The Avatari (35 page)

Dusk was beginning to fall by the time the walls of the Dera loomed up. Peter observed the sugarcane fields all around them and leaned out to take a closer look at the brick well in the centre of one; he recognized it as the rendezvous point Suleiman had chosen.

Built on raised ground, the fort was a massive structure, with twenty-foot-high thick earthen walls, complete with fortifications and battlements. Squinting in the dying light, Peter made out that they were manned by bearded Kalashnikov-toting men. The Merc moved on, skirting the fort’s mile-long perimeter, before arriving at the main entrance whose enormous rusted iron gates stood open for them to drive through. Beyond them was another metal gate which had doors fitted in it for the passage of people. Parked to the right of the second gate was what Peter estimated to be half a dozen cars. The Merc did not stop there, however. Two guards quickly opened the second gate – equipped, Peter noted, with an X-ray machine of the kind seen at airports – to let the car pass through and swung it shut behind them, even as a group of armed guards – with metal detectors in hand, Peter observed – stood to attention outside the gate, one of them snapping a smart salute, military style, in their direction. Suleiman had been right; had they not been travelling with Muzzaffar, they would have had to submit to a body search.

Much can be achieved in a single evening by a woman in a white lace shirt
, Peter thought wryly.

‘My grandfather is a very important man and he has many enemies,’ Muzzaffar shrugged, explaining the presence of the guards.

Peter nodded. If what Suleiman had told him was true, the old Nawab was siphoning off a goodish chunk from the biggest freebie of weapons in history. No wonder he needed a veritable army of guards!

Once the car had driven through, the visitors discovered what lay within: acres and acres of land, the ambience of the place undergoing a subtle change as they moved on. The historical decay of the fort’s outer walls had given way to an organized and smartly spruced-up colony. The residential areas were grouped to one side and immediately recognizable from their setting; tall mango trees towered over neat rows of flower beds and ornamental bushes and grand marble walkways set off the manicured lawns with their whispering fountains to perfection. As they prepared to step out of the car, men rushed up to open the doors and usher them to the lawns, where elaborate marquees had been put up and children ran around playing. Gathered there in clusters were other guests, both men and women. The aroma of kebabs being grilled wafted in their direction as Susan and Peter approached.

A number of men came up to greet Muzzaffar and hug him. A couple of ladies standing together giggled and teased him in Pushtu, as he led Susan to their marquee with a proprietorial air.

It was evident that Muzzaffar was leaving his foreign guests at the marquee with some regret when he told them, ‘Please enjoy yourselves and do partake of the refreshments. The guests here are all family and friends. Unfortunately, I will have to leave you for a moment, as there are many arrangements to be looked into. I have just been informed that the Governor is also expected.’ He turned to Susan. ‘Don’t worry, I will be back soon.’

With Muzzaffar’s departure from the marquee, some of the other young men present overcame their diffidence and slowly gravitated towards them, homing in on Susan and ignoring Peter. This suited him just fine and he broke away from the crowd and made for the fringes to orient himself with the rest of the Dera.

On the far side, beyond the lawns and the living area, were the magazines. The nature of these buildings would have been fairly obvious to the onlooker, for they were concrete structures, half dug into the ground, with small windows barred by iron grilles set close to the ceiling. The light was diminishing rapidly and Peter was desperate to get a closer look before dusk fell, as he guessed the arrangements for illuminating this part of the vast grounds would be inadequate for the recce he needed to carry out. Walking towards the buildings slowly, he reached a small gravel road which cut through the land and divided the Dera into two segments: the living areas on the one hand, and areas designated for the magazines, the servants’ quarters and for vehicles and diesel generators on the other. As he crossed the gravel road, a man with a weapon shouted a warning at him before approaching at a hurried pace. When he was close enough, the man indicated with a wave of his gun barrel that Peter should go back.

‘Toilet, please?’ Peter asked innocently.

Reading incomprehension on the guard’s face, just as he had expected, he gestured with his hands and held his crotch. The man remained unmoved and waved him back. Peter turned, hands raised in mock despair, and turned back.
That was okay, he now knew where the generators were
. He strolled back towards the marquee, and noticed the remarkable topiary dotting the grounds. He admired the tall shrubs pruned into the most intricate animal shapes. There were swans, horses, lions and elephants and, at a spot that was far enough from the stage not to be noticeable as dusk fell, but close enough to keep an eye on the audience from a distance, a rhino, magnificently sculpted in foliage. He made a mental note of its location before moving on.

‘Where have you been?’ Susan hissed at him when he appeared. ‘I’ve been propositioned by half the Dera and that too mostly in Pushtu or through gestures. They certainly don’t believe in wasting time over here.’ She didn’t seem particularly put out by the experience, however, because in the same breath, she continued, ‘Try the kebabs. They’re simply divine.’

‘I can sense that,’ Peter said brusquely.

The crowd of guests swelled as more of them arrived and were duly welcomed. Then a cavalcade of big cars drove up the gravel track, red lights flashing. Armed men in police uniforms sprang out to open the doors. A murmur went up among the guests. Peter made out from their hushed whispers that the Nawab Sahib and the Governor had arrived. On cue, the lights on the grounds came on, decorative coloured lights which festooned the marquees and topiary, and the more powerful focus lights which illuminated a small stage in the centre of the lawn. As the crowd began moving towards the stage, Peter realized that his assessment of the lighting had been right. The area between the lawn where he now was and the magazines, on which the security lights focused, was completely dark. He didn’t need to worry too much about being spotted. Muzzaffar suddenly surfaced and led Susan away by the hand towards the marquee in front of the stage, ignoring Peter completely as usual. After a while, she managed to break away and come back to where he stood.

‘I thought you wouldn’t remember,’ Peter said lightly.

‘We have to hurry,’ she said urgently. ‘I have to get back. I told him I needed to go to the loo.’

‘Okay,’ Peter said. ‘When you’re done, meet me near the bush shaped like a rhino.’

‘Where?’ she asked, squinting in the direction Peter pointed at. ‘Look beyond that row of copper lamps and braziers. Further down,’ he said, following her gaze. ‘Can you see those bright lights beyond that dark patch? It’s right there, all lit up. You can’t see the bush from here, but it’s quite clear once you get there.’

‘A rhino-shaped bush? I just hope I find it, it’s all hazy from here,’ Susan said doubtfully. With that, she hurried away in the direction of the washrooms. Peter followed, keeping a reasonable distance between them, entered the men’s toilet and locked himself in a cubicle.

It wasn’t much of a plan, he admitted to himself. There hadn’t been much intel to go by. They had to keep it simple and flexible and play it by the ear. He quickly rolled up a leg of his trousers and undid the crêpe bandage he had wound around his knee. Inside was a fine layer of plastic explosives, no thicker than a large cotton pad covering a wound.

In the women’s toilet, Susan was just as busy. She had reached into her bra and pulled out two standard issue Number 27 metal detonators, each two inches long and already crimped to a six-inch length of fuse. Going by Suleiman’s warning, both she and Peter had prepared themselves for the eventuality of being searched at the entrance to the Dera. Muzzaffar was merely a bonus they hadn’t expected. Peter, of course, had counted on only male guards undertaking a body search at the Dera, which meant that for the sake of propriety, Susan would get by with no more than a metal detector scan. If the detector picked up the presence of the metal detonators and beeped a warning, he hoped it could be explained away as the underwiring in her bra.

Peter was waiting by the rhino-shaped topiary when Susan reached the spot. He was so motionless that she almost missed him and walked past and he had to grab her wrist to stop her in mid-stride and put his other hand over her mouth to prevent her from screaming.

‘Oh, for heaven’s sake!’ she said indignantly, when she recognized him and stopped struggling to free herself. ‘Do you always creep up on people like that?’

‘Oh, only now and then,’ he quipped, taking the detonators she handed him, then added with a grin, ‘This gives the word, “booby trap”, a whole new meaning!’

‘Shut up!’ she snapped, turning back in the direction of the marquee.

‘This is where you should get to after I’m done,’ he told her.

She nodded and hurriedly walked away.

The music was beginning to play and the crowd around the stage had grown larger.

Peter waited another minute or so, looking around, checking to ensure there was no one in the vicinity. Evidently the stage had drawn everyone to it. Satisfied, he hunkered down and focused on his job. He worked fast, putting together two improvised bombs which he placed in the pockets of his jacket. He kneaded the plastic explosive into a spherical shape, then, using a ballpoint pen, made a hole in the centre of the ball. He inserted the detonator into the hole and gently squeezed the explosive to cover it. Since he didn’t have a primer, he was counting on the detonator to do its work so that the entire mass of the small explosive would detonate with equal force. He was grateful to Suleiman for managing to get him plastic explosives instead of gelatin which, with its runny consistency, wouldn’t have retained the shape he had kneaded it into.

Having made his improvised bombs, Peter emerged cautiously from behind the rhino-shaped bush and moved towards the stage. A group was performing a qawwali. Waiters moved around with laden trays, serving what appeared to be fruit juice and the mandatory kebabs with a mint sauce dip. As he moved closer, he noticed that the bigwigs were seated on sofas in the front row; a few hookahs had been placed before them. Though he couldn’t see her, he knew that was where Susan was probably seated. He walked away to one side. In front of him a group of nautch girls were seated on chairs, chaperoned by two fierce-looking armed guards. The girls caught his gaze and giggled. Then one of them swiftly raised her skirt up to mid-thigh and winked at him. He smiled back. An old waiter came up with a laden tray and was scolded by the girls for being late. They seemed to know him and were apparently regulars at the Dera. The waiter stopped in front of Peter and he picked up a glass. He took a sip and discovered that his drink was fruit juice, heavily laced with vodka. No wonder the nautch girls were looking forward to their refreshments! He spluttered exaggeratedly for effect, inviting a hoot of laughter and whistles from the girls.

Looking away, he saw Susan approaching and went up to meet her. From the way she was walking, he knew she was worried. ‘So you can’t keep away from me. What excuse did you give Romeo this time?’ he quipped, trying to soothe her nerves.

‘None,’ she replied briskly. ‘Look, when are you planning to do it?’

‘Suleiman has to take out the lights,’ he replied, reminding her of the plan. ‘Is there a problem?’

‘Yes, that’s why I had to talk to you. He wants to take me inside his haveli for a tour.’

‘And you think it’s really for a quickie, do you?’

‘Oh, do be serious!’ she snapped, looking distraught. ‘I’m frightfully nervous. I wonder how you can be so relaxed. Where did you tell me I should meet you – after you’re done?’

‘Near the rhino. Are you familiar with the programme scheduled for this evening?’

‘Muzzaffar explained it to me. After the qawwali is over, the nautch girls come on, followed by fireworks. Then we move in for dinner.’

‘I should definitely be able to do it before that,’ he told her reassuringly. ‘Suleiman said he would do it when it was dark and the louder music came on, which should be around the time these girls go on stage.’ He stopped another waiter who was passing by and picked two glasses off his tray, one in each hand, handing them to Susan, before picking up a third. ‘Here,’ he told her, ‘drink these up, will you? It will help.’ He waited for her to gulp down the contents of the first two glasses before handing her the third, hoping she was right about being able to hold her liquor. ‘When it happens,’ he told her, watching her down her third glass, ‘remember to get to that rhino. I’ll be there. And don’t worry, if I don’t see you there, I’ll find you, wherever you are.’

After Susan left, Peter overheard the nautch girls sitting nearby talking about them in Pushtu.

‘She looked like a fairy,’ one of the girls remarked, obviously alluding to Susan.

‘A slightly heavy fairy,’ said another, whose throaty laugh Peter recognized as belonging to the one who had flashed a thigh at him. ‘But if she walks into a graveyard, the bodies will come to life; at least, some parts will!’

‘Even the boy is pretty,’ the first girl said pouting, giving him the eye as they trooped away for their performance.

‘It’s no use. He’s gay,’ spat the second, making a face at Peter. ‘Otherwise the Chhote Nawab would never have brought him here.’

Peter was now too tense to be amused by their speculations. The moment had come to decide if he should wait for Suleiman or go for it alone. He saw the girls moving towards the stage where the qawwali group was winding up. The bawdier part of the evening was about to begin, with the nautch girls going on stage. Anxiety gnawed at him as he wondered if Suleiman would deliver.