The Acquaintance Read online

  “Do you know what they did to me in there? This was nothing, this was just the beginning, he said lifting his hand to the light, so that she could see the seared flesh of his palm. “They beat me every night, they made me do things for them and when I refused, they did things to me. You can only fight the first time, I drew blood the first time they came near my mouth. I lost ten teeth on my left side that night, but they never came close to my mouth again”, he said proudly. “But that didn’t stop them from coming in the second night. I fought again but I couldn’t stave them for long. But the third time…”, Jogi trailed off as his eyes went dead. She knew what came next. She brought a trembling hand to her mouth to stifle a sob. “I don’t want your pity. I am a fighter Nargis, I may have lost sight of that on the third night but I have remembered it ever since you came calling.”

  He laughed, “The very people who had ruined my life were offering me a lifeline. The first time they came to me was when I filed the domain name for my company, they offered me a job saving lives. All I had to do was sign over my company to them.” He looked at her, his snarl exposing his upper teeth. “As you can imagine I refused and three months later I was in prison for a crime that was never committed. I was in there just long enough for my company to go under. I guess that’s what they wanted. I believe that I would finally be released now that they had what they wanted. But they wanted more.”

  He looked at the backlight display and reached for it. “Don’t”, warned Nargis, taking aim. “I would have died in there if it hadn’t been for the Maerifa”, said Jogi. There was that name again. It was a Pashto word, a word that meant, Nargis’ heart stopped. Maerifa was the urdu word for acquaintance.

  “He told me the truth of how someone at CTU and RAW had conspired to keep me in prison so that they could profit off of my rival company. How they were going to offer me a job as a consolation prize but also because they knew what my mind was capable of designing and they wanted me all to themselves and not floating out there in the free market.”

  Nargis knew that the CTU had recruited him for precisely this reason. But she didn’t think now was the right time to confirm his suspicions. She had to distract him.

  “The propaganda video?”, interrupted Nargis. Jogi blinked, like he was trying to remember something that had slipped his mind, then it clicked, “Ah the propaganda video. It was so easy to splice together. Old footage from the CTU archive over the live action feed of the attack I recorded with the drone. I mean you must have wondered how the propaganda video made it to air so fast. I debated whether to use the live action feed, but I knew that if I tempted fate like that you would discover what I was up to before I had a chance to finish. So I used stills of the aftermath. No one had those pictures, even the civilians and the news hounds couldn’t get those pictures. That sanctimonious inspector had cordoned off the place in record time. But still even someone as sharp as you couldn’t rule out the possibility that the attacker could have taken the pictures from the crowd before the police got there. The rest was easy enough, I just emailed them a copy of the footage. They didn’t care about the propaganda, as long as they had pictures of the attack they would play it instantly and on a loop.”

  Nargis felt violated, he had studied her over all those years they worked together, he had spied on her. He knew the way she thought. The way she operated. “How did you do it?”, she said looking defeated.

  “There was no driver for the alto, I was controlling it remotely. I was itching to call you as soon as the place blew up, but I had to wait. Things had to be in place before I interrupted your procedure.” Nargis’ legs felt leaden, she stared at him in disbelief. “For what it’s worth I am sorry for what you’re going through.” It was Nargis’ turn to laugh, although his words were sympathetic, she knew he didn’t care. He sighed.

  “You may find this hard to believe but I didn’t want you involved. But Maerifa was insistent, he gave me the target. He told me that you would be particularly interested to know that the victim in the Chor Bazaar bombing was a student of your husband. I have no particular ill will towards you Nargis, you have always been like a big sister to me, but Maerifa means more to me and he asked me to kill the boy, so I did.”

  As the words washed over her, Nargis felt something inside her snap. She had to tell him the truth. “I have been onto you for a while Jogi. I knew you have been working against me, ever since I let you join my team.”

  Jogi paused, “I know you too well Nargis. Your attempts to distract me are pointless.” Nargis laughed, “If only you knew me as well as you think you did. I just needed verification. And you gave it to me when you confirmed Rizwan’s bogus story about Amina’s alias. I knew she was not Shahzad’s daughter. But the second you confirmed it, I knew the both of you were working together under the behest of one man, this Maerifa of yours, believe me when I say this, you don’t know him like I do.” Jogi scoffed, “You know nothing of Maerifa.”

  “On the contrary Jogi, I know more about him than you ever will.”

  “I just have one question though, what exactly did you inject Amina with?” Jogi staggered back, “You found that out did you? What does it matter anyway, the girl has served her purpose, you will never find her anyway.” Nargis shrugged, let’s just say, hypothetically, if the girl was in my custody and nowhere close to serving her purpose, what symptoms would she display? What did you inject her with because we both know it wasn’t a GPS tracker flowing through her bloodstream.”

  Jogi stood tall, his chest puffed out, “Now that is a secret I’ll take to the grave Nargis”, he said, raising the detonator over his head. “I’ll let you leave, give you enough of a head start to get to safety. Just because you have cancer doesn’t mean you have to try and be a hero, you may still have years to live. Now the dignitaries will be arriving any minute, so I suggest you start running.”

  Nargis sighed, “No one is coming, Jogi. The church is empty. There is no one for you to kill. No grand gesture, no grand sacrifice for the Maerifa’’, said Nargis. “You’re lying, I saw the plans for the Easter mass. The Prime Minister and the press are already here. I saw the security checks, don’t lie to me.” But even then Nargis could sense a tremor of hesitation in his voice. “Jogi, I let you have my access codes, do you really think after all these years I would not have gotten wiser to your tricks? I let you think you stole my access key from right under my nose. I’m a trained CTU agent Jogi and you thought that you hoodwinked me and took my key right off my person. Do you think it was a little out of character for me to share the Prime Minister’s itinerary with my analyst? It was so painfully easy that anybody else would have sensed a trap but your ego didn’t even let you think that I wanted you to see the plans for the Easter mass. It was a red herring Jogi, this is not the site for the Easter mass, the Prime Minister is not standing in solidarity with anyone. The security outside is the regular night shift, the very same security measures you’ll find all over the city after 26/11. The rest is a renovation crew for the church, nothing more.” She was lying of course, but she hoped to god that he believed her.

  “Why else would I give you access to a classified system that I knew even you couldn’t hack into?”

  “You’re bluffing”, said Jogi. “May be”, said Nargis, “But let me let you in on a little secret.”

  Nargis was about to drop a bomb of her own.

  “I know how to defuse that bomb of yours and it was you who showed me how.” Jogi rubbed his temple, “That’s impossible. Enough with your spy tricks Nargis, the only people apart from me who would have that information are…”, his eyes widened, the realisation that he had been played hit him harder than the two bullets that penetrated his sternum. Jogi collapsed in the water as his thumb released the detonator. Nargis strolled up to the bomb, she examined the device in front of her, they were exactly as the schematics she had received. She pulled out her phone and placed it on the device. “I have to hand it to you, you are quite thorough”, she said as she thumbed through
Jogi’s step by step schematic on defusing his state of the art wireless, timerless device. “I mean it is impressive, create a one of a kind dirty bomb and use the Easter mass as a demonstration to start a bidding war. I assume this little instruction manual was part of the package to the highest bidder?” All Jogi could manage was a blood gurgling cough. She tapped the relevant keys, motion gesture the touch screen, did the whole dance routine to defuse the bomb as specified in the schematics. It took her under a minute to defuse the thing. She watched as the blue light faded and they were plunged into darkness again. She switched on her flashlight and pointed it at Jogi’s face. She crouched down beside him as he continued to cough up blood. “What was your plan? Sell this to the highest bidder? A last fuck you to the CTU as you rode off into the sunset with your millions in blood money?”

  She stood up. There was an elongated silence that seemed to stretch between them. She cocked her gun, “I’m so disappointed in you.” Jogi’s eyes widened as his last thought was silenced by a bullet.

  CHAPTER 49

  Rizwan was dead. The doctors had declared it five minutes ago. Ram was outside the room watching the TV in the waiting area. The deadline for the terror attack had come and gone and yet there was no breaking news of a bomb blast or any terror attack whatsoever. Either Nargis had been successful or the terrorists had postponed their plan, he hoped it was the former. He would find out soon enough. He was debating how to break the news to Nargis. He decided to pull the bandaid quickly. He dialled and waited. She had gone off on her own. It rang and rang but no one picked up. Ram felt his chest constrict with anxiety. Why wasn’t she picking up? Why wasn’t she answering? Was she hurt? He cursed, he should have been there with her. He should never have let her go off on her own. He was about to hang up and go out looking for her when he heard a voice. “Hello?”, said a breathless Nargis. Relief flooded Ram and he couldn’t help but smile. The smile quickly vanished when he realised why he had called her.

  “So, how’d it go?”, said Ram. They spent the next fifteen minutes going back and forth in disbelief as they both recounted what had happened with Jogi and Rizwan. Ram had to give her credit, for her part, she was taking the news of her husband’s death remarkably well. She had been speechless for a minute when Ram had broken the news to her but she had bounced back remarkably quickly.

  “What is done is done, It doesn’t matter, I have another job for you”, said Nargis catching her breath. Ram was alert again. “I need you to go to the location I am sending you.” Ram felt a ping on his phone and found a geo-location tag on his screen. “And why am I going here?”

  “Because Amina’s safety depends on you getting there in time.” Ram’s blood ran cold. “How do you know where Amina is being held by Nargis?” There was a silence on the line punctuated by shallow breaths. “I’ll explain everything once you get to the location. She is a civilian and with her mother in custody, she has just stopped being useful.”

  Ram hung up and sprinted out the door. He took the stairs three at a time till he reached the lobby. They had taken Azhar into custody about six hours ago. Ram hoped that Amina’s captors didn’t have any means to receive the news about Azhar’s capture. Since the bomb was a dud. Ram was sure they had expected her to be arrested. And besides, Amina’s captors wouldn’t exactly rely on the news for confirmation, especially with the big mass happening. They would expect the CTU to silence any news of a failed terrorist attack on the Gateway of India. The news channels would be focused on the gathering of the Prime Minister at Easter Mass at Saint Margaret church.

  He had to get to the girl before they finished the job. His heart rate spiked at the thought. There was no way he was letting that girl die. He hoped they would keep her for ransom if not leverage for a reduced jail sentence. That would buy him some time. Ram prayed to all the gods he knew to keep the girl safe till he got to her.

  His SUV was still idling by the entrance. He entered the driver’s seat and peeled out of the hospital premises. He was a good half an hour away from the destination on his map. He had begun to sweat. The past three days have been a blur. He glanced at the speedometer and saw Jogi’s gloves lying there like abandoned pelt. To think just hours ago, they had been riding together to stop a fake bomb from detonating. Not for a second had Ram suspected Jogi of being the terrorist behind the Chor Bazaar bombings. Jogi had played his part to perfection. He had hoodwinked Ram into trusting him. He had fooled everyone. Except Nargis. She had known from the start. And now she knew where Amina was being held. The woman’s secrets were like a Russian Matryoshka doll. Open one secret and find another one hidden inside. Again and again ad nauseum.

  He turned right at a red signal and heard sirens behind him. A white Mahindra Jeep was following him, the blue siren blaring. He knew he was going well above the speed limit. He didn’t have time for this, he accelerated harder. Why weren’t the special license plates working? He would either have to lose them or he would have unnecessary back up when he got there. He would have to get rid of them.

  He slowed his car and stopped it by the roadside. He watched as an officer in a white shirt and khaki pants exited the Jeep. Why the hell was a traffic cop in Mufti? Ram wondered. This was a shakedown for cash. A little extra spending money for the evening he presumed. For liquor and snacks. This officer was going to be sorely disappointed. “Badi Jaldi mein the bhaiyya?” (You were in a quite a hurry brother), he said tapping on the window. Ram rolled down the window. “License and registration”, he said, thrusting his palm towards Ram. He was obviously drunk.

  Ram placed his ID facedown on the officer’s palm. He counted down the seconds. It took eight whole seconds for the sub-inspector to realise whose ID he was studying. The man bent over to the window and gave Ram a salute. In an instant he was tripping over his own feet to let Ram pass. He handed him back his ID, gave him another salute with a foot stomp for an added flourish. Ram ignored him and accelerated towards the girl. He had wasted about three minutes on the encounter. Not much in the grand scheme of things, but it could mean all the difference to the life of the girl. A hostage because he had kidnapped her to be used as leverage against a terrorist. Ram could see the signage that indicated that he was close to the area where the girl was being held. But the thing about Mumbai Ram hated most was the sheer size and scope of the population choked megacity. A lesson he had learned the hard way many times over. Distance and time did not operate in the usual fashion in Mumbai. For instance, if he needed to get to Andheri east to Andheri west, his assumption had been a fifteen-minute walk at most. How wrong he had been. He had lost a confidential informant that day. The drug pusher had spooked and run off when Ram hadn’t shown up on time. Ram prayed that today he would catch some sort of break when he reached a choke-point of traffic. A mere kilometre away from the slums that held the girl. It was a grid-lock and before he could reverse his car out of there he was boxed in and the honking began. Blurs of red light streaked his corneas and hellish honks filled his ears. Ram punched the dashboard and out popped his service revolver. He holstered the weapon on his waist and got out of the car. There was no way he could get out of the road. He had only seen this in movies but today he had no choice but to give it a try. He jumped on the bonnet of his car and vaulted himself over the SUV in front of him. He was greeted by cat calls and swear words as he hop-scotched his way over cars towards the slum.

  Ram ducked under an overpass. He was heading towards a tenement. Mumbai slums are a recognizable sight all over the world but for Ram, who had been living in Mumbai for a little over a decade. The aluminum slats that doubled as houses for the poor were still an enigma. Everytime he entered one, he felt like he was entering a famous maze. The rows of shelters and the sheer mass of bodies that pushed you around like a pinball was always disorienting for him. He had been given a specific location. He was having a hard time finding it. The lane he was in was peppered with hardware shops and mobile stores. Slate grey cement boxes flanked him on either side. Young faces peered out
at him from holes in the concrete walls of these half-constructed death-traps. The sky was darkening which meant a significant loss of visibility. And in a maze like this, for a directionally dyslexic like Ram, it would prove troublesome. He saw a group of old men sipping chai at a thella a few feet from where he stood. They seemed like they were old residents of the old town Mumbai. He approached them. He wanted to pull a picture of the girl on his phone and show it to them but thought better of it. He had the address, that’s all he needed to ask them. “Excuse me”, he said in hindi, “Do either of you gentlemen know where I can find the location?” The men began pointing in various directions and spitting out instructions to get there. He turned to the younger man next to the old man and nodded at him to proceed. He gave Ram clear directions to the location. There weren’t any street lights to illuminate his way. Ram thanked him and set off to find the girl.

  The lane was dusty and abandoned like the stone quarry it back-ended. The road was layered with marble and slate. Fine powdered like fingerprint dust. And just like fingerprint dust, Ram could read it like an open book, the road he was on was the only access point to this part of the slums. He could see his footprints behind him, and as he studied the dust he noticed that there were only three other sets of footprints. Two size tens and over, mostly male combat boots, foreign-made, treads were similar to the steel-tipped boots worn by construction engineers and as Ram bent over to study the footprints more closely, worn by mercenaries for hire. There was a distinct insignia on the footprint, a lion’s head swallowing a Cobra. Seminal Security, an international outfit that sold guns for hire, thugs and disgraced former military. Expensive and deadly. He had seen these footprints encased in blood at the dead drop. But the footprints he was interested in were far smaller and with no treads whatsoever, a child’s size five. Balding school shoes He saw the footprints leading towards the inner recesses of the street where Ram would have bet his life was the building where the girl was being held.