw him into the rear of the armored truck.

CHAPTER 23

Locked in a NSG interview room,
Mirza sat at a desk, his hands zip-tied behind him. Doubts occupied his
thoughts. Second guesses assailed him. Had he and Himesh taken the right actions?
Should they have left it to Prasad? Was it Mirza’s fault his partner and Ranbir
were now dead?

After
an hour, guilt and rage still warred for supremacy. His eyes flicked to the
heavy steel door as it creaked open and Prasad entered.

He
strolled to the desk and sat down. Then placed a folder on the table, set a pen
next to it, and lit a cigarette. “You’re in a lot of trouble, Corporal Mirza
Mansoor.” He winced as he opened his swollen lips to inhale the cigarette.

Mirza
stared at a spot on the wall. He refused to give the Lieutenant Colonel the
courtesy of looking him in the eye. “Your men killed Himesh and Ranbir.”

Prasad
laughed. “They got themselves killed. You fool, you assaulted a terrorist
stronghold with three men. What did you expect?”

“You
sent your men in with orders to kill everyone, knowing they were inside.”

Prasad
waved his hand. “It was a tragic accident. We all know that in the heat of
combat accidents happen.”

“You
know damn well it wasn’t an accident. You knew exactly what was in that safe
house,
didn’t you? Ever since your men spoke to Neeraj.”

“My
men?
My men with Neeraj?
Good luck proving that,
Corporal. You were running unauthorized ops, carrying illegal weapons, and you
fucked up my operation. Two of my commandos are in the morgue because of you
and your moron partner.”

“We had to take action. They were
about to attack the stadium!”

“No. You compromised my op and
allowed terrorists to escape and attack the Imperial. What the
fuck were
you thinking?
Three amateurs
assaulting a terrorist stronghold?
You’re going to be bloody lucky if
you ever see the outside of a cell again.”

An
icy calm settled over Mirza. He neither blinked nor glanced at the NSG
commander. “I want to talk to Major Jayaram.”

Prasad
chuckled. “Special Group can’t help you now, Mirza. You’re done. You’re going
to be transferred to Karol Bagh Police station where you will be charged with
both military and civil offences.”

The
threats failed to unnerve Mirza. They only strengthened his thirst for justice.

“Of
course if you were to sign a confession admitting Captain Arjun’s orders were what
resulted in the bungled assault, I’d make sure the charges are downgraded.”

“I
don’t lie and won’t to start now. We came to you with our information. We told
you where the terrorists were. We provided pictures. You refused to act. You
forced us to take action.”

Prasad
opened the folder and pushed over the document. “Sign the statement, Corporal.
It’ll make things easier for everyone. You’ll be allowed to go back to your unit.
Back to your friends.”

Mirza
didn’t respond.

“If
you don’t, I guarantee you’ll rot in a cell. You’ll take the fall for
everything.” He stood and circled the table.

“I
won’t sign a confession.”

“Oh,
you will sign it. You will sign it for your mother.
Because
without your wage, she can’t afford her medical treatments.
Who knows
what might happen to her.”

Mirza
focused on his breathing as he struggled to keep control of his mounting rage.
“I will not sign.”

Prasad
hauled him out of his chair. “Yes, you fucking will. By the time I’m finished
with you, you’ll sign anything.”

Mirza
let himself go limp a second before he was thrown across the room. He bounced
off the wall, spun, and faced the cleft-chinned murderer. The sweating colonel
grasped him by the neck and pinned him to the wall.

“If
you want to live, sign the fucking statement. Your friend is dead, nothing will
change that.”

“You’re
right,” Mirza said hoarsely. “But he and Ranbir deserve justice.” He had been
working on the zip ties for over an hour, twisting the two locking mechanisms
against each other to weaken them. With a flex of his forearms, he snapped the
restraints. In one fluid motion, he grabbed the lieutenant colonel’s arm,
wrenched it off his neck, and flipped it into a wrist hold.

Prasad
yelped and hunched over to alleviate the pressure.

Mirza
guided him over to the table and slammed his head into it. Stunned, he
collapsed to the floor.

With
a snort, Mirza strolled out of the interview room, past the single guard
drinking coffee, and headed for the stairs. His rage overwhelmed any fears he
had of being stopped. He passed a group of NSG officers on the stairs. None of
them looked twice at him. He nodded to the clerk manning the front desk as he
walked out the building and onto the driveway.

A
NSG officer intercepted him a few feet from the exit. “Stop! What are you
doing?”

“Leaving.”

The
man pointed to the card hanging from his own neck. “You’re supposed to be
wearing your ID or a visitor’s pass.”

He
shrugged. “I’m sorry. They didn’t issue me one.”

“Stop
that man!” Prasad screamed.

The
NSG officer reacted instantly, drawing his pistol from its holster.

Mirza
grabbed it and pushed back against the man’s wrist as he elbowed him in the
face. Then shoulder barging him out of the way, he ran, taking the pistol with
him.

“Stop
him!” Prasad screamed.

Mirza
knew there was no way he could make it past the heavy steel gate and the guards
without being shot. Instead, he ran to the vehicle park in the corner of the
compound. He leaped onto a Mitsubishi Pajero. Its hood bent under his weight as
he vaulted from it onto the roof. He jumped from the car onto an unmarked NSG
van.

The
last vehicle in the line, one of the huge black armored trucks, was parked near
the perimeter wall. He sprang from the van to the side of the truck, scrambled
up it, and paused, judging the
two yard
gap to the
wall.

“He’s
armed! Shoot him!”

Mirza
sprinted across the top of the truck as bullets cracked around him. He hurdled
into the air, clearing the wall. He smashed into a sapling. The tree flexed and
dumped him in a garden bed.

“Mirza,
over here!” a familiar voice called out.

He
gathered himself and saw Atal waving at him from the back seat of a tuk-tuk. He
limped across the road and climbed in beside the kid. Before he was even
seated, the taxi sped off down the road and entered the chaotic traffic of New
Delhi.

“You
OK, boss?”

“I’m
fine. Who’s your friend?” He nodded at the driver.

“He’s
OK. You can trust him. He hates the Black Cats.”

“Don’t
we all.”

CHAPTER 24

Back at the hostel, Mirza sat
hunched on his bed and stared at Himesh’s belongings. He knew he had to pack
them to send home. With the NSG hunting him, he also had to find a new place to
stay until he could prove his innocence and Prasad’s guilt. Yet, he kept
running through the sequence of events that led to Himesh and Ranbir’s deaths.

“What
are we going to do now, boss?”

He
glanced at the boy sitting beside him. “Don’t know.”

“He
was a very good man. When I grow up I want to be like him.”

Mirza
managed a weak smile.

“Come
on, boss, you can’t sit around all day. You’ve got to do something. You’ve got
to make the bad men pay. We’ve got to find them; kill them like you killed
bug-eyes on the roof. You can do it, Mirza, I know you–

“Enough!”
Mirza pinched the bridge of his nose. “Sometimes, Atal, you need to shut up.”
The moment the words were out of his mouth, he regretted them. The look on
Atal’s face said it all as tears welled in his eyes.

Mirza
put his arm around the kid’s shoulders. “I’m sorry, Atal. I didn’t mean that.
It’s just… I can’t help but wonder if Prasad’s right.”

“About
what?”

“Himesh
and I messed the operation up.”

“Not
true. You stopped them from bombing the stadium. The Black Cats wouldn’t have
stopped it. Everyone knows it was the Burka Warriors. Everybody’s talking about
it. Black Cats didn’t do
nothing
till after you guys
attacked. I was watching, remember?”

“Thanks,
Atal. But I’m not sure that’s going to help.”

“You
should talk to Neeraj. He knows the truth.”

“Neeraj
is still alive?”

“Yes.
The Black Cats are looking for him. But we all know those idiots couldn’t find
a tuk-tuk in Chandni Chowk.”

“I
wouldn’t be so sure of that.”

Himesh’s
old phone, lying on the bed, started to vibrate its way across the sheet.
Startled, Mirza didn’t pick it up until it almost fell off the bed. “Hello.”

“Mirza,
is that you? Thank god you’re all right,” Major Jayaram said. “Before you say
anything, I want you to know I’ve spoken to my sister. I’m forever in your
debt. If not for you, I would have lost her.”

“You’ve
heard about Himesh?”

“Yes,
I’m trying to get access to his body. Those NSG bastards are blocking me at
every turn.”

“That’s
because they killed him and Ranbir, a policeman.”

Silence
greeted his comment. Eventually the major cleared his throat. “That’s a serious
claim.”

“Yes,
sir. Himesh was shot in the back with 9mm hollow points. Ranbir’s chest was
riddled with the same wounds. The terrorists were armed with AKs.”

“Shit,
maybe Sonia’s right.”

“What
do you mean?”

“She’s
trying to pull together a team to independently investigate the incident.”

“She
can do that?”

“Yeah,
she can. Look, I’m sorry about Himesh. We lost a good operative and a good
friend. But you’ve got come in. Technically, you’re AWOL.”

“So
Prasad can have me thrown in jail again? How can I find out what really
happened, if I’m in jail?”

“My
sister is going to handle that. I’ll message you her number after this call.
You can phone her. She’ll let you know exactly what’s going on and can get you
into a CBI safe house.”

“I can’t make any promises, sir. I
need a little time to think about this.

“I understand. At least call Sonia,
I know she wants to hear from you. If anyone can find the truth, it’s her.”

“I’ll
call her. Just give me some time.” Mirza terminated the call and placed the
phone on the bed. Then he checked the magazine from the
Browning
pistol he’d stolen at the NSG compound.

“What
are we going to do, boss?”

He
slid the magazine back into the pistol, cocked it, and applied the safety. “Do
you think you can find Neeraj?”

“Easy.
You know me; Atal can find anything and anyone you want.”

“Good.
Neeraj and I are going to have a little chat.”

***

Neeraj had waited for darkness
before he made his way to the makeshift surgery. He knew he should leave town
but his priority was treating the gunshot wound on his arm. Now, he sat in this
old geriatric’s ‘surgery’ and wondered if he made the right choice.

“You’re
very lucky, Neeraj. Word on the street is the Black Cats killed everyone in the
building.”

“Those
fucking pricks also shot Salim and Jamal when we ran across the roof.”

The backyard doctor mumbled
something and finished closing the wound with a tug on the thread.

“Take it easy. I’m not a bag of
fucking rice.” Sweat rolled off the gangster’s face. He took a long swig from a
bottle of palm wine then rested it on his belly.

“Word
is you had some real bad Pakis at your place.”

Neeraj
glared at him. “I’m not paying you to talk shit. Fix my arm and shut the fuck
up.”

The
old man shrugged and cut the length of thread hanging from the wound. As he
dabbed it with alcohol, there was banging on the door and he called out, “Wait,
I’m coming.”

Neeraj
put the palm wine on the bench and grabbed him. “It’s late. Are you expecting
anyone?”

“Just
another patient. Business has been good this week.” He brushed off Neeraj’s
hand and left through the curtains separating the dingy room from the
storefront.

Neeraj
heard the squeak of the front door followed by, “Get out of the way, old man.”
He flew from the chair and bolted out the backdoor. Not daring to glance behind
him, he fled down the poorly lit alley. His heart pounding, he skidded around a
corner and collided with a muscle bound giant.

“Hello Neeraj, how are you?” Roshan
punched him in the gut doubling him over and threw him against the side of a
shack.

Prasad appeared from the other
direction and pinned his neck to the wall. “You tried to fuck me, Neeraj. I
don’t like being fucked.”

His
eyes widened as Roshan screwed a suppressor onto a pistol.

“I told you to call. I told you to
tell me what those fucking Pakis were up to. Did you? No, you kept quiet and,
when it blew up, tried to run and hide.”

“It’s
not that simple,” he whimpered. “They knew about our meeting. I swear.”

“Then
why aren’t you dead?”

“They
needed my help.”

The
lieutenant colonel tightened his grip on Neeraj’s neck. “Then you are a fucking
traitor. I told you what would happen if you crossed me.” He jammed a thumb
into the freshly stitched wound on his upper arm.

Neeraj
screamed and Prasad dropped him to the ground.

Roshan
stepped in and pushed the suppressor up against his temple.

“Wait,
you don’t have to kill me. I won’t tell anyone anything. I promise,” he whined
from the gutter.

“We
all know what your promises are worth,” Prasad said.

“I’ll
do anything.”

“What
could you possibly do for me that I can’t do myself?”

“I
can tie up loose ends. I can find people.”

“The
men in the burkas. There’s one on the run, do you know him?”

Neeraj
shook his head.

“Then
you’re useless. Roshan, if you would please.” He took a cigarette from his
jacket, lit it, and started to walk away.

“No,
wait!
The kid, the street urchin, Atal.
He was working
with them. I swear.”

“So?”

“I
can find him. He knows the men in the burkas. They killed two of my gang when
we tried to catch the little worm.”

Prasad
sucked in a lung full of smoke, bent over, and exhaled in Neeraj’s face. “And
why did you try to catch him?”

Neeraj
coughed. “The Pakis wanted him. He saw them arrive.”

Prasad
looked sideways at Roshan who pulled a notebook from his jacket and jotted down
the boy’s name. “I’ve got another job for you.”

“Yes,
anything.”

Prasad
smiled at the look of desperation. “I’ll give you a simple task. If you can
complete it without fucking up, I might let you live. You fail me again, and
I’ll cut your organs out myself.”

Neeraj
nodded. “What do you want me to do?”

“I
need you to kill someone. Pay close attention. I’m going to give you a name, a
time, and a place. And I’m only going to say them once.”

***

Atal watched from the shadows as
Neeraj left the alley. It was just after nightfall and he had been searching for
the criminal since mid-afternoon. He followed him for a few streets before the
gangster entered a shop. Pulling out his cell phone, he sent a message.

It
took the tuk-tuk driver a little under five minutes to arrive. In the dim
street-lighting Atal could barely recognize Mirza sitting in the back.

Grinning,
he waited by the door of the fabric shop. When his target emerged carrying a
bundle under his arm, he stepped into the light. “Hi, fat-guts. Heard you’re
looking for me.”

Neeraj’s
flabby jaw dropped as he recognized him. Then his face split into a broad smile
as he fumbled with the bundle under his arm.

“Careful,
you wouldn’t want to drop that,” said Mirza as he jumped from the taxi and
relieved Neeraj of the bundle. He jammed the muzzle of his Browning in the
criminal’s bulging midriff. “Not your week is it? Now, get in the tuk-tuk.”

Atal’s
friend drove across Chandni Chowk with the three of them squashed in the back
like a family. Arriving at the new hotel, Atal checked that the front desk was
empty. All clear, Mirza guided their captive up the stairs. Once in their room,
he shoved Neeraj onto one of the beds.

“Who
are you? What do you want from me?”

“Answers,
Neeraj, I want answers. We can start with what you were going to do with this?”
Mirza unrolled the swath of material, held up the loaded revolver and smiled.

Neeraj
sat silently, his eyes darting around the room.

Mirza
sat on the facing bed and emptied all but one of the cartridges from the
revolver. He spun the cylinder, snapped it shut,
then
aimed at the man’s groin. “It’s a bit clichéd I know, but I don’t have time to
get creative. Now start talking.”