Weapon of Vengeance (30 page)

Nothing to do now but wait. He knew. So he waited.

*   *   *

The neatly dressed man got out of the car and walked up to the main gate of the Gill home. He had a piece of paper in his hand and was referring to it as he approached, checking house numbers. Barring the occasional streetlamp, the street was dark.

“Excuse me,” he said to the guard standing outside, holding up the paper. “Can you please tell me where Mr. Mahajan stays?”

The sentry shouldered his rifle and held out his hand. “Show me the house number.”

The man drew closer.

The two other guards heard the exchange and came closer, curiosity more than anything else. Now all four men were just a few meters apart.

The sentry was taking the paper, so he failed to see the man's right hand creep up to his waist. There was a soft click, which registered with none of the guards. And the bomb wrapped around the man's waist went off with a thunderous roar. Nothing within six to seven meters remained standing.

All three guards and a part of the metal gate blew apart. The bomber himself disintegrated. Only one of the guards was far enough away to survive, but even he was knocked unconscious.

The roar of the explosion had not yet abated when the door of the car in which the man had arrived blew open and another man leaped out, carrying a Type 56 Chinese assault rifle.

Rushing past the body of Aslam, his former cell mate, who had taken out the guards at the cost of his life, Javed Khan headed straight for the Gills' front door, his rifle on the ready. The mission given to him by the Jaish-e-Mohammed chief was clear: He would kill the ATTF chief. Or die trying.

Leveling his rifle at the door, he fired a long burst, shattering the lock. After kicking open the now useless door, he entered the house. He saw no lights on the ground floor. The curtains were drawn and the house was swathed in darkness. Pitch-black darkness. Cursing, Javed began to feel his way forward, trying to find a light switch.

*   *   *

To Ravinder, the sound was so loud, so close, that he knew the house was under attack. The popping crack of an assault rifle confirmed it. Not pausing to think, he leaped out of bed, grabbed the Browning from the bedside table, and clicking off the safety, headed out.

“Go to Jasmine's room and lock yourselves in!” he yelled at Simran as he ran. “And call the control room.” In the heat of the moment, he forgot about Ruby.

Simran ran for Jasmine's room.

Jasmine too had been jolted awake, but she was befuddled. Then she saw her mother rush in, wild-eyed.

“We're being attacked!” Simran screeched with fear. She reached out and grabbed Jasmine, and began to blubber hysterically. The panic multiplied, feeding off both of them.

Simran was still wailing when she reached for the phone and dialed 100, the police control room, managing to get the message across before again rushing to Jasmine. The two women clutched each other, terrified. Simran had forgotten to lock the bedroom door.

*   *   *

Sitting in the guest bedroom's bay window, Ruby saw the blinding flash of the bomb. She froze. The rifle burst galvanized her. Instantly, her training took charge. She ran for the weapon that should have been by her bedside. But her hand came away empty. Then she realized where she was. The pistol in Jasmine's room flashed on her memory. A dozen quick steps, and she burst into Jasmine's room.

Jasmine and Simran screamed when the door blew open. Then they saw it was Ruby and some of their panic receded.

Ruby took in their condition at a glance. Without breaking her stride, she raced to the jewelry box, snatched out the pistol, her hands instinctively checking if the magazine was loaded. It was. She chambered a round.

A loud metallic clang from the living room spurred her on. She swiveled around and ran out.

*   *   *

Javed was cursing the darkness, clawing the walls to find a light switch. He had taken about ten steps when he collided with a large brass lamp. It toppled and hit the ground with a loud clang. He froze.
Hell!
By now someone would have called the cops and they'd be on the way. He was deciding what to do when …

*   *   *

Ravinder hit the head of the stairs as the brass lamp hit the floor. The gun steady in his right hand, he hit the light switch with his left. Fingers of light flashed into the living room. Immediately he saw the intruder. The rifle in the man's hand began to rise. Ravinder's weapon was already up. He fired. And missed.

From thirty feet away, the assault rifle roared to life. It was set on automatic. Like pinpricks of light, a volley of bullets flew at him.

Ravinder threw himself down, forgetting that he was standing at the head of the stairs. His head hit the wood, hard. Though the stairs were carpeted, it was hard enough to knock him unconscious.

*   *   *

Javed saw Ravinder fall. He heard the body hit the stairs and start to slide down. He assumed he had hit him. Needing to confirm if it was really the ATTF chief or only one of his minions, Javed raced up the stairs.

*   *   *

Racing forward, Ruby was chambering a round when the pistol shot rang out, followed closely by the roar of an assault rifle. Then she heard the thud of a body hitting the floor. She erupted out of the corridor that led to the bedrooms.

The sight before her eyes froze her.

Ravinder was in a heap halfway down the stairs. Coming up was a man with an assault rifle in his hands and a crazed look.

My daddy!
Her heart plummeted.
He's killed my daddy!

Javed saw Ruby at the same time and began to align his weapon on her.

He's killed my daddy!

Something inside Ruby broke. She fired. Again. Then again.

The first two bullets, delivered to his chest at close range, brought Javed to a dead halt. The third blew him backward. He was almost dead as he hit the foot of the staircase.

But Ruby did not stop. The killing heat was upon her, compounding her rage at the unknown man who had orphaned her. At a few feet from him, she saw that the intruder still had some life in him. Kneeling next to him, she prodded his face with the pistol. Javed's eyes fluttered open.

Ruby leaned closer, right into his ear, and whispered. “You-will-
not
-kill-my-daddy. No-one-will-
ever
-kill-my-daddy.” Each word shot out separately, unforgivingly. Placing the pistol against his forehead, she pulled the trigger. Again. And kept firing till the weapon was empty. And the intruder's head a gory, pulpy mess.

In the distance, she heard the wailing of police sirens. She heard it, but it did not register. She felt empty. Completely hollow. Drained.

Then she heard a moan behind her as Ravinder regained consciousness.

Shocked, she turned and saw that he was sitting up, holding his head, where it had struck the stairs. He looked dazed but unhurt. Something inside her began to sing again. Something cried. Something snapped.

Dropping the pistol, she ran to Ravinder. “Are you all right, Daddy?”

He nodded, still dazed.

Just then Simran appeared at the head of the stairs with Jasmine in tow. They saw Ravinder's head was cradled in Ruby's lap.

“Ruby saved all of us today,” Ravinder called out to them. He had tears in his eyes.

Both women started to cry as the aftershock struck.

Ruby sat silent and still. Stroking Ravinder's hair, softly, lovingly. Her eyes were blank and silent. Something inside her head had fragmented. She no longer knew who she was. Where she was. Why she was.

Vehicles came to a screeching halt outside. Cops burst into the house.

Ruby did not see them. She heard nothing. She motioned to Jasmine to come closer. Made her sit beside her and gently moved Ravinder's head to Jasmine's lap. “Look after Daddy. No one must hurt him.” After getting up, Ruby returned to her bedroom, seemingly oblivious.

Simran, Ravinder, and Jasmine watched her go. None of them knew what to say. Or do.

Ruby collapsed on the bed. For once, her mind did not trouble her. It couldn't. Something inside had broken loose. A Rubicon had been crossed.

*   *   *

Unaware of the turmoil awaiting them, from seven different countries, thirteen different men began to move.

From Washington, London, Tel Aviv, Cairo, Damascus, and Amman. One by one, their aircraft slid through the skies, sweeping closer to Delhi.

In their hands lay the fate of millions of people. Hope for Palestine and peace for Israel. Their success would mean the return of peace to a land troubled by bloodshed for so many years. Each one of them was keenly aware of it.

Though none of them had any illusions about the gargantuan task, they had hope.

 

DAY NINE

A new sun was rising when Senator George Polk's flight touched down.

Thakur met the silver-colored USAF jet at the VIP area of Palam Air Force Station. Slightly balding, ruddy-faced, yet with an aura of power, the senator had a wide smile as he descended from the plane, no doubt looking forward to playing a key role in the historic summit. He was miffed that there was no press there to meet him and hail America's critical role in this event.

Mohite was hovering around Thakur. Jennifer Poetzcsh was there too, the senator being her responsibility. Suspicious of everything and mistrustful of the security cover provided by the Indians, her hand never strayed from her gun.

Thakur, also eager to make his presence felt, accompanied the senator to the hotel to make sure he was comfortably settled in.

Ravinder joined them there a bit later, still groggy from the events of last night. His head now hurt less, dulled by painkillers. But he was also still reeling from the emotional jolt. Ruby's actions had him completely confused. However, still unable to ignore the evidence against her, he would continue the surveillance till the delegates left India; that seemed the sanest course.

They had barely settled the senator in, when the Saudi delegate, Prince Ghanim Abdul Rahman al-Saud walked in. Despite his short, stout build and bushy eyebrows, his regal robes and aura left no doubt that he commanded instant obedience. Two hard-looking, well-built, retired SEALs were flanking him. Ravinder noted that both bore a striking resemblance to Mark Leahy.

And, my God, yes, the two South African mercenaries were still at large. And Ruby.
What is she doing?
He looked at his watch, a quarter to eleven. The surveillance team was to report every hour on the hour, so the next call would come at eleven, or if Ruby left the house.

That morning Ravinder, then Jasmine, and eventually Simran had gone to check on her. All three had encountered a locked door. The only response was her voice, telling them she was okay and they should not worry. But she sounded far from okay. Ravinder was concerned. He hoped it was nothing more than the shock of having had to kill someone.

He was still thinking of Ruby when Chance strode in with Sir Geoffrey Tang, the British delegate. Tang was extremely tall, fit, and totally smart in his tailored, gray, pin-striped suit. Despite his sixty-plus years, he had a full head of hair, with only touches of white at the temples. With deep-set, coal black eyes, chiseled features, and long sideburns and goatee, Tang looked the epitome of royalty.

“We heard about last night … are you okay?” Chance asked in an undertone. Ravinder nodded. “And Ruby?”

Ravinder nodded again. But both were keenly aware that the danger was far from over.

*   *   *

When Ruby came down for breakfast, she found Simran and Jasmine at the table. Jasmine gave a big smile and went running to give her a long hug. Jasmine appeared to have recovered completely. Or perhaps was in complete denial. At Simran's insistence, she was even going to college. Ravinder had agreed, realizing it was better for her than to sit and mope at home.

Simran also smiled at her, a warm smile, aware that none of them might be alive today if it had not been for Ruby.

“You are just in time, Ruby.” Jasmine pulled Ruby to the seat beside her. “Come. Mom is helping me prepare for today's moot court. Would you also like to hear my contentions?”

“Why do you want to bother her?” Simran replied before Ruby could respond.

“If that is what you want me to do,” Ruby replied tonelessly, ignoring Simran.

“Are you sure?” Jasmine queried. Ruby nodded. “Great!” Jasmine pulled out a sheaf of papers. “The case is a real one—
Mausami Ganguli versus Jayant Ganguli
. I am representing the father and my best friend Rekha is representing the mother.” Jasmine began to read, giving details of how she would defend the case in the college moot court.

Ruby was staring at the plate of eggs on the table, and did not appear to be listening. Simran was watching her, a worried look on her face.

“So when the wife, Mausami Ganguly, deserted her husband, she moved to another city.” Jasmine flipped a page and continued. “From there she managed to obtain an ex parte divorce. She also managed to get legal custody of their four-year-old daughter. The husband, Jayant, contested that in the high court … the divorce and the custody.”

“Did he win?” Ruby's sudden question, delivered in that same flat monotone, shocked both Jasmine and Simran.

“What?” Jasmine asked.

“So did he get it? The custody, I mean,” Ruby repeated, still staring at the plate of eggs.

“The father? Yes, he did get custody, but only later, from the Supreme Court.”

“I see.” Ruby had still not looked up.

Concerned, Jasmine exchanged a rapid glance with Simran, who, equally confused, shrugged.

“You can if you want to,” Ruby said as she suddenly got up and began to walk away, heading back up to her room. “You can if you want to.… You have to want to,” Ruby called without stopping.

Simran and Jasmine heard her go up the stairs with a heavy, dragging stride.