Brutal (13 page)

A
usually secluded
farmhouse in the Jharoda Kalan village, located in one of the green belts of Delhi, was witnessing some unusual action today. Two bulky Toyota Land Cruisers had made their way through the gates. They were followed by a Swift Dzire and an Indica. A couple of hours ago a Toyota Innova had also found its way into the farmhouse. Once these cars were inside, the gates of the farmhouse were locked. A few men dressed in military camouflage attire and armed with M-4 carbine rifles spread themselves throughout the compound.

Tejeshwar Kushwaha was happy to be back in Delhi after almost two years. This was the city that had helped him become who he was today. Delhi often made him feel more powerful. He looked out his window, as his Land Cruiser passed by a carefully manicured garden. It pulled over near the entrance of a large hall connected to a two-storied building at its back. His driver Dara Singh stepped out to open the door of the SUV for him.

Another Land Cruiser stopped exactly behind his. Vinod Kushwaha came out of it. The other cars streamed into a small parking lot beside the garden and stopped there.

A muscular man with crew-cut hair came out from the hall and greeted Tejeshwar. Not able to recognize him, he turned his head towards his son Vinod in an asking gesture.

“He is Jatin Solanki. We call him Sultan. He is Ex-MARCOS, and leads our core operations,” said Vinod. MARCOS stood for Marine Commandos, the elite Special Ops unit of the Indian Navy.

“Where’s Pramod?” Tejeshwar asked with a frown. “I thought he was in-charge when you took over.”

“He has joined Academi full-time.”

Academi was the new identity for Blackwater, the powerful private military organization of the US.

“Why? And when?” Tejeshwar shot back. “You should’ve informed me.”

Pramod used to be his old warhorse and an exceptional operative. Losing him to another organization was a big loss.

“He was too old-fashioned. Unwilling to toe the line,” Vinod said bluntly. “The new line.”

Tejeshwar shook his head with regret.
Vinod is changing the core of what we stood for.

Sultan tried to deflect the topic of discussion. “The Quds party is already here. They are sitting in the quarters.”

“Let’s go then,” Vinod said, not looking at his father.

Sultan led them through the hall into a room furnished with three large sofa sets. A mini bar stood at one corner of the room. It often served as the meeting room for the Kushwahas.

There were three men sitting on a sofa. They were of middle-eastern origins – fair and dark haired. Their casual clothes intended to present them as common tourists from the Middle East. But Tejeshwar knew otherwise.

These men belonged to the Quds Force, a Special Forces unit of Iran’s Revolutionary Guard. It was devoted to spreading the Islamic revolution throughout the world. The current tug-of-war between Iran and their old foe Israel over the former’s attempts at building a nuclear arsenal had prepared the ground for the Quds. They were now spread over countries like Thailand, India, Kenya, Georgia and Azerbaijan, hunting down Israeli diplomats and Mossad agents. The Quds were behind the recent spate of attacks on Israeli embassy staff in India, Georgia and Thailand.

The Iranians stood up seeing Tejeshwar and Vinod enter the room. Sultan began introducing them, reading their names from a small chit.

“Meet Mr. Karim Behzadi, Mr. Ali Jabbari and Mr. Massoud Fallahi.”

Tejeshwar shook hands with them. So did his son. He gestured towards Sultan, telling him to move out of the room.

Massoud looked like their leader to Tejeshwar. He was old, but his eyes held the sharpness of a spy who had seen the world a lot. The man was looking at him, reading him. Tejeshwar didn’t expect this man to do the talking.
He’ll just observe.

He was proven correct when Karim began the discussion, looking at Vinod. “Mr. Kushwaha we come with a reference from one of your previous clients and we desire to use your services.”

“Call me Vinod, please. So, who’s the client you’re talking about?”

Tejeshwar interjected before Karim could reply. “Let us not discuss any client names or previous missions in this forum.” He looked into his son’s eyes, indicating what he said was meant for him.
How many times will I have to tell you not to discuss our clients openly?

Vinod understood his father’s intent and changed the topic. “How do you want us to help you?”

“We understand that the Kushwaha family has been in the business of special operations which can be executed outside the perimeter of law. We desire to carry out one such operation in your country. But it will not be against India, it will be against an old enemy.”

“And what would that operation be?”

“We want you to carry out an attack on an Israeli contingent visiting Bangalore. They are here for an international nuclear science summit.”

“It would be great if you can clarify what you mean by an attack?” Vinod asked.

“We want everyone in the contingent dead. These people are Israeli scientists,” Karim said.

“Scientists!” Vinod frowned. “Why do you want to kill scientists?”

Karim looked at Massoud, as if asking for his permission to continue. Massoud closed his eyes for a moment and then nodded.

Karim continued, “The war between Iran and Israel is no longer between the soldiers and the diplomats. It has spilled over to the civilians. Our country’s nuclear weapons program has been sabotaged by the bloody Zionist regime, with ample support from the Americans. They have used every means possible – sanctions, war threats, assassinations, computer viruses and God knows what. We have lost a lot of our key nuclear scientists over the years in attacks perpetrated by the Mossad. Most have been killed in our own country. Some were going to work, some traveling with family, some picking up children from day care. All killed in cold blood.”

He went on, “Then they attacked us with a computer virus… Stuxnet, one of the most sophisticated computer viruses ever. It led to many industrial accidents in our nuclear plants. We lost probably a decade of work because of this Goddamn virus. So, we decided to attack these motherfuckers back. Quds Force, that is us, has taken this war back to them. You remember the attacks on Israeli diplomats across the world as few years back?”

“The magnetic ‘sticky bombs’ you stuck on cars?” Vinod asked.

“Yes.”

Tejeshwar recalled the attack on an Israel diplomat’s wife in New Delhi a few years back. She was moving around the city in a car when a motorcyclist stuck a ‘sticky bomb’ at its rear. It was a big failure because the lady survived the explosion. He was amused when the hilarious failures of Quds Force came to his mind. Their agents would visit countries for big missions and then stay at five star hotels. They would get attracted to honey traps in nightclubs and bars and then caught by counter-agents.

“This time we want to hit the Israelis in their guts,” Karim continued. “You kill our scientists, we will kill yours.”

“If your men can bomb a car in India’s capital city on your own, why can’t you do it again in Bangalore?” Vinod asked. “Why do you need our help?”

Tejeshwar was really happy his son asked this question. Even though cross-questioning could make them lose the deal, it was important to ask difficult questions.
Taking up missions you can’t accomplish can land you in big trouble.

“We can’t attack them so easily this time. The Israelis are aware of the threat and they have requested your government for heavy security at the nuclear summit. Also, we would admit that the Quds force has seen quite a lot of failures over the years in their missions worldwide. So, we want to use local contractors this time.”

“Suppose we carry out this attack on the Israelis. Will you then claim responsibility for the attack?” Tejeshwar asked.

“No. Obviously, we will not. Our government will deny any knowledge of it,” Karim said.

Tejeshwar knew this could land them in a soup. An attack on Israel’s scientists by an Indian group could strain relationships between the two countries. India will use all its resources to track and capture the perpetrators. The Kushwahas would be termed as terrorists. Even the old allies will desert them. They may even lose their international business.

“We cannot take up this mission in that scenario. We don’t want to be called as terrorists. Without anyone taking responsibility for this attack, it’s us who will be left to face the wrath of Israel,” Tejeshwar said. He saw Vinod looking at him with questioning eyes.

“This is ridiculous. We will be inviting a war if we openly claim to have attacked the Israelis,” Karim argued. “By the way, we believed your organization specializes in such covert attacks.”

“That’s true. But we never take sides. We are always neutral. In your case, we don’t look that neutral. Do we?” Tejeshwar debated. “With your country safely denying any involvement, we are going to eat a lot of shit. Hell, we cannot make enemies out of countries.”

Massoud, who was a quiet observer till now, broke his silence at last. He spoke with the demeanour of a leader. “Is there any other way your organization can help us accomplish this mission?”

Tejeshwar noticed that Massoud was speaking to Vinod and not to him.
Is the fucker playing on my son’s mind?
He saw that Vinod was already feeling restless for not getting an opportunity to take a decision.

“I am afraid, we cannot be involved at all in this mission,” Tejeshwar said.

“Father, can we have a discussion in private?” Vinod said in a complaining tone. He looked miffed.

Tejeshwar clenched his teeth in anger as he saw Vinod walk into the adjoining room. For the first time ever, someone had questioned his decision. He could have upbraided Vinod then and there, but decided against it. One should not show the differences within family members to outsiders. He stood up and followed Vinod into the next room.

“What is this, father? This is such a lucrative party. We cannot lose them,” Vinod protested. “Why are you refusing?”

“Because you still have a lot to understand how this world operates,” Tejeshwar said, trying to keep his calm. “We are contractors. We don’t take sides. Terrorists take sides. With this mission we would clearly look like terrorists fighting Jihad.”

“But you’ve said multiple times that Jihad will give us the maximum business in future.”

“That’s true. But the Jihadis claim responsibility for whatever they do. They don’t let their contractors fight their own survival game.”

“When you kill someone, you take a side. Your client’s side. That’s a fact,” Vinod said brusquely. “We have played this game for generations. I guess you should let me play it my way now.”

“I will not have any more of this discussion,” Tejeshwar roared. “We are done. Tell these people to leave.” He went upstairs, leaving Vinod seething with anger.

A
s the Iranian
trio got into their Innova, Vinod saw Massoud making a gesture towards him with his eyes. He was calling him. Vinod approached his car window.

“I still believe we can strike a deal,” Massoud whispered and looked into his eyes. “And let me assure you, our purse strings are pretty loose for people who can execute our strategic missions.”

Vinod stood there for a few moments. He was thinking.

He first hesitated for a second and then said, “I think there’s a way.”

T
he Doctor was feeling
the first pangs of frustration. He had spent the last half hour looking at the screen of his monitor, watching the real time video feed from Seema’s chamber. He was dismayed at the lack of any reaction in her even after exposing her to external stimulations. His screen showed Seema slouched on the floor, looking unconscious.
Wake up bitch. Show me some results.

His phone started ringing.
Sultan. Shit!
He answered the call.

“What’s up, Sultan?” he said, faking a smile.

“Why is the bitch still alive?” Sultan hissed.

“She’s under my watch. I’ve given her the drug.”

“To hell with your experiments. Listen to me carefully. I know you went behind my back and convinced the bosses to give the girl to you. I don’t like that.”

“Sorry to have hurt you so much,” the Doctor sneered. “NB-67 is still not perfect. I need more subjects, more trials. You guys just know how to pull a trigger and kill somebody. But that somebody can be more useful as a guinea pig. You haven’t given me a single subject after Nitin Tomar. So what do I do?”

“You sound like a vampire to me doc,” Sultan mocked. “In your blood lust, you gave this journo enough breadcrumbs to follow us into Bandhavgarh. Who knows how many people she has tipped off about this case? This is a mess. We have to clean it up. And by the way, powerful people have started taking interest in this case. You know what I mean. Right?”

“Right,” the Doctor said and ended the call.

A wave of fear passed through his mind.
Powerful people? This is bad news.
He looked at his monitor again. Still no movement from Seema. He shook his head in dejection and dialled the number of the security head.
Such a waste of an opportunity.

“Hey Pawan,” he said. “Sultan wants us to wrap up. You know what to do.”

“So it has come to that, finally?”

“Yes, I’m afraid.”

R
aman stood
over a foot-over bridge at the Ambala Cantt. railway station. His targets were standing beneath on the first platform. All three of them were going to catch the same train to New Delhi.
Such a bad idea.

He had followed one of his targets to reach the railway station, and to his luck, found all three of them together. It all happened because he chose to keep an eye on the broken car. His men had located the car yesterday night, parked amid darkness and then covered judiciously. Yet, they hadn’t been able to locate the targets, because of which he had to come into the picture.

He smiled upon recalling how easy it was afterwards. He took a vantage point above a building opposite to the car and kept it under constant surveillance. He saw positive results very soon.

A man had come to check the car out.
Mistake number one.
The idiot then drove the car to a garage on the Grand Trunk Road, rarely checking for any pursuers.
Mistake number two.
The man then took an auto-rickshaw for the railway station. He quickly found his friends and here they were – huddled up together to catch the same train.
His last mistake.

Raman had not brought any weapon. He didn’t want to take such a big risk at a public place often patrolled by the police. The only option was to pursue these people till they got themselves into ‘his’ zone. Hence, he had booked a ticket for the same train.

He heard the arrival announcement of the train to New Delhi. It was time to move. He dialled a number on his mobile phone and said, “Keep a car ready outside New Delhi station. Bring my kit too.”