The Incredible Banker (18 page)

I
T was the ninth anniversary of the attack on the symbol of democracy. The day when terrorists from across the border had made a daring attempt to break into Parliament! The entire nation watched the episode replaying in front of their eyes as channel after channel hyped the attack on the TV screen throughout the day.

Deepak was at home watching the drama on TV. He had nothing better to do. He would normally be on a Facebook chat with Savitha on a Sunday morning but that day Savitha had to be away for a sports day celebration at Arya Vidya Mandir, her daughter's school.

Dressed in his shorts, seated on a sofa, he was bored. Radhika too, had just stepped out to the local Chembur temple. He called out to the maid and asked for a fresh cup of filter coffee – his third since the morning. Deepak had become addicted to filter coffee after his marriage to a South Indian.

The last one year had been momentous for him. After the Switzerland trip, his image in Manish Bhalla's eyes had undergone a sea change. He was a star and could do no wrong. Every single month in 2009 had been rocking – each month being better than the previous one. The high point came in the festive season of October and November, when he clocked 18,000 credit cards a month, a volume which was unimaginable when he had taken over in 2008. His stars were on the ascent, so much so that in the succession planning for retail banking, he was the first choice to succeed Manish Bhalla if and when the latter moved from his role as Head of Credit Cards business. The demons of the past, the biases created on account of his political relationship with Karan, had all been exorcised.

He was lost in thoughts of the year almost gone by when a ring on the doorbell disturbed the trance that he had got into.

'Mangala, dekhna kaun hai (Mangala, just see who is at the door) ?' he called out to the maid. No response. After making coffee for him, the maid had stepped out to get some vegetables for lunch. Radhika always insisted that Sunday lunch be made from fresh vegetables and not from the old and stale ones stocked in the refrigerator.

He had to get up himself and open the door. Cursing the maid he got out of the chaise lounge in the living room and walked to the main door, barely eight steps away. While Deepak was very agile and quick at work, and extremely athletic at play, at home he was slower than a snail. It was very difficult to push him out of the couch. However, that day was different. There was no one else at home.

Outside the main door stood four unknown men. He had never seen them. Three of them were smartly dressed in jackets while one had not even worn a tie. Probably, he was an apprentice of the other three.

The questioning look in his eyes didn't encourage the four men to volunteer any introductions.

'Mr Sarup?' One of them broke the silence.

'Yes.' The quizzical look persisted.

'Mr Sarup, do you mind if we just step in and talk to you.'

Deepak was irritated. 'What the hell? These guys come to my house, want to talk to me and won't tell me who they are?' he wondered.

'Sure, but I would appreciate if you gentlemen first introduce yourselves, tell me what you want and then come inside.'

'Oh, I am so sorry, Mr Sarup.' When one of the four men said this, Deepak smiled. So this was not intentional. They genuinely forgot to introduce themselves.

'Mr Sarup, my name is Thakurta...Partha Thakurta,' one of the men introduced himself.

'Ok,' said Deepak, still confused. That name didn't mean anything to him.

'I am from the special projects cell of the CBI.' The word 'CBI' slightly shocked Deepak. Why would CBI come to his doorstep? He was suddenly worked up but kept his calm.

'Can I see your IDs please?' he asked the men.

The four men patiently showed their IDs to Deepak and waited till he finished checking them. The three men in jackets were from the CBI while the fourth was an inspector with the local police who had just accompanied them in case they needed any help. Why would the CBI come looking for him? Why would a senior cop accompany them? Sounded a bit eerie. He was now sure that they would have backup outside the building, on the road. But why would they do this ? He was no criminal. In any case he was about to find out.

He stepped away from the door, and led them inside. 'Please come in.' All of them came inside and made themselves comfortable on the living-room couch.

'What can I do for you, Mr Thakurta?' asked Deepak.

'Mr Sarup, we are here to talk to you about a case we have been investigating.'

'Ok...,' the drag in Deepak's voice gave an impression that he had no clue what they were talking about. 'So?'

'We believe that you may have all the information, Mr Sarup,' this oxymoronic statement from Thakurta stumped Deepak.

'Sorry?' Deepak didn't like his tone. The look on Deepak's face turned aggressive. 'I will give you whatever information I have. But as of now I am completely clueless on what you are referring to.'

'Do you know somebody by the name "Francis" ?' asked Thakurta, with a straight face.

Deepak thought for a while and responded, 'No, I do not know anybody by this name. In fact, I don't know anyone you might have an interest in.'

'Mr Sarup, it will be nice if you just give us the answers to the questions we ask. If there is any interpretation that we need you to do, we will tell you. I am asking you again if you know anyone who goes by the name Francis,' Thakurta paused in his sarcastic rebuttal for a couple of seconds before he added, 'irrespective of whether we might have an interest in him or not.'

'No,' Deepak swiftly replied.

'Are you sure, Mr Sarup?'

'Yes, absolutely!' Deepak didn't have any friend named Francis and he had never worked with any such person.

'Ok, then maybe you would tell us what this is about.' Thakurta took out a plastic cover and showed it to him.

'What are we trying to dig out here, Mr Thakurta?' Deepak was confused, wondering what was going on. Deepak took the plastic bag from him and looked at it. He did not know what to say, nor did he understand the relevance. What Thakurta showed him was a unique piece. The colour was so distinct. So different from the rest. There was no way he was going to forget that exquisite piece.

The look on his face gave it all away.

'Hmm...so I can safely assume that you know what this is ? Maybe you could explain?' Thakurta continued.

'I will, Mr Thakurta. But how did this come to you? And why is it sealed the way it is?'

In response, Thakurta just rolled his eyes once and then fixed his sight directly on Deepak. 'Out with it Mr Sarup,' he said, a bit firmly this time.

'I will tell you the entire story. But before that you need to tell me what this is all about. How did you get this?'

Thakurta was a CBI inspector. He had dealt with criminals all his life. When criminals think they can outsmart the cops, invariably they crumble. There was no need for pressure tactics or torture. It was just a mind game.

'Ok, Mr Sarup. But remember, today I have all the time in the world. I will leave from here only after I have gathered all the information that I want.' 'Hmm....'

'Have you heard of Ranibodli...the massacre which took place a few months ago...in October?' Thakurta began his story with another question.

'The same one where over fifty policemen were ambushed. I read about it in the papers,' Deepak answered.

'Not ambushed, Mr Sarup,' suddenly Thakurta raised his voice. 'Murder! It was cold-blooded murder of fifty-five policemen in a school compound. It was a heinous crime committed by a bunch of jerks supported by well-educated people in big cities.'

'Yes, I remember,' said Deepak, though he didn't understand the relevance of the last part about 'well-educated people in big cities'.

'In that attack, all the bodies except one were identified. The identified bodies were all of policemen. Fifty-five bodies at last count. They were all buried with full state honours. However, what people don't know is that there was a fifth-sixth body, which has not been identified till now. It's kept in the Sambalpur state morgue, pending identification.'

'What does it have to do with me?' Deepak was getting nervous now. Till now Deepak was under the impression that it was something routine. It was now becoming clear to him that this was a serious investigation, something which he had no clue about. Thakurta talking about killings and dead bodies scared him.

'It has, Mr Sarup...it has. Else we would not be wasting our time here. The person whose body has been recovered we suspect to be the one against whom there are a number of cases in Chhattisgarh and he might be one of the most wanted Maoist leaders in Dantewade. The right hand man of Charu, the founder of the Maoist movement in the forests bordering Maharashtra and Andhra. No one has seen him before.'

'What?' Deepak was extremely shocked. Words eluded him.

'A body search conducted on him revealed a few things. We found a wallet on him, and in the wallet was a credit card.'

'All right...'

'In the name of Francis.'

'What? Credit card in the name of Francis?' It suddenly struck Deepak. The events that had happened a few weeks flashed in front of his eyes.

The mail from Saurabh Bhambani had hit him as he was running for a LRO (Long Range Oudook) presentation. LRO was a name given to strategic plan presentations. Prompted by the success of Standard Chartered Bank, GB2 was drawing up a three-year plan for all their businesses in India. This was Ronald's initiative and people at all levels in every team were involved. As it was an exercise driven at the senior-most level, it was very critical even from a personal growth perspective. Managers were being judged by their contribution to the LRO exercise. As Deepak was getting late for the LRO discussion, he did not wait to read it on his laptop, and instead decided to read it on his way to the conference room on his Blackberry.

It was a mail which Saurabh had forwarded to him with a note saying 'please respond'. In fact the mail was a request from the law enforcers asking for some details of a particular credit card and Saurabh had diligently forwarded the same to Deepak, as it was a Mumbai-based card.

'Doesn't Saurabh know that these mails are responded to by the operations team,' he said to himself as he pressed the 'forward' button and sent it to the operations team based out of Chennai. The police had asked for a number of details which included a copy of application form, the photograph given by the customer while applying for the credit card, address on record, statements for the past twelve months, payment record for the last twelve months, details of cash transactions made in the account, etc. They had even asked for details of the sales agent who had sourced the application and who had approved the card. It was a fairly exhaustive request, not a routine questionaire. However, he was in the LRO frame of mind and had quietly forwarded the mail to his operations unit.

And now, sitting in front of CBI officer Mr Thakurta, he recalled that the mail related to one Mr Francis. Probably it was the same Francis – Francis D'Silva. What was the connection? Why was the CBI at his doorstep? Had he knowingly or inadvertently done something which had brought him under the scanner? What should he do? Should he call up the bank and ask for help, or should he play along and see how he could get out of this spot? There was no point hiding information. As far as he knew, he had done no wrong.

A maze of thoughts engulfed him when the booming voice of Thakurta brought him back to reality. 'So, Mr Sarup, are you listening to me?'

'Yes, of course....'

'As I was telling you, we found the card during the search of the unidentified body. A platinum credit card in the name of Francis D'Silva. The card has been issued by your bank.'

'Yes. Wasn't this the same card about which CBI had sought some information from us some time back? I remember the mail with the information request.'

'Mr Sarup, you are right. This is the same card.'

'I remember I had asked our operations team to provide all the information to you. Hope they did?'

'Yes, yes. Your bank responded extremely promptly. When we saw the information provided by your bank, we discovered some inconsistencies in the entire data.'

'Inconsistencies ? What kind of inconsistencies ? If you so require, we can provide all the clarifications that you might need,' Deepak offered.

'Francis's platinum card had a credit limit of three lakh,' said Thakurta and paused. 'Mr Sarup, a person is killed in a gun battle in RaniBodli in Dantewada...and guess what? We find a three lakh limit credit card on him. It is very unlikely, Mr Sarup, that anyone within miles of Dantewada will have the income to justify a credit limit of three lakh rupees.'

'I understand. One needs to have an income of around a-lakh-and-half a month to justify a limit of three lakh.'

'Yes, so you better have an explanation of how a person living in RaniBodli has a credit limit of three lakh,' Thakurta said.

'I am not too sure I would be able to tell you anything right away. I do not keep track of all credit card customers. It is physically impossible for me to do so.'

'But Francis D'Silva is not 'anyone', Mr Sarup.' The drag when he said 'anyone' was quite evident. 'You know him personally.' He added.

'What do you mean?'

'After what I showed you just now, I was hoping you would not be as surprised as you are feigning to be. However, I must say I am bit amazed at your stance. But that's fine. Hold your comments till you hear the entire story.'

'Please believe me...I will tell you whatever I know about this. As of now I have absolutely no idea. If you give me some time, I will even check out all the application details and come back to you with a solid reason behind how a three-lakh credit limit was given, if that's all that you want.' Not that Sarup had much choice.