Eleventh Hour

  A first-timer is sure to be confused by the sheer number of peths. There are over seventeen of them in Pune, established over 200 years ago during the time of the Peshwas of the Maratha regime. The names have remained unchanged since then.

  Lighting a cigarette, DCP Ashok Mankame looked up at Parkar’s modest one-storey house from across the street. He laughed to himself as he remembered how, on his first visit to Pune, he had ended up at Budhwar Peth, the city’s red-light area, instead of Mangalwar Peth where he was supposed to go.

  This time Mankame had done the smart thing. Before he’d left for Pune, he requested Mirza to put in a word to the Pune police commissioner. By the time he reached, he had received a call from the zonal DCP, the divisional ACP and the senior inspector of the Faraskhana police station, in whose jurisdiction Parkar’s house was located.

  A constable had been waiting for Mankame’s car as it entered Pune. He took over from the driver, expertly navigating through the streets and bringing the vehicle to a halt outside the police station within an hour. Mankame told SI Ravikant Phadke what he needed and fifteen minutes later, both cops were on their way to Parkar’s house.

  The house was locked when they got there, and three of Parkar’s neighbours told the policemen that they had seen Parkar put his mother into an ambulance and leave in the middle of the night roughly a couple of weeks ago. Mankame quizzed them some more and in the end, all three of them agreed that it had been exactly fourteen days earlier. Like any good cop, a small alarm went off in Mankame’s head.

  ‘Has there been any word from him after that?’ he inquired.

  ‘No, sir,’ one of the neighbours, a middle-aged man with a huge paunch, said.

  ‘Is he usually out of touch like this when his mother is hospitalized?’ Mankame asked.

  ‘Come to think of it, no. He always calls one of us so that we can use the spare key and get the house dusted whenever he is gone for a long time. He likes to have it cleaned before his mother is moved back. Dust affects her.’

  ‘And where is this spare key?’ Mankame asked.

  The man went back into his house and came out with the spare key a minute later. Mankame took it from him and was about to unlock Parkar’s house when Phadke politely intervened. ‘I’m sorry, sir, but I just need to be sure that there is a really strong reason to enter his house without his permission.’

  Mankame turned around to look at the junior cop, who shifted uneasily.

  ‘Just … you know… I’ll have to answer to my DCP later … in case Parkar takes objection or something…’ he said.

  ‘Phadke, Parkar and his mother have been missing since the day that five of his clients, accused of terror, broke out of Bhopal Central Jail. Is that a strong enough reason for you?’

  Phadke’s face changed.

  ‘Want me to call a forensic team or something?’ he asked.

  ‘Let’s find out,’ Mankame said and turned the key.

  The spacious living room was flanked by a kitchen on one side and a bedroom on the other, while a staircase at the far end led to the first floor. A thin sheet of dust coated everything in the house. Mankame and Phadke split up, scanning the bedroom and kitchen respectively. Phadke completed a search of the kitchen, finding nothing of interest, and went to the bedroom, which Mankame was already scanning.

  The Mumbai cop was holding a pack of cigarettes in his hand as Phadke entered.

  ‘Want a light?’ Phadke asked.

  ‘These aren’t mine,’ Mankame answered, pulling out his cellphone and dialling Mirza.

  ‘Yes, Mankame?’ Mirza answered on the third ring.

  ‘Does Parkar smoke?’ Mankame asked.

  There was silence on the other end, after which Mankame heard Mirza talking to Vikrant.

  ‘No, he doesn’t,’ Mirza said. ‘What’s happening there?’

  Mankame told him about Parkar’s disappearance and listened intently before hanging up.

  ‘Call that forensic team,’ he told Phadke.

  Now, as he waited for the forensic team to complete its search, his mind began racing. While they had been waiting for the forensic team to arrive, Mankame had asked Phadke to find out which hospital Parkar’s mother was usually taken to and check if she had been admitted there over the last two weeks.

  He was pretty certain that the answer would be in the negative, and so was Mirza. ‘Better start checking on unidentified dead bodies found over the last fortnight,’ Mirza told Mankame and he relayed the instruction to Phadke.

  Meanwhile, various police officials started descending on the quiet locality. The divisional ACP arrived first, followed shortly by the zonal DCP and a team from the local Crime Branch unit, and then the DCP of the Crime Branch. Soon, Mankame observed a tacit struggle for control over the crime scene as the city police and the Crime Branch competed to grab vital clues so that they could solve the disappearance of the prominent lawyer and his mother first.

  Mankame shook his head resignedly. As one of the two DCPs of the Mumbai Crime Branch, he had often done the same, pushing his officers to solve an important case before the local police station could. For the first time, he found himself disapproving of the practice.

  Pulling out his phone, he again had a word with Mirza, who told him to stay put. Mankame waited for twenty minutes before Phadke came up to him.

  ‘The CP just called, sir. You are officially in charge of this investigation and we are to assist you in any way you want us to,’ he said.

  Mankame rejoiced inwardly and glanced over Phadke’s shoulder, watching the two DCPs leave the spot, followed by the ACP.

  ‘How good is the Crime Branch unit head?’ he asked Phadke.

  Reluctantly, Phadke said, ‘Quite good, sir. Experienced and has a good information network.’

  ‘Apart from him and you, I want everyone else out of here. Ask some constables to stay back in case we need them. But no one else.’

  Phadke nodded and walked back to the house just as the head of the forensic team walked up to him.

  ‘Who’s in charge?’ he asked. Phadke inclined his head towards Mankame.

  The forensics expert held up a small transparent plastic bag.

  ‘Found this in the upper bedroom, under the bed,’ he said.

  Inside the bag was a spent pistol shell.

  23

  Saturday afternoon, Lakshadweep.

  ‘What do you think they are going to do?’ Hakimi asked.

  ‘I don’t know,’ Daniel mused. ‘Whatever they want, it’s not money.’

  ‘Take a guess?’ Vaishali said.

  They were sitting in a corner of the recreational area. It was late afternoon and most of the captives were asleep. There wasn’t much else to do.

  After the previous night’s episode, Hakimi had become something of a hero among his fellow passengers. Marco, after taking a look at the spectacle in front of him, had wordlessly stared at his man till he had let Vaishali go. Marco then nodded to the door and the man quietly walked out. Marco, too, turned and followed him out.

  Nobody could go back to sleep after that. Vaishali had run to Daniel, who hugged her tightly, while other women in the group milled around, comforting her. Leaving her in the care of the women, Daniel had walked over to Hakimi and held out his hand.

  ‘Thank you,’ he said.

  Hakimi took his hand and gave it a firm shake.

  ‘We got off on the wrong foot,’ Daniel continued. ‘Fresh start?’

  Hakimi smiled and nodded.

  ‘Fresh start,’ he echoed. They both walked over to Vaishali.

  Till the next morning both men sat side by side, while Vaishali lay with her head on Daniel’s lap. They talked for hours, Hakimi telling Daniel about his experiences as a history teacher in a college in Mumbai before his retirement, Daniel recounting incidents from his time in the army.

  ‘I still don’t know how you managed to beat me to the light switches though,’ Daniel said, curiously.

  ‘I was right next to them. T
he gunman accidentally nudged me with his foot while going over to Vaishali. I saw everything that happened and couldn’t just lie there and do nothing,’ he explained.

  Every once in a while, Vaishali, who was dozing fitfully, would wake up with a start and both men would calm her down.

  ‘You are a good person, Mr Fernando,’ Hakimi said after watching Daniel put Vaishali back to sleep for the third time.

  ‘It’s Daniel,’ he said softly, smiling. ‘And so are you. Not many people would have done what you did.’

  ‘You looked like you were about to do something,’ Hakimi said.

  ‘You noticed?’ Daniel asked. ‘It’s different with me. I have training, experience … the rest of the people here, they’ve led different lives … apart from you and me, do you think anyone else would have stepped forward?’

  ‘You never know,’ Hakimi said. ‘All it takes is one brave soul.’

  Daniel nodded.

  ‘My first ever mission was in Kargil, during the war. I was scared as hell, and just following orders. Within the first hour, we had lost all three of our senior officers. It was just us – a bunch of fresh recruits who were seeing combat for the first time.’

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘I took charge. I had no idea if I was doing the right thing. I had no idea what I was doing, actually. But someone had to. And I couldn’t just wait and hope that someone else would.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘We made it.’ Daniel grinned. ‘Somehow, we finished our mission and made it back alive.’

  Hakimi grinned back at him.

  ‘As I said, all it takes is one brave soul.’

  The next morning, another one of their captors entered the room and led the kitchen crew up to the cafeteria as usual. An hour later, Sahani too was led to the engine room.

  When he came back, he told Daniel that there was no sign of Vaishali’s molester.

  ‘I even tried asking Marco when he came to the engine room. He just smiled and told me to mind my own business,’ Sahani reported.

  Daniel had been keeping an eye on the view through the portholes and could make out that the cruise liner had been making all its scheduled halts at various islands in Lakshadweep and waiting for enough time to pass before moving on. Sahani went back up to the engine room after lunch and Vaishali slid down on the floor with Daniel on one side and Hakimi on the other.

  ‘Whatever they are planning, they will have to do it fast. According to the cruise schedule, we’re supposed to turn back for Mumbai today. If we don’t, someone will smell a rat,’ Daniel reasoned just as the door slid open and Sahani walked in.

  All three looked towards him but only Daniel sensed that something was wrong. He waited for the door to be shut before walking over to Sahani. Vaishali and Hakimi followed him.

  ‘Something happen?’ he asked.

  ‘The radio,’ Sahani replied. ‘They destroyed the radio.’

  ‘Destroyed it?’ Vaishali asked, surprised.

  Sahani nodded.

  ‘Put a bullet into it. We’ve been told to drop anchor till further instructions.’

  Daniel took a deep breath.

  ‘It’s happening,’ he said. ‘Whatever they’re planning, it has begun.’

  24

  Saturday morning–Sunday morning, Bhopal.

  The same morning that Mankame left for Pune, Mirza had sent DSPs Goyal and Jaiswal to Bhopal to dig up more dirt on Rishabh Chawla, the lawyer who had filled in for Parkar thrice.

  The cops started with the guards who had escorted the IM Five to prison and back, but they were not of much help. They remembered seeing another lawyer in Parkar’s place, but could not provide much of a description. With the help of the Bhopal police, Goyal got in touch with some lawyers who regularly had cases in the same courtroom as the IM Five, and two of them remembered interacting with Chawla.

  ‘We found it strange because Parkar has never sent someone else in his place. Chawla didn’t say much and left immediately after the hearing. He was speaking softly with his clients for quite some time, though,’ one of them said.

  Jaiswal, meanwhile, contacted the public prosecutor in the case, a seasoned lawyer named Prakash Yadav.

  ‘Oh yes, Rishabh Chawla. Quiet chap. Told me that Parkar’s mother was worse than usual. Actually hinted at the fact that she might not be with us for very long. How is she, any idea?’ Yadav asked.

  Jaiswal said that he didn’t and steered the subject back to Chawla.

  ‘Well, he said he was from Pune, which is how he knows Parkar. Told me he was doing Parkar a favour.’

  ‘You wouldn’t have a phone number for him, would you?’ Jaiswal asked.

  ‘Actually, I do. I asked for it in case I needed to contact him for anything,’ Yadav replied.

  Jaiswal obtained the call data records of the number that Chawla had given Yadav for the days that Chawla was in Bhopal and studied its cellular locations, which showed that Chawla had been in the Arera Hills area for the first half of the day of the hearing and then moved towards Gandhi Nagar, where the central jail was located.

  Jaiswal expanded his search and asked for call detail records of the number for the previous two months, starting from three days before Chawla first appeared in court on Parkar’s behalf.

  Goyal, meanwhile, contacted the Maharashtra Bar Council. By evening, an official from the council called him back to tell him that they had no records of any lawyer named Rishabh Chawla.

  Both the officers stayed up till late in the night, analysing the cellular movements of the number that Chawla had given Parkar, their excitement rising as the night passed. They slept at dawn and woke up four hours later to resume their work.

  After another hour, their analysis was complete and Goyal called up Mirza.

  ‘Whoever this man was, he’s definitely not a simple lawyer, sir,’ he said.

  ‘Tell me more, lad,’ Mirza said.

  ‘Well, the first time he came to Bhopal, he initially went to the Sessions Court, where he posed as a replacement for Parkar. He then went towards the central jail and spent a good three hours in the area. I’m guessing he was doing a recce.’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘Pretty much repeated the routine the next two times. He stayed for two days on his second visit and left immediately after the court appearance on his third visit, which was five days before the jailbreak.’

  ‘Do we know where he was staying during these visits?’

  ‘Not yet, sir. Assuming he was ISI, maybe he stayed with a sleeper agent?’

  ‘Maybe. But if I were him, I’d want to maintain my cover completely. We know more about sleeper agents than our neighbours think, and most, if not all of them, are under surveillance. A lawyer from Pune staying with a sleeper agent would ring alarm bells.’

  ‘Really, sir? We know who these bastards are?’ Goyal asked.

  ‘It is an age-old game that intelligence agencies across the world play with each other,’ Mirza explained. ‘Each country lets the other think that it is in the dark while actually keeping a careful eye on their agents, moving in only when one of them is about to cause some real damage.’

  ‘Want me to check hotels and lodges near his location? He was mostly in Gandhi Nagar but would return to Arera Hills at night. Maybe he was staying at a hotel there.’

  ‘Go for it,’ Mirza said.

  Goyal, with the help of the local police, drew up a list of hotels in Arera Hills, while Jaiswal went to visit Prakash Yadav along with a sketch artist. Within an hour, the sketch artist, whom the NIA had used in the past, skilfully drew out a portrait of Chawla from Yadav’s description.

  ‘It’s not much, but it’ll have to do,’ the artist said, handing over the sketch to Jaiswal.

  The two NIA officers then commandeered a team of twenty-five constables from the Bhopal police, deputed thanks to a call by Mirza to the Bhopal police commissioner, and sent one constable to each hotel in Arera Hills, armed with a copy of the sketch and the dates on which Chawl
a was in Bhopal.

  Then they waited, Jaiswal bouncing his leg up and down and Goyal snapping at him every few minutes, till one of the constables called back. Jaiswal made a mad lunge for his cellphone.

  ‘We found him, sir,’ the constable said. ‘He stayed at this hotel during his first two visits. I think you said he didn’t stay the night the third time so…’

  ‘What have you found?’ Jaiswal cut in.

  ‘An address in Pune, a PAN card photocopy and a photograph that the desk manager took as part of their procedure…’

  Jaiswal punched the air and whooped loudly.

  25

  Sunday afternoon, Mumbai.

  Mirza sat at his desk at the NIA office in Mumbai with his laptop in front of him, staring at the picture of Rishabh Chawla that Goyal had emailed him. He kept staring for another five minutes before minimizing the image and opening his browser.

  Mirza had entered the world of intelligence when the digital age was in its early days. He had written out official reports on typewriters and used pagers on the field, and had reluctantly turned to using computers when they became common. Realizing the importance of the digital medium, he had asked one of the in-house software experts at IB to create a secret encrypted storage space on his computer, which he could access any time he wanted.

  The expert had had a better idea. He had hacked a semi-popular blog by a woman who wrote about her experiences as a single mother, and made a secret backdoor that only Mirza and he could access, using a password. Mirza could log into the blog using a different name and password, and the woman, blissfully unaware, could continue to blog about her toddler’s antics. With the kind of traffic she was getting, the chances of her shutting down the blog were next to nil. Mirza just had to visit the blog regularly in case she posted an update about moving it to a different platform.

  ‘That way, you don’t need to worry about your computer being hacked and don’t need to carry the info with you all the time on an external storage device,’ the expert had told him.

  ‘What’s an external storage device?’ Mirza had asked.

  Now, as Mirza logged in to the blog, he was mildly excited.