The Acquaintance Read online

  John took his place behind his desk, his fingers steepled. Nargis hated it when he did that, like he was some superior being, sitting in judgement of her. Minutes ticked by and yet neither of them broke the silence. She was not about to relent, she was not going to give him the satisfaction of watching her beg before he benched her. Finally John spoke, “The director doesn’t think you’re up to the task of finding Shahzad and I happen to agree with him.”

  Nargis had expected this. She was pissed off, now she would have to colour outside the lines which would be unnecessarily tedious. Nargis nodded without a word, her mind already figuring out a way to work the case beyond the watchful eyes of the agency. A challenge sure, but completely doable. But before her cogs could formulate a plan, John spoke again. “You have your carte blanche”, the words made Nargis do a double take. She tried to hide her surprise under a mask of stoicism. She had to be impassive, knowing John there would be a catch. But she couldn’t afford to dwell on that now. She would cross that bridge when she came to it. “So, I can have my team?”

  John nodded, “Not just a team, you will have access to any and all resources of the CTU and the DIA at your fingertips.

  This arrangement however, is completely off the books. There it is. The bastard was setting her up. She was a throwaway. An agent that was expendable.

  There will be no paper trail of this operation anywhere and the only person who would be able to corroborate Nargis’ actions during her hunt for Shahzad Khan will be John Abraham, who would much sooner see her hang by the neck than give her any kind of credit. He would have the power to break her. If she didn’t play by his rules, he would deny knowledge of ever greenlighting this operation. He would throw her under the bus as and when he needed.

  She was painting herself into a corner. For a second, she considered whether Shahzad was worth it. Her hand went up to her laser print again. Her resolve seemed to harden under John’s gaze. She was in this job for the duty of it and not for the glory. She would find Shahzad and stop his planned attacks or die trying. Right now, which seemed like the more welcome alternative. She steeled herself, she needed to do this for herself. With the time she had left, she owed it to herself to do some good, one last time. She looked John straight in the eye and nodded. “I agree.”

  Nargis realised she had been holding her breath through John’s entire spiel about him sticking his neck out for her and how if anything were to go wrong in this operation, he would have her head. She exhaled deeply as she booted up her air-gapped laptop with all her operational files. She snuck a glance at her phone once again, where the encrypted message winked at her innocently. The two words in the unassuming Times New Roman font was the only thing she could take in from a meagre single page file. The two words represented the name of a person Nargis had known a decade ago. Rizwan Zaid. The name of her husband.

  CHAPTER 6

  Nargis logged onto the private message board of a popular social networking site. She was on a TOR network for precisely this purpose. She communicated with her secret contact in the wide open. Anybody spying on her communications would find mildly interesting communiques between two cooking enthusiasts sharing recipes. And besides, the beauty of this particular social network was that the message disappeared in a matter of seconds. And Nargis’ own encryption made it impossible for anyone to take a snapshot of their chats.

  Today, however, she needed a more direct approach. She had a one-page dossier on Rizwan, but she needed more. She needed to know how he was connected to the attacks. She knew that her secret contact would have answers. For a price, she typed in a single word, Pursuant.

  She waited, an entire minute ticked by before the three dots that indicated the other person was typing finally gave way to actual words.

  There were five words in all, Mahdi, Progeny, Mentor, Antarctic, Financial. The words took five seconds to disappear, but five seconds is all Nargis needed to understand.

  She pulled up the dossier on Rizwan. The first thing she noticed was a surveillance picture snapped at a Madrasa near the harbour line. He was surrounded by children. He was smiling. The picture took her breath away. It had been ten years and he could still affect her this way. He looked the same, except for the laugh lines around his eyes. The thought that he could laugh at all after what he had done to her made her feel like her heart was being squeezed in a vise. Those eyes were still the same, he had an affable beard covering his face. Exactly how you would assume a teacher for under-privileged children would look like.

  She skimmed through the details of Rizwan’s current situation and occupation. He was a middle school teacher for the Saint Grace orphanage in South Mumbai. She whistled under her breath, Saint Grace orphanage was not run of the mill charity school but a financial powerhouse. A job there, even a temporary one would earn him a very pretty penny. She pulled up images of every class Rizwan taught. He was a teacher for standards four through six, he did not specialise in any particular subject but was a jack of all trades. Having a masters in chemical engineering with a minor in English literature and romance languages, made him grossly over qualified to be a middle school teacher. Especially if she remembered his ambition correctly. Rizwan had always wanted more, though he had always taken care to hide his ambition, Nargis had always noticed an unusual drive from him. A visceral need to be better than those around him, at the time, that was one of the things that had attracted her to him. But maybe she was wrong, maybe money did trump ambition after all.

  She was a first year psychology student when she had met him. It was during a protest rally at Delhi University. He was getting into an altercation with a group of overzealous student politicians. Nargis had decided to keep her head down and move along when she heard him say, “You cannot just use a public demonstration to grope a girl and get away with it.”

  “Leh, the girl doesn’t seem to have any problem, but Mister India here seems to have a big issue with our interacting with girls”, said the one in Rizwan’s face, he was built like a Pehelwan, a true wrestler from the fields of Punjab. Trying to stare him down but failing was Rizwan, a reedy, bespectacled boy who looked barely out of his teens. The girl in question was nowhere in sight. The poor thing must have taken her chance and escaped. One of the hooligans stepped forward and shoved him hard in the chest causing him to trip on his feet and topple backwards. A small crowd had gathered around the trio. The rally was so huge that it had its own sublets. A boxing match featuring good samaritan Rizwan Zaid was unfortunately one of them. People stared for a moment, some stopped to watch, but no one stepped in to help. Nargis was one of them, she turned to leave, she didn’t want to get involved. But then she heard a bone curdling scream and saw Rizwan being pummelled in the face by the Pehelwan while his crony held Rizwan by the arms. “Hey, what the hell do you think you’re doing?”, she was shoving through the crowd towards the confrontation.

  Before she knew it she was in the Pehelwan’s face. He stared at her shamelessly, his eyes slowly undressing her while a bashful blush creeped into his cheeks. She heard a wolf-whistle directed at her from the crowd. She ignored it. She was no stranger to lecherous stares and leers from men. Nargis glared at him. The man had nearly a foot and a half on her. She really hadn’t thought this through. “Release him”, she spat at the crony who sneered at her. “Look at that, your girlfriend is here to rescue you. The precious little damsel in distress.” He laughed and the crowd laughed with him. “Look at you big man picking on a boy half your size.” Again, she did not know what she was doing. Why was she riling him up? She back-tracked, “Look at him, he’s a puny weakling, he is not in your weight-class, we all know you can beat him. Why don’t you let him go?” He seemed to be considering it. Flattery, always worked. He nodded at his crony, who released Rizwan. “See, you clearly are the better man”, said Nargis with a smile. And that is when it happened. Rizwan took his moment of freedom to swing a fist at the Pehelwan’s face. There was a slight crunch, and Rizwan collapsed on the ground, howling in pai
n while nursing his broken knuckles. The Pehelwan’s eyes looked like they were about to pop out of his skull. He lunged for Rizwaan but Nargis got between them. The Pehelwan tried to avoid Nargis and lost his footing. He went down on the ground right beside Rizwan. He tried to scramble up but Nargis pushed him down. “Wait, you just took a tumble to avoid hitting me? How gentlemanly of you”, she said smiling. “I didn’t want to hurt a lady”, said the Pehelwan. She offered him his hand and pulled him up, “You sir are the better man”, she said batting her eyelashes at him. She gave Rizwan a look of disgust, “He clearly isn’t worth your time, believe me.” The Pehelwan seemed to consider this, the crowd around them had dissipated, melting back into the rally. Without an audience, beating down on Rizwan didn’t seem too inviting. He nodded at her and waved to his crony and they both disappeared into the crowd. Rizwan’s version was vastly different from hers but then again, he always did have a wild imagination.

  She looked at Rizwan and offered him a hand. He placed his uninjured hand in hers. He struggled to his feet and Nargis steadied him. “Are you alright?”, she said looking at his hand, the pinky finger seemed like it was bent the wrong way. “I’m fine”, he said straightening up. “Look I appreciate your help, but I had the situation under control. Was this guy serious? “Sure looked like it”, she said with a smile. He bristled. His ego was hurt more than his hand. “I could have taken him one on one, it was because he had his friend with him that I was at a disadvantage.”

  She had rescued him and yet she could see it in his eyes. He wasn’t grateful.

  Her phone interrupted her reverie. It was the clinic. She picked up, doctor Varma was still not pleased with her departure last night. “Ms. Hussein, Do you know how dangerous it is to leave a chemotherapy session incomplete like that?”, her voice was soft, stern and straightforward like a teacher at a parent teacher conference. She had heard a similar tone many times before. Carefully reprimanding the child while relating to the difficulties of the parent. “I had a work emergency that needed my attention doctor”, said Nargis and immediately regretted it. “Nothing requires more attention than your health right now Ms. Hussein. I can’t begin to press on you how important these treatments are at this early juncture. We were extremely lucky that we caught it this early, but if we leave it untreated, the damage could be irrevocable.”

  That was a nice spin to put on death. “I’m scheduling you in for this evening. I know it will be a pain, but please do consider the alternative, we don’t have time to waste.”

  CHAPTER 7

  Jogi had mercifully interrupted Nargis’ uncomfortable phone call with Doctor Varma by handing her the preliminary forensics results from the blast. “I don’t understand.” She looked at Jogi for an answer. There were only two victims, one of them was a boy, Ali Asif, only 19 years old, while the other was a geriatric named Dosabhai Gatke, aged 69, he owned the restaurant that was attacked. “What about the guy driving the alto, where was his body?” Jogi looked at her confused, “They didn’t find any other body.” Nargis stared at him like he was being purposely dense, “That’s not possible, the car rammed into the truck, am I right?”, she was waiting for a response from Jogi but he looked like he was about to cry. He was holding something back from her. “What is it, Jogi? Speak”, she said sternly. “I did some digging, the boy… there’s more in his file”

  “What about him?”, said Nargis flipping through the pages on the boy’s autopsy report. “He had Down Syndrome Nargis, he was a special needs child. What kind of person would do this? He used to take special classes after school in a madrasa Nargis, he was trying to be a better man, a productive member of society and he gets blown up for it. He was being tutored in science and maths at a madrasa. Do you know how amazing that is?”, said Jogi. But Nargis didn’t answer him, she was looking at the name of the boy’s special tutor. She could feel the cold embrace her spine and freeze it in place. This was the second time tonight, she had seen his name, Rizwan Zaid. This was too much of a coincidence to be a coincidence.

  She looked at the footage of the propaganda being played on the news channels across the country. “Any luck in finding the guy who took these pictures?”, she said pointing at her screen on which were splashed images of the scene mere moments after the explosion. Someone either got very lucky and was at the right place at the right time or the guy who took these was responsible for the attack. “Anyone in the crowd could have taken these pics before the police arrived. It would be near impossible to locate him in the time frame we have, especially when we have no way of knowing when and if he was in the crowd at all.” Nargis looked at him with an inscrutable expression. “I’m well aware of that Jogi, but thank you for pointing it out anyway.” Jogi looked apologetic. She dropped the victim reports on her desk and motioned for Jogi to sit. Her office was a closed cubicle with a low ceiling and no windows. People often felt claustrophobic in such a tiny space. They called it the “concrete coffin”, a sealed vacuum where secrets are stored. The walls were bare except for a shelf that sagged under the weight of case files and a law book. She had no personal effects anywhere, except for a singular framed picture of an old man with a six-year-old girl beaming up at the camera. Her Abbu jaan, the only leverage anyone would have against her. The only person in the world she cared for. Jogi fidgeted with his latex gloves. He had probably forgotten to remove them in his rush from the morgue, Nargis didn’t mind. Jogi was not a young man by any stretch of the imagination, but he had a surprisingly youthful face. A baby faced chocolate boy with a remarkable immature streak. It was easy to forget that Jogi was not a child but a full grown man. His face was flushed red. John had once inappropriately joked that Jogi had a crush on her and was her little boy toy. Jogi had been absolutely mortified, he had run out of the meeting before Nargis even had a chance to defend him. In a way she was glad. Her defending him would only have made things worse. She looked at him, the Vaseline smear under his nose to keep the cadaver stench away was beginning to drip with sweat. He was feeling restless, his left leg bobbing up and down like a jackhammer. It was never comfortable in the boss’ office, especially when there was nothing to look at but the boss herself. He was staring at the ground, avoiding eye contact like a suspect. She had to break the tension soon or Jogi would probably jump out of his skin.

  Nargis stood up. “I have been tasked with stopping this attack.” Jogi’s fidgeting stopped, he perked up, “That’s great”, he said with a grin that stretched from ear to ear. Nargis stared at him and his smile faltered, “I mean it’s not great because people are dead but it’s still great for you.” He was trying to contain his excitement and failing. Jogi was her biggest cheerleader at CTU and the closest thing to a friend Nargis had in this place. He had been rooting for her to get a promotion since day one. He couldn’t possibly know what was actually at stake for her. “I mean if you can crack this case, you can finally move to an office with a view. Nargis raised an eyebrow. “I’m sorry, what I meant was, how can I help?”, he was literally bobbing on his feet with excitement.

  “You’ll soon find out, Jogi. You’ll soon find out”, said Nargis with a smile.

  CHAPTER 8

  Nargis had sixty-six hours to track down a bomb that was supposed to “Scorch infidels and heathens in the flames of the righteous.” The number of people she trusted on this planet could be counted on one hand. And for this case, she would need every single finger on that hand. This was an extremely sensitive case, the last case she would ever use outsourced talent on, but she had been pushed into a corner, and these were extraordinary circumstances. The question now was if they would agree to help her out. Her liaison was pretty hands-off, but even he followed one or two rules now and then. What she was asking him to do would be well outside the purview of his country’s legal system, but since he was being contracted by Nargis, the legal system could be manipulated into a quagmire of nonsense if it ever got out.

  The chat message was still logged on. She typed in two words and hoped she w
as not betting on the wrong horse. Birdwatcher Caribbean Property Deeds.

  Translated: Run a trace on all assets in play. Layman’s Terms: Keep an eye on me.

  She wanted someone to watch her every move without anyone at CTU or the other intelligence agencies knowing. Her liaison was embedded with a foreign intelligence agency, but he was a private contractor for all intents and purposes. He worked for a price. She looked at the list again. She hit send.

  She had done it, she had sanctioned a foreign operative to spy on her.

  She knew what she had done would be categorized as crazy, and if any whiff of this were to get back to John, she would be crucified. But, it was a risk she had to take if her plan was going to work. She just hoped her trust wasn’t misplaced. Her secret contact hadn’t let her down yet.

  She drummed her fingers on the desk. Two fingers down.

  An eerie tune cut through the air. It was the “Funeral March’’ by Frederich Chopin, a musical piece she despised. It was her custom ringtone for John. “Hello?” she said impatiently. “Is that how you greet a superior officer Ms. Hussein?”, said John Abraham curtly, but, somehow with a touch of egomania. Superior my ass. He was a senior officer not a superior in any way, shape or form. “My apologies John’’, she said using his first name, making it clear that she was not standing on protocol, especially not while she was elbow deep in a case. John seemed to sense as much from her tone. For all his bravado and insufferable attitude. John Abraham was not stupid, he knew how to play the game. He knew the people he needed to make his ascent up the political ladder. He needed people he could glad hand but more importantly he needed people who would actually get things done. People like Nargis, who would actually do the dirty work that he could later take credit for. But that didn’t stop him from trying to create nuisances for Nargis. Anything to make her life difficult. She suspected this call was going to do just that.