DELHI

A Covert-Ops Suspense Action Novel

ZEB CARTER THRILLERS

BOOK XIV

TY PATTERSON

CONTENTS

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Acknowledgments

Quote

Author’s Note

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Chapter 45

Chapter 46

Chapter 47

Chapter 48

Chapter 49

Chapter 50

Chapter 51

Chapter 52

Chapter 53

Chapter 54

Chapter 55

Chapter 56

Chapter 57

Chapter 58

Chapter 59

Chapter 60

Chapter 61

Chapter 62

Chapter 63

Chapter 64

Chapter 65

Chapter 66

Chapter 67

Chapter 68

Chapter 69

Chapter 70

Chapter 71

Chapter 72

Chapter 73

Chapter 74

Chapter 75

Chapter 76

Chapter 77

Chapter 78

Chapter 79

Chapter 80

Chapter 81

Chapter 82

Chapter 83

Chapter 84

Chapter 85

Chapter 86

Chapter 87

Chapter 88

Chapter 89

Chapter 90

Chapter 91

Chapter 92

Chapter 93

Chapter 94

Chapter 95

Chapter 96

Chapter 97

Chapter 98

Chapter 99

Chapter 100

Chapter 101

Chapter 102

Chapter 103

Chapter 104

Chapter 105

Chapter 106

Chapter 107

Chapter 108

Chapter 109

Chapter 110

Chapter 111

Chapter 112

Chapter 113

Chapter 114

Chapter 115

Chapter 116

Chapter 117

Chapter 118

Chapter 119

Chapter 120

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ALSO BY TY PATTERSON

Zeb Carter Series

Fourteen books in the series and counting

Cutter Grogan Series (Zeb Carter Universe)

Nine books in the series and counting

Hawke and Stryker Thrillers (Zeb Carter Universe)

Two book and counting

Zeb Carter Short Stories

Three books and counting

Warriors Series (Zeb Carter Universe)

Twelve books in the series

Gemini Series (Zeb Carter Universe)

Four thrillers in the series

Warriors Series Shorts (Zeb Carter Universe)

Six novellas in the series

Cade Stryker Series

Two military sci-fi thrillers

* * *

Copyright ©2024 by Ty Patterson, Three Aces Publishing Ltd. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be copied, reproduced in any format, by any means, electronic or otherwise, without prior consent from the copyright owner and publisher of this book. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

This book, in eBook, paperback, audiobook, hardback, or any other format, cannot be used in any Artificial Intelligence program or model nor be uploaded to any AI model, or be used for text-to-audio, text-to-video, text-to-image or text-to-more-text generation without the author’s explicit permission.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

* * *

They say it takes a village to produce a book. In my case, many continents have been involved. Sure, an author’s job is a solitary one, but writing is just one part of putting out a book.

My beta readers, who are around the world, are my first responders. I owe a debt of gratitude to them for getting into shape all the words I write.

Donna Rich, my proofreader, and Merwie Garzon, my editor, have been invaluable in polishing the book.

A special thanks to Debbie Gallant, Tom Gallant, Michelle Rose Dunn, and Cheri Gerhardt, who have supported me since the beginning.

* * *

To my wife and son, for their sacrifices in supporting me.

Only the best of friends and the worst of enemies visit us.

Attributed to the Indian Army

AUTHOR’S NOTE

* * *

This is a work of fiction and while it is based in real countries, refers to real events and features several landmarks, the characters are entirely imaginary. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

1

Zeb was among the last. 

He jogged behind his crew, who were with the RAW team.

RAW. Research and Analysis Wing. India’s secretive foreign intelligence and counter-terrorism division.

He and his team, operators in the Agency, a covert US outfit, were in the country on a joint training exercise with their Indian peers.

Vikram Kohli, Special Agent, and Meera Ranganathan, his deputy—both their close friends—leading the RAW group at the front.

Zeb was in no hurry to join them even though Beth turned back and beckoned him several times.

He was happy to pound the pavement, bringing up the rear.

New Delhi, India, in January. 

The country had finished celebrating its Republic Day—marking the date it became a constitutional republic, breaking all ties to its colonial conquerors. 

Streamers on the concrete pavement. Posters and decorations still hanging off cables strung between lamp posts.

They were jogging through the historic Red Fort complex, through the lush park surrounding the old building.

Vikram had gotten permission for them to train inside the grounds. No other traffic. Just them in the chilly, early January, morning air of Delhi.

On a concrete pathway. Flower beds and well-maintained gardens on either side of them. Gnarly trees that seemed as old as the fort itself.

A light fog blanketed them, which wasn’t thick enough to block the sun’s rays. 

A faint smell of cooking wafting on the breeze.

Zeb grinned as he recalled Bwana’s expression when Vikram’s invitation had landed.

His friend loved visiting the country for its warmth, the sights, sounds, and colors ... but also for the food.

He was still smiling when the SUV came up from behind and sped past him.

Its windows rolled down.

Rifle barrels stuck out.

They opened fire on all the teams.

2

‘Shooters—’ Zeb’s roar was cut off by a body slamming into him.

Meera. The force of her impact carried them both away from the pathway and onto the flower bed to the right of the vehicle.

He landed on his side, his head smashing on the hard ground, leaving him momentarily dazed. He could hear shouts, screams and the sustained burst of gunfire.

Meera slid away from him. ‘STAY DOWN!’

Zeb ignored her. Propped himself on an elbow. No rounds coming their way. The shooters were pumping through the windows on the left of the vehicle. They were to the driver’s side of the SUV, which was rolling slowly as it wreaked its deadly assault. India drives on the left, he thought dimly, watching as the bullets mowed down the RAW agents. He couldn’t make out his friends among the bodies on the ground. Vikram wasn’t in sight either.

Something dug into his side. A brick, one of many that lined the flower bed on which he partly lay.

He yanked one out of the ground in unconscious rage and flung it at the vehicle.

It struck the driver’s window, shattering it.

A head behind the wheel, which turned towards them.

Zeb froze.

‘STAY DOWN, YOU FOOL!’ Meera screamed and jumped on him and rolled with him away from the vehicle, which sped away immediately.

3

Red Fort fell eerily silent except for the moans and sobbing of the wounded, slumped on the ground.

Zeb heard harsh breathing. He recognized it as his own. Sweat beaded down his face. The brutal shooting had lasted just a few seconds, but it had felt like minutes.

He dug his fingers in the soft soil of the flower bed, closed his eyes and willed his control to return. Breathe in. Breathe out. Inhale. Exhale. Blanket emotion out. On the count of four, he opened his eyes.

Control returned. He got to his feet fluidly. Helped up Meera, whose face was strained. Her eyes were large. Her hair, which had been ponytailed behind her head, had slipped free from the restraining band. It stuck to her perspiring face.

She bit her lip, clenched her jaw, and shook his hand away as they hurried to the fallen bodies, all of which lay close, almost on top of one another.

We were jogging in close formation, he thought bitterly. There wasn’t any time to scatter.

Only Meera and he were at the rear, which had given them some space to get away from the deadly hail.

He heard Meera cursing, swearing, and praying as she searched among the bodies. He bent over a RAW agent, his chest pounding.

A ripped-up chest and sightless eyes. He went to the next one. The same.

Movement from underneath another body.

A tanned hand emerged. Beth! He helped her up from under the dead RAW agent. Meghan, her elder twin, next to her.

‘We’re fine.’ The older sister’s jaw was set.

Zeb nodded. Saw more of his friends sit up in the pile. Vikram was up too, helped by Meera. The Special Agent’s face was drawn as he and his deputy hurriedly checked their agents.

Broker came to Zeb and helped move a wounded RAW agent to shade. Bwana and Roger brought another Indian operator who was clutching his belly, shivering in shock.

‘Meera—’ Zeb began.

‘I’ve called for help,’ she replied.

He spun around at a strangled noise.

Chloe, kneeling over Bear who lay motionless, eyes shut.

NO! Zeb roared inwardly.

He was next to her instantly. Kneeling at his friend’s body, inspecting him visually. ‘No visible injuries. No bleeding.’ His words came out automatically. He placed a hand lightly over Bear’s massive chest to feel for his heart beat.

His friend’s eyes snapped open. They were distant, unfocused for a few seconds and then took him, Chloe, and the rest of the operators in.

Bear sat up. ‘I was knocked out by something. That brick.’ He looked back and jerked his head at one of the bricks on the flower bed to the left of the path.

He turned back to Chloe, hugged her fiercely, took in the rest of the bodies and got to his feet. ‘I’m fine.’

Zeb and the rest of the operators returned to helping Meera and Vikram check the rest of the fallen bodies. There would be time to assess if any of the Agency operators had sustained any injuries. Then, with several RAW agents dead, wasn’t the time.

A scant few minutes later, they gathered under a tree. Vikram pocketed his phone, into which he had been murmuring softly for several minutes. ‘Eighteen dead, seven wounded,’ he said bleakly.

We started out with thirty RAW agents including Vikram and Meera. Zeb cast his eyes at the bodies. And eight of us.

He knew a few of the grievously injured Indian agents wouldn’t survive. He had seen the extent of their wounds.

The wailing sirens that had been audible in the distance for a while grew closer. Several vehicles burst into sight and drew up close to them, scattering gravel and loose mud.

Zeb and his friends drew back, making room for the EMT professionals who worked swiftly, efficiently as Vikram and Meera briefed a police commander.

Zeb couldn’t hear their conversation, but he guessed what the RAW Special Agents were telling the cop who was nodding reluctantly. Vikram and Meera are ordering him to seal the scene. RAW will take over the investigation.

Delhi was unique in the country. It was not only the capital of the country, the city that housed its Parliament and all central government administrative bodies, but was also a partial state.

In every other state in the country, the local police force was state governed, but Delhi Police was administered by the central government’s Ministry of Home Affairs.

That officer may not like it, but he knows he cannot start a turf war with Vikram. RAW will win that battle.

Vikram spoke softly to Meera as the two of them approached the Americans. ‘We’ll arrange for you to be driven back to your hotel—’ the deputy began.

‘No!’ Beth cut her short. ‘We aren’t going anywhere.’

‘We want in,’ Zeb said.

‘This is a RAW case.’ Vikram intervened. ‘We will investigate.’

‘Agreed. We aren’t interfering. We want to help. We were attacked, too.’

‘Zeb.’ Vikram ran a hand through his short hair. ‘Don’t start this. You know how this will play out. We’ll be under intense pressure to find who attacked us. We don’t want distractions. Protecting you is a distraction. Go to your hotel. Fly out home. Let us⁠—’

‘Not going to happen,’ Roger burst out. ‘You know us well enough. We’ll carry out our own parallel investigation if you block us.’

Vikram made an inarticulate sound of anger. ‘Look around you. Do you see these bodies? This is Meera and my team⁠—’

‘Your team protected us,’ Meghan said coldly. ‘They threw themselves against us, shielded us and took the bullets meant for us. We are not going to walk away. You have a choice. Let us help alongside, or we’ll go solo.’

Meera broke the brief silence. ‘Come on board.’

4

Four pm.

An anonymous, eight-floor building on Lodhi Road.

It had been white in color, but Delhi’s smog and ever-present dust had turned it gray. Paint peeled off its walls; its front garden showed a lack of maintenance with the dried fountains and barren patches of ground amid the sparse grass.

Visitors got their first inkling that the building wasn’t as rundown as it looked when they arrived at the cross-barrier.

Armed guards checked their credentials, confirmed their appointments, recorded their biometrics, and only then were they allowed in.

The next layer of security was in the lobby where phones were deposited, to be collected on their return.

Zeb and his crew had to surrender their Glocks.

The armed guards looked on expressionlessly as the team dropped their weapons in the tray, moved through a body screen machine and were then wanded.

Meera and Vikram stood on the other side of the security screening. The deputy punched an elevator button when they had finished and held the car doors open for them.

It was a tight fit. Roger would normally have cracked a joke. Not that day. ‘Four more dead,’ Vikram had said grimly when the Americans met the Indian agents in the lobby.

They emerged onto the eighth floor where a plain-clothed man stood. ‘Madam is waiting.’

He led them down the hallway to a room without a nameplate or number on it. He knocked on it once, opened it and cocked his head at them.

Zeb followed Meera and Vikram. His friends alongside him.

A polished wooden desk. A few files on it. A laptop to a side. A computer monitor on a side table. A desk phone. A writing pad.

In the chair, a woman with cool, gray eyes, silvery hair cut neatly in a bob, dressed in a black sari with small white dots on it. Black sleeveless blouse that showed off toned biceps that spoke of regular workouts. Slim figure. Average height.

She had a red bindi on her forehead, which added to her presence.

‘Sit,’ Wing Commander Anjali Mathur, Head of RAW, directed.

They sat. The Americans in a row of chairs behind Meera and Vikram.

Mathur steepled her fingers and regarded them expressionlessly. Her short nails were neatly manicured and weren’t painted. Her dark eyes gave nothing away.

The Agency operators had heard of Mathur. Clare speaks highly of her. First female officer in the Indian Air Force to lead a combat squadron, Zeb recalled. She was retired from the military, but everyone still used her rank when addressing her.

Mathur was a strong advocate for women to be given combat roles in the Indian Armed Forces, a view that had gone against the country’s military, and after her retirement, she continued to campaign on the issue. She had a reputation for being fearless, for challenging patriarchy and societal expectations.

She was married, but she and her husband had made a choice to not have children, which had also attracted comment in a country which still expected women to adopt traditional roles.

Mathur had worked in the private sector after leaving the military. Consulting assignments to corporations, coaching to women.

And then the prime minister appointed her to lead RAW, Zeb recalled. He remembered the moment the news had broken. He and his team were with Clare in DC. She had broken off from their briefing to check a message on her phone and fist-pumped. A gesture rare to her. ‘I know her,’ she had explained without going into the details of how she knew Mathur. ‘She’s good. Very good.’

The appointment had shocked the establishment in the country. A person with no prior intelligence agency experience, no specialty in any country, and a woman at that. Social media got flooded with disparaging comments from men.

However, the country’s leader stuck to his decision. Mathur gave a single articulate press conference in which she comported herself with such confidence that the tide turned.

‘What happened?’ Mathur asked.

‘Ma’am, I briefed you,’ Vikram replied surprisedly.

‘You did. I have also read all the reports, have been briefed by Delhi’s Police Commissioner and more people than I care to count. I have met the prime minister. Various cabinet members have called me … but I want to hear from you. You were there. You and Meera lost agents. I want both of you to tell me what went down.’ She spoke in fluent, polished English without trace of an Indian accent.

‘We were attacked, ma’am,’ Meera responded. ‘By masked shooters in an SUV. No plates on it.’ She swiftly broke it down for Mathur.

‘None of you had guns?’

‘No, ma’am. It was a weaponless training exercise. In a highly secure space.’

‘Which means someone knew you would be there and had access to Red Fort.’

‘We are working on those angles.’ Vikram nodded.

‘Which also means we could have a leak.’

‘Yes.’

‘Or it could be at their end.’ Mathur looked at Zeb.

‘Our organization is much smaller than yours,’ he replied. ‘Nine of us, including Clare. Even she didn’t know what we were planning. Those who knew, are in this room. We too could have been killed in that shooting.’

‘You are saying Americans don’t leak, only Indians?’

‘No, ma’am,’ he replied earnestly. ‘I am very confident no one in this room disclosed information deliberately or by mistake. We will investigate our internal communication in any case. However, a leak is one possibility. The other is that we, either the RAW team or us, or both, were followed … or that the shooters were in that area for another reason, saw us as a threat and decided to take us out.’

Mathur considered that for a beat, expressionlessly. ‘Vikram and Meera tell me you refused to return to America.’

‘That’s correct. We want to help.’

‘Our countries have a complicated relationship. You supported our enemies when we were at war.’

She means India’s war with Pakistan in 1971. Zeb caught on instantly to what she was referring to. We ended up supporting the losing side. India won that war.

‘That’s history, ma’am.’

Her gaze sharpened. ‘We don’t forget history easily, Mr. Carter. We have been shaped by it, right from our independence and our struggle to be recognized as a sovereign country. You, I mean your country, has historically seen us as a pawn. A counterbalance to Russia’s influence in this region. Many of your presidents have been distrustful of our relationship with that country. You are aware that Russia, then the USSR, supported us on Jammu and Kashmir when both China and Pakistan claimed the state as theirs. Where was your country then?’

Zeb made to speak. Kept quiet when Meghan discreetly dug her elbow in his side.

‘And you have always been distrustful of our relationship with Russia,’ the RAW chief continued. ‘Your political leaders don’t like it that we don’t publicly condemn Russia for its Ukraine invasion. It’s only now that we are a huge market for Western products, and are an economic power, that you and your allies are making overtures to us.’

‘I am⁠—’

‘You aren’t here to debate politics. You aren’t responsible for the decisions your country makes. I get that. You are staying back because you feel obligated?’

‘RAW is our friend. We are very close to Vikram and Meera. We worked very successfully with your agency during the Mumbai attacks.’ Zeb referred to their last India mission. Mathur hadn’t been leading RAW then. ‘Whatever the relationship between our governments is, RAW and the Agency are allies. We help our friends. I believe you and Clare are friends, too,’ he added, straight-faced.

She looked at him for long moments. Turned her gaze to his team and took them in. Her eyes lingered on the twins, Chloe and Bwana.

‘You have spoken to her?’ She returned to Zeb.

‘No, ma’am.’

‘You decided to stay back without asking her?’

‘We didn’t need to. We knew what she would say. I’m sure she spoke to you and offered you the Agency’s support,’ Zeb guessed.

Mathur’s stern visage cracked. She smiled briefly. ‘Clare was the first person to call me when I was appointed as secretary.’

Secretary. That’s her official title, Zeb remembered. In India, the RAW leader is not called Director or Head of.

‘She kept supporting me during my early days when it felt like the entire world and its dog was against me. We talk often.’

‘How did you meet, ma’am?’

‘She hasn’t told you?’

‘No.’

‘Then, you won’t hear it from me.’ Her stern visage returned. She looked at Vikram and Meera.

‘We lost twenty-two agents today. We might lose some more. Find who did this. Make them accountable.’

5

‘What do you think of our boss?’ Meera asked when they exited Mathur’s office and went down the hallway to another office.

Vikram opened to the door to a bullpen. Men and women in casual clothing, many of them hunched over computers, some of them on phones, a few at a large screen on the wall at which live camera feeds from various parts of Delhi were projected.

He clapped to attract attention. The RAW agents looked up. ‘These are our American friends. Zeb, Meghan, Beth.’ He pointed to the operators, identifying them. ‘They will work with us. Same security clearances as all of us. Any questions?’

A chorus of Noes, a few shaken heads.

‘Good. Back to work. Amit, update?’

A bearded man who seemed to be in his mid-thirties answered. ‘Dead end. No one saw the SUV leave Red Fort. The security guards were not at their post⁠—’

‘Bribed?’

‘Looking into that. No traffic outside. No camera feeds either.’

‘Any reports of an abandoned vehicle?’

‘No,’ a woman replied. ‘But I am liaising with Delhi Police continually. We’ll know if they find the vehicle.’

‘Airports, bus stations, railway terminals, taxi companies … we have contacted all of them to look out for any suspicious-looking men.’ Another woman in a sleeveless tee and ripped jeans replied.

Vikram nodded, frowning. ‘Delhi is under a limited emergency. The only traffic on the road will be police and military. Offices and shops have closed. That will play against us. We won’t have any eyes on the street, no witnesses.’

‘That will go against the shooters too,’ the woman objected.

‘They are pros, Neha,’ Meera said bitterly. ‘They would have had an exfil route mapped out.’

‘All right.’ Vikram snapped his fingers. ‘Back to work.’

‘About your question,’ Beth drawled at Meera when she took them to a smaller office with enough seating for the Agency operators. ‘Your boss is as much a hard case as ours.’

‘Yes,’ the deputy agreed. ‘She’s tough, demanding, but will go all the way for us. Morale has never been higher at RAW than since her appointment. We have had the highest success rate under her.’

She glanced at a whiteboard on the wall, on which twenty-two names had been scribbled. Her lips thinned.

Those must be the dead agents, Zeb guessed. He went to the sideboard on which were coffee and tea jugs. He poured beverages for his team, Meera, and Vikram and served them.

The deputy sipped her drink. She cocked her head abruptly as if she remembered something. ‘Why were you sitting up after throwing that brick? You have a death wish?’

‘I thought I saw a dead man.’

Everyone turned towards him.

‘Explain,’ Bwana growled.

‘I thought I saw Tariq Khalil.’

Meera and Vikram straightened. Bear cursed when his coffee spilled on the table. Roger raised an eyebrow.

‘Tariq Khalil?’ Meghan’s voice rose.

‘Yeah.’

‘The ISI agent?’

‘Correct.’

‘He was the driver?’

‘Yes.’

‘Didn’t you kill him several years ago in Libya?’

‘I did.’

6

Silence in the room.

‘You are positive?’ Vikram asked after a while. ‘‘The shooters were masked.’

‘He wasn’t. He looked like Khalil, but I ‘m not sure. Which is why I didn’t mention it earlier.’

‘Just when were you planning to?’ Beth glared at him.

‘As soon as you or Meg checked with Werner the likelihood of his turning up alive in Delhi.’

‘We have to do all the work,’ she flung at him, but reached into her backpack, dug out her screen and powered it on. Her twin brought out her device too and the two sat side by side.

‘Keep talking,’ Meghan snapped at him.

‘Not much more I can tell. I was shocked when I saw him. Meera brought me down or else he could have shot me.’

‘Did he recognize you?’

‘I think so …’ Zeb trailed off.

‘What?’ Roger crossed his elegantly clad legs. The Texan was wearing a crisp, white shirt, sleeves rolled up his strong forearms, tucked into blue jeans, a leather belt cinched at his waist and tan boots on his feet. He looked like he had returned from a modeling shoot, not as if he had nearly been killed a few hours earlier.

‘He looked surprised at seeing me.’

Bear frowned. ‘You saw him for maybe a second or two and in that time, you recognized him and his expression?’

‘I am aware of that,’ Zeb said frustratedly, ‘but he looked like Khalil and he certainly looked shocked.’

‘Assuming he was the ISI agent’—Bear raised a finger—‘and assuming he was surprised to see you’—another finger shot up—‘that means …’

‘He wasn’t expecting to see us there,’ Beth completed without looking up from her screen. ‘Which means, we weren’t the primary targets.’

Meera cursed. ‘Very few in our team knew of our training. No one else in RAW knew of the Red Fort exercise.’

‘We have a traitor,’ Vikram snarled.

‘I wouldn’t go that far,’ Zeb reasoned. ‘You vet your team regularly. It’s hard to be a double agent under that kind of scrutiny. No, I think we were followed … your team or us, or, and this is more likely, the shooters knew of the Red Fort training through other means.’

‘What means?’ Meera asked savagely.

‘You had to get permission to get into the complex. That involves bureaucracy, getting approvals. The exercise wasn’t as secret as you think it was. Khalil could have found out about it.’

‘You mean ISI. He’s an ISI agent.’

‘Was,’ Beth piped up. ‘But maybe still is, if Zeb didn’t kill him. I’ve got the Libya mission deets. You shot him in the head from some distance away?’

‘About twenty feet.’ Zeb frowned, recollecting the operation. ‘We were in an industrial park’s yard. We suspected Khalil of working with Daesh killers to steal plutonium from a Russian shipment. It was raining that day⁠—’

‘You didn’t confirm he was dead.’

‘He was unmoving. Not a sound from him.’

‘You didn’t go to his body to check.’

‘I was under fire,’ Zeb said defensively. ‘I was pinned behind a container. If that gas explosion hadn’t occurred, Daesh would have gotten me.’

‘The terrorists either fled or died in that explosion. You didn’t stay to check because you were hustling away.’

‘Correct.’

‘If Khalil was alive, he too could have escaped.’

‘I shot him in the head. Which was why I was shocked to see him today.’

‘You couldn’t confirm that shot up close. It could have grazed his head. He could have ducked before the round hit him … any number of possibilities.’

‘The Libyan authorities said he was dead,’ Meera spoke up. ‘I remember that. Even ISI acknowledged, through back channels, that he was killed in that yard.’

‘A perfect cover for Khalil to operate without suspicion,’ Bwana hissed.

‘Khalil is the worst kind of ISI agent.’ Vikram rubbed his jaw. ‘He’s not only very good, he’s got an ideological hatred for our country.’

Meera got to her feet. ‘We’ve got to let the boss know of this. She’ll light several fires. If ISI was involved’—Meera clenched her fist—‘things aren’t going to be very pleasant for a few days.’

Zeb nodded soberly. Both Pakistan and India are nuclear powers. This might not result in an out-and-out war, but their armies are going to be doing a lot of cross-border firing across the Kashmir border.

He cracked his knuckles and looked into the distance.

‘What’s on your mind.’ Chloe nudged him when the Indian team had left.

‘Khalil. If that was him, I’ll have to kill him a second time. And make it permanent.’

7

Islamabad

Prime Minister Aftab Hussain paced his office furiously as he waited for his appointment.

He had a panoramic view of Islamabad through one set of windows and through another, the lush gardens at the side. Neither of those soothed him.

He spun around when the door opened and a young man entered. Not the visitor he was expecting.

‘Abhi nahin, Farhan,’ he snapped at his aide in Urdu. Not now, Farhan. ‘Hold all my appointments.’

‘Ji, janab.’ Yes, sir. The aide disappeared.

Hussain crossed his hands behind his back and waited. He knew the delay was a power play. His appointment was deliberately making him wait.

The prime minister had been quick to offer his sympathies and support to his Indian counterpart the previous day.

And then, in the early hours of the morning, he had been woken up by a call from his army chief. That had enraged him. The call from Parmeshwar Singh Chauhan, the Indian Prime Minister, hadn’t surprised him thereafter. The Indian leader was cold, hostile and his message left no room for misinterpretation.

The door opened. A lean man with neatly-styled graying hair and trim goatee entered. Western suit. Spit-polished shoes. He looked like he belonged in a boardroom.

Lieutenant General Jamil Azhar, head of Pakistan’s ISI, Inter-Services Intelligence, stopped in the center of the room and crossed his hands behind his back.

ISI was the country’s secretive intelligence agency. It was composed of serving military officers, drawn on secondment from the Army, Navy, and Air Force, which gave it the name Inter-Services.

It came into the limelight when it backed Afghan mujahideen during the Soviet-Afghan war and never left the world’s attention since then.

India accused it of organizing terrorist attacks in that country. US intelligence claimed ISI organized terrorist training camps in Pakistan and backed separatist militias who operated against India.

Many in worldwide intelligence circles believed ISI played both sides, the US-led coalition as well as the terrorists themselves, in the global war against terror. The rumors that ISI not only knew the location of the world’s most famous terrorist, Osama bin Laden, until his killing, but also sheltered him, never died.

Despite the controversies, ISI was not only the country’s dominant intelligence agency, it also had a significant influence over the country’s politics.

Pakistan had been ruled by the military for three decades after coups. It was not surprising that ISI, formed from branches of the military, was as powerful as its army.

Azhar did not radiate power. He had a professorial look and even when in his army dress uniform, didn’t have presence.

It was a look that fooled many rival intelligence agency heads who didn’t know him. The ISI leader was an expert strategist, ruthless, and put his and his agency’s interests foremost.

Hussain, born to a prominent political family, Oxford educated, had been elected on a mandate to clean up Pakistan’s politics, free it from corruption and strengthen its democracy.

Which brought him against the country’s military leaders and Azhar.

He was in the first year of his presidency. He had inherited Azhar’s appointment. The two men had butted heads several times on ISI’s operations. Azhar had won every argument after clinically citing every mission’s purpose and how it advanced the country’s interests.

Hussain knew Azhar didn’t hold him in any regard. He didn’t care. He was a president in a hurry to implement his mandate and was aware the military leaders could organize a coup and oust him at any moment.

He had briefly contemplated replacing Azhar but had discarded the notion instantly. Azhar was competent and there was no saying any new appointee would be more cooperative in working with him.

Hussain scrambled towards his desk, caught a bunch of newspapers, and flung them at Azhar. ‘Have you seen these?’

‘Yes, janab. There is nothing else on the news.’

‘Twenty-two Indians killed. The Indian government is saying they are soldiers, but I am sure you know they were RAW agents.’

‘I am aware of that, sir.’

‘Did your agency kill them?’

Azhar raised his eyebrows in astonishment. ‘My agency, sir? We had nothing to do with his brutal killing.’

Hussain studied him. Azhar had spent a few years in America on a military assignment, where he had polished his English and perfected his presentation to a Western audience. ‘I got a call from Chauhan earlier today. Very early. He told me one of the killers is Tariq Khalil. Isn’t he your agent?’

Azhar’s composure slipped. He looked shocked. ‘Khalil was our agent, sir. He is dead. He was killed in Libya in an American operation. Did the prime minister say those were RAW men?’

‘Chauhan said the dead men were Indian soldiers. But our army chief confirmed they were RAW. THOSE SURVIVING MEN SAW KHALIL!’ Hussain lost his temper. ‘Why would they lie?’

Azhar hadn’t recovered his composure. His lips moved and finally words emerged. ‘I don’t know why, sir, but they are lying. Whoever killed those men, it wasn’t us. ISI is not involved in that operation.’

‘You’re admitting that ISI is carrying out other operations in India, against India?’ Hussain said triumphantly.

‘Sir, ISI is carrying out many missions as we speak. Some of those are so sensitive that even you should not know the details. I can assure you all the operations are to further our interests and are against our enemies.’

‘LIEUTENANT GENERAL JAMAL AZHAR, INDIA IS NO LONGER OUR ENEMY,’ Hussain bellowed. ‘Those days are gone. Are you aware how bad our situation is? Our economy is crumbling. We were enjoying American dollars when that country pumped money into us to help them fight Taliban and Al-Qaeda. That tap has stopped. Most of that money was grabbed by corrupt politicians and the military. We never invested in our country’s infrastructure. We have blackouts. Our politics?’ he spat. ‘We are fighting with each other. Even in my own party, there are so many factions that I have lost count. We have to borrow money from the IMF, Saudi Arabia, the UAE, and China. Look at India! It is an economic giant. No military coup has ever happened in India and never will. Do you know why? Because,’ he didn’t wait for an answer, ‘while our political and military leaders were busy making themselves rich, that country invested in education, in health care, in uplifting its women … no, Jamal Azhar. India is not our enemy. That is an old view that should be rejected. We should learn from India.’

He paused for breath. Wiped sweat from his forehead and drank deeply from a glass of water.

‘Regardless, sir,’ Azhar said smoothly as if Hussain hadn’t spent the last few minutes lecturing him, ‘Khalil is not the killer. A dead man cannot be a killer.’

‘If you are so confident, you should go to India. Meet Chauhan. Explain to him that ISI had no role in the killing. Prove it however you can. That’s the only way to defuse this crisis. The Indian Prime Minister has threatened to call for a United Nations General Assembly emergency session. He wants to table a resolution to label us as a terrorist country. That cannot happen. Whatever international aid and support we have will dry up if it passes. Go to India⁠—’

‘Chauhan will not meet me, janab. I am a nobody to him.’

‘Meet your counterpart then,’ Hussain said in irritation. ‘Meet Anjali Mathur.’

8

Delhi

Zeb and his team had left their hotel and were staying in RAW accommodations near the Lodhi Road office. It was a large sprawling bungalow with its own security. A large backyard in which he and his friends were working out.

He finished an intense kata session and paused for breath. Wiped sweat from his face and toweled it. Watched Beth and Meghan box, Bear and Chloe stretch and took in Roger, who was standing idly.

‘Exercise isn’t good for my looks,’ the Texan said in a superior tone.

Zeb grinned. Roger and Bwana had completed a body-wracking set of burpees, bench presses and deadlifts, which showed in the wet tees that stuck to their bodies like a second skin. ‘You shouldn’t have come to India in that case. The heat isn’t good for you, either.’

‘It was a close call. The food over here, or my looks. Food won.’

A shadow fell over them. Bear. Breathing harshly from the workout, his biceps straining against his sleeves. He had adopted a new style when in India. He had shaved his beard and trimmed his hair, which accentuated his strong features and made him look younger. ‘We’re joining Meera and Vikram today?’

‘You are.’ Zeb put on his shades. ‘I’m going to Rajouri Garden.’

‘That’s a residential neighborhood.’ Meghan frowned on overhearing. She and her sister joined the rest of the operatives. ‘What’s there?’

‘Who, not what. Ivan Volkov.’

Her eyes narrowed. ‘The SVR agent? He’s in India? In Delhi?’

‘He’s retired, or that’s what the agency says. Yeah, he’s here. He’s been in India for a year, running some kind of operation in Afghanistan.’

‘Does Vikram know?’

‘No.’ Zeb shook his head. ‘I found out only this morning.’

‘From Grigor!’ Chloe snapped her fingers.

‘Yeah.’

Grigor Andropov headed a covert intelligence outfit in Russia. It wasn’t as big as SVR or FSB, but it was highly effective and had the Russian president’s backing. Grigor was an Agency ally and their close friend.

‘I called him in the morning,’ Zeb continued. ‘Afghanistan is not on any country’s priority list for now so he kept the information to himself.’

‘Not any country’s priority except for the Taliban,’ Beth said harshly. ‘Who continue to rule women’s lives. We still have many of our translator friends over there.’

‘Yes,’ he acknowledged. ‘However, one mission, one country at a time.’

‘Why are you interested in Volkov … oh, right. He and his team controlled many of the human smuggling routes in Libya all those years ago. He might know of Khalil’s whereabouts,’ Broker finished.

‘Correct.’ Zeb started walking towards the bungalow.

‘Doesn’t he hate you?’ Bear called out from behind him. ‘You busted his operation there and nearly killed him. Scuttlebutt has it that he’s going to shoot you on sight. How are you going to get anything out of him?’

‘Correct on that, too. I will say please when I meet him.

9

Rajouri Garden was in West Delhi. Nehru Market and Main Market were the busy shopping areas but in addition to those, there were several glass-fronted malls that were ubiquitous in every major Indian city.

Zeb drove his Range Rover through the busy streets, ball cap pulled low over his head. He wasn’t worried about his vehicle being noticed. Delhi is filled with BMWs, Mercedes, Land Rovers, and other upmarket vehicles.

The address Grigor had given him was in E Block, a neighborhood that was primarily residential.

Yellow, white, or pink painted houses, each one of them a minimum of two floors, behind metal gates. A few of the homes had their own security, men who sat on chairs, under umbrellas, and verified any incoming visitors or vehicles.

Volkov’s building was painted white. Four floors. Zeb passed it once and noted the balcony on each floor which overlooked the street. Window-mounted aircon units in every one of them.

He turned at the end of the street and parked under a shady tree. He reached into the glovebox and pulled out a GOVERNMENT placard that Meera had given them and stuck it on the windshield. That’ll prevent it from being towed.

He got out, a partially zipped loose jacket flowing around his waist, concealing his shoulder holster.

All the operatives were deeply tanned and could pass for being American, Indian, Middle Eastern, North African, or Mediterranean from their skin tones. The twins and Roger wore contacts over their eyes to change the color of their green eyes. The sisters had also dyed their blond hair to black. None of them could do much about their accents however, even though their Hindi, the country’s national language, was passable.

Bwana, Zeb chuckled inwardly, will stand out in any country. The Black operative could wear cheek pads or change his hair color but those disguises weren’t worth the effort. There’s nothing much we can do about his height. The six-foot-four-inches tall, heavily muscled American attracted glances wherever he went. It’s a calculated risk we take, that someone will recognize him. No one knew of us when we first began all those years ago. Now, a few of our enemies and all our allies have heard of us.

Zeb walked down the street. The city seemed to have a subdued air after the previous day’s shootings. Delhi Police had put up posters in public places with a call number to seek information.

A mother hurried past him, tugging her daughter’s hand, exhorting her to walk faster or else they would be late for school. A vegetable vendor pushed a handcart, calling out loudly to the nearby residences. Bollywood music wafted through an open window. Utensils clanged somewhere.

Nothing about the neighborhood suggested it housed a lethal SVR killer.

Which is why he chose this place. It’s the perfect cover.

Zeb neared Volkov’s building. Grigor said each floor is an apartment that’s rented out by the landlord. The Russian’s residence was on the second floor.

No sentry at the six-foot-high gate, which was shut. It was a plain, solid sheet of metal. No way to see through it.

Zeb brought out his phone and held it high above his head as if he were recording himself. Glimpsed the inner concrete driveway. Couldn’t see anything more without being noticeable.

He glanced around casually.

The street was empty.

He vaulted over the gate.

10

No alarms rang out. No one shouted.

It would have been simpler if Beth and Meg were here. They would have launched their drones to get a view of Volkov’s apartment.

He had deliberately decided to come alone, however. A bunch of us in this residential neighborhood would be noticed.

Zeb took in the inside yard instantly as he hurried to its wall.

The building was on stilts. Parking beneath it. Each apartment had two slots, clearly labeled on the concreted ground. Only one car occupied its bay.

An open lobby led to a couple of elevators, next to which were the stairs.

Zeb took the concrete steps, climbing as softly as possible.

Hands loose, close to his body. Faded paint on the walls. Some child had drawn stick figures and names. Zeb cocked his head to listen and heard only the quiet of the building. Background noises from the street. The occasional passing vehicle. A honk.

No cooking odors.

He came to the first floor. A large wooden door to the sole apartment on it. Decorated with religious symbols and a small statue of Ganesha, the elephant god. Millions of homes in the country with such decoration on their front doors.

He climbed up. Paused near the landing and listened hard. Silence.

He checked the ceiling for cameras.

There were none.

He inspected the door from where he was, several feet away. A sturdy, wooden one.

He waited several beats and went to the apartment. Drew his phone out and turned on an app. Rose to his full height and ran the device around the door. The app, a scanner for surveillance devices, didn’t beep.

Zeb bent to the bolt lock. He could pick it. There was another built-in lock on the door.

Yeah, I can get through that one too. Is Volkov inside?

The door didn’t have a peephole.

Zeb grinned at that.

It was a common misconception that peepholes offered more security.

A hostile could use them against the resident. They would wait for an eye to appear and shoot through the door.

The best operators didn’t have a peephole. They’ll have cameras. Zeb frowned and checked his app, which remained quiet.

He shrugged.

Maybe Volkov wants to blend in.

He knocked.

I’ll slam the door back as soon as he opens.

It was a risky strategy, but he didn’t have any other option.

The door didn’t open.

He knocked again with the same result.

He chewed his lip for a moment and went up to the third floor.

Sharma, a board proclaimed on the door. Lemon and chilies hanging off it. That’s to ward off evil.

There were no sounds from within the apartment either, though its bolt was drawn back.

Might as well risk it. Zeb went to Volkov’s floor, bringing out his lock pick set from his cargo pants.

He unpicked the first lock and placed it carefully on the floor. Slid the bolt back. Went to work on the second lock and twisted the levers in them. They gave way.

There were only two ways to enter an apartment. Hard and hot or cautious.

Zeb went for the former.

He drew his Glock and kicked the door open.

11

Zeb stood away from the door while it swung inwards and slammed against the wall.

He bent low and entered the apartment swiftly, his Glock covering where his eyes went.

Living room. A coffee table. Two chairs. A dining table. No other adornments. A pile of shoes on a rack next to the door. Curtains on the windows drawn tight.

He kicked the door shut behind him.

Volkov would have heard my entrance by now. He’s not here.

He had to confirm, however.

Zeb went down the tiled hallway, snapped a look into the kitchen. Empty. Pushed the bathroom door with his left hand. No one inside it.

Proceeded down the hallway to the last open door, ready to dive to the floor should the Russian appear.

It was the bedroom. It too was empty. He holstered his gun and checked out the room. Neatly made bed. Clothing in the closet, folded in shelves. He checked beneath the bed. A few books on the floor, one of which was Russian.

He searched the rest of the apartment and beneath a loose tile in the bathroom found Volkov’s passports. British, American, German, all of them in different names. No Russian one. A wad of rolled-up US dollars.

He must be passing himself off as some other country’s national.

Zeb stuffed the passports and money in his pocket, went out of the apartment and locked it.

He went to the Sharma residence. They might know about him.

Rang the buzzer and waited.

Heard faint shuffling from inside.

A woman opened the door. She seemed to be in her mid-thirties. Hair drawn back. Weary eyes. Faded print sari. Barefoot. ‘Saab aur memsaab nahin hai.’ Sir and ma’am aren’t there.

She must be the maid. Zeb nodded in thanks and was swinging away but her eyes remained on him. A look in them.

He met her gaze and then he sensed it.

Fear.

12

He looked beyond her. The apartment seemed to be identical to Volkov’s but had a lived-in look to it. He could see shelving, a TV, a throw on a couch.

He glanced back at her. The bangles on her wrist shook. Volkov’s here?

‘Thoda pani milega? Bahut pyaas lagi hai.’ Can I get some water? I’m very thirsty.

She nodded jerkily. Started backing out when he stopped her with a finger to his lips. Gestured at her to move out of the way.

She shook her head, frightened.

He drew his Glock and clamped a palm over her mouth before she could speak, and dragged her out of the apartment.

Stay here, he whispered and removed his palm cautiously. She didn’t make a sound.

Can’t risk asking her where Volkov is. Sounds will carry. He might hear and charge out, shooting.

He went deeper into the living room. Burst around the kitchen. Empty.

Went down the hallway and was nearing the bathroom door when it opened and a hand shot out and the edge of its palm slammed into his wrist.

Zeb’s Glock clattered to the floor.

A man rushed out of the bathroom, roaring furiously. Tall. Closely-cut brown hair. Raising a gun.

Volkov! Zeb recognized him instantly even as he ducked beneath the rising weapon and slammed a shoulder against the Russian’s chest, pinning him against the bathroom door’s frame.

The SVR agent’s shot went into the ceiling, the report ringing loudly in the close confines of the apartment.

The maid screamed from the landing.

Zeb caught Volkov’s gun hand and crashed it against the door frame repeatedly until his gun fell.

The Russian yelled furiously and punched him in the ribs with a fist that felt like a concrete block.

Zeb gasped. Retreated. Volkov was instantly on him, with a forearm across his throat, slamming him against the wall, eyes narrowed in rage and triumph. ‘I saw you through the peephole when you came up,’ he snarled. ‘I knew you would check my apartment out.’

Zeb kicked out, but the Russian’s legs were spread wide and far out. The SVR man’s forearm felt like an iron bar, choking the air out of the American.

Don’t have any purchase. I can’t hold out for much longer, Zeb thought dimly as the edges of his vision started to fade.

He reared up, letting Volkov pin him against the wall, using the contact as a fulcrum, ignoring the searing pain against his throat, bunched his legs and slammed them against the Russian’s chest.

The SVR agent, caught by surprise, not expecting to bear Zeb’s weight, bellowed and fell back.

Zeb slipped to the floor. Caught Volkov’s legs and yanked savagely to bring him down to the hard, tiled surface and was instantly on top of him, slamming the Russian’s head against the floor and punching him in the throat repeatedly.

‘IDHAR AAO,’ he yelled over his shoulder at the maid. Come here. ‘Daro mat. Yeh kuch nahi karega.’ Don’t be scared. He won’t do anything.

‘Saab—’

‘IDHAR AAO. MERI MADAT KARO.’ Come here. Help me.

Zeb jammed his elbow on Volkov’s throat, lying across him, holding him down with his body weight. He ignored the man’s feeble punches and looked back at her.

She came into the apartment fearfully.

‘Do, teen dupatta lao.’ Bring me two or three dupattas. They were the long scarves that Indian women draped over their shoulders while wearing their salwars.

She hesitated and moved when he jerked his head. She stepped over them gingerly, avoiding looking at Volkov, went to the bedroom and returned with two garments.

Zeb smashed the Russian’s head on the floor to knock him out, rolled him onto his belly and secured his hands behind his back. He bound the man’s legs as well, and grunting with effort, dragged him to the living room and hauled him up on the couch.

He stepped back and sucked lungfuls of air harshly. His throat felt like it was burning. Sweat was streaming down his face. His ribs felt like they had been kicked by a mule. He was alive, however.

Aware of the maid’s eyes on him, he went to the kitchen, drank water, filled a glass to the brim with the liquid, took a knife from the wall rack and returned to the living room.

‘Sharma kidhar hai?’ Where is Sharma?

‘Saab, woh sab America main hai.’ Sir, all of them are in America.

‘You clean the apartment in their absence?’ he asked in Hindi.

‘Yes, sir. Every day. I have been working for them for a long time. They pay me to keep the house clean.’

‘How did he⁠—’

Volkov stirred.

Zeb splashed water on his face and when the Russian opened his eyes, held the knife up and cut the skin beneath his right eye.

Blood streamed out of the shallow cut instantly. The SVR agent’s breath hissed.

The maid gasped.

‘Go to the bedroom,’ Zeb told her.

She didn’t move.

He glanced back at her. Her hand was cupped over her mouth. She was shaking. Her eyes wide, but she was rooted to the floor.

He blocked her view with his body and cut Volkov’s face again. ‘You know how this will work. I hope you hold out because I want to see you die here.’

The Russian glared at him. ‘What do you want?’

‘What are you doing in India?’

‘I am retired.’

He howled when Zeb punctured his inner thigh with the knife.

‘NOTHING AGAINST YOUR COUNTRY,’ he yelled.

‘What are you working on?’

‘AFGHANISTAN!’

That tallies with what Grigor said. ‘Where is Tariq Khalil?’

‘Khalil? He’s dead. You killed him in Libya.’

Zeb twisted the knife in Volkov’s thigh.

The Russian shrieked in agony, shuddering on the couch.

‘Where’s Khalil? I know he’s alive. I know he’s in India. He killed RAW agents yesterday.’

‘I don’t know,’ Volkov sobbed.

‘You helped him escape from Libya. You have a good network here, in India. He would have come to you. It would be less suspicious for you to organize the logistics for him, than for him to do so himself. Where is he?’ Another knife twist.

Volkov’s jeans were soaked with blood, which dripped to the floor. He was shivering.

‘I haven’t cut your femoral artery.’ Zeb was remorseless. ‘Should I? You’ll die in minutes, your blood on the floor.’

‘GHAZIABAD!’

‘Khalil is there?’

‘Da, da.’

‘You helped him get away from Libya?’

‘Da.’

‘You helped him here?’

‘Da.’

‘You knew he was planning to kill RAW agents?’

‘Nyet! I didn’t know anything about his operation. I provided him with vehicles and safe houses. Nothing more.’

Zeb considered him for a long while Volkov panted on the couch and continued to lose blood. ‘I think I’ll cut your artery. I don’t believe you.’

‘IT IS THE TRUTH!’ the Russian screamed.

‘Where’s he in Ghaziabad?’

‘Rajnagar Lane. It’s a red building on top of a pharmacy. He’s in the first-floor apartment.’

‘When did he go there?’

‘Yesterday.’

‘How long will he be there?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘How many shooters with him?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘How do you communicate?’

Volkov twisted his hips to present his pocket. ‘Burner phone,’ he panted, ‘but Khalil isn’t responding anymore. He paid me for the apartment. I don’t know anything else.’

Zeb extracted the phone, held it against Volkov’s face to unlock it, changed the password and checked the messages.

There weren’t any. There were several incoming and outgoing calls, however, from the previous day to the same number.

‘That’s his number?’ He showed the phone to the Russian.

‘Da.’ Volkov shuddered. ‘I am bleeding. Help me.’

‘I don’t know,’ Zeb pondered. ‘You might be lying. You might have a trap set up in Ghaziabad. You want to kill me. No.’ He shook his head. ‘It’s better that you die here.’

‘I TOLD YOU EVERYTHING I KNOW. I WASN’T INVOLVED IN THE RAW SHOOTINGS.’

Zeb scratched his jaw and then nodded, finally. He tore a strip of dupatta and bandaged the Russian’s thigh firmly.

Stood back and surveyed the prisoner. Caught the maid in his peripheral vision and took her in.

She was watching in horrified fascination.

‘How did he get inside?’ he asked her.

She twisted her hands. ‘Saab, he has been coming here for a long time. Whenever I come to clean. He …’ a bangle cracked. Tears rolled down her cheeks. She raised her head defiantly. ‘He … used me. He said he would kill me if I didn’t let him. I have no one, saab. I am from Bihar. I came to this city to work. I clean peoples’ houses. I send money to my parents. My sister … I am saving for her marriage. I couldn’t stop him, saab. Even today … he said he would shoot me if I let you in. You have to believe me.’

Zeb believed her. Dark rage gripped him. ‘He used you?’

‘Don’t make me explain, saab,’ she cried brokenly. ‘He⁠—’

Zeb spun on his heel. His hand flashed to his shoulder holster and came out with his Glock.

He shot Volkov in his groin.

13

Meera, Vikram, his team, and several RAW agents were in the apartment half an hour later.

EMTs dressed the unconscious Volkov as best as they could, occasionally casting curious looks his way. They had declared the Russian would live but would be crippled for the rest of his life.

‘No loss to humanity.’ Bwana shrugged coldly and then his face relaxed. He grinned at Zeb and thumbs-upped him. ‘He’s going to wish you killed him, once he comes to.’

‘Rajnagar Lane is a busy street in Ghaziabad’s old market.’ Beth drew their attention. ‘That’s the building.’ She tapped her forefinger on it. ‘If we go hot and heavy, lights and sirens, Khalil will know.’

‘We won’t,’ Vikram promised. ‘Plainclothes teams.’

‘Only one team from your end,’ Zeb told him. ‘We’ll be the second one.’

‘You think we have a leak?’ Meera frowned.

‘No. But too many vehicles⁠—’

‘You could stay back.’

‘Fat chance,’ Bwana growled.

‘What will happen to her?’ Zeb cocked his head at the maid, who was with a RAW agent.

‘Radha Biswas,’ Meera said. ‘Nothing bad. We’ll get her checked up at a hospital … see if she needs counseling. She’s a victim.’

‘Aap thik ho?’ Zeb went to her when she was alone. Are you all right?

She nodded with tears in her eyes.

‘When is your sister’s marriage?’

‘In two months, saab.’ She sniffled and wiped her eyes.

‘Make it a good one.’ He cupped her palms in his and slipped a fat bundle of rupees into her hands.

He turned away before she replied. Caught Chloe’s knowing look and wink.

‘You’re turning soft,’ she said. ‘No, not that, with Radha. I meant Volkov. We didn’t think you’d let him live.’

‘I was being nice.’ Zeb grinned.

14

Islamabad

Lieutenant-General Jamil Azhar swore when he was back in his car.

He knew his driver was listening but that didn’t bother him. The man had been with him for a very long time and was in his trusted network.

He knew Hussain didn’t believe that ISI wasn’t involved in the Delhi shootings. He doesn’t trust me. Why would he suddenly believe whatever I say?

Khalil! Azhar’s fists bunched. He’s gone rogue. I didn’t authorize that mission.

He hurried to his office, where he shut the door and dialed a number on his burner phone. The call got automatically routed to servers in Ukraine and then bounced off several private servers before connecting.

‘What did you do?’ he hissed. ‘Who asked you to shoot those agents? You were in India to gather intel.’

‘Azhar saab,’ Khalil mocked. ‘Since when did I take orders from you?’

Azhar glowered at the phone. ‘Don’t forget who you⁠—’

‘I was an ISI agent. After Libya you and I agreed I could provide more value to Pakistan as a free agent. I wasn’t full-time with you. I carried out missions for you but on a freelance basis. You forgot all that?’

‘No one ever quits ISI, Tariq. You know that as well as I do.’

‘I didn’t say I would do anything more for you.’

‘WHY DID YOU KILL THOSE AGENTS?’

‘It’s not your business,’ Khalil snapped.

‘You have set back India-Pakistan relations by years! Hussain has asked me to go personally to India to salvage the situation. All this because of your actions. Who’s funding you? What’s their motive? You’re operating dangerously⁠—’

‘Hussain,’ Khalil mocked him. ‘I’ve heard rumors that you and other military generals are planning to oust him. Why do you care what happened? I struck a blow against India. That should make you happy.’

‘Return to Pakistan immediately.’

‘Azhar saab, I don’t report to you.’

Azhar cursed when Khalil hung up. He massaged his forehead and yelled at his aide to get chai for him.

The tea soothed him. He thought furiously. Khalil had been right that he and a few military leaders had discussed overthrowing Hussain. They had all agreed, however, that the timing wasn’t right.

No country would favor yet another military coup in Pakistan and there would be severe sanctions against the plotters if they went ahead and were successful.

Hussain won’t have a second term, he snarled internally. He might not even last his first one.

The thought didn’t pacify him. He was raging, thinking of Khalil and the prime minister’s orders.

Going to India to meet the RAW chief and deny Pakistan’s involvement was humiliating even if it was true—he hadn’t greenlighted the killing. The Indian media will gloat.

Let them, he thought bitterly, and pressed the buzzer for his aide.

‘Asif,’ he said brusquely when his executive-assistant entered. ‘Set up a meeting for me with Anjali Mathur. In India.’

‘Mathur, saab?’ Asif stared at him. ‘Of RAW?’

‘How many other Mathurs are there?’ he snapped.

He leaned back in his chair when he was alone. He toyed with a pen. It was one of those fancy gadgets that could fire poison-tipped needles. He hadn’t ever tried it and it wasn’t loaded, but it still was a useful weapon to have near him.

Khalil is a loose cannon. Whatever he does will be associated with ISI. Who is he working for? The Chinese? No. That country won’t take out RAW agents in this manner. Who else would fund such an operation? He thought for several moments and then shrugged. It was India’s mess. He had enough on his plate.

But that didn’t solve the Khalil problem. Should I send a hit team after him? No! He rejected the thought instantly. It was tempting, but the risks outweighed the benefits. His network in India was stretched to its limits. My people will have to find Khalil first. He could be in Delhi or anywhere else, and if they find him, he won’t go down easily. The risks of ISI being exposed in the hunt are high. No. He nodded to himself. The political risks are not worth it.

Much as he hated it, Mathur was his best bet. If India raises the matter in the United Nations my meeting her will go a long way to show our innocence. And I’ll wash our hands of Khalil to her. They can find him, arrest him or kill him. I’ll even share all our files on him.

He summoned Asif again. ‘Tell Mathur’s secretary the meeting has to be tomorrow.’

15

Delhi

Khalil yawned and stretched. He shuffled to the kitchen and made tea. He slurped it noisily, lounged against the door and checked out the six shooters who were sprawled in the living room.

All of them were asleep except one who was watching the muted TV. ‘Sab theek hai?’ the man asked in Urdu. Is everything all right?

‘Yes.’ Khalil grinned. ‘It was our old boss. He was asking me to return to Pakistan. I couldn’t help laughing. I don’t think the general is happy with us.’

‘Do you think ISI will come after us?’

Khalil studied him and the rest of the men. All of them had similar builds. Average heights, stubble, short hair, no visible tattoos, no jewelry, nothing that could identify them. Only their facial features differed.

‘No.’ He took a large sip. ‘The general doesn’t have enough people in India. Besides, he’s in hot water. The Indian government is furious with Pakistan. He’ll not risk sending a hit team.’

The six shooters were ISI. His long-time team. Azhar hasn’t worked out yet that they too have joined me. If he’s angry now, how will he be when he finds out? Khalil grinned and went to his bedroom.

He punched another number on his burner. ‘Azhar just called,’ he briefed the man who answered and gave him a rundown of the conversation.

‘Are you all right?’ The man’s voice was deep, calm, reassuring. He spoke fluent Urdu, though Khalil knew it wasn’t his native language.

‘Not even a scratch on us. Those agents were where you said they would be. They were sitting ducks.’ He smirked. His smile disappeared quickly. ‘Did you know Carter and his team would be with the RAW agents?’

‘Carter? Zeb Carter?’ The voice was stunned.

‘Yes. He was at the back. He threw a brick at my window and when I lowered it, I recognized him.’

‘What are the Americans doing there?’

‘Looks like they were training with the Indians. It must be some kind of joint exercise.’ Khalil scratched his chest. His lips thinned when he felt the scars over his heart. They ran all the way down to his belly. From the explosion in Libya, he thought savagely. He felt the hair on the side of his head, which he had grown long to cover the wicked mark where Carter’s bullet had grazed him. ‘I was so shocked to see him that I didn’t think of shooting at him.’

‘You might get your chance.’

‘What do you mean? They will be very cautious⁠—’

‘Azhar will meet Mathur. He has to. That’s the only way Pakistan can save face.’

‘Yes, I see that.’ The shooter nodded.

‘They will meet in a hotel⁠—’

‘No, he’ll go to her office.’

‘He won’t,’ the voice countered. ‘His pride won’t allow that. He’s coming to India unwillingly. He won’t go that far to go to her. And Mathur will not meet him in the Pakistan High Commission. No, it will be a hotel.’

Khalil thought about it for a moment. ‘Yes, you are right.’

‘You can take them out at the hotel. Azhar and Mathur. In one blow. Think of it. It will be the greatest strike against India.’

Khalil wasn’t an excitable man. He was cold-blooded, ruthless, a superb strategist and was great at execution too. He was stirred by the man’s words, however. He could see the killing in his mind.

‘They will be well protected.’ He reined in his imagination.

‘Yes. But even if you fail, an explosion in or near their hotel will be a statement in and of itself. And—’ The speaker sounded like he was smirking. ‘I am sure Kohli and Ranganathan will be there too. They are the lead agents in RAW. They will be aware of the importance of this meeting. They’ll be nearby to supervise the security. And if they’ll be there, won’t Carter be present too? You have unfinished business there.’

Khalil clenched his fists involuntarily. The man was right. Bitter fury surged through him. ‘We don’t know which hotel they’ll be meeting in,’ he said when the wave had passed.

‘I can find that out. There are no secrets in Delhi. The meeting will be soon. Most probably tomorrow. Azhar won’t delay it.’

‘We’ll be ready. We’ve got disguises, another SUV with false plates … we’ve got all the equipment we need.’ Khalil ran down a mental checklist. ‘Why are you targeting Kohli and Ranganathan?’

‘They are key players in something that affects my country. But it’s not just them. I have another motive.’

‘What is it?’

‘You don’t need to know that,’ the voice said coldly.

‘We’re just your triggermen.’

‘You can terminate our arrangement. I can find other shooters.’

‘Sure, we can. And you’ll send a hit team after us because we know too much about you.’ Khalil grinned when the man didn’t reply. ‘Relax. I know how the game plays. We aren’t pulling out. You pay us well and we get to hit India. What could be better?’

‘Taking out Carter.’

Khalil’s smile turned feral. He hung up. Went to the living room and shook his men awake. ‘Get ready.’

‘We’re going somewhere?’

‘Yes. We have a hotel to bomb.’

16

Ghaziabad

The drive to Ghaziabad took an hour.

Zeb at the wheel. Meghan, shotgun. Beth and Broker, at the back. Bwana with the rest of the operatives in another SUV.

They had met in the RAW office for a final briefing.

‘It’s an apartment building.’ Meera laser-pointed at the construction in the satellite image projected on the conference room wall. ‘Rajnagar Lane at the front. Pathan Street at the back. Shops at ground level. Cleaners, restaurants, ATMs, grocery stores. There’s parking at the front as well as the back, but not much.’

‘We’ll have to filter in on foot,’ Vikram interjected. ‘There’s no way we can park there and not get noticed.’

Zeb studied the RAW agents. Six of them, not including Meera and Vikram. Four men, two women. All of them in their early thirties. Lean. Fit. Casual clothing. Their competence showed in their postures, the questions they asked, and in their quiet confidence in themselves.

‘Is that a jalebi shop?’ One of the men pointed at the screen.

‘It is,’ Meera responded.

‘We aren’t going on a picnic, Ritesh,’ a woman agent jibed. ‘You’ve to watch your weight in any case. Aren’t you going to be engaged soon?’

‘I can pick up a takeaway box after we are done,’ Ritesh said defensively.

‘You can, and share it with us.’

Meera slapped the table with her palm. She pointedly looked at the photographs on the wall.

The RAW agents turned sober.

‘Our problem is entry,’ she resumed. ‘Our agents have made calls. That’s a building for low-income families. It doesn’t have a fancy lobby or even elevators. Six floors. Residents have to use the stairs, which are next to the cleaner’s’ shop. No other exit. Khalil’s flat overlooks Rajnagar Street. It looks like one of his windows has a good view of the parking spaces.’

‘They will be alert.’ Beth nodded, guessing where Meera was going. ‘Entry from the front will be difficult.’

‘Helicopters?’ Ritesh asked.

‘No.’ The woman who had mocked him rolled her eyes. ‘Don’t you think that will be obvious? They might take hostages.’

‘Lavi is right,’ Meera agreed.

‘Can you zoom in on the rear of the building?’

Meera brought up a street view and enlarged it. ‘There are apartments on that side too. Our agents spoke to some of the residents, posing as real-estate brokers. There is a single hallway that runs the length of the building. Apartments on either side, front and back. Twelve of them on each floor. Six each on either side of the stairs.’

‘You got any info on Khalil? Did anyone see them?’

‘No luck. The residents know that apartment is rented out, but the tenants keep to themselves. Young men, that’s all they could describe. The rest of the flats on that floor are occupied by families.’

‘Who’s in the apartment opposite Khalil’s? The one that overlooks the rear?’

Meera consulted her notes. ‘The Desais family. Husband works in a bank. Wife is a homemaker. Two young kids, a girl and a boy.’

‘You got that much information from just the calls?’ Chloe asked admiringly.

‘Our agents are persuasive. We even got an owner ready to list his apartment with us.’ Meera’s teeth flashed. ‘What’re you thinking?’ she asked Zeb.

‘Those are drainpipes next to the Desais’s apartment?’ He pointed to the two tubular structures that ran up the building from the ground.

‘Yes.’

‘We’ll climb up those. Enter their apartment. Their windows are big enough for us to climb through. Go to the front. Alert you and then you can come up the stairs.’

A long pause while the RAW team considered his plan. Bear grinned. Bwana chewed his gum expressionlessly. Roger brushed invisible lint off his jeans. One never knew when a social media influencer might snap photographs. He had to always present his best look.

‘Risky,’ Vikram said finally. ‘The shop owners, their customers … they’ll all see you. They might call out.’

Meera’s face brightened. ‘Even if they do, the sounds won’t carry to Khalil’s flat. But they might have informers. They might call the ISI men.’

‘They won’t,’ Meghan said confidently. ‘We’ll jam all the calls.’

‘That will affect your comms too.’

‘Temporarily. We’ll lift the block once we are inside.’

‘Aparna Desais, the wife, will be scared.’

‘You have given us Delhi Police identities. We’ll brief her. Once we are in the hallway, we control the floor. Khalil can’t escape without coming out of his apartment. We’ll be covering it. That should minimize any shooting.’

‘She’ll know from your accents that you aren’t Indian. Let us enter that way,’ Lavi said.

‘No,’ Zeb said emphatically. ‘We’ll manage. We’ll reassure her.’ They have lost enough agents.

‘You’ll be climbing up in broad daylight.’ Meera bit her lip. ‘Khalil himself or some of the other agents might be in the parking area. They could see you.’

‘We’ll take care of them,’ Bwana rumbled.

‘It’s a plan.’ Meera nodded decisively.

They got onto the Delhi-Meerut Expressway, the National Expressway Three, the country’s widest highway. Ninety-six kilometers that connected the two cities.

‘Ghaziabad is in Uttar Pradesh, correct?’ Roger spoke in their comms.

‘Yeah,’ Beth replied. ‘Neighboring state, but the city is almost like a commuter town to Delhi.’

Zeb slowed to let a cow cross the road. Trucks honked impatiently.

‘If you can drive in India, you can drive anywhere in the world.’ Meghan spoke softly.

‘We ought to charge you for this … some kind of international driving qualification,’ Tanya said, and the other RAW agents chuckled in their comms.

The twins had hooked their communication channels to the RAW team’s, enabling a single flow of voice traffic.

Zeb floored the SUV when the highway cleared. ‘Will the Desais children be at home?’

‘Yes,’ Vikram responded. ‘Their school closes at three pm. We’ll reach by four.’

Zeb’s lips tightened. Children in the apartment.

The risk had just gone up.

17

He parked his SUV on Pathan Street, stuck the GOVERNMENT card on it and checked out his friends.

All of them in dark tees beneath which they had their lightweight body armor. Light jackets to cover the tees. Cargo pants, whose pockets were stuffed with spare magazines, flashbangs, and other gear.

‘No HKs,’ he warned. ‘Glocks only. We don’t want to panic the residents nor do we want to appear on social media.’

‘Copy,’ his team and the RAW agents chorused.

Twenty minutes to hurry down Pathan Street, past street vendors and lines of cars parked by the sides of the road.

A bus squealed to a stop nearby and disgorged its passengers. Men, women, and kids hurrying to their destinations, many of them on phones.

Snatches of conversation. The smells of street food and sewage. Zeb hustled around a couple, brushed past a man arguing furiously on his phone and got ahead of the crowd.

The red building on their left. He spotted Meera hurrying down the sidewalk on the other side of the street. Vikram, a step behind her, along with the rest of the operatives.

She felt his gaze, turned her head casually to see him and spoke in her mic. ‘You were right. There’s no way we could have approached that building without being noticed.’

He grunted. Felt Beth tug his sleeve and let himself be pulled into the side alley that connected Rajnagar and Pathan.

The rear of the building came into view.

‘Remind me again why we aren’t launching our drones?’ Roger drawled from behind. ‘Don’t they have stealth paint and all those fancy tiles that take on the background color?’

‘That makes them almost invisible only at a certain height. But here’—Meghan came alongside Zeb and pointed to the sky—‘there’s a lot of noise. Electricity cables, phone lines, washing hung out in front of windows, smog … we would have to bring them down, low. Higher risk of their being spotted. Can’t take that chance.’

Zeb studied the building as they drew near.

Its parking area was separated from the sidewalk by a waist-high concrete wall which had large openings for entrance and exit. Vehicles parked in its bays. Each of the shops on the ground level were busy.

The Desais’s window was twenty feet up. Wide open. An empty washing line strung in front of it. The drainpipes just a few feet to the right of the window. ‘Any confirmation the family is inside?’

Meera answered with a smile in her voice. ‘Yes. Our friendly neighborhood real-estate agent called that prospective seller and asked him about visiting the building and checking out other flats on that floor. The children have returned from school. Aparna is at home.’

‘No sign of Khalil?’

‘No.’

Zeb watched a young girl come out of a bakery that was below the Desai home. She licked an ice cream cone as she chattered excitedly to her mother, who was distractedly going through a shopping list. The girl stopped in front of the drainpipe and ignored her mom tugging at her.

‘How do you want to do this?’ Meghan removed her shades and squinted at the building.

‘I go up that pipe. The rest of you stay down to cover this side of the building.’

‘Not going to happen. I will come with you⁠—’

‘Me too,’ Bwana chimed.

‘That pipe won’t take your weight,’ the elder sister snapped.

‘It will.’

‘It won’t.’

‘While you folks argue—’ Bear drifted onto the parking area and rested his butt against the wall. ‘Chloe and I will check out that bakery.’

‘I’m coming,’ Bwana said stubbornly. ‘You and Meg need someone experienced with you.’

Zeb chuckled reluctantly while Beth made a rude noise. ‘All right. We don’t have time to argue.’

He saw Chloe gesture and reach into her pocket for the jammer. ‘Meera, Vikram, we’re jamming signals. On the count of five.’

‘Copy!’ Vikram acknowledged.

Zeb strode to the pipe. Meghan and Bwana flanking him.

He saw a man check his phone in his peripheral vision. Heard him swear.

The girl was still eating her ice cream. Right in front of the pipe. Her mom was glaring at her phone. ‘Signal cut hua?’ The signal was cut? she mumbled to herself.

Zeb cocked his head at Bwana. ‘You climb last and take that second pipe. If it gives, you’re on your own.’

‘I’ll record him falling.’ Beth smirked.

‘I’ll fly, not fall,’ the Black operator retorted.

Zeb tuned out their argument. He skirted the girl, who looked up at him.

He reached high, grabbed the pipe, and hauled himself up.

18

The pipe was concrete, clamped firmly to the wall. It didn’t yield.

It was slippery, however, and he slid an inch.

He looked down. Meghan was below him. ‘You’d better not fall on me,’ she said.

The girl was staring up, wide-eyed.

‘Ice cream khao nahi toh pighal jayega.’ He grinned at her. Eat your ice cream otherwise it will melt.

He climbed, planting his feet firmly around the pipe for added purchase. Paint flaked into his palms, which burned from the tight grip, friction, and the minute slipping.

He made progress, however. Looked down at Bwana, who was grunting and cursing on the other pipe. ‘You should have stayed down.’

‘I’m making this look hard so that you and Meg feel good.’

Zeb shook his head. He rarely won in the verbal jousting with his friends. He rubbed his forehead on a sleeve to wipe his sweat and climbed.

The Desais’s window came near. He listened closely. No sounds from within. We’ll have to climb inside swiftly before Aparna or her children have time to shout or scream. Chloe will turn off the jammer when we are inside the apartment. If Khalil has any informers this side of the building, they could warn him as soon as their phones light up.

He clenched his teeth and hauled himself up faster. Heard Meghan breathe harshly from below.

Drew level with the window.

The washing line was tied to a nail on the wall to the side of its frame. He extended his left arm carefully to prevent his sleeve from snagging on it.

No, have to go all in, or my feet will slip.

He drew a long breath. Stilled himself. Worked out his moves in his mind and then, gripping the pipe tightly between his feet, leaned sideways at an angle that drew an exclamation from someone down below.

He reached out desperately with his left hand, hooked it over the window sill and let go of the pipe.

He swung in the air. His hand slipped an inch.

He gritted his teeth and splayed his fingers against the inside wall beneath the window, clamped his other hand on the sill, ignored the yanking strain in his shoulders, and hauled himself up.

He dropped through the window.

A young girl and a boy at the dining table, books spread out in front of them, staring at him. No sign of the mother.

‘Police,’ he gasped, straightened, turned, leaned out of the window, caught Meghan’s outstretched hand, and helped her clamber over the window.

He leaned outside and ducked out of the way as Bwana flung himself at the window, caught the sill expertly, hooked his leg over it and tumbled inside.

‘Told you!’ he gasped.

‘You need to work on that landing,’ Meghan wheezed at him.

Zeb whirled around at a sound.

Aparna Desai stood inside the living room, staring at them, her mouth opening to scream.

19

Meghan darted to her and clamped her palm over the mother’s mouth. ‘Hum police hai. Aapko koi khatra nahi hai,’ she spoke urgently over the mother’s muffled yell. We are police. There’s no danger to you.

She dug out the police identity card and presented it to the mom.

Zeb showed his card as well and waved it in front of the children.

‘We need to go through your flat, to the hallway outside,’ Meghan continued. Calm, measured tone that seemed to be working.

Aparna’s panicked shaking seemed to subside. Her eyes were still fearful, suspicious, however.

‘Meera,’ Zeb rasped in his mic.

‘Am here. I’ll call Meghan. Meg, give her the phone.’

The elder sister fumbled in her pocket, brought out her phone, glanced at it, accepted the call, and held it to Aparna’s ear. ‘Inse baat kijiye.’ Talk to this person.

Zeb watched the mother swallow. Her head bobbed as she took in Bwana, who was leaning against the window, hands crossed over his chest.

‘I’m removing my hand,’ Meghan said softly. ‘Please don’t scream. You’ll put everyone in danger if you do.’

The mother nodded shakily, still listening to Meera.

Meghan drew her palm back, still holding the phone to Aparna’s ear.

A pressure cooker whistled in the kitchen. The mother’s eyes darted to the door.

‘Baat ho gayi,’ she whispered. We finished talking.

Meghan pocketed her phone. She jerked her head to the hallway. ‘The door is that way?’

‘Yes.’ The mother’s voice was stronger. She held her hands out and hugged her kids when they ran to her.

‘Please stay inside the house. You might hear loud sounds outside. Don’t come out to check. That person who spoke to you … she’ll call you when it is safe.’

‘She doesn’t have my number.’ Aparna moistened her lips.

‘She’ll find it.’ Meghan grinned.

Zeb went past them, to the hallway.

‘Mummy,’ the girl piped up, ‘aise police pehle kabhi dekha nahin.’ Mummy, I haven’t seen such police before.

He grinned when he followed her gaze to Bwana.

‘Delhi Police mein kafi officer hain jo tumne dekha nahin,’ Bwana replied solemnly. Delhi Police has many officers that you haven’t seen.

Zeb smiled wider at the stunned silence at his friend’s Hindi. He went down the hallway to the door. Shoes neatly arranged near it.

He caught hold of the lock, twisted it, and waited for his friends to catch up.

‘Ready?’

‘Yeah,’ Meghan breathed.

He yanked the door open.

The hallway was empty. He went to the stairs and looked down. The flight of steps was empty too.

Khalil’s door was right opposite the Desais’s. No sounds from within.

Zeb spoke in his mic. ‘Meera, Vikram, the building is yours.’

20

Meera led the RAW team across the parking area at Zeb’s confirmation.

Walking briskly, making no eye contact with anyone, checking everyone out at the same time, watching for threats, hostiles, any signs of danger.

She reached the stairs next to the laundry shop. Drew her Glock when she started climbing.

Heard her team drawing out their weapons behind her. Vikram right behind her, Lavi and Tanya in the middle and Arjun, Ritesh, Prasad, and Kumar bringing up the rear.

If any hostile appeared, she would drop to the steps and let her team shoot the person. That was lower risk than getting caught in friendly fire.

She reached the landing. Snatched a glance around it. Clear.

Zeb would have warned them if any terrorists or residents appeared, but they still had to be careful.

She went up the stairs to the hallway, barely drawing a sweat.

Zeb held his palm up indicating all was good. The Americans had spread out on either side of Khalil’s door, well out of its peephole’s range.

She nodded at him, gestured at Arjun, who came forward and stuck a breaching explosive against the door.

She watched the Agency operators spread farther out on either side of the door and pointed at Ritesh and Prasad to join them. They’ll control the hallway, stop any residents coming out of their flats.

Arjun held three fingers up and stepped to the side.

He folded one finger.

Meera gripped her Glock tightly and cleared her mind.

Vikram joined her.

Arjun’s second finger folded.

Lavi, Tanya and Kumar were on the other side of the door.

Arjun’s third finger folded.

The explosion splintered the door.

21

‘POLICE!’ Meera roared.

She kicked the shuddering door open and crouch-ran inside the hallway, blinking rapidly to clear her eyes from the faint smoke.

The breaching explosives were designed to be low sound and without any smoke to prevent any fire alarms going off, but there were always gases that burned the eyes.

She raced inside the hallway. Eyes taking in everything. Piles of shoes on the floor. Kitchen. Empty after checking it out through the door.

And then she heard yells and shouts and burst into the living room.

Two men rolling away from a couch, springing towards rifles on the floor. ‘DELHI POLICE. STAY DOWN!’

They didn’t stop.

Her round caught one man in the shoulder. He stumbled and fell to the floor. Vikram sprang away from her and shot the second man’s thigh.

Meera kicked a rifle away, spun around, bent low and slashed her Glock wickedly across her hostile’s head and knocked him out.

Vikram had his foot planted on his man’s chest, his Glock trained on the shooter’s face.

Arjun, Tanya, Lavi and Kumar emerged from the bedroom.

‘Two shooters,’ Lavi said tautly. ‘Both secured. They were sleeping. They didn’t react in time.’

‘Bring them out,’ Meera ordered. She took in the man she had knocked out and Vikram’s captive. Both swarthy, bare-chested in the heat, curly-haired, thickly bearded.

Her eyes narrowed when Lavi came out with two men who were also bearded.

She snatched a glance at Vikram, who was thin-lipped.

She bent down to his captive and jammed her Glock against his mouth. Her finger tightened on the trigger. ‘Where’s Khalil?’

He mumbled against her gun.

She drew it back. ‘Where’s Khalil?’ she repeated.

He blinked. ‘Who is Khalil?’

22

Meera broke his teeth with a savage swipe of her gun. ‘Khalil, your driver at Red Fort. You killed twenty-two agents.’

The man howled from her blow. He doubled over and spat blood. Tears streamed from his eyes. ‘I DON’T KNOW ANY KHALIL. WE DIDN’T KILL THOSE MEN. WE WEREN’T IN RED FORT,’ he sobbed.

Meera caught his shirt, hauled him up in rage and flung him at the couch.

It squeaked on the floor and sagged from his sudden weight. She recalled what Zeb had done to Volkov.

She jammed her gun in the man’s groin. ‘Last chance to tell the truth.’

‘Please …’ He shrank. ‘You have to believe me. We didn’t kill those men. We don’t know Khalil.’

‘Why do you have rifles? These are AK 74s. Brand new. Why do you have them?’

The man looked past her to Vikram and the rest of the RAW agents. He sniffled and turned back to her. ‘We are PLGA.’

‘Naxals!’ Meera’s was stunned.

23

Zeb and Meghan entered the apartment.

He heard the man’s confession and saw the shocked looks on the RAW agent’s faces.

‘Naxals. Far-left guerrilla movement in India. Maoist.’ Beth briefed instantly in their comms channel after hearing the confession through their open mics. ‘It started off to support tribes and farmers in India’s rural areas against landowners and the feudal system. Since then, the Naxals have become yet another rebel and extremist group. They fight against government, they have killed thousands of people since their emergence. They attack soldiers, police, government officials, ministers, infrastructure projects, they have bombed schools … the PLGA, People’s Liberation Guerrilla Army, is their armed unit.’

‘The RAW team is listening in as well?’ Zeb whispered as he checked the bedroom.

‘Nah! I switched channels. This is just us.’

He took in the rumpled bed and the AKs that Tanya had collected on the floor.

‘Shall I?’ he asked Meera when he entered the living room.

The RAW agents had secured all the prisoners except the one Meera was interrogating. One man was unconscious, on the floor, bleeding from the shoulder.

The man she was questioning was shot in the leg. The prisoners with Tanya and Lavi stood sullenly, their hands zip-tied behind their backs.

Meera blew hair out of her face, nodded, and stepped back.

Vikram, watching impassively, inclined his head too.

Zeb brought his phone out, thumbed through it and held it towards the captive. ‘This is Khalil. Where is he?’

The man wet his lips. He squinted at the photograph and then at Zeb. He looked at Meera.

‘Answer him,’ she replied harshly.

‘He’s not Khalil,’ the prisoner said sullenly. ‘He’s Abbas.’

Abbas, Zeb thought. Makes sense that he’s using a different name. ‘Where is he?’

‘I do not know. We haven’t seen him in months.’

‘Look again.’ Zeb frowned. ‘You’re sure you recognize him?’

‘Yes, Abbas. He trained us. He gave us these guns.’

Zeb felt the ripple of shock go through the RAW operatives.

‘ISI’s training Naxals,’ Tanya hissed.

‘ISI? Nahin. Woh Kashmiri Freedom Fighter hai.’ ISI? No. He’s a Kashmiri Freedom Fighter.

‘That’s what he told you,’ Vikram told him coldly. ‘He’s a Pakistani agent. ISI.’

Zeb crouched in front of the man. He watched emotions flicker over the captive’s face as he processed the information. ‘Where is he?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘Permission to go hard?’ Zeb asked Meera and Vikram without looking at them.

‘Yes,’ they said simultaneously.

He removed his Benchmade and held it up. ‘You’re already bleeding from your left thigh and mouth. If I cut your thigh, how long do you think you’ll live?’

The prisoner reared back. ‘You can’t do this. Police have to follow laws⁠—’

‘We aren’t police,’ Vikram said harshly. ‘We are RAW. You might have heard of us. We operate outside the law.’

‘You’ll die in minutes,’ Zeb continued. ‘Your friends will watch you … and then I’ll start on them.’

He jammed the knife deep in the prisoner’s right thigh before he had finished speaking.

The man screamed. He jerked in shock and slapped wildly at Zeb’s hand on the knife.

‘I haven’t cut your artery,’ Zeb said above his shrieking. ‘But if I twist the knife like this,’ he jiggled it in the man’s limb, drawing another howl, ‘I might cut it accidently.’

‘WE HAVE NOT SEEN ABBAS IN MONTHS. HE WAS WITH US IN CHATTISGARH. HE TRAINED US. HE GAVE US THESE GUNS. HE GAVE US THIS APARTMENT AND THEN LEFT. WE HAVE NOT SEEN HIM AGAIN,’ he shouted, sweat and tears on his face mingling with the blood from his broken teeth.

Zeb sat on his haunches and considered the man. Looks like he isn’t lying. He turned and glanced at Meera and Vikram. They both nodded almost imperceptibly. They believe him too.

‘What are your names?’ Vikram asked.

‘I am Vijay,’ the prisoner gasped. ‘He’s Pahad Singh.’ He pointed with his eyes at the unconscious man. ‘And those two are Omkar and Pooran.’ He glanced at the prisoners with Tanya and Lavi.

‘AUR KUCH MAT BOLO!’ Omkar yelled. Don’t say anything else! He broke off with a grunt when Lavi smashed her Glock against his temple and he slid to the floor.

‘You’re a PLGA cell?’ Zeb asked Vijay.

‘Yes.’

‘You’re the leader?’

‘Yes.’

‘You’re from Chhattisgarh?’

‘Yes.’

‘Naxals are active in that state.’ Beth’s voice, loud and clear in their comms.

‘How did Khalil find you?’

‘He’s not Khalil. He’s Abbas—’ Vijay stopped abruptly when Zeb reached for the Benchmade that was still jammed in his thigh. He swallowed. ‘He appeared in our camp one day, deep in the forest.’

‘Just like that?’

‘Haan.’ Yes. ‘We almost killed him, but he had these rifles with him. He introduced himself, showed photographs of Indian soldiers he had killed in Kashmir…’ He trailed off when Kumar made an inarticulate sound.

‘Kumar’s brother is Indian Army. He’s deployed in Kashmir currently,’ Beth whispered. ‘I looked up their files.’

Zeb didn’t react.

‘Abbas said he was a soldier in the Kashmiri Freedom Fighters. It is a⁠—’

‘We know who they are,’ Meera said venomously. ‘Terrorists. How did he find you?’

‘He said he was reaching out to all groups who were fighting India. He heard rumors that we were based deep in the forests and found us after a lot of searching.’

‘You believed him?’ Meera scoffed.

‘He had guns for us.’

‘Yes, that makes sense,’ she replied sarcastically. She raised her hand apologetically when Zeb glanced at her. ‘Sorry, I’ll shut up.’

‘We believed him,’ Vijay said defiantly. ‘He wasn’t police. He wasn’t the army. Why would anyone give us brand new AK 74s?’

‘You said he trained you?’

‘Yes. In making bombs, in shooting⁠—’

‘Naxals use bombs all the time,’ Kumar growled. ‘Why did you need training in that?’

‘My cell wasn’t experienced in making them.’

‘How long was he with you?’

‘Three weeks.’

‘What was your mission? Why did you come to Delhi, all the way from Chhattisgarh?’

Vijay looked away. He jerked and shouted when Zeb jammed the Benchmade deeper in his thigh.

He yelled. ‘PARLIAMENT! WE CAME TO BLOW IT UP!’

24

The RAW agents froze.

‘The new Parliament building?’ Vikram snarled.

‘Yes,’ Vijay said dully.

‘It was opened just last year. Big event for India,’ Beth whispered. ‘The previous building was built during the British times.’

‘You wouldn’t have succeeded, you fool,’ Meera raged. ‘You wouldn’t have even gotten near it.’

‘Khalil.’ Zeb brought the focus back to the ISI agent. ‘He knew of your mission?’

‘Yes. He started training us only when he learned about it.’

‘When were you going to bomb it?’’

‘During the parade.’

‘Parade?’ Zeb’s expression cleared. ‘The Republic Day Parade?’

‘Yes.’

‘The building is still standing.’

‘We didn’t get near it.’ Vijay looked down. ‘There was too much security.’

‘Fool,’ Kumar gloated. ‘You thought you could just walk up to it and stick bombs to its walls?’

‘Khalil didn’t contact you when you failed?’ Zeb asked.

‘I told you. We never saw him again.’ Vijay looked away.

Zeb sat up. Something about the way he said that! He caught the man’s chin and forced him to meet his eyes. ‘Did he call you?’

Vijay tried to free himself. He struggled, groaning, and jerked when Zeb threatened to jiggle the knife. ‘He called me yesterday.’

‘What did he say?’

‘He said we should stay here. Try again when the security has lessened.’

‘Anything else?’

‘He asked if anyone knew who we were. No one did. He asked if we were followed. No one had.’

Zeb got to his feet.

‘What?’ Meghan felt his tension.

He shook his head absently, his thoughts racing. ‘Republic Day was a week ago,’ he snapped at the prisoner. ‘Why did he call you only yesterday?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘You didn’t call him?’

‘He warned us not to.’

Zeb looked around the living room. We haven’t had the time to search it. ‘He gave you this flat?’

‘Yes. I told you, already.’

‘When you were in Chhattisgarh?’

‘No. Yesterday.’

‘YOU DIDN’T SAY THAT!’ Meera roared. She lunged towards Vijay, who shrank. ‘What else are you hiding from us?’

Zeb caught her around the waist and stopped her. She leaned against him to regain her balance, breathing harshly. ‘Good thing you stopped me or else I would have killed him.’

He grinned briefly and turned back to the prisoner. ‘Tell us again, what exactly happened yesterday.’

‘We were staying in a flat in Karol Bagh after Republic Day. He called us, told us the key to this flat was in a locker in Connaught Place. He asked us to move here immediately. He said we shouldn’t stay in one place too long.’

‘That’s when he asked you if you were followed or were recognized?’

‘Yes.’

‘I don’t believe you.’

Vijay wriggled back on the couch. ‘There is nothing more. I told you everything.’

‘When did he call you?’

‘Yesterday afternoon.’

After the Red Fort shooting!

He whirled towards the RAW team. ‘Evacuate!’

‘What?’ Vikram asked, surprised.

Zeb shoved Meera to the door. Meghan took his cue and hustled Lavi and Tanya out of the door along with their prisoners.

‘I’ll explain later,’ Zeb barked. ‘Leave. Empty this apartment. RIGHT NOW!’

He helped Arjun half-carry Vijay. ‘Deep into the hallway,’ he ordered. ‘Bwana, no one should come out of their flats,’ he yelled at his friend and rushed back into the apartment to help the remaining RAW operators bring out the Naxal captives.

‘I don’t understand.’ Vikram frowned at him. ‘What have you⁠—’

The apartment exploded.

25

The blast rocked the hallway, echoing down its length. The apartment’s wrecked door shuddered on its hinges. The floor shook. Someone screamed in a flat. Doors opened and heads popped out.

‘AANDAR JAO! DELHI POLICE!’ Vikram ordered.

The residents disappeared into their apartments. Smoke emerged from the Naxals’ flat.

‘Anyone hurt?’ Zeb asked.

A chorus of noes.

‘Arjun, you and Kumar check on all the residents,’ Vikram ordered.

Zeb watched the two agents leave and entered the apartment cautiously. He looked at the ceiling. Brought out his phone and pointed the surveillance scanner app at the ceiling. It remained green.

‘You think he had cameras?’ Meghan whispered from behind him.

‘That’s one possibility.’

The hallway was wrecked. Its false ceiling had exploded inwards, showering the room with concrete blocks and debris. Water poured from burst pipes. Glass shards all over the floor from the shattered windows.

Meera looked at the ceiling, a nerve on her temple jumping. ‘That’s where the bomb was?’

‘That’s my guess,’ Zeb said.

‘How did he know we would be here?’

Zeb went to the window and leaned out cautiously. A crowd had gathered in the parking area, looking up, gesticulating towards the apartment. ‘We might need⁠—’

‘On it.’ Vikram brought out his phone. ‘I’ll alert Delhi Police and get some crowd control and ambulances.’

‘Beth,’ Zeb spoke in his collar mic. ‘Anything on your end?’

‘All quiet,’ Broker responded before she could. ‘Well, not quiet. Crowds have gathered and are pointing towards the Desais’s apartment. But no hostile movement.’

‘Did Khalil have cameras? Was he watching us?’ Meera asked.

Zeb frowned, thinking. ‘No. If he was, he could have triggered the bomb when we were all gathered. He must have set the bomb up and planted a listening device. He triggered the explosion when he heard me. It must have been some crude device, otherwise it would have gone off instantly.’

Meera looked at him. Dark, intelligent eyes, full lips, straight nose, she drew attention wherever she went. From their past interactions, Zeb knew she had no intention of getting married. She’s like Meg. Prefers to be on her own.

He, and every one of the Agency operators, admired her. In a country where the patriarchy was still strong, it took courage and a strong will to defy societal expectations.

‘You are thinking of some Bollywood dialogue to thank me?’ he said lightly, reading the depth of emotion in her eyes.

‘Fool.’ She punched him lightly on the arm and hugged him.

‘We don’t keep a record of who saves whom, and how many times, in our world,’ he said.

‘I know.’ Her words muffled against his shoulder.

‘I absolutely keep a tally,’ Bwana spoke in their earpieces. ‘I’ll take Meera’s gulab jamuns as thanks.’

Gulab jamun. Dried milk dumplings that were fried and soaked in sugar syrup. An Indian delicacy that was savored the length and breadth of the country.

‘Anytime,’ she laughed and released Zeb.

He went to the window again and watched police cruisers arrive with sirens and lights.

Meghan came to him. ‘You know what this means.’

Zeb nodded. ‘Khalil set us up.’

26

Delhi

‘He knew we’d come here,’ he continued.

Vikram and Meera joined them at the window, nodding grimly.

‘Was Volkov in on it?’ Chloe asked in their comms.

‘Only one way to find out,’ Vikram said tightly. ‘Meera and I will interrogate him.’

The RAW Special Agent and his deputy went to Sanchek Hospital in Rajouri Garde when they returned to Delhi.

‘He’s conscious.’ A RAW operative stood up when they entered the floor.

Vikram nodded and checked out the floor. He had gotten the Russian a private room at the far end of the hallway. Officers from the agency sealed off traffic to the room and allowed only the medical professionals access. That part of the hallway was sealed off from the rest by a curtain.

Vikram drew it back for Meera and him and entered the room.

Volkov was in his bed, a sheet drawn up to his waist. He looked weary, his face hollowed out, the lines apparent around his eyes. There were monitors and various medical equipment in the room, but the Russian wasn’t hooked up to any of them.

Vikram had read the medical reports on the SVR agent and knew he had been successfully treated and was in recovery mode.

‘He won’t ever father children,’ Meera had snarked when she had gone through the doctor’s summary. ‘A blessing for women.’

‘What now?’ Volkov sighed at their entry. ‘I told Carter and you everything I know.’

‘You did, but you held out key parts.’ Vikram went to the right side of his bed while Meera flanked him on the other side. A deliberate ploy to divide the Russian’s attention between them.

‘Like what?’

‘Like not telling us that the Ghaziabad flat didn’t have Khalil in it.’

Volkov blinked. ‘I arranged that place for him. I don’t know if he used it.’

‘He wasn’t there. He had a welcoming party for us, however. Naxals,’ Meera told him impassively. ‘And while we were interrogating them, he bombed the apartment. We were lucky to get out alive.’

Volkov sat up straighter, grimacing. A flash of understanding in his eyes. ‘I don’t know anything about that. I didn’t⁠—’

‘You knew we would go to that flat. You alerted him.’ Meera drew her Glock out. ‘You are wasting a hospital bed. There are many patients who need it more than you. Vikram, do we need Volkov anymore?’

‘No,’ the Special Agent replied. ‘If he has told us everything he knows, we don’t. The Americans will thank us if we terminate him.’

‘In that case ...’ Her finger tightened on the trigger.

‘WAIT!’ Volkov yelled. ‘I DON’T KNOW ABOUT THE EXPLOSION. I HAD NOTHING TO DO WITH IT. I HAVEN’T SPOKEN TO KHALIL. YOU HAVE TO BELIEVE ME.’

‘How did he know we would be there?’ Vikram asked. He wasn’t going to tell the SVR agent about Zeb’s guess.

‘I don’t know.’ Sweat beaded the Russian’s face. ‘Why would I lead you into a trap when you would circle back to me? Khalil must be watching the flat. He must have seen you somehow.’

‘And slipped past us and planted the bomb?’

‘He must have already rigged the flat,’ Volkov said desperately.

‘Or maybe you did.’

‘I DIDN’T! I WENT TO THAT PLACE MANY MONTHS AGO ONLY TO CHECK IT OUT BEFORE RENTING IT. YOU HAVE TO BELIEVE ME! You have my phone. You can check my call and message history.’

‘We did. You and he are smart enough not to message each other. You used burners. We didn’t find anything useful.’

‘There’s nothing else I can tell you, then,’ Volkov said dully. ‘Kill me.’

Meera looked at Vikram, who nodded. ‘Irfan!’ she yelled.

An officer burst through the door. ‘Yes, ma’am?’

‘When you hear a shot, stop the doctors and nurses from coming here. Arrange for the disposal team.’

‘Yes, ma’am,’ the agent replied, unfazed, and left the room.

She screwed a suppressor on her Glock, aware of Volkov’s eyes on her.

‘You’re really going to kill me?’ the Russian whispered.

‘Yes. You asked us to. You have nothing useful for us. You’ve been operating in our country against Afghanistan. That puts us in a bad position diplomatically. It’s best you were taken off the board.’ She cocked her head and made a show of checking shooting angles and finally jammed the suppressor against his forehead. ‘Any last thoughts?’

‘I didn’t warn Khalil. I don’t know where he is.’ Volkov closed his eyes resignedly.

He flinched when she pulled the trigger and opened his eyes in confusion when the Glock clicked on empty.

‘It’s your lucky day.’ Meera barrel-swiped him across the forehead. ‘You’ll live.’

27

They met in Anjali Mathur’s office that evening.

Zeb with his team in the second row as before, while Meera and Vikram were in the front.

The difference was the tray of coffee and tea jugs along with several cups on the side table.

Mathur watched expressionlessly as her aide served them and exited quietly.

She’s thawing. Zeb sipped his beverage appreciatively. The RAW chief seemed to read his thoughts and a brief amused look flashed in her eyes before her game face came on.

Bwana’s belly rumbled loudly. Meera and the twins chuckled. Roger rolled his eyes.

‘I won’t keep you long,’ Mathur said briskly. ‘Vikram, Meera, go.’

The RAW Special Agent and his deputy took turns in briefing her about Volkov and the Ghaziabad operation.

‘You expect me to believe you weren’t aware of Volkov’s presence in India?’ Mathur’s expression was cool, assessing, when she met Zeb’s eyes.

‘We weren’t, ma’am. A Russian contact told me about him.’

‘This Russian contact has a name?’

‘Yes, ma’am, but I can’t share it. Just as your team doesn’t share their informant’s identities with us.’

‘Why didn’t you tell us about Khalil yesterday?’

‘I wasn’t sure it was him. I didn’t want to waste RAW time and resources on a wild hunt, if I had been mistaken.’

‘We have got our agents in Ghaziabad,’ Meera said. ‘They’re asking neighbors and everyone else in that building. So far, we don’t have any conclusive sightings of him.’

‘Naxals.’ Mathur did the finger-steepling again. ‘ISI is carrying out training camps in our country.’

‘Or, Khalil could be a lone agent, ma’am,’ Beth offered.

Gray eyes regarded her. ‘Have you considered that Khalil played you every step of the way? He seems to have planned well in advance.’

‘Yes, ma’am,’ Vikram and Meera added to Beth’s reply.

‘Azhar is meeting me tomorrow⁠—’

‘Jamil Azhar, ma’am? The ISI head?’ Vikram exclaimed.

‘Yes. He’s coming to Delhi. Our prime minister spoke to Hussain early this morning and accused ISI of killing our agents. It looks like Azhar’s coming to make some peace. If I had proof that ISI is training the Naxals, that would help.’

‘Our team is further interrogating those prisoners, ma’am. We’ll get proof⁠—’

‘We have it,’ Meghan interrupted. ‘We had open mics throughout the operation. Werner has recorded everything. Vijay’s admission that they know Khalil as Abbas, he gave them guns, he trained them … we have everything.’

‘Who is Werner?’

‘Our AI software, ma’am. It automatically backs up our comms channel if we are in open-mic mode. We’ll forward the recording to Vikram and Meera.’

‘Why don’t we have such a system?’ Mathur looked at her team.

‘We’re working on it, ma’am. Getting good software is difficult.’ Meera’s lips quirked as she half-turned towards the twins. ‘Recording is just one function that Werner does. It does real-time analysis, facial recognition, predictions, operational scenarios … it does a whole lot that Meghan didn’t mention. No software vendor in India has such a product. Beth and Meghan wrote a large part of Werner themselves.’

‘Can we get it?’ Mathur asked. ‘A licensed copy.’

‘You’ll have to ask Clare, ma’am,’ Zeb replied.

‘Which means no.’ Mathur smiled briefly. She straightened, signaling the meeting was over. ‘I have to meet the prime minister and brief him.’

28

Mathur sat in silence for several moments when the RAW and Agency teams left. She ran down the salient points in her mind, made brief notes in her diary and then summoned her car.

The PMO, Prime Minister’s Office, was in the South Block of the Central Secretariat on Raisina Hill. The Central Secretariat was where several other ministries and government departments were headquartered.

The PMO overlooked Rashtrapati Bhavan, the majestic residence and office of the country’s prime minister.

Mathur noted the presence of armed soldiers on streets and continual patrol of Delhi Police as her driver navigated through the city to her meeting. Her lips tightened when she saw the half-mast flag on top of the PMO.

ISI killed my agents.

She went through the elaborate security checks patiently even though she was a frequent visitor and the guards recognized her.

The Prime Minister’s Principal Secretary met her personally and made small talk as he escorted her to Chauhan’s office.

Mathur inquired about his family, his children, shook his hand and entered.

She took a moment to take in the room appreciatively. Framed pictures of past leaders and of Gandhi, the father of the nation. A Hindu idol discreetly placed in the large space.

Prime Minister Parmeshwar Singh Chauhan made no secret of his beliefs and value system. It was one of many traits that had endeared him to a country of over a billion people.

Chauhan had been a garment factory worker in his youth. Then, he had organized a union to demand better working conditions and reduce the exploitation of employees. He had come to the attention of the vast public when he had rejected established political parties and formed his own entity. Anti-corruption, self-reliance, Indian manufacturing, women’s empowerment, grassroots education, and hygiene were the multi-point platform he stood for.

He won the state elections and then took his party to the national level.

He was articulate, charismatic and in a country which was cynical of politicians, had been a breath of fresh air. His party had won a convincing majority in the Lok Sabha, the lower house of the Indian Parliament, whose members were elected, and as a result, Parmeshwar Singh Chauhan became the first prime minister of the country who had come from outside of the established parties.

He had won even more convincingly in his second term and many analysts around the world credited him with the country’s turnaround and establishment as a dominant economic country.

‘Anjali.’ Chauhan came around his desk and hugged her briefly. He was tall, dressed in a white Nehru jacket over white trousers. He was in his late sixties, clean-shaven, sparse hair neatly styled, the lines on his face giving him an ascetic look. ‘It’s been a while since I saw you.’

‘I briefed you just two days ago, sir,’ she said drily.

‘That is a long time in politics,’ he chuckled. ‘How is Raj?’ He referred to her husband.

‘He’s good, sir.’

‘When are you leaving him so that I can marry you? My parents are in their eighties and it is their fervent wish to see me settle down before they pass away.’

Mathur couldn’t help laughing. It was an old joke between the two but never failed to amuse. The Indian Prime Minister was the country’s most famous bachelor. He had never married. Hadn’t even gotten engaged. She knew that he had no intention of getting married and was dedicated to the country.

‘I can present a list of suitable women to you.’ Her eyes danced mirthfully. ‘All of them looked into by RAW.’

‘RAW.’ Chauhan’s humor disappeared. ‘How is your team doing?’

And that’s why he’s so popular, Mathur thought. He genuinely cares about people. ‘They are still in shock, sir. We have never lost that many agents in one incident. They can’t discuss it with their families or friends. The country thinks the men who were killed were soldiers … yes, they know the reasons, they know what they signed up for, but still, it’s not easy.’

‘Do you want me to address them?’

Mathur leaned over instinctively and clutched his hands. ‘Thank you for the thought, sir, but that’s not necessary. We’ll pull through, together.’

‘You know, Anjali, I first met you when I was Chief Minister of my state and you were posted there.’

‘We met at the Republic Day Parade, sir. I remember. Many years ago.’

‘You were the only woman in a sea of men. It struck me then so visibly, how under-represented women were in the military. They still are.’ He smiled. ‘You know what I went through when I announced your appointment. Forget the Opposition parties, even my own party protested vigorously. No,’ he stopped her from commenting. ‘I am not saying this because I want to hear how grateful or thankful you are. I am saying this because I haven’t ever regretted appointing you. You should know that.’

‘Thank you, sir.’ Mathur swallowed. She paused a beat. ‘I have an update, sir.’ She briefed him and waited for him to process the information.

‘Where are you meeting Azhar? In your office?’

‘No, sir. In the Grand Mughal on Connaught Place. Tomorrow, in the morning.’

‘I don’t know what games Pakistan is playing,’ Chauhan rumbled. ‘What have they achieved by killing our people? Did ISI think we wouldn’t find out who was behind it? Anjali,’ he said sternly, ‘don’t go easy on Azhar.’

‘I wasn’t intending to, sir.’

‘What should we do about Volkov? Do you want me to raise this with the Russian president?’

‘No, sir. Volkov is a bit player. Nothing needs to be done. We’ll take him through the legal process and put him up for trial.’

‘How’s it going with the Yemen mission?’

‘We are on track, sir. We are allied with the Americans and the British. I’ll be sending our team to Britain as soon as we nail Khalil.’

‘Everything is still covert?’

‘Sir, you and the concerned agents are the only ones who know. Obviously, the Americans and Brits know too.’

‘Do I know the agents you have selected?’

‘No, sir. Vikram Kohli and Meera Ranganathan.’

29

Zeb was quiet when he joined his team for breakfast the next day. He filled his bowl with fruits and sat next to Bwana, who was regaling the team with a story.

‘What’s up?’ Beth snatched an apple from his bowl and bit into it.

‘That’s mine,’ he protested.

‘It was.’ She crunched another bite. ‘Why’re you quiet? You didn’t like Bwana’s joke?’

‘Something doesn’t feel right,’ Zeb said.

That drew his friends’ attention.

‘Explain,’ Chloe demanded.

‘Khalil has toyed with us all along.’

‘Yes,’ she snorted. ‘Tell us something we don’t know.’

‘Mathur’s meeting with Azhar is⁠—’

‘LET’S GO!’ Meghan, connecting the dots, shot up so fast, her chair toppled over.

‘Go where?’ Roger drawled.

‘I’ll explain on the way; Zeb’s got a point. Get your sorry butt out of that chair.’

‘Khalil will make an attempt on Mathur and Azhar.’ Zeb broke it down while Meghan punched a number and went on a soft-spoken call. ‘Think of it from his perspective. If he succeeds, Pakistan accuses RAW of killing Azhar. That country will say Mathur was collateral damage.’

‘What’s his goal though?’ Broker huffed in frustration. ‘Start a war between Pakistan and India?’

‘No.’ Zeb shook his head. ‘Neither country will go to war because of these killings. Their relationship, which has never been great in the first part, will worsen for sure. But what Khalil or ISI will get out of that, beats me. Pakistan is in economic trouble. Its democracy has always been shaky. Hussain seems to be a reformist, but no one knows how long he’ll remain in power. India has moved on. There was a time when its relationship with Pakistan was center of attention. No more. Every developed country is courting India for better trade relations and investment opportunities.’

He looked at Meghan who was still on her call, and then met Broker and Beth’s eyes in the car mirror when no one spoke. ‘What?’

‘You’re in danger of consuming your word quota for the year.’ Chloe sniggered.

Zeb grinned. Gave way for a motorbike on which a family was piled up. Helmeted driver, wife squeezed behind him, a young girl clinging to her mother’s waist, while at the front, a boy was planted on the gas tank. Only in India. Zeb shook his head, amused.

Meghan hung up from the call she had been making. ‘Meera and Vikram will meet us at the Grand Mughal. I’ve briefed them. They were already there, supervising the security arrangements.’

‘RAW is doing premise and VIP security?’ Bear asked, surprised.

‘No. That’s with Delhi Police and various other agencies. But since Mathur is there, Meera and Vikram have deployed their operators as well and have flooded the hotel with their people. They are coordinating with the rest of the security teams.’

Makes sense. Zeb nodded and drove towards Connaught Place, spotted the gathering of police and military vehicles near the hotel, and stopped next to them.

He got out. Drew his shades on and checked out the surroundings.

Connaught Place was one of the most famous landmarks in Delhi. Built when the British were still in the country, with Georgian architecture, to resemble the Royal Crescent in Bath, Britain.

But while the Crescent was semi-circular, Connaught Place was almost fully circular with two concentric circles giving it an Outer Circle, Middle Circle, and Inner Circle.

Connaught Place was later renamed to Rajiv Chowk but was still known by its former name.

It was a commercial, business and hospitality hub where tourists and pushy store vendors hung out. Couples and families visited Central Park, which was in the inner circle, when the temperature cooled down.

The Grand Mughal was on the Middle Circle of Connaught Place. Its reflecting window panes were glazed white, in keeping with the rest of the buildings. On either side of the hotel were alleys that led to Central Park. It stood alone in the circular ring, one of the most famous hotels in the country.

Zeb took in the security personnel and soldiers on either side of its glass-door entrance as he joined Vikram and Meera with his team.

The RAW agents were near their vehicles, which were parked on the street. They were a hundred feet to the side of the wide pathway that ran from the curb to the hotel’s glass doors.

A black BMW bearing India’s flag and a white Mercedes bearing Pakistan’s flag were the only two vehicles at the walkway.

Mathur’s and Azhar’s rides, Zeb guessed. He could see uniformed drivers inside them.

He fist-bumped Vikram and Meera. A thin layer of perspiration on their faces. Their phones buzzing continually.

‘I don’t believe it,’ Vikram said emphatically. ‘Khalil won’t do anything here. He’s the most wanted man in the country. He won’t risk exposing himself.’

‘I agree,’ Zeb said and chuckled at his startled look. ‘He won’t expose himself. He’ll direct someone else to carry out the attack, the way he instigated the Naxals. Even at Red Fort, he was the driver. He wasn’t the shooter.’

‘But how, Zeb?’ Meera broke off from her call. ‘There’s no way he can get inside the hotel. Security has taken it over. We have checked out every guest and employee. There’s no one who looks like him, even remotely. No stranger can enter the hotel without being searched and without a valid reason. There are other buildings that overlook the hotel, but none of them are high enough for a sniper. Khalil’s not going to hire a helicopter and shoot out of it. He would be shot down.’

‘I could be wrong.’ Zeb shrugged. ‘Heck, I hope I am wrong. But are you willing to take the risk that I might not be?’

From the looks on Vikram and Meera’s faces, it was clear they weren’t prepared to.

‘Split,’ Zeb told his team. ‘Merge in the crowd. You know what to watch for. Someone who does not belong. Who’s more interested in the hotel than a casual onlooker⁠—’

‘We know the drill.’ Bear draped a heavy arm around Chloe’s shoulders and led her away.

‘Can we launch our drones?’ Zeb asked the RAW agents.

‘Yes,’ Meera said. ‘We have ours in the air, Delhi Police also has them up … there are a lot of birds in the air.’ She pointed to the sky.

Beth and Meghan went to their SUV and discreetly assembled the UAVs and launched them.

Zeb kept looking at the crowd that had gathered on either side of the security cordon of the hotel.

The meeting with the intelligence chiefs of the two nations had attracted considerable attention. TV crews and journalists had gathered at the front of the crowd with their cameras, lights, and microphones, ready to thrust them at Mathur and Azhar. Many of the civilian onlookers carried banners and posters denouncing Pakistan.

‘When are they arriving?’ Zeb drifted off.

‘They’re already here,’ Meera chuckled in his earpiece. ‘Our boss and Azhar entered via the service entrance, earlier in the day. They’ll exit through the main door, however. Photo opportunities and a chance to answer a few media questions. Politics!’

Zeb’s eyes were swiveling. Raking the crowd. Taking in perspiring faces, excited women and men, many of them on their phones, alert security personnel and soldiers. A girl waving an Indian flag, hoisted on her father’s shoulders. A boy licking an ice cream, reminding him of the girl in Rajouri Garden.

He checked his phone for the drones’ feeds. Made a face at the extent of the crowd that had gathered.

How will Khalil’s killers get away in that mass if they attempt anything?

30

‘Call me Jamil.’ Azhar smiled warmly and shook Mathur’s hand when she entered the conference room on the third floor of the Grand Mughal.

She had deliberately made the ISI head wait for a minute before joining him.

‘Lieutenant General,’ she said formally, ignoring his request, ‘welcome to India.’

She had chosen a light-orange colored sari with gold trim. Understated, with the right touch of formality, while Azhar had gone for a Western business suit.

‘I wish it was in more pleasant circumstances. Believe it or not, it is my first time in India.’

‘I don’t believe that, General.’ Mathur smiled grimly. ‘You were an active ISI agent before you took on this role. I’m sure you came to my country many times … unofficially.’ She placed the lightest emphasis on the last word.

‘I don’t think I can convince you.’ Azhar sipped the chai that Mathur’s aide had served.

The entire floor was taken over by RAW. Grand Mughal’s staff had been asked to stand down and were providing only the refreshments, which Mathur’s assistants served.

‘Ma’am.’ Azhar put his cup down and placed both hands on the table. ‘I cannot express how shocked I was when I learned of the brutal shooting. Please accept my condolences.’

Mathur nodded. He sounds sincere, but he’s a practiced liar. We all have to be, in our positions.

‘I want be on the record,’ the ISI chief continued, ‘that the killing wasn’t authorized by me. I would never sign off any mission that killed RAW agents in that manner.’

‘Soldiers, General. Not RAW agents. And⁠—’

‘It’s just us in this room, ma’am. No journalists, no recording equipment. I have come all the way from Islamabad to meet you. I think we can be honest with each other. I know those were your people.’

Mathur considered denying it for a moment and then shrugged mentally. It’s not a secret in intelligence agency circles. Clare knows. MI6 knows. ‘Who they were is immaterial, sir. But who the shooters were, matters. They were ISI. We have proof that Khalil was one of them. Isn’t he one of your best agents?’

‘He can’t be, ma’am. He’s dead. He was killed in Libya.’

‘He must have got a twin around, in that case. This twin has been in India for a long while. He has trained Naxal extremists. We captured a cell who were planning to attack Parliament on twenty-sixth January. I’ll be happy to provide you proof if you’re interested. You’re still going to stick to the dead in Libya story?’

She smiled grimly when Azhar reacted in shock. The ISI chief reached for his cup and took another swallow. He put on a game face.

‘What I say next has to remain between us, ma’am. This meeting is over if you cannot assure me of that.’

‘It won’t remain between us. I report to the prime minister. He’s aware of our meeting. He’ll want to know the outcome. There are others, people in my organization … however,’ she said firmly when the ISI chief looked concerned, ‘I can guarantee that there will be no leaks to the media. What we discuss will remain private knowledge.’

Azhar nodded. ‘That works for me.’ He reached into his briefcase and brought out a file. Slid it across the polished oak table towards Mathur. ‘Everything we have on Khalil is in it.’

He stroked his beard and sighed. ‘Ma’am, I’m sure you’re aware of the games we have to play in our professions. Khalil escaped from Libya. He was shot by Carter of the Agency. You might have heard of him.’

‘Clare is a very good friend. Zeb and his team work closely with us.’ Mathur deliberately used their first names. She allowed herself a satisfactory smirk when Azhar shifted uncomfortably in his seat. Wait for it, General. ‘What you don’t know is that the Agency operators were in Red Fort that day. They were training with those soldiers. They survived. Zeb recognized Khalil. It’s how we knew your agent was alive. The Americans are taking a personal interest in the hunt for Khalil. I’m sure you know of the Agency’s reputation, General. You don’t want them as enemies.’

The ISI chief froze. His surprise and shock were unmistakable. He reached for his cup again and spilled some of the chai onto the table. He sipped and wiped the drops with a paper towel and rubbed his palms on the smooth surface of the table. ‘I didn’t know that,’ he whispered. ‘Khalil didn’t mention it.’

‘You spoke to him? Where is he?’ Mathur asked sharply.

‘Let me start again. He survived in Libya and escaped with the help of⁠—’

‘Volkov. Who’s currently in our custody. Did you know the Russian was in India too, running operations against the Taliban government?’

It was clear from Azhar’s expression that he didn’t know. He was a beaten man. ‘Khalil escaped. I decided he was a better asset for us if we declared he was dead.’

‘Deniable.’

‘Ji, ma’am.’ Yes, ma’am. ‘He became a freelance agent for me. He carried out operations for me … but down the line, must have made new friends. You have to believe me. I didn’t know about this Red Fort shooting. I didn’t greenlight it. Your agency and mine, ma’am, we carry out operations against each other … but neither of us are crazy enough to authorize such an insane mission. It could lead our countries to war.’

‘I agree.’

‘I spoke to him yesterday. I asked him who had authorized the shooting. He didn’t tell me anything. I ordered him to return to Islamabad. He laughed. He said he didn’t take orders from me anymore.’

‘He’s gone rogue.’

‘Yes, and I don’t know what he’s planning next. I don’t know who’s funding him. I have reached out to my network, but no one knows anything. Of course, now everyone knows he’s alive.’ He reached for a note pad, scribbled on it, ripped off the page and passed it to Mathur. ‘That’s the number I called him on. I’m sure it was a burner and he’s already gotten a new one.’

He reached down again and brought out six folders which he handed over as well. ‘Tariq Malik, Farhan Shah, Yasir Muhammed, Imran Kazmi, Nabeel Ahmed and Aamir Daulat. These men were in Khalil’s cell. They were very close. They’re missing too and are unreachable. I think they must have joined him … unless you have arrested them.’

‘No, why would we?’

‘Because they were in India.’

‘We didn’t even know of them,’ Mathur said tightly. She flicked through the files rapidly, took pictures of their photographs on her phone and sent them to Vikram. She held a finger up to Azhar and called the Special Agent. ‘I’ve sent six photographs over to you. Watch out for those men, too. I’ll explain later.’

She hung up and asked coldly. ‘What were they doing in India?’

‘Nothing, ma’am. There was no active operation.’

‘Training Naxals?’

‘No! You might not believe me, but it is true. I haven’t greenlighted any operation against India, on Indian soil. These men were in Iran for a while and on their return, stayed over in India for an extended break.’

‘It won’t look good for Pakistan if we find out they were on an ISI mission,’ Mathur said flatly.

Azhar recognized the veiled threat. Nodded stiffly. ‘They weren’t on an ISI mission.’

‘Is there anything else you haven’t told me?’

‘No, ma’am.’

‘In that case, this meeting is over.’

Azhar got to his feet and buttoned his jacket. ‘The Indian Prime Minister chose well when he appointed you, ma’am.’

‘Yes.’ Mathur didn’t fall for his flattery. ‘Women make the best intelligence chiefs.’

‘How so?’

‘We understand men better than they do themselves.’

31

‘What’s that?’ Zeb asked when a slurping sound came over the comms channel.

‘A popsicle,’ Bwana replied. ‘There’s a vendor near us, a young kid, who’s selling them.’

‘Aren’t you checking out the crowd?’ Beth asked sharply.

‘I am. But I’m also hot and sweaty and this popsicle is cooling me down.’ He sucked loudly.

Zeb broke off from making a retort when Vikram made a hand signal.

The RAW agent and Meera were some distance away, huddled near their SUV, conferring with several Delhi Police officers.

Zeb joined them with Beth and Meghan. ‘What’s up?’

‘The boss. She’s sent photographs of six more men. We’re sending them to every security person.’

‘Share,’ Meghan demanded. ‘We’ll upload them to Werner. Our drones will look for them.’

‘Yes.’ Meera nodded. ‘We’ll be doing the same, though’—she made a face—‘your facial recognition might be better than ours.’

Zeb watched them for a while and then looked at the glass doors of the hotel. ‘Who are they?’

‘The boss didn’t say. She’ll brief us later. Azhar must have shared the photographs with her.’

Zeb wiped sweat from his face and trained his binos on the hotel’s entrance. Several security personnel were visible through the glass doors. No sign of the RAW and ISI chiefs.

He followed the twins back to their ride, which was on the other side of the street. The sisters bent over their screens, their fingers playing over their keyboards.

Zeb frowned as he took in Connaught Place. There’s no way a shooter or a bomber can escape … not with this security presence.

A suicide bomber?

No. Khalil isn’t that type.

He raised his binos again and hoped he was wrong about a possible attack.

‘Meera, these journalists?’ He checked out the media gathering.

‘All of them are accredited. All have been searched. Every civilian near that rope cordon has been searched.’

Zeb nodded absently and swiveled to take in the BMW and Mercedes. Azhar’s driver was uncapping a bottle of water and drinking from it.

Zeb noted the sleek lines of the vehicle idly. He frowned when he dipped the binos beneath the vehicle.

‘Their cars have been searched?’

‘Yes,’ Meera replied. ‘Their drivers, too. We know the boss’s driver, but we checked him out as well. No bombs.’

Zeb focused on the strip of road beneath the Mercedes. That’s a grill.

Why’s it there?’

Rainwater drainage, dummy, he answered himself. There must be sewers running below the street.

‘Someone’s checked out the sewers?’ he asked casually. He saw movement through the glass doors and saw Mathur appear in the hotel’s lobby. A suited man next to her, whose face was indistinct.

‘Sewers? Which one?’

‘The one beneath the street. There’s a drainage area right beneath Azhar’s car.’

‘We didn’t. Hang on. I’ll check with Delhi Police.’

Zeb straightened. Felt Beth and Meghan look at him, sensing his tension.

That’s how I would do it! Take out the vehicles from underneath.

He saw Mathur and Azhar approach the glass doors. A security man sprang forward to open it for them.

‘No one checked it,’ Meera spoke into the comms, ‘but they are usually clogged. Only rain water can get through⁠—’

‘STOP THEM!’ Zeb roared. ‘Don’t let them come to the vehicles. FALL BACK. ALL OF YOU.’

His voice was drowned in the clamor of the journalists as they shouted questions at the intelligence chiefs.

Can’t stop them in time, Zeb thought desperately as he took in the scene.

Vikram and Meera were yelling into their phones, but no one had yet turned Mathur and Azhar back to the safety of the hotel.

‘Get to cover,’ Zeb snapped at Beth and Meghan.

He went to the center of the street, drew his Glock, and fired into the air.

The shots had the desired effect.

The crowd of onlookers and media personnel broke away from the hotel, screaming and shouting.

Vikram and Meera raced across the sidewalk and reached Mathur and Azhar and started turning them around.

Maybe I was mistaken, Zeb thought.

The Mercedes exploded.

32

The explosion was a deafening roar that drowned out the screams of the crowd.

Zeb was dropping to the ground when the shock wave hit him. He staggered and fell back. Something hit him in the head and he blacked out.

He was face down on the street when he came to. He groaned and turned over. Felt a shadow over him.

Chloe, bent over him, her worried face relaxing when he managed a smile. ‘I’m okay. Was knocked out by … that.’ He looked around and pointed at a slab of wood that lay some distance away. ‘Any of our team⁠—’

‘We’re unhurt.’ She helped him up and gave him his Glock, that he had dropped to the ground after firing.

‘Mathur and Azhar?’

‘They’re safe. Vikram and Meera led them inside the hotel. Azhar’s driver is dead.’

‘How many other fatalities?’

She shook her head grimly. ‘Your warning sent everyone back. It bought us a few seconds of time, which was enough to get most people to safety.’

‘Most people?’

‘Mathur’s driver is injured. Glass shards in his chest from his windshield.’

Zeb wiped his face and felt dirt and grime on his fingers. He could still feel the ringing of the explosion in his ears. His head felt heavy, his body slow, but his senses were returning to him.

Azhar’s vehicle was wrecked. Smoke streaming from it, its windows shattered, its tires ripped and the wheels at angles. A fire truck and ambulance nearby with several emergency workers and police officers.

Connaught Place was empty but for uniformed officers and grim-faced military personnel who looked like they would shoot first and ask questions later.

Zeb caught up with Chloe, who was hurrying to their rides.

Beth and Meghan on their screens. Both looked up and assessed him briefly. The rest of his friends were gathered with Vikram and Meera near the RAW rides.

Zeb nodded unconsciously, approvingly. His team had kept away from rescue operations. We would have only gotten in the way. Even Meera and Vikram have left it to Delhi Police after securing Mathur and Azhar.

He knew why the rest of his friends hadn’t come to help him. They would have helped with crowd control and rescue … those were more important than me. In any case, Chloe was attending to me.

Standard operations protocol that was in their DNA.

‘How long was I out?’ He frowned.

‘A minute at the most,’ Beth replied without looking up. ‘You were most exposed to the blast, however. Angle, your position … all that. The media and the onlookers were on the other side of the street and they were already scattering from your shooting.’

‘The blast didn’t happen instantly after I shot?’

‘No. That’s your mind playing tricks. It exploded a few seconds later. MEERA!’ she yelled.

‘What?’ Zeb crowded behind her when the RAW agents hurried to them along with the rest of the Agency team.

‘We hooked up to your drones’ feeds,’ Meghan explained rapidly to Meera and Vikram, who watched the video on her screen. ‘I’ll explain how later. Werner was running facial recognition in real time from ... Here!’ She froze on a still image.

It showed a man running along with the onlookers to the safety of the Connaught Place buildings.

Lean. Thick hair. Light stubble. Lips compressed.

Vikram swore. ‘That’s one of the men. The boss sent their photographs. He’s the bomber.’

33

‘Shailesh! Commander!’ Meera bellowed.

Vikram whistled.

Several Delhi Police officers ran up along with RAW agents.

Meera and Vikram briefed them. They nodded vigorously, got on their radios and phones, and broke up.

‘Search teams,’ Vikram said tightly when the men dispersed. ‘Both, Delhi Police as well as our people. They’ll comb the entire area.’

‘He would have gotten away.’ Bear swore. ‘He’s had a seven-to-eight-minute lead.’

Zeb leaned over Meghan’s shoulder and tapped her keyboard to bring up an aerial view of the neighborhood.

He looked behind at the Connaught Place.

The Grand Mughal was between Radial Roads Four and Five.

He was running towards the Outer Circle. But what if he went to the right, got onto the Radial Road Five and circled back?

He spun towards the RAW team. ‘Who’s with Mathur and Azhar?’

‘A lot of our agents along with other security teams. All of them, in the hotel. They’re safe. Why?’ Vikram asked.

‘Hotel guests?’

‘In their rooms. We asked everyone to stay inside. All restaurants are closed temporarily.’

‘Do we have a list of the hotel guests?’

Meghan sucked her breath in sharply, connecting the dots before anyone else had. ‘That bomber could be a guest. We didn’t have his photograph earlier.’

‘GO!’ Zeb sprinted towards the hotel. ‘Alert your team,’ he panted when Meera and Vikram caught up. ‘No one but us should be let through on their floor.’

He burst through the door, let his RAW friends take the lead and motioned for his team to hold back. ‘We’ll take the stairs. Meera, tell your people not to shoot us.’

He looked around in the vast lobby in which security people, alerted by Meera and Vikram’s commands, were moving in controlled haste.

Roger tugged his arm and pointed to a door outside which two armed soldiers stood.

Zeb showed them his Delhi Police card. ‘Koi yahan se uper gaya kya?’ Did anyone go up through here?

‘Nahin.’ No. A soldier shook his head.

Zeb went through the doors. Up the steps. Glock following where his eyes went.

Meghan and Beth behind him, Broker and Chloe in the middle and Bear, Bwana, and Roger at the rear.

They spread out on the stairs. Some of them hugging the wall, the others either in the center or angled to the left or right, giving each one of them a clear firing line.

Zeb reached the first landing. Cleared it. Opened the door cautiously and presented his identity card to the soldier who looked at them suspiciously. He glanced beyond the man. Empty hallway.

He went up.

‘Third floor, conference room,’ Vikram announced in their comms. ‘All clear.’

Still, they moved cautiously until they got to that floor.

‘Should we clear the rest of the hotel?’ Roger glanced up at the stairs.

‘No.’ Zeb shouldered through the door and entered the hallway. ‘There are forty floors. Meera and Vikram would have already informed the security people.’

He held his Glock down at his side and checked out the armed men and women on the carpeted passage. They stared at the Agency operators impassively.

He went to a large door behind which he heard voices, knocked on it and entered.

‘Mr. Carter, we haven’t had the pleasure of meeting before.’

34

Zeb identified the speaker. Lieutenant General Jamil Azhar. Seated imperiously at the conference table as if he were the host.

Mathur was on the other side, Meera and Vikram standing behind her.

‘The soldiers and security personnel,’ Zeb ignored Azhar’s greeting and addressed Meera. ‘They need to be checked out too.’

‘On it,’ she replied. ‘Not just them, the hotel staff as well. The bomber could impersonate any one of them.’

‘Your agents as well.’

‘Yes.’

‘Sorry. Doesn’t look like the killer looped back.’

‘Sorry?’ Vikram burst out. ‘There’s no need to apologize. He could have returned. Everyone’s attention was focused outside. You would have sneaked back in if it was you, wouldn’t you?’

‘Yeah,’ Zeb admitted. He bobbed his head at the intelligence heads. ‘We should move them.’

‘I’ll be going to my office as soon as the general leaves,’ Mathur said strongly. ‘We’re waiting for New Delhi Airport to resume flights. They were briefly halted after the explosion. Are you okay? Have you been looked at? Vikram told me what you did.’

‘I’m fine, ma’am. The bomber has a name?’ he asked when Vikram showed her the killer’s photograph on his phone.

‘Imran Kazmi,’ she said after consulting Azhar’s file. ‘He’s in Khalil’s cell.’

‘He set off the bomb? You have proof?’ Azhar asked.

‘Yes, our drones spotted him,’ Meera said coldly.

‘That only shows he was there.’

‘You want proof that he was holding the trigger?’ Meghan frowned. ‘Why else would he be there?’

‘Maybe he was there to greet his boss,’ Chloe jibed.

Azhar’s lips compressed when Bwana guffawed but before he could speak, Mathur glared at him. ‘General, your driver is dead. My driver is seriously injured. I’ve known him a long time. We both would have died, if Zeb hadn’t thought about that drainage grill. You’re welcome to think Kazmi was an innocent bystander. We’ll be proceeding on the basis that he was the bomber.’

‘Do you know where that cell was based?’ Beth’s fingers twitched.

Zeb hid a smile. She wants to get on her screen and see how the search is getting on. He knew neither twin would unpack their devices in the presence of Azhar.

‘In Ghaziabad. I’ve given the address to RAW. However, I don’t think they’re there anymore,’ Azhar said tightly.

‘We’re leaving shortly,’ Meera replied.

‘She is.’ Vikram shifted and made a face. ‘I’ve a family commitment I can’t pull out of.’

‘Mind if we tag along?’ Zeb asked. ‘We won’t get in the way.’

‘I would have been disappointed if you didn’t.’ She smiled. ‘Same members from my end that you met before.’

‘Kazmi might not know we identified him. We need to⁠—’

‘We’re leaving,’ Meera interrupted him and spoke in her phone. Nodded at Mathur, shoulder-bumped Vikram and went to the door.

‘Mr. Carter, I sense some hostility in you,’ Azhar called out before Zeb could leave the room.

‘No hostility, sir. It’s just that your organization has turned out to be an unreliable ally.’

‘Ally.’ Meghan snorted. ‘I wouldn’t use that word.’

Zeb grinned. His smile faded when he faced Azhar. ‘This is my fault.’

‘What? How?’ Mathur exclaimed.

‘I should have killed Khalil in Libya.’

35

‘What’s with Ghaziabad and ISI safe houses there?’ Bear asked when he had buckled in.

‘It’s close to Delhi. Good transportation infrastructure. Large enough to get lost in,’ Meera responded.

Zeb backed out of their parking space and fell behind the RAW SUV, which was an eight-seater.

Kumar, Lavi, Tanya, Arjun, Prasad, and Ritesh with Meera, along with their driver.

He took the bottle of water that Beth passed from behind and drank from it. Wiped his lips and checked his side mirrors to confirm Bwana was following.

He was.

‘Search teams haven’t found him,’ Meghan commented after checking her phone. ‘They’re still looking but chances are he’s escaped.’

‘Yeah,’ Zeb agreed. ‘He would have planned his getaway. What are the media saying?’

‘They’re blaming Pakistan.’

‘Expected. Is that the Indian government’s stance too?’

‘No. There’s a brief statement from the prime minister that it is a terrorist attack and is being investigated.’

‘What?’ Zeb asked when she tensed.

‘Mathur’s driver died in hospital. Several glass shards had pierced his throat.’

Zeb’s hands tightened over the wheel. Yet another RAW agent killed. What’s Khalil playing at?

36

‘Your man got away?’ The speaker cupped his phone to his ear and went to his hotel room’s window.

Delhi was sprawled out in front of him. Rashtrapati Bhavan in the distance, the Indian flag on it still fluttering at half-mast.

‘Yes,’ Khalil replied, ‘but it was close. He says Carter saved Mathur and Azhar.’

The speaker nodded when the former ISI agent had finished. ‘Your man is going to the safe house?’

‘Yes. What do you want us to do?’

‘The objective hasn’t been achieved. You have had two great chances and you failed in both.’ The man spoke evenly but didn’t hide his bitterness.

‘The RAW people are lucky⁠—’

‘Yes, but they can’t be lucky always. Why didn’t your man explode the bomb as soon as Kohli, Ranganathan or Mathur and Azhar were near the vehicle?’

‘WERE YOU THERE?’ Khalil’s voice rose. ‘You’re talking as if you saw it happen. Kohli and Ranganathan weren’t near Azhar’s Mercedes. There was no point detonating when they wouldn’t be in the blast radius. The RAW people somehow found out about the bomb and only then he detonated⁠—’

‘There are reports that someone stood on the street and shot in the air.’

‘That was Carter. He must have done that to scatter the crowd. Imran had to detonate the bomb then … to do whatever damage he could. We are taking the risks here,’ Khalil said fiercely. ‘Imran could have been captured. He was lucky he got away.’

‘You want me to feel sympathy for you? Is that how Azhar treated you when you were in ISI? We are working together only because we can help each other. You want to attack India. I am giving you high value targets. RAW’s best agents, its chief, and now Carter. In return, my mission objectives are being carried out … oh, I forgot. Not a single attack was successful.’

‘We killed twenty-two agents⁠—’

‘Not the main ones.’

‘That’s because they reacted fast.’

‘They are RAW, you fool. What did you expect them to do. Present themselves to you to shoot at?’

The man unclenched his fists and forced himself to calm down. ‘There’s no point in blaming⁠—’

‘You’re the one who started it.’

‘Yes, I am aware of it. Lie low for a while. Do nothing. I’ll work out what we need to do next. I’ll contact you.’

He hung up and crossed his hands behind his back. Watched traffic flow, far down below him. He was in a swanky hotel in Chanakyapuri, the upscale neighborhood where several diplomatic missions were located. He could see the TV’s reflection in his floor-to-ceiling window. An excited commentator discussing the blast and linking them to the Red Fort shootings.

Khalil’s man might have succeeded if Carter hadn’t shot in the air. He gritted his teeth. He hadn’t expected to find the American in India. He and his team are everywhere.

He whirled suddenly and went to the file on the table. Flicked through it and pumped his fist triumphantly. That Ghaziabad address! RAW and Carter’s team will go to it. I got Khalil to get his team to vacate it when he told me ISI knew about it.

He smiled grimly.

RAW and Carter are going to have an unpleasant surprise.

He hoped the apartment’s current occupants would have some success.

37

Ghaziabad

‘We have to go stealth, this time,’ Meera said as they left Delhi behind them. ‘We can’t do the drainpipe-climbing stunt again, Zeb.’

‘Shame.’ He grinned. ‘I was getting good at it.’

‘Khalil’s cell will be very alert. We’ll have to play it by ear …’ She trailed off, cursing loudly.

‘What?’

‘That safe house is in a building which is in Turab Nagar Market.’

Zeb glanced at Meghan, who shrugged her shoulders. We don’t have the address, she mouthed. She brought out her screen, however, and punched the place on her map and shook her head despondently.

‘It’s a very busy market in Ghaziabad. Clothing, footwear, jewelry, food, phone accessories … it’s not a fancy mall. One of the city’s oldest bazaars. Traditional.’

‘Let me guess.’ Zeb glanced at the photographs on Meghan’s phone. ‘Pedestrians only. No vehicles can go through. You can almost lean across from one building, over the alley and touch the balcony of the opposite building.’

‘It’s a big market and there are some alleys for vehicle access, but the interior of the market is all pedestrian. There’s no way we can go hard without considerable civilian casualties. Escape will be difficult. The safe house is on top of a sari shop in probably the busiest part of the market. Off Ramte Road. Heck, some of those alleys don’t even have names.’

‘We know places like that,’ Broker murmured.

Zeb met his eyes and nodded. He’s thinking of Rio. Their previous mission when they had faced off cartels.

‘Those stairs will be narrow, they could be crowded,’ he guessed. ‘Anyone on top could shoot us down.’

‘Yes. We’ll have to filter in, one by one. I’ll go first. Kumar, stop at the first dress shop. I’ll buy a salwar. I’ll change. I’ll fit in better there.’

She’s as smart as Beth and Meg, he thought admiringly. He and his friends had considered offering Meera a role in the Agency. They hadn’t ever taken in anyone from outside the country, but the RAW agent had impressed each one of them. It had been an idle discussion, however.

She’ll never quit RAW. She won’t leave India, Meghan had said, and that had sealed it.

Still, I’ll mention it, when I get the opportunity.

They entered Ghaziabad. The RAW vehicle’s taillights flared red as it swerved towards a shopping mall by the side of Delhi-Meerut Expressway.

‘We’re going in as well,’ Beth said eagerly and jumped out of the SUV. Meghan joined her and Chloe hurried after them when Bwana rolled to a stop, showering gravel.

‘Where are you going?’ Zeb rolled down the windows when the Black operator and Roger climbed the steps to the mall.

‘We need to check out some styles too,’ Bwana replied.

‘They’re going to a ladies’ garment store.’

‘So?’ Roger scoffed. ‘What do you know of fashion?’

Zeb, suitably chastised, settled back. Bear came to his window. The SUV sank an inch when the operator placed his forearms on the frame. ‘Vikram. Know why he couldn’t come?’

‘Didn’t he say it was some family thing?’

‘Yeah. I asked Lavi. She said it’s his son’s birthday. He was meant to take the day off, but he negotiated with his wife on the condition he get home early no matter what happened.’

‘That’s what Bwana and Roger went in for?’ Zeb worked it out. ‘To get something for his kid?’

‘Yeah.’ Bear paused for effect and then smiled slowly. ‘And to get some clothing for themselves as well.’

The women emerged forty-five minutes later. Dressed in salwar kameezes, in shades of red, orange, and yellow.

Bwana had a sequined purple dupatta wrapped around his neck. He smirked at Zeb as he passed the SUV. Roger had a yellow one draped over his shoulder and a gift-wrapped toy.

Zeb watched them and had to admit the accessories complemented them.

‘It’s the way you carry your dress.’ Meghan climbed in the shotgun seat and guessed his thoughts. ‘You have to feel comfortable. Bwana, Roger, Broker … they have that confidence.’

‘Thank you,’ the eldest operator amongst them, Broker, chimed from behind.

‘What do I know of clothing?’ Zeb threw his hands up in surrender.

Meghan eyed him critically. ‘There’s nothing wrong with your style. It’s understated. It’s just that those two’—she cocked her head at the second SUV—‘try out new stuff.’

Zeb eyed her and swiveled to take in Beth, who made a show of posing for him. ‘Won’t the dupattas slow you down?’

‘Not if we cinch them around our waists. Tightly.’ The younger sister grinned.

‘And your Glocks?’

‘We’ll carry them in our bags.’

‘Body armor?’

‘Beneath our kameezes. We all bought a size larger, to cover them up.’

‘Boots?’

‘We’ll have to make do with these.’ She leaned back, raised her leg, and showed a plain-looking, closed-toe shoe. ‘They’re called juttis. That’s shoes in Hindi. We chose the plainest ones.’

She snapped a selfie on her phone and punched buttons. She’s sending it to Mark, Zeb figured. Mark, Beth’s boyfriend, one of NYPD’s star detectives.

He took in Meghan in his peripheral vision. She had looks. She has intelligence— She punched him in the arm, breaking his thoughts. ‘I know what you’re thinking. I love being single. We’ve talked about this many times.’

Zeb smiled ruefully. He neither could win in the repartee game nor could he conceal his thoughts from his friends.

‘If y’all have finished with the fashion and lifestyle discussions, shall we make a move? We’ve a few terrorists to catch,’ Meera drawled.

38

Five pm when they left the shopping mall.

They came onto Ramte Ram Road and parked at its mouth in front of a restaurant.

Kumar jumped out, went to the man behind the counter. Rupees changed hands. ‘We can leave the vehicles here,’ he said on returning.

Zeb climbed out and checked out Ramte Ram Road and realized why the RAW vehicle had stopped at the entrance.

It was narrow. Wide enough only for a three-wheeler or a small pickup.

‘Come on.’ Beth shouldered him. ‘Quit dawdling.’

He joined Meghan as they followed the Indian team on the road. A range of shops on either side. Hardware, building materials, paints, automotive parts, a garage … the street was busy. Bicycles and motorbikes on the central track, jostling for space with customers and store staff and pedestrians.

‘Wait till you get to the market,’ Meera said in their comms.

He saw her ahead, with Lavi and Tanya, the men split into singles or pairs behind them.

She led them to a banyan tree opposite which was a narrow alley. Turned into it. A tea stall to their right. A young kid waving a cup in the air, advertising the beverage.

‘English?’ he yelled at Bwana. ‘American?’

Zeb grinned. There was an energy to the country, a buzz that seemed to run through it. It took them about seventy-odd years to break away from the British legacy, and now they’re powering ahead.

‘Focus,’ Chloe snapped at him from behind. ‘We’ll return later to soak in the atmosphere.’

He nodded.

Meera turned into a smaller alley and spread her hands in a voilà gesture when it opened into Turab Nagar Market.

An explosion of colors, sounds and smells. Clothing and jewelry shops as far as the eye could see. Saris, salwar kameezes, blouses, and various dresses displayed in front of stores, with women inspecting them, trying them out against their bodies.

‘Is it in this lane?’ Zeb asked as he navigated past a bunch of girls who seemed to be college students.

‘The next one,’ Meera replied.

Which next one? I can’t see any openings. The shops are crowded next to one another.

There was a barely-there alley. Next to a bangles store.

‘We have to come back, later,’ Meghan spoke almost to herself.

‘Hell, yeah,’ Chloe agreed vehemently.

Zeb brushed past a portly man, struggling to keep the RAW team in sight.

The connecting alley joined another lane that seemed to be similar to the one they had entered. Similar kinds of stores.

Even more crowded, he thought grimly.

‘Isn’t there a better way to do this?’ Broker wondered aloud.

‘Yeah, there sure is. We can empty the entire market and go in hard … and hope that Khalil and his shooters didn’t escape when we vacated the market,’ Beth replied sarcastically.

Meera raised her hand, ahead. Zeb took in the stores on the street and saw what she was pointing at.

A sari store on their left. Green, yellow, and red garments hanging off wooden frames. A bunch of women in the shop.

He joined the RAW agents.

The crowd gives us an advantage too. No one will think we’re together. The Indian agents were in twos and threes scattered in front of the sari shop and the jewelry store opposite. As were the Agency operators.

‘Where’s the entrance?’ he asked in the comms channel as he pretended to admire a sari that Meghan and Beth were fingering.

‘Your two-o-clock,’ Meera whispered. ‘See that pot of water?’

Zeb took it in a casual glance. An earthen pot with a metal glass chained to a brass tap. It stood on a small platform to the side of the shop. No garments near it. It’s for drinking or for washing hands.

Next to it was a dark opening and even as he watched, an elderly woman emerged through it.

He pointed to a red sari hanging off a rod near the rolled-up shutter and checked out the upper floor.

No balcony. That helps, or else Khalil could have watchers checking out the market. A green wall in which were three windows. Their wooden slats were shut. Iron bars in front of them, embedded in the frames.

‘Do you know how many residences are up there?’

‘Four,’ Meera said. ‘Our team made calls. Khalil’s is the only one that’s overlooking the street. The rest of them are to the back of the apartment.’

‘You know how they are laid out?’

‘No. Our real-estate-broker stunt didn’t work this time. There’s no one in RAW who’s familiar with this neighborhood, either.’

We’ll be going in blind, Zeb thought bleakly.

‘We don’t even know if Khalil’s in there,’ Broker said.

‘One way to find out. Lavi, Tanya, you’re with me. Beth, Meghan, you bring up the rear. The rest of you cover us on the stairs and down here, in the alley,’ Meera announced.

‘How do you want to do it?’ Zeb asked as she removed her dupatta and emptied her water bottle over it.

‘Kick the door in, use tear gas. We can’t use explosives like we did at the other Ghaziabad flat. Apartments here are smaller. Doors are flimsier. Our breaching explosive can send their splinters inside, injuring or killing the residents. We want them alive. Unharmed.’

‘None of us are wearing protection for the tear gas. It’ll affect us too.’

‘Which is why we women will lead.’ Her teeth flashed in a smile. ‘This’—she held up the wet dupatta—‘will help us. It’s not a perfect mask but will do. The tear gas we have is dialed down to a lower strength. Designed for smaller residences.’

‘Makes sense.’

She adjusted the dupatta over her shoulder, hitched her bag so that it rested on her chest.

‘It’s a go,’ she ordered and went to the stairs.

39

Meera took the first step and looked up.

The stairs were concrete, bound by the walls of the neighboring shops. No overhead protection. Cracked in places. Unpainted. Rough.

Which was good, since the surface gave good grip for her juttis.

Her left hand traced the sari shop wall for balance while her right was near her bag, which was unzipped, to allow for a fast draw.

She swallowed as she climbed.

Fear is good, she told herself. Fear heightens the senses and reduces reaction time. Fear is different from panic. That had been drilled into her during her training. Zeb and his team had talked about it frankly as well. Several times.

She could have gotten Lavi or Tanya to lead but that wasn’t her way.

Zeb doesn’t either.

Right from the first mission when she had met the Americans, she had noticed the team leader went in first. He didn’t ask any of his friends to take up tasks that he wouldn’t do himself. She also knew he hated the team leader label. ‘We don’t have a hierarchy,’ he often said.

She cleared her mind. Angled her head to check Lavi, Tanya, Beth and Meghan were following. The twins thumbs-upped her.

Far behind them, she saw the rest of her team and the Americans, poised for a swift entry.

Thirty steps. She counted them as she neared the top and snuck a glance into the landing.

It was rectangular and seemed to have a central courtyard at ground level. That must be behind the sari shop, she figured as she crouched, hugged the wall, and peered cautiously either side of the landing.

The landing passage, concrete, had a waist-high wall on the outside. Khalil’s door was to her left. Closed, from what she could see. Beyond it, the passage turned right. No flat on that side and then turned again, opposite the ISI safe house, were two apartment doors and when the passage turned again, one flat on that side and then the walkway came her direction.

Even as she watched, the door to her right opened. A woman came out, locked it behind her and came to the stairs.

‘Civilian!’ Meera warned in her throat mic. She heard feet shuffling behind her and sensed Lavi and Tanya were pretending to relax.

The woman approached. In a sari. A bindi on her forehead. Chewing something. Phone in hand.

‘Khuranas yahan rehte hain kya?’ Meera smiled at her. Do the Khuranas live here?

‘Khuranas? Nahin. Us naam ka koi nahin hai yahan.’ No, there is no one by that name here.

Meera pretended to be exasperated. ‘Their phones are turned off. Lavi’—she hugged the wall to make room for the woman to go down—‘looks like Vikram gave us the wrong address.’

Lavi was smart. She cottoned on instantly. ‘Let’s wait for a while here and keep trying their phone. My feet are hurting from all that shopping. We can sit on these steps.’

Meera watched the woman go down to the alley. Kumar nodded when she merged into the crowd.

She straightened. ‘Lavi, Tanya, with me. Beth, Meg, you cover the rest of the flats.’

A chorus of Copy.

She edged towards Khalil’s door. Snuck a glance over the safety wall. A courtyard like she had guessed. An ancient water pump that seemed to be no longer used and a Tulsi—holy basil—plant in a pot.

She turned her attention back to the ISI safe house.

I’ll draw my gun only when I am near it. Otherwise, another flat door might open and a resident might scream, alerting Khalil.

Fifteen feet to it.

She saw the door was two doors that came together centrally. Green. Wood. Didn’t look sturdy, but neither of the other apartment doors did. A sliding bolt lock that secured the two doors.

It was slid back.

Someone’s inside.

Ten feet. She looked up at the ceiling that covered the passage. Light bulbs at regular intervals but no cameras.

Sounds of the market were loud and clear. Hawkers marketing their shop’s wares, a stream of voices that merged into noise.

Meera wiped her hands against her kameez quickly. Fingered her dupatta. No, I won’t wear it. I need full vision. She dropped it to the floor and kicked it out of the way.

Half-turned to watch Lavi and Tanya wrap theirs around their noses and mouths.

She resumed her approach to the residence.

Six feet from the door. No peephole in it either.

She gestured in the air.

Lavi brushed past noiselessly and took position on the other side of the door.

‘Three,’ Meera counted.

‘Two.’ She drew her Glock.

‘One.’ She drew a tear gas bomb with her free hand, raised her leg and kicked the door powerfully.

40

The doors swung open and crashed inside.

Meera lobbed the tear gas inside.

‘POLICE!’ she roared and waited a couple of beats.

Saw the rest of her team rush up in her peripheral vision and gather close. Beth and Meghan out of sight, Zeb and Chloe rushing down the rectangle and then she heard men exclaiming from inside and dove into the apartment.

‘DELHI POLICE!’ she yelled again, squinting against the thick smoke that was flooding the apartment, tearing her eyes up.

She landed on her belly. Hit her head against a coffee table, shoved it away, saw a figure materialize in the smoke. Her eyes were already tearing up. Her breathing was harsh.

Got to finish this fast or we’ll lose our advantage!

‘STOP!’

The shape materialized into a man. He was cursing and crying. Something in his hands.

‘GUN!’ she warned and shot him in the shoulder.

Someone brushed past her.

Tanya, who moved fast and went out of sight in the gloom. A shot rang out.

Is she hit? Meera forced her fear down, rolled on the floor, seeking shadows. Heard footsteps pound and another man appeared, carrying a rifle.

No time to change her aim and shoot!

She dove at his legs. Brought him to the floor and smashed her Glock into his face to knock him out.

A round smashed into her chest as she was rising. She fell back, her breath knocked out of her.

A fusillade of shorts, controlled voices in the comms channel and suddenly the flat was filled with her team and the Americans at its door and the shots died out.

‘CLEAR!’ Tanya cried out.

‘CLEAR!’ Lavi called out.

‘CLEAR!’ Kumar yelled.

Meera heard the windows being opened and indistinct shouts and commands being issued. Her chest hurt and then she felt an arm around her.

Bear, looking at her in concern.

‘Body armor,’ she panted, pointing to the hole in her kameez, bullet stuck in the protective gear. ‘It stopped a round.’

‘That’s what they’re designed for.’ He grinned.

‘Any injuries?’

‘None on our side.’ He helped her up and guided her to an open window where she took lungfuls of air. She took her dupatta he had picked up and wiped her face carefully, clearing her eyes. Smiled at him in thanks and looked beyond him at the room in which the smoke was rapidly clearing.

The apartment was a single room that ran the length of the floor. At the far end, to the right of the entrance door, was the kitchen counter and a sink. Shelves on the wall that had cooking utensils. More shelves that ran down the single room on which were rifles and spare ammo.

Bedding and clothing untidily scattered on the floor. The table she had pushed was against the wall.

Four men laid out on mattresses on the floor, their hands and legs secured. The one she had shot was glowering at her hatefully. One more man was shot in the leg and was moaning softly.

Meera straightened with a sinking feeling. None of them look like Khalil’s cell. There are only four of them.

She checked the door. Bwana and Roger were blocking it. Zeb was inside the apartment along with the sisters, standing in that deceptively languid way he had. She knew he could explode to lethal mode instantly.

‘Go ahead,’ he told her. ‘The building is secured. The rest of us and your team, we’ve warned the residents to stay indoors. Delhi Police should arrive with their SWAT teams any moment.’

Meera looked out of the window and saw a pack of onlookers gathered below, gesturing at the apartment, talking excitedly. One spectator saw her and caught another man’s shoulder and pointed.

She shut the window and nodded at Lavi to close the others.

Went to the man she had shot, jammed her Glock in his wound savagely and snarled, ‘Where’s Khalil?’

He jerked in shock, gasped but gritted his teeth stubbornly.

She planted her foot over his chest, pointed her Glock and shot him again in the left shoulder. ‘I’ll keep going until you are full of holes and then start on another man. There are enough of you to extract intel from.’

He screamed when she ground her jutti on his wounds. ‘WE DON’T KNOW ANY KHALIL.’

Meera froze. Not again, she thought dimly.

‘Who are you,’ she rasped, jamming her gun against his lips.

‘Azaad Kashmir Fighters,’ he mumbled around the barrel.

41

Meera remained expressionless. She took him in and the rest of the shooters. All of them were bearded but had lighter skin, which was common in Kashmir.

Rage and disappointment welled in her. Her finger tightened on the trigger.

‘WE DON’T KNOW ANY KHALIL!’ another man shouted. ‘DON’T SHOOT.’

‘What are you doing here?’

The men stayed quiet.

Meera swore softly and shot her prisoner in his calf.

He shrieked and thrashed on the floor.

‘Three bullet holes in you,’ she warned him. ‘How many more do you want?’

‘Attack!’ he gasped. ‘We were planning an attack.’

‘When? Where? Who else are you working with?’

‘One week away. Kashmiri Gate Bus Terminus. No one else. Just the four of us.’

‘You planned to kill people?’ she snarled.

He didn’t respond.

Tanya swore beneath her breath.

Meera pointed her gun at his face. ‘If you are working alone, then we have no use for you.’

‘Don’t shoot,’ he pleaded, his face wet with sweat and tears.

‘You planned to shoot innocents. Why should we spare you?’

‘I know where the other cells are.’

‘ISI cells?’

‘ISI? No, we are Azaad Kashmir⁠—’

Meera’s temper exploded. She knocked him out with a wicked swipe of her Glock and stood up. ‘Gag them,’ she spat at Kumar, and watched furiously as he taped their mouths.

She took the bottle of water that Tanya thrust at her and drank greedily and wiped her lips.

Turned to Zeb. ‘Did Azhar set us up?’

42

Delhi

Eight pm in Mathur’s office.

Six RAW agents and eight Agency operatives in a large conference room.

The fourteen of them were in the same take-down outfits they had worn in Ghaziabad but had freshened up before meeting the RAW chief.

Mathur inspected them as they entered the room. She eyed the hole in Meera’s kameez but didn’t comment.

‘Tea.’ She pointed to the sideboard. ‘Help yourselves.’

Zeb hid a smile when Bwana went to the tray of samosas—fried pastries with a savory filling—and filled his plate.

‘What?’ Bwana grouched at this friends’ expressions. ‘I’m still growing. I need nourishment.’

‘That’s more than enough to feed a village,’ Roger retorted.

Mathur cleared her throat. That quietened the room.

Zeb took a seat behind Meera with the twins flanking him.

‘First, an organizational matter. Vikram’s father is unwell—’ She stopped and the murmur in the room subsided. ‘He is critical but stable. Vikram has to be by his side until he has fully recovered. Which means, Meera Ranganathan, you are promoted to Special-Agent-in-Charge and will lead this operation.’

Cheers broke out in the room. Beth and Meghan hugged the RAW agent from behind while Bwana and Bear leaned over and pounded her back.

‘Your expression … I know what you’re thinking,’ Mathur’s eyes drilled into Zeb. ‘That it took Vikram’s unavailability for Meera to get her promotion.’

Zeb nodded unconsciously.

‘Her promotion was overdue,’ the RAW chief continued. ‘I wanted to do it in person and then I was traveling, these shootings happened … there’s no other reason for the delay. No one in my organization gets promoted only because there’s a vacancy to be filled. I move them up because they deserve it, regardless of open positions. Clear?’

‘Yes, ma’am,’ he said firmly.

‘Back to business,’ Mathur said briskly when a second round of applause subsided. ‘I spoke to Azhar. He swears the address he gave us was used by Khalil’s team. He does not know anything else.’

‘He’s back in Islamabad, ma’am?’ Zeb asked.

‘Yes.’ Her lips twitched. ‘You’d like to be alone in a room with him … he’s beyond our reach unfortunately.’

‘We, my team can travel. We don’t have the geopolitical constraints your team has.’

‘I am aware of that⁠—’

‘He’s lying,’ Meera burst out.

Mathur inclined her head. ‘He could be. But I believe him.’ She held a finger out to stop the agent. ‘He has nothing to gain by lying. If we publicly accuse ISI and make public Khalil’s photograph, Azhar’s career is over. Hussain will sack him. He has to, such will be the international pressure on Pakistan. No. I think that house was used by Kazmi and the others … but they vacated and somehow the Azaad Kashmir gang got hold of it. You did good to hand over the prisoners to Delhi Police. I’m sure they’ll interrogate them and find out how they got that flat. That might lead us to Khalil.’

‘Ma’am—’

‘Meera, suppose Azhar’s lying, what do you propose we do? Summon him back to India? He won’t come.’

‘Zeb can go to him.’

‘I’m sure he can.’ Mathur smiled briefly. ‘And ask him politely.’ She waited for the laughter to subside. ‘But again, that doesn’t help us. We need to find Khalil. We need to know who’s backing him and what else he’s planned.’

Zeb raised his hand.

‘This isn’t school,’ Beth hissed, digging her elbow in his side. ‘Lower your hand.’

‘This isn’t school, Mr. Carter,’ Mathur echoed.

Zeb could feel the younger sister’s smirk. ‘We go by first names, ma’am.’

Mathur nodded. ‘You had something to say?’

‘It is possible that Azhar is playing us. That Khalil is acting on his orders.’

Mathur nodded slowly. She crossed her arms. ‘I have considered that too.’

‘What if Zeb’s right, ma’am?’ Meera asked impatiently.

‘We won’t know that until we get Khalil and if Zeb is right … then, well, he’ll have to go to Islamabad and have that nice conversation with Azhar.’

43

‘Who was your man who was at the Grand Mughal?’

‘Imran. Imran Kazmi,’ Khalil replied.

The man in the Chanakyapuri Hotel glanced at his watch and rapidly calculated in his mind. ‘Send him to Ashok Vihar. I want him to watch an apartment. Just watch. He’s to do nothing else.’

‘Now, at this time of the night?’

‘Yes.’

‘Who’s in that apartment?’

The man debated telling Khalil and then shrugged in his room. He’ll find out in any case. ‘Meera Ranganathan.’

Khalil sucked his breath in sharply. ‘You want us to watch a RAW agent’s apartment?’

‘She’s one of your targets. She survived yet another attack.’

‘We’ve been through that⁠—’

‘I’m not talking of your unsuccessful bombing! Don’t you watch the news? They were at a takedown in Ghaziabad a few hours ago. At the safe house you were occupying a while ago.’

‘That was them? Police are reporting it as a routine anti-terrorist operation. They captured some unnamed men.’

‘It was them. I knew they would go to that address.’

‘How?’

‘The how isn’t important. Send Imran right away. I’ll message you the address.’

‘We have never attacked RAW agents at their residences. That was an unwritten, unspoken rule in ISI. Families weren’t to be touched.’

‘You aren’t in ISI anymore.’

Khalil stayed silent.

‘You’re having doubts?’

‘It’s only to watch the place?’

‘Yes, and check the security arrangements. Cameras, electrified windows … you know what to look out for.’

‘Imran will go right away.’

The man paced the room when the call ended.

Is Khalil having doubts?

The ISI killer and his team were one of the best the man had worked with. They were highly experienced, exceptionally motivated and were ruthless.

I may not find anyone like them if I have to replace them. But I will, if I need to, the man thought bleakly.

Khalil and his shooters were replaceable.

44

Meera reached home at ten pm.

‘Guru,’ she greeted the watchman when she drove into the building. ‘All quiet?’

‘Yes, memsaab.’

The watchman was elderly, dressed in a shawl to warm himself in the cold night. He had a tray full of smoldering coals at his feet for further comfort. He knew Meera worked in a government office and kept an eye out for any strangers.

He’s the only security we have, she thought humorlessly as she parked in the allocated space for her apartment and went up the elevator.

She opened the door to her apartment quietly and shut it behind her.

Kicked off her juttis with a sigh and collapsed on the couch, massaging her feet and ankles with a small groan.

The living room lights turned on.

An older woman in a long, white, embroidered kurta and pants entered the room. Her face was lined. Her hair, gray. Reading glasses shoved to her head.

‘Ma,’ Meera sighed. ‘You’re still awake?’

‘What do you mean still? It’s just ten.’

The couch creaked when her mother joined her.

Meera crossed her arms across her chest to hide the hole in her kameez, but her mother saw the move, stopped her hands, and looked at the tear.

She poked her finger in it and stopped when she encountered the vest.

She didn’t speak for a long while and then looked away. She swallowed and shuddered.

‘Ma.’ Meera hugged her tight and wiped the tears rolling down her mother’s cheeks. ‘It wasn’t as bad as it looks. I was protected⁠—’

Her mother put a palm to her lips. ‘You lied to me when you joined RAW. You said you got a job in some government office. You admitted it finally when Vikram brought you home that day, many years ago, with bandages in your shoulder. I didn’t ask you to quit. I didn’t say a word. You were always headstrong. Your father saw that you weren’t like other girls. When you finished college and your friends started getting married … he stopped me from finding alliances for you. He said you would find someone yourself.’

Meera followed her gaze to the wall where her father’s photograph hung.

‘He died, but you didn’t find anyone. Then I found out about RAW. Finally, you told me you weren’t interested in marriage. I accepted it. It was difficult for me. I meet your friends’ mothers … they keep asking me about your marriage. They have grandchildren. I tell them it will happen when it happens. I know they gossip about you. I don’t care. I have learned one thing from you. Courage.’

Meera’s eyes filled. She kissed her mother’s palm and removed it from her mouth. ‘Ma⁠—’

‘I am not saying all this to make you feel guilty. It’s to tell you not to lie to me. Understood?’

‘Yes, Ma.’

‘Was it bad?’

‘It could have been bad.’

Meera sighed under her mother’s relentless gaze. ‘Yes,’ she admitted. ‘I could have died. But I didn’t. That’s why we have this protection.’ She stabbed her chest. ‘And all that training we’ve undergone. What I do is risky but isn’t suicidal.’

Her mother met her eyes. ‘Debatable.’

Meera grinned and hugged her, breathing deeply, smelling the unique mother fragrance that couldn’t be replicated in the universe.

‘Go, shower.’ Her mother drew back. ‘I’ll make coffee. There’s dinner⁠—’

‘I had something in the office. I’m not hungry. I’ll have the coffee, though.’

She got up and stretched. ‘Oh! I forgot to tell you. I got promoted. Vikram and I are the same rank now!’

‘You should have led with that,’ her mother scolded, rose too, and kissed her on her forehead. ‘Anjali Mathur finally realized your worth.’

‘She’s not like that, Ma. She’s the best boss I have ever worked with.’

‘Go, shower. I don’t want you to start singing her praises. You’ve told me often enough.’

Meera went to her bedroom, stowed her Glock in the bedside table and stripped. She poked her finger through the hole in the kameez and made a face. If it had been a head shot …

She shook her head. Don’t ever go what if, she heard Zeb’s voice in her head. That way is the path to madness.

She went to the bathroom and stood under the shower, letting the water beat down on her.

Their apartment was in Ashok Vihar in the northwest of Delhi.

We got lucky, she mused as she soaped herself.

Her parents, both university professors who had met in Delhi University, had bought the two-bedroom apartment way before the real-estate boom in the city had started. There wasn’t anything in Ashok Vihar, then. Just a few buildings.

No way we could afford it now.

When her father died unexpectedly, his pension and life insurance had helped her mother pay off the mortgage.

Meera had often debated buying another flat for herself. No one gets rich working as a RAW employee. She grinned. She wasn’t hard up, either. She was comfortable as a single woman.

Her mother objected strongly, however, and said the apartment was in the family and there was no way she would live anywhere else.

And I am not going to leave her alone and live on my own. In any case, she made a face, with my salary, I’d only be able to afford somewhere far on the outskirts of the city. That’ll be one heck of a commute to the office.

She dried herself. Checked out the bruise beneath her breasts and made a face. There was a scar high above on her left shoulder from where a terrorist had attacked her with a knife. That was when Vikram brought me home.

Is an Indian man going to like my scars, long hours, and sudden disappearances when on missions? His parents will be okay with that? They’ll freak out when they find out where I work. They’ll pressure me into quitting. No thanks!

Men like Vikram, who treated his wife as an equal and was fully supportive of her choices, were rare.

It was hypothetical in any case. She loved being single and after long, frank conversations with Meghan, was even more determined to lead her life the way she wanted to.

No one at RAW comments on my single status. The boss will come down like a ton of bricks if anyone does.

Mathur didn’t just encourage women to join RAW—especially those from rural, underprivileged backgrounds—she also took an active interest in their careers, mentoring them and even going as far as meeting their parents to assuage their concerns.

Meera hummed as she put on light cotton pants and a loose tee and went out to the living room.

She took the coffee mug her mother offered and inhaled the aroma. ‘Go sleep, Ma. I’ll be leaving early.’

‘I’ll make breakfast⁠—’

‘You don’t have to. I can make it myself and, in any case, the office has a canteen. That’s where I eat most days when I am not out. You know that.’

‘Canteen food isn’t healthy. And, don’t tell me what to do or not. I’m your mother.’

Meera rolled her eyes and went out to the balcony. It was cool, but the coffee warmed her up.

Dad and Ma bought well, she thought as she eyed Lekharam Park across the street.

The apartment was in a complex of five buildings, surrounded by a compound wall and facing a road beyond which was the park.

It was a very quiet, residential area and the absence of more buildings on the other side of the road was a huge bonus.

Meera could see the road from the balcony. A few cars parked on it. Empty, as far as she was aware.

She absorbed the night’s stillness. Heard her mother puttering about in the kitchen. Shook her head. She won’t stop working however much I tell her to.

Took another sip of her coffee and stretched again.

A car fired up on the road below.

Black. It started rolling slowly, away from the building’s entrance.

Meera watched it idly. Her eyes sharpened when its headlights didn’t turn on.

There are no streetlights down there.

She brought out her phone instinctively.

No, I’m overreacting. The driver must have been sleeping and just woken up.

She was in RAW, however. Paranoia came with the job. She brought up her phone and zoomed it on the car, which was still rolling slowly, edging towards the corner of the compound wall after which it would go out of sight, hidden by the building on the left.

She focused on the license plate.

The car accelerated suddenly and disappeared.

Meera’s heart pounded. Ma never allowed me to install cameras or any other security system.

She debated with herself. Was that a random car or was it watching me?

When in doubt, call in.

She hit the panic line that connected to the RAW command, which was manned continually.

She identified herself to the operator and gave the number. ‘Trace this vehicle.’

‘Meera, what’s up?’ Zeb’s voice broke in.

She looked at the phone. Forgot! The panic number also patches in the team’s comms channel.

It was standard RAW procedure.

‘I might be overreacting,’ she said and broke it down for him.

‘We aren’t far away. We’ll see if we can locate it. A black Honda, correct?’

‘Yes. We?’

‘Beth, Meghan, Bwana, and I. We came out for a drive, going nowhere in particular and ended up in Ashok Vihar. Sit tight. We’ll send someone over to you⁠—’

Meera laughed. ‘I don’t think that’s necessary.’

‘We have been attacked. We have been suckered into traps … don’t take this lightly.’

‘Hey, I’ve been watching movie reruns,’ Lavi chimed in. ‘I’ll come over. I live in Adarsh Nagar. That isn’t far.’

‘I’ll join in,’ Tanya added. ‘I’m still awake.’

‘People,’ Meera protested. ‘All this is⁠—’

‘Which way did the car go?’ Meghan broke in.

‘To the left. My neighborhood has several nameless roads.’

‘I’m looking at a map. All of them ultimately wind up on KC Goel Road?’

Meera smiled unconsciously at the elder twin’s perfect pronunciation. ‘Yes.’

‘We’ll head there. There isn’t much traffic. He’s got six minutes head start, but I’m sure our ride is more powerful.’

Meera hung up. Bit her lip, unsure of whether her call had been right. Shrugged. Went inside and shut the door to the balcony.

Listened hard. Her mother seemed to have finally retired to her bedroom.

She crept softly to her room, undressed quickly, wore her armor and a pair of jeans and a fresh tee. She grabbed her gun, several spare magazines and returned to the living room where she settled on the couch.

She didn’t know if she had overreacted, but she sure as heck was going to give any intruder a Glock welcome.

45

‘Goel Road is flanked by Gulab Singh Road and Shalimar Flyover.’ Meghan directed Zeb as he sped on the smooth concrete surface.

Zeb calculated mentally as he exited Gulab Singh and got onto Goel. We could have missed him already. They were all checking the passing cars but hadn’t spotted a Honda. ‘Meera, get Delhi Police to have roadblocks on the two junctions where Goel meets⁠—’

‘Got it.’

‘Ask them not to detain him if he rolls up.’

‘You want them to let him go?’ she asked, astonished.

‘He might shoot them down. If he’s part of Khalil’s cell, he’s a ruthless killer. Besides, he might be a civilian. There could be a valid reason why he was outside your building.’

‘I’ll arrange for a SWAT team⁠—’

‘No. They’ll kill him if he uses a gun. We need him alive if he’s from Khalil’s cell. The police should let him go but note which direction he goes and alert all other patrol vehicles.’

‘Copy.’

Bwana cracked his knuckles in the rear seat, the popping sound loud. ‘Didn’t I tell you that going for an ice cream was a good idea?’

‘It was I who said we should drive around,’ Beth scoffed.

‘And I said we should check out Meera’s neighborhood because we were close by in any case,’ Meghan said smugly.

‘Don’t give a man credit.’ Bwana mock-sulked.

Zeb tuned them out. He was driving well above the speed limit, the Range Rover responding smoothly to his light touches on the wheel and pedals.

Roads in the city were mostly smooth, but he had to watch out for the occasional pothole and stray animal. He hunched closer to the windshield since the streetlights weren’t sufficient at that speed.

A line of shacks and shops on the left-hand side, all of them shuttered. A man sleeping on a handcart. A stray dog cutting across the road, making him slow down. An Indian flag fluttering on an electric cable high above the road.

‘BLACK CAR AHEAD!’ Meghan yelled.

Zeb grunted in acknowledgment when he saw it. Slowed fractionally. Same lane as his.

His headlights hit the vehicle’s trunk. He squinted. Saw the Volkswagen logo. ‘Not our driver.’

He sped past it. Saw Shalimar Flyover in the distance.

‘HONDA!’ Beth yelled.

46

Zeb winced at her yell and saw the vehicle.

Going in the left-hand lane.

Moderate speed.

He inched closer for his headlight beams to light up the Honda’s trunk.

‘It’s him,’ Meghan breathed.

Bwana shifted in the seat behind, the leather squeaking beneath his weight. Zeb met his eyes briefly. His friend was impassive. His going-to-battle face.

Meghan reached below her seat, fiddled for a moment, and straightened. She lowered her window and launched a drone casually.

‘That will go as fast as us?’ Zeb asked, surprised.

‘Faster.’ She grinned. ‘Beth and I changed its motors. Fit new panels to the body. Sleeker, more aerodynamic shape. You’re going at seventy kilometers an hour?’

‘Yeah. Sticking to the speed limit.’

‘This can comfortably do hundred.’

The UAV disappeared.

It had nanotechnology panels on its surface, AI controlled, that automatically changed color and pattern to match the background. Stealth paint to make it undetectable to radar. Ultrasonic and infrared ray jammers. UltraHD cameras, powerful mics, cellphone jammer, EMP gun, claws to hold various gear … the drones were packed with more gear per square inch than conventional aircraft.

Heck, it even has some kind of air gun, Zeb recalled from their Rio mission.

He drove well behind the Honda as Meghan controlled the drone from her screen.

‘Over it,’ she said.

Their Range Rover went over a pothole. Her screen slid off her lap. She clutched at it frantically, swearing beneath her breath, straightened it and punched the air. ‘IT’S KAZMI!’

Zeb pursed his lips. He bent forward as if he could see the ISI killer in the vehicle ahead. ‘Meera,’ he rasped in his collar mic, ‘get security at Vikram’s house.’

‘Already arranged,’ she replied. ‘The boss sent a team when I reported.’

‘Are there any other exits from this road before the flyover?’ Zeb asked the older sister.

‘We passed most of them. One’s left. B and C Block Road. Coming up on our right.’

‘Two roads?’

‘One. The name is confusing.’

‘Meera, get the roadblock police at the flyover to light up their vehicles. Ask them to make themselves as visible as possible.’

‘He’ll see them!’ she objected.

‘I want him to.’

47

Zeb took the B and C Road. Meghan side-glanced at him, puzzled.

He focused on his driving. Don’t have much time to get into position.

The road was narrower. More potholes. A line of container-laden trucks to his left. Apartment buildings to the right, a few shops at ground level.

Dim street lights. Another dog ran across the road. A body turned underneath a blanket on a handcart.

No gap between the buildings.

Zeb glanced at the side mirrors. No sign of headlights behind them.

‘He’s reversing,’ Meghan breathed. ‘Looks like he’s seen the roadblock.’

Zeb jammed on his brakes and backed into a gap between two trucks. Turned off his headlights but kept the engine running.

‘You’re going to tell us your plan?’ Bwana rumbled.

‘You’ll see.’

‘No one tells me anything.’

‘He’s turning into this road!’ Meghan exclaimed. ‘How did you guess he’d come here?’

‘It’s what we would have done. Returning on Goel would attract the cops’ attention. Heck, he’s reversed … in any other circumstances that would have red-flagged him to them, but he doesn’t know they’re working with us.’

‘Our drone’s following him.’

Zeb placed his hands on the wheel.

‘You’re going to block him?’ Beth asked.

‘Something like that.’

The street lit up from a pair of incoming headlights, the beams dancing on the concrete surface.

Zeb glanced at the UAV’s feed on Meghan’s screen. He’s less than a hundred feet away.

He placed his foot on the gas.

Counted down in his mind and shot out of the gap to crash into the Honda’s side.

48

Their Range Rover was heavy with steel lining, reinforced windows, a cache of weapons in a compartment at the back, and all kinds of gear.

It struck the Honda a glancing blow that sent the vehicle careening towards the front steps of a shop, its tires smoking, its engine shrieking from the impact and the sudden torque placed on it.

Zeb reversed into the gap instantly, jammed on the brakes, left the engine running and was out of the vehicle instantly, using his door as cover.

He ducked back immediately when Kazmi shot at them through his shattered windshield and fired back at the Honda to keep the ISI killer pinned inside.

‘How’s he unharmed?’ Bwana rasped.

‘Those are experienced operatives. He would have bent down in the seat the moment we crashed and picked up his rifle.’ Zeb gritted his teeth and searched the road rapidly. Any civilians nearby? We can’t risk Kazmi taking hostages.

‘He’ll figure out he doesn’t have anywhere to go,’ Beth yelled above the shooting.

Lights went on in several apartments. A few windows cracked open and heads peered out cautiously. ‘STAY INSIDE,’ the younger twin bellowed in Hindi.

Zeb fired warning shots into the walls to reinforce the message. The residents disappeared. The lights turned off.

Kazmi’s face was barely visible through his wrecked windshield. He had a rifle jammed through it and was emptying its magazine at them.

He’ll need to reload, Zeb figured.

‘Rush him at magazine change,’ Bwana voiced his thoughts.

‘Yeah.’ Zeb nodded. He slapped a new magazine in his Glock, fired another burst at the Honda’s wheels, grabbed the door with his left hand and waited.

The shooter’s rifle withdrew.

‘NOW!’ he roared and burst out, Meghan flanking him a moment later with Beth and Bwana pounding behind them.

Barely forty feet between them and Kazmi.

The ISI man’s face appeared above the dashboard. He seemed to shout.

A vehicle raced into the road with wailing siren and red and blue lights.

Men jumped out of it.

‘DOWN!’ Zeb yelled when he made out the police officers were readying to shoot.

He hit the ground, Meghan slamming down beside him, just as Delhi Police fired into Kazmi’s vehicle. ‘MEERA, GET THEM TO STOP.’

‘On it,’ she said calmly.

The shooting stopped moments later.

‘Don’t shoot,’ Zeb called out at the officers. ‘We’re getting up.’

He got to his feet cautiously, ready to dive out of the way if Kazmi’s rifle appeared or if the shooter showed himself.

He crouch-walked slowly towards the Honda, knowing his friends were covering him. The police officers had lowered their weapons but were watching alertly.

His boots crunched over glass. Mud spattered as the Honda’s tires spun, not finding grip since the wheels on the driver’s side had jammed in an open drain.

Zeb snuck a glance through the passenger window which had also shattered.

A body sprawled sideways, behind the wheel.

He yanked the door open and ducked low.

No reaction from Kazmi.

He could be pretending.

He made a face. I’m already exposed. Might as well go all the way.

He ducked inside, his Glock thrusting forward, and yanked the AK from the shooter’s left hand.

Kazmi’s head lolled towards him.

Blood streamed from his mouth.

His eyes flickered.

‘He’s shot,’ Zeb called out.

‘I’ll arrange for an ambulance,’ Meera replied.

Kazmi’s right hand was hidden by his body.

‘You move and I’ll finish you,’ Zeb warned him in Hindi.

Zeb leaned further inside, bracing himself for a sudden move by the ISI man. He reached over his chest and snatched his right wrist and held it up.

No gun.

He exhaled and placed the man’s hand on the wheel.

It fell limply into his lap.

‘Where’s Khalil?’

Kazmi’s eyes glittered. He tried to speak and made inarticulate mumbles. More blood frothed through his mouth.

‘Where is he? What are you planning?’

Kazmi died.

49

Zeb swore.

His friends’ faces were grim. None of them spoke. The street got filled with more cruisers. An ambulance wailed up and EMT workers rushed out.

Zeb crunched back on the glass to make room for them.

A police officer came over, senior from the way other cops deferred to him. ‘You’re with RAW?’ he asked in English.

‘Yes,’ Zeb replied curtly. ‘Your men didn’t have to shoot. One of their shots must have got him in the neck.’ Kazmi must have turned around to watch the police when the round hit him.

‘We responded to the shooting,’ the officer huffed. ‘No one told us about your presence. We got a call only later.’

‘That’s on me—’ Meera began who was listening in through their open mics.

‘No!’ Zeb waved a hand apologetically to the officer and spun around. ‘Don’t blame yourself. I thought they would stay at the roadblocks. I should have known the cops would be alert to any shooting.’

‘When y’all have finished blaming yourselves, can we work out what we do next?’ Bwana drawled.

Zeb grinned. ‘Meera, did your folks trace the Honda?’

‘Yes. Rented by a real-estate company. Omkar Estates. My guess is it’s fake. Its directors have false addresses.’

‘Which was the rental company?’

‘Deluxe Cars in Gurgaon.’

‘That’s in the state of Haryana, correct?’

‘Yes, but along with Ghaziabad and several other cities, is part of the Delhi NCR, National Capital Region.’

Zeb nodded absently as he watched the EMTs load Kazmi’s body in the ambulance. He gave a thumbs-up when the officer waved at him, who then nodded, issued instructions to the EMTs and it sped off into the night.

Cops sealed the scene with tape. Their forensics team came in a van and started taking photographs. A few officers started questioning some of the residents who had emerged.

Zeb stretched. Took the paper cup of chai that a cop brought over, nodded in thanks, and sipped the beverage.

He watched the scene with his friends, hearing Meera speak to her team in the RAW channel.

‘So close.’ Beth kicked at a pebble in frustration.

‘Uh huh,’ Zeb agreed. He watched an officer sweep up the glass shards on the road and straightened abruptly.

Tea sloshed in the cup and scalded his wrist but it registered dimly.

‘Wait,’ he called out to an officer who was inspecting the vehicle.

‘What is it?’ Meghan picked up on his urgency.

‘It’s a rental.’

‘Tell us something new,’ she snorted.

‘Kazmi might not be familiar with Delhi and Gurgaon⁠—’

‘The GPS! Beth, get our backpacks!’

Zeb stepped aside for the sisters to race past him to the Honda. They spoke briefly to the officer, who looked bewildered initially and produced the car’s key from his pocket.

Meghan slipped gloves on her hand, got behind the wheel and fired up the engine. Beth got into shotgun and ducked her head towards the navigation console.

Zeb leaned inside the passenger window. The Honda sank an inch on its shocks when Bwana rested his elbows on the roof.

Beth straightened. She held her screen up, which was trailing a cable attached to the GPS unit.

Her eyes shone. ‘There are a few addresses on it, but the most frequent and recent one is in Gurgaon.’

Zeb was spinning on his heel a moment later, rushing towards their SUV.

The twins slammed the Honda’s doors shut and joined him.

Bwana got into their SUV. A grim smile on his face. ‘Well, now. Why don’t we go and say hello?’

50

Gurgaon

‘The address is Arunodaya Towers,’ Meghan yelled as she punched it into their navigation system. ‘On Surya Road. Near Sadar Bazar.’

‘Another market?’ Bwana exclaimed.

‘Yes,’ Meera responded distractedly as she broke off from issuing instructions. ‘That too is an old market, well-known for its street food. Zeb, I’ll get our team to make calls, try to work out which flat Khalil is staying in. We’ll join you there.’

‘Your mom?’ He gripped the wheel tight and took a hard right to join KC Goel and then sped up towards Shalimar Flyover. Thrust the Delhi Police card out of the rolled-down window at the roadblock. The officers moved their vehicles hurriedly to make way and then he was merging onto the flyover, their tires humming on concrete, snaking past slower-moving trucks and tourist buses.

‘The boss has arranged round-the-clock protection for her. For Vikram’s family, too.’

‘Shoot that address to us,’ Roger spoke in their earpieces. ‘We’ll join too.’

‘No.’ Zeb flicked his headlights at a truck, urging its driver to make way. ‘The four of us and Meera and her team will be enough. We’ll be reaching there late night. The market is already closed. There will be too many of us if you folks join. Khalil could have watchers.’

‘You want to hog the fun,’ Chloe complained.

‘Enjoy some us time with Bear,’ Meghan chuckled.

‘What us time? He’s sleeping.’

Zeb shot through a narrow gap between two vehicles.

Delhi flashed past their windows. Pitampura. Rajouri Garden, Naraina, the edge of Pusa Hill Forest. Tree-lined roads in some cases, glimpses of high-rises, residential buildings, an airplane taking off from Indira Gandhi International Airport, defying gravity. The city reduced to a blur as Zeb focused only on the vehicle and its handling, his friends’ conversation with Meera fading to background noise.

Until they entered Haryana state and Meghan tapped his shoulder.

He relaxed.

‘Did you hear what I said?’

‘No.’ He shook his head.

‘Meera’s agent spoke to the watchman at Arunodaya Towers. A bunch of men are staying in a ground-floor apartment in the building. Every other residence has families in it.’

‘That’s Khalil!’

‘Yes. The watchman confirmed the description.’

‘He can’t escape this time!’ Bwana rumbled.

A phone buzzed.

It was in the tray beneath the console.

It was Kazmi’s.

Zeb picked it up with his left hand and held it up for his friends to see the screen.

Number withheld.

‘It must be Khalil,’ he said. His thumb hovered over the accept button. He put the phone down and kept going on the expressway. ‘If we don’t answer, he might think Kazmi’s occupied.’

Or he might sense a threat and vacate the apartment, he thought grimly.

Welcome to Gurugram, a board flashed past by the side of the expressway.

‘The state changed the city’s name from Gurgaon to Gurugram,’ Meghan voiced, ‘but most people still call it by the first name.’

The road narrowed when they entered Sector Thirty-One. A gas station slid past. A car honked angrily when Zeb didn’t let it past.

He took the exit to Jharsa Road and got off the expressway.

Narrower road. Shops lining it on either side. Few cities and towns had sidewalks the way Western ones had. In the subcontinent, the concrete or tarmac gave way to dusty tracks that led to the line of shops.

It was no different on Jharsa Road. A food stand was open, a crowd of youngsters on bikes bunched near it.

He hung a left at a fast-food joint and then a right, the shops on either side turning into clothing and jewelry stores, reminding him of the Ghaziabad market.

He followed Meghan’s outstretched hand and rolled to a stop behind a truck.

They got out immediately, zipping up their jackets. Took their HKs from the trunk and held them down their sides as they entered the market.

The alleys were bigger than those at Turab Nagar Market. More room for vehicle access. But the stores were lined similarly, crammed next to one another, with barely any room in between.

Meera appeared at the mouth of an alley and waved at them.

She was outfitted in her combat jacket over dark cargo pants. HK held expertly over her chest.

‘Back there.’ She cocked her head.

Zeb followed her down the dimly lit path.

‘Police,’ she commandingly told a rough-sleeper on the porch of a store who was peering at them through his huddled blanket. ‘Don’t make a noise. Don’t follow us.’

Shadows detached from either side of the alley, resolving into her team. Lavi, Tanya, Prasad, Arjun, Ritesh, and Kumar. All of them weaponed up.

A left and another right into an alley and Meera pointed to a squat building on their ten-o-clock. ‘Arunodaya Towers.’

It was set back from the line of shops, its entrance hidden by the stores. Zeb looked up at the construction and couldn’t help chuckling. It doesn’t tower over the rest of the buildings.

‘There’s a small patch of yard in the front of the building,’ Meera whispered. ‘A sweet shop to its left and a takeaway joint to the right. The building itself sits on top of them. There’s no lobby. Just a hallway which leads to the apartments. The ground-floor ones face a rear courtyard. Khalil’s apartment is behind the takeaway place.’

‘You will lead?’ Zeb murmured.

‘I will.’

51

Meera checked out the alley. She and her team had cleared it of rough sleepers when they had entered the market. She had agents posted at the mouths of other passages.

Go hard, go fast, she told herself. We have the night advantage.

They had even less time to prepare than at Ghaziabad and shock and surprise were the only advantages they had.

She bent down for her combat helmet and adjusted it over her head. Set the visor right, checked her peripheral vision and comms.

Pictured the inside layout of the towers in her mind. Made a face. We don’t have any information other than there are six flats on that ground floor. Beyond that, nothing.

She fist-bumped her team. Confirmed that Prasad had the breaching explosive ready, raised her palm up and began folding her fingers.

She raced into Arunodaya Towers when her smallest finger folded.

Tube lights on the wall, illuminating the front of the dirt approach. No vehicles. A few rusted bicycles on the ground, in a corner, which didn’t look like they had been used in a while.

Dirt scattered from the pounding of her boots. Her breathing loud to her in her helmet.

She scanned the front of the building, in sections.

Parking is at the back. I have agents there, she thought above her racing heart and the adrenaline pumping in her. A figure huddled under a blanket on the ground in front of the sweet shop.

Lavi branched to him. Snatched his blanket and cupped a palm over his mouth. Whispered a warning and joined the team.

All this in Meera’s peripheral mission as she entered the entrance passage.

Low lighting.

She grimaced when the sounds of their boots echoed in the confined space.

Tracked to the right.

Saw Khalil’s door.

Wood. Sturdy. Looked stronger than the one in Turab Nagar Market.

Prasad went ahead of her as she, Lavi and Tanya lined up to the right of the door, while Arjun and Kumar took positions to the left.

Meera heard the Americans behind them. Knew instinctively that it would be Zeb and the sisters while Bwana would be out in the yard, alert for any threat.

Prasad knelt in front of the door.

Meera checked out the hallway again. All quiet. No sounds from any apartments.

Their entry hadn’t been silent, but it didn’t look like it had disturbed anyone.

Unless Khalil is waiting for us with a bullet reception.

Her lips tightened. She nodded at Prasad, who attached the explosive to the door.

It creaked back an inch.

52

Meera caught his vest and dragged him to the right instantly. ‘Zeb, the door’s open,’ she warned in shock.

‘Stay out of the way,’ he said from behind.

Meera’s HK was trained on the door crack. As was the rest of her team. Lavi and Tanya crouching in front of her.

She heard unzipping sounds from behind. Didn’t look back.

Felt and heard movement.

Zeb’s arm came over her shoulder.

He slammed his palm against the door. It swung wide.

Meera sucked in her breath sharply.

No hail of bullets arrived from inside.

Meghan’s arm came over her other shoulder.

She launched a drone inside the apartment.

Meera backed up to Zeb, who was looking over the sisters’ shoulders at the screen Beth held.

‘We can go in,’ Prasad whispered. ‘The apartment’s empty.’

‘We don’t know for sure,’ Zeb cautioned.

The drone’s rotors were quieter than a bee’s hum.

‘You can hear it only because the building is silent.’ Beth guessed what Meera was thinking. She stabbed the screen with her forefinger. ‘Living room is empty. That’—she pointed to a blinking green light in the right-hand corner—‘indicates it hasn’t detected infrared or electromag waves.’

She pointed to a running percentage in the lower left. ‘That’s Werner, working out the probability of threat as it analyzes the feed in real-time.’

‘AI algorithms?’ Meera guessed.

‘Werner is all AI,’ Meghan confirmed.

The RAW Special Agent felt a twinge of envy at the Americans’ gear. Squelched the thought. Focused on the screen as she took in the untidy living room, then the kitchen and two bedrooms when the drone went deeper inside.

‘Empty,’ Beth announced finally. ‘No threat.’

Meera removed her helmet and led them inside the flat. The living room didn’t have any windows. The bedrooms did, but they were shut and locked from inside.

She cracked one open and saw it opened to the side of the building, a view of a narrow alley before the next residence began.

She returned to the living room and saw her disappointment and frustration mirrored in her team members’ expressions.

A shuffling footstep at the door.

Nine HKs trained instantly on the figure who was framed in it.

An elderly man, wrapped in a shawl, face frozen in shock at the weapons. ‘I … am … the … watchman,’ he stammered. ‘Who are you?’

‘Police,’ Meera rasped. ‘Yahan ke log kahan gaye?’ Where did the people in here go?

‘Pata nahin memsaab.’ Don’t know, ma’am. ‘They rushed out about twenty minutes ago.’

Meera bit her lip. Looked at Zeb who nodded. That was when Kazmi’s phone had rung. Khalil must have sensed danger when we didn’t answer that call. She brought out her phone and showed the ISI cell’s photographs to the watchman. ‘These are the men?’

‘Yes, memsaab, but only five of them were there.’

‘The sixth is dead,’ Lavi snarled softly.

‘What car did they have?’ Meera snapped at the man.

He scratched his head, dug beneath his shawl and checked a piece of wrinkled paper. ‘I wash the residents’ vehicles. I have written down their registration numbers. It is a Hyundai, ma’am.’ He read out the plate.

‘How long had they been living here?’

‘Many months.’

‘Which language did they speak?’

‘Hindi,’ he replied, surprised.

‘Did you hear anything they said at any time?’

‘I am the watchman, ma’am. No one speaks to me.’

Meera felt a stab of guilt. These people are treated like furniture by many residents across the country.

She went to him and squeezed his shoulder comfortingly. ‘Thank you. Please stay around. A police officer will ask you some more questions. Those are wanted men.’

She wiped sweat from her face and kicked despondently at trash on the floor. ‘I’ll call Delhi Police,’ she told Zeb, who was regarding her impassively. ‘They’ll carry out forensics and take statements from the residents. We might get a lead from them.’

She knew how hollow her words sounded. Khalil’s probably already ditched the Hyundai or changed its plates.

‘Traffic cameras?’ Meghan asked.

Meera couldn’t help grinning despite the sour taste in her mouth. ‘You’re telling me you haven’t hacked into the camera network yet?’

‘We have. I was being polite.’

‘I’ve already got Werner running a search,’ Beth announced. ‘No hits, yet.’

Meera blew hair from her face and went to the hallway. Bent down to pick her helmet up when a door opened and a middle-aged man stepped out.

He gawked at her HK and made an inarticulate sound.

‘Police,’ she said tiredly. ‘Stay inside.’

She went out, to the front of the building, her hands on her hips.

‘What?’ she growled at Zeb’s look and made an apologetic gesture immediately.

He smiled briefly. ‘We should meet your boss.’

‘Yes, I was going to call her.’

‘Not in her office, however.’

She stared at him. ‘Where then?’

‘Somewhere discreet.’

53

Delhi

‘Jawaharlal Nehru Stadium?’ Zeb repeated when Meera told him the rendezvous.

‘Yes.’ She sounded tired in the comms channel. ‘The boss said we’ll meet there.’

‘That’s a big multi-sports stadium,’ Beth said doubtfully. ‘It will be open this time of the night?’

‘It will be open for the Director of RAW.’

Zeb drove through the streets of Gurgaon. They had left Khalil’s building once the police had arrived and taken over. ‘Did she ask why we aren’t meeting in her office?’

‘Not me. I’m sure she’ll ask you. Why aren’t we meeting in her office?’

‘I’ve been thinking of something.’

‘Like what?’

He swerved to avoid a pothole. ‘It might be nothing. I’ll tell you all about it when we meet her.’

‘No hits still,’ Meghan sighed. ‘There aren’t any street cameras near Khalil’s building and the feed from the ones on the expressway aren’t clear. Many Hyundais, but their plates are hidden.’

‘He got away,’ Meera spat. ‘He worked out something was wrong when we didn’t take his call on Kazmi’s phone.’

‘He could have heard of the shooting,’ Zeb offered.

‘Delhi Police have declared the dead man was a wanted criminal. They haven’t given away his identity.’

‘Yeah, but they didn’t hide the location, did they? I am sure there’s a lot on the internet about the shooting. Khalil could have put two and two together.’

‘You aren’t making me feel better.’

He smiled.

They entered Delhi.

Wider streets. Many of them tree-lined.

More police and army patrols.

The stadium’s circular construction was visible from the expressway and as they got onto the approach road, its size became larger. It was floodlit. Its carparks were illuminated and at the gates, an armed soldier carefully checked their faces against his phone and waved them in.

I wanted discreet, Zeb thought and then shrugged. Mathur must have her reasons for meeting here.

‘One Hundred thousand seating capacity,’ Meghan murmured when they approached another sentry position. ‘That’s bigger than any European stadium.’

Zeb parked at a bay indicated by a guard, who also checked their faces and asked them to deposit their weapons in their SUV.

Meera joined them and led them into the stadium and onto a stand.

Rows of empty seats spread around a track and field.

Mathur beckoned them and when they approached her, her aide brought out a few flasks, poured tea into cups and served them.

The RAW chief was in jeans with a faux-leather jacket to protect her from the night’s cold.

She looked crisp, alert, her hair styled neatly, even though it was nearing two am.

‘Thank you, ma’am.’ Bwana took a grateful sip. He dwarfed the seat he was in and had to rest his legs over the front row.

Meera briefed her boss quickly, who listened without interruption.

‘I’ve asked every agency to keep Khalil’s name out of the news,’ Mathur said when her agent had finished. ‘The media should never know there’s a country-wide manhunt for his cell. Even at the government level, only the prime minister knows.’

‘He knows we’re hunting him, ma’am,’ Zeb replied.

‘I am aware of that. I don’t want crank calls to our toll numbers. That will dilute our efforts. Now, why did you want to meet me here?’

‘This was your choice, ma’am.’

‘There’s an international defense exhibition happening here in a few days. It will be expected of me to visit the stadium. You wanted me to be discreet. Nothing’s more discreet than being out in the open on legitimate business.’

Smart, Zeb acknowledged.

‘Why are we here?’ Mathur repeated.

‘Has anyone been casing Vikram’s house?’

‘No. In any case it’s protected, now.’

‘Have any other agents been watched?’

‘No,’ Mathur replied patiently. ‘I have protection squads at their homes too.’ She nodded at Meera’s agents.

The Special Agent threw an uncertain glance at Zeb. Her team wore puzzled expressions. Beth, Meghan, and Bwana were impassive.

They know me. They know I’m going somewhere with this. ‘Have any other agents been attacked?’

‘My agents lead dangerous lives, Mr. Carter,’ Mathur said curtly. ‘They’re always under threat.’

‘Have they been attacked, ma’am?’ Zeb asked again.

‘No.’ She frowned and looked searchingly at him. ‘What’s on your mind? What’s with all these questions?’

‘Khalil. I thought he was out to blow up some building, like those Naxals we captured. Or, he was out to stage a terrorist incident. Maybe bomb a train, the airport, or some shopping mall. He hasn’t done any of that. He’s been in the country for a while and the only attack he’s carried out is the one at Red Fort.’

‘That we know of,’ Mathur reminded him.

‘Yes, ma’am, but I don’t think there have been any major incidents in India recently.’

‘Correct. So?’

‘His target isn’t the country specifically or the prime minister or any public place.’

No one moved.

‘His target is RAW.’

54

An ambulance wailed in the distance.

An airplane cut through the skies, its line of window lights the only moving object in the sky.

‘You’ve got our attention, Mr. Carter,’ Mathur rasped finally. ‘Explain.’

‘I have nothing to go on, ma’am, but it’s the only explanation that makes sense.’

She didn’t clench her teeth, grip the armrests, or show any expression. She regarded him coolly, dispassionately, for several moments and then gestured at her aide to pour more chai and sipped it. ‘Clare says the Agency won’t work without you. All of you. I am seeing what she means now.’

Zeb made to speak when Meghan kicked his leg. He kept quiet.

‘And you asked to meet away from my office.’ Mathur jerked her head at the stadium. ‘Because you suspect Khalil could have informers in RAW?’

‘Yes, ma’am. Either him or whoever he’s working for.’

‘That’s not possible, boss,’ Meera ground out. ‘We check every agent. We screen them periodically. We rip apart their lives, their financials⁠—’

‘And you also know that traitors can get through all that. How do you think our double agents in other countries work?’ Mathur replied.

‘Okay,’ she continued after a while.

‘Okay, boss?’ Meera asked when she didn’t elaborate.

‘Okay means, I buy into Mr. Carter⁠—’

‘Zeb, ma’am.’

‘I’m friends with Clare, Mr. Carter. Very close friends. Beth, Meghan, Bwana, the rest of your team … I have no problems being on first-name terms with them. You … I haven’t figured you out, yet. Before you conclude wrongly, I don’t mean I distrust you. I trust you as much as my team. But, I don’t know you as a person and so you’ll have to be satisfied with Mr. Carter.’

Bwana chuckled in the brief, ensuing silence. ‘The expression on his face, ma’am … I haven’t ever seen it before.’

That raised a laugh.

Zeb smiled ruefully. She’s blunt, very blunt. Clare did warn me of that. He deliberated over her words for a moment and then shrugged mentally. What she calls me isn’t important. My ego can take that. That we continue to work very well with her and her team, who are our friends, that’s vital.

‘You said OKAY, boss?’ Meera got back to her question.

‘It means, what he said makes sense,’ Mathur said. She reflected for a moment. ‘We discussed a leak at our end, after the Red Fort attack. I am getting convinced we have a traitor. I haven’t written down anything about Khalil. Nothing’s on any record. Only the PM knows his name. I’ll work on why Khalil could be targeting us. I’ll go through all our missions, past and current. Azhar⁠—’

‘I believe him,’ Zeb interrupted her. ‘I think Khalil’s gone lone wolf.’

‘He’s gone wolf pack,’ the RAW chief corrected him. ‘He’s got other shooters with him. Why do you believe Azhar? This could be an elaborate play … it’s perfect for him to wash his hands of Khalil, but all the while the killer could be following his orders.’

‘It’s the who benefits question, ma’am. What is Azhar gaining by targeting your agency? Sure, your capabilities might be degraded for a while, but you’ll recruit more agents and you might even go after him. No, RAW or ISI go after bigger fish. Missions that deliver tactical or strategic advantage … or those that take out bad players.’

‘Azhar might consider us to be bad players.’ Arjun went around with the flask refilling their cups.

‘I’m sure he and his agents do think you’re dangerous, but taking you out barely delivers any advantage. And, going after your families makes them vulnerable to blowback. No, there’s some other play here.’

‘What if you are wrong?’ Mathur, cool, enigmatic, resting comfortably in her seat.

‘Then I’ll take out Azhar.’

Tanya gasped. Meera swung around incredulously to stare at him. Bwana smiled, a feral grin that promised violence.

Mathur’s posture remained unchanged and then she nodded slowly. ‘Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that. All right. Meera, you continue to work with your team. No more extra agents. Your team and Mr. Carter’s will have to manage on your own. Clear?’

‘Yes, ma’am.’

‘Mr. Carter?’

‘We aren’t going anywhere, ma’am, until this is over. The Agency and all the assets we have are at your disposal.’

‘That’s what Clare said too, when I spoke to her earlier today. Yesterday.’ She glanced at her watch. ‘So, Mr. Carter, any ideas on how we can capture Khalil?’

‘Is it public knowledge that Kazmi is dead?’

‘It is public knowledge that a wanted man was killed in Gurugram, Mr. Carter,’ she said drily, using the city’s new name. ‘We haven’t revealed his identity.’

‘We’ve had enough of being jerked around by Khalil. We need Kazmi to be alive.’

‘He’s dead—’ She broke off. Her eyes regarded him shrewdly. ‘I like the way you think, Mr. Carter.’

55

The news broke early morning.

TV channels ran with the story.

Terrorist who was shot in Gurugram is still alive.

Talking heads discussed the developments while rolling banners on screens conveyed the bite-sized information.

Khalil sipping his tea, spat it out when he turned on his TV.

He stared in shock at the screen and turned up the volume.

The police had initially thought the man was dead, but it turned out he was alive, barely, when he was taken to the hospital. He was in critical condition and was being monitored continually.

The talking head challenged his guest, a retired Delhi Police Commissioner, on how the police had made such a mistake.

Khalil switched off the TV. He wiped the floor, his mind whirling, and prepared the beverage again.

He checked his burner phones. No calls or messages.

He peered out through a crack in the curtains. The new safe house had a street view. This time, it was in an upmarket residential area. Khalil and his men had been to the residence often enough that the watchman was familiar with them.

The rogue ISI killers had their covers as software engineers in a tech company. Khalil had ditched the Hyundai. The new ride, which had already been in the building’s parking lot, was a Toyota SUV.

Planning made all the difference.

Except for Kazmi surviving, he thought bitterly as he looked out of the window.

Nothing alarming out there.

‘What happened?’ Malik yawned as he entered the living room. ‘Why was the TV so loud? It woke me.’

‘Imran is alive. Look!’ Khalil turned on the TV.

Malik watched for several moments and cursed. ‘The Indians could be lying.’

‘What do they have to gain by that?’

Malik didn’t have a reply.

Khalil’s phone buzzed. ‘Yes.’ He went to his bedroom.

‘You must have seen the news?’ the man asked him.

‘Yes. Do you know which hospital he’s in?’

‘AIIMS, in Delhi.’

All India Institute of Medical Science, Khalil translated mentally. It was a reputed hospital as well as teaching university that treated many politicians and celebrities.

‘Why there?’

‘Because the JPNA Trauma Center he is in, is one of the best in the country.’

Khalil rubbed his face. ‘What do you want us to do?’

‘You?’ the man spat. ‘I want you to do nothing. Kazmi had a simple task. He had to watch Ranganathan’s house, check the security and report back to you. He was identified, shot, and you had to escape your Gurugram safe house. He behaved like an amateur.’

‘Imran is one of my best operatives,’ Khalil snarled. ‘He doesn’t make careless mistakes.’

‘Yes, he’s in the hospital because he likes being shot at,’ the man jibed. ‘Does he know about me?’

‘Everyone in my team knows. There are no secrets. We’ve been working together for a long time.’

‘Then you know what has to happen,’ the man said coldly.

Khalil gritted his teeth. ‘Imran is my friend. Our friend.’

‘You should have chosen to be an accountant or a lawyer, or any other profession. In our business, everyone is disposable, including friends. Stay out of this. I’ll deal with it.’

‘How?’

‘You don’t need to know. Even I might not succeed. Security will be so tight at the hospital.’

‘What happens if you don’t succeed?’

‘I’ll switch identities. This mission is too important to call it off. RAW have protected Kohli’s and Ranganathan’s houses heavily. We need to do something to divert their attention.’

‘What?’

‘Bomb a market in New Delhi.’

56

The man paced his hotel room. No mission went to plan. That was a given in the covert intelligence world he occupied. But I didn’t expect Kazmi to be captured, he raged.

He had been to AIIMS when he had been a field agent. He had checked out every public institution in the city. That was standard tradecraft.

He knew getting into the hospital would require a stroke of genius.

He knew where to go to for such a skill.

He was in Palika Bazaar an hour later. He had discarded his business suit in favor of casual wear. Jeans, untucked white shirt, sneakers, and shades.

He wasn’t on any intelligence agency’s radar and was confident a disguise wasn’t needed.

Palika Bazaar was an underground market beneath Connaught Place. Phone shops, designer wear copies, computers; it was a place where fifteen thousand people congregated when the markets were open.

The man browsed through cheap phones, pretended to be an interested customer, and shook his head regretfully when the seller mentioned the price.

He moved to another store despite the shop owner’s exhortations and fingered the jewelry on display.

‘Something must be important for us to meet.’ Another man joined him, his lips barely moving.

The man eyed the visitor in his peripheral vision.

Black hair, intelligent dark eyes, a thin mustache. Average height, lean, wiry body beneath his loose clothing.

‘Parvez, you’re looking well.’

‘I’m putting on weight, boss. I’ve no work. You’ve given it to the Pakistanis.’

‘You know why. We need deniability.’

‘You have something for me?’

‘I need you to go to AIIMS, to the JPNA Trauma Center. There’s a patient there. Check out the security.’

‘And take him out?’

‘How do you know it is a man?’

‘Women are very rare in our field, boss.’

The man bought the jewelry piece and moved on to the next store.

Parvez came to the same store after a while.

‘No,’ the man murmured. ‘Don’t kill him. We’ll do that later. I want to see how tightly he’s guarded.’

‘He’s someone important?’

‘He’s one of those ISI shooters. He was caught yesterday night. He knows of me.’

Parvez bought the cheapest phone in the shop and took the bag. He smiled at the store owner. ‘Killing someone who took a mission away from me will be a pleasure.’

‘His name is Imran Kazmi. The hospital will have recorded him in another name. The security will be unbelievable.’

‘This is me, boss. Parvez. Nothing is impossible.’

‘RAW will be there, and your old friends might be there too.’

‘Who?’ Parvez’s eyes narrowed.

‘Carter. The Agency team is in Delhi.’

Parvez’s eyes flashed. ‘That’s enough motivation, boss.’

They wandered out of Palika Bazar and split.

The man got onto the Outer Circle of Connaught Place as a tourist bus rolled up and disgorged its passengers, who started taking photographs on their phones.

57

Zeb and his team took turns at the Trauma Center.

Broker, Bear and Chloe in the morning, Bwana and Roger in the afternoon, and he was in the evening shift with the twins. Meera’s team had similar shifts.

He shifted in his chair and peered above his newspaper.

A hospital corridor with the same bustle that was echoed in millions of others around the world. The same smell of disinfectant, worried faces, and white-coated doctors.

RAW didn’t shut down this hallway. That would have been obvious. The entire media pack would be here if they sensed Kazmi was here.

The shooter was in a middle-room, with plain-clothes security at the door. Several RAW and Delhi Police’s SWAT members were disguised as nurses and doctors.

Zeb would have preferred sealing the entire floor with admission to only authorized medical personnel, but he was aware of RAW’s balancing act.

Beth, Meghan and Meera have installed cameras everywhere. At the main entrance, in the elevators, in the hallway. He shrugged mentally. It wasn’t ideal, but it would have to do.

He stifled a yawn and stretched.

‘Don’t sleep,’ Beth warned him in his earpiece.

The sisters occupied an empty patient room from where they monitored their screens.

Zeb went to the coffee vending machine, nodded imperceptibly to Lavi and Tanya and filled a cup.

He returned to his seat and pretended to make concerned calls as if he were in the hospital, waiting for a patient.

Meghan came out an hour later. Slipped him a protein bar. He went to one of the fake doctors and had a long, meaningless conversation as they both looked down at the pad in the RAW agent’s hands.

‘It’s going to be a long night,’ Lavi whispered as she brushed past.

‘Yeah.’ He grinned.

The beat of the hospital didn’t slow at nine pm. He could hear sirens wailing outside as ambulances rolled up and departed.

The elevator doors opened. A bunch of people came out, most of them medical staff.

One of them a lean mustached man, who was on a phone, speaking in Hindi.

His eyes swept past the hallway.

Zeb sensed the briefest hesitation in the man. The slightest misstep.

The visitor paused and frowned. ‘You said the Trauma Center?’ He spoke into his phone. He made an irritated sound and threw his free hand up. ‘I came to the wrong place, then.’

He returned to the elevator.

Zeb rose and joined the throng at the car’s doors. ‘I’m going to the canteen,’ he spoke to an imaginary person on his phone. ‘I haven’t eaten all day. Yeah, the operation was successful. Papa is recovering.’

‘What’s up?’ Meghan asked sharply.

Zeb didn’t reply. The elevator arrived. He entered it and turned to face the sliding doors. He could be anyone. I’ll see where he goes.

He didn’t sense any threat from the man. No hostile vibes. His inner radar stayed quiet.

That meant nothing.

The best operatives pass as civilians.

58

Down to the lobby which was crowded with visitors, hospital staff, and a few security men.

Zeb detoured to the reception desk and enquired about a non-existent patient. Buying time for the man to go past him.

He fell behind him.

Relaxed. Unconcerned.

The man brought his phone out again, spoke urgently, audibly, confirming the correct location of his patient.

They were on the entrance driveway.

Zeb made way for an incoming ambulance.

Beyond it was limited parking for VIPs and select medical staff. More AIIMS buildings around them.

Is he aware I’m following him? There are several people between us and he’s still on his phone.

Zeb fingered his jacket’s zip. His Glock beneath it, in its holster. No other weapons on him.

‘Yes, how many times do I have to tell you,’ the man turned. ‘I am now facing the Trauma Center. Tell me which way to go. Don’t you have the building’s name? What kind of son are you? You don’t even know where your mother is, in the hospital.’

Zeb continued walking casually, texting on his phone. Felt the man’s gaze on him. He didn’t meet the stranger’s eyes.

A car came between them. Black. Light reflecting off it.

The man moved easily away from it. Its doors opened. The driver got out from behind the wheel. An elderly woman climbed out from the passenger side. She was closest to the suspect.

Zeb felt something shift in the air. He looked up.

Dropped his phone when the man produced a knife and lunged at the older woman.

59

Zeb heard his phone land on the hard concrete and lunged forward.

He didn’t bother searching for his phone. Their devices were sheathed in rugged casing. The drop wasn’t high enough to damage it.

Over fifteen feet separating him from the killer, who was watching him.

He took everything in. Lethal mode on. Automatically scanning the environment, searching for threats beyond the man.

No one else was even aware of the deadly blade’s swing, everyone engrossed in their grief, concern, and urgencies.

The knife swung towards the woman’s throat in an elegant arc.

She was searching for the driver, who had crossed to the other side of the car. She wasn’t aware of the blade’s lethal approach until it was a few inches from her neck.

She sensed the danger suddenly.

She screamed.

‘AMMI!’ The driver yelled.

That’s Irfan’s voice! Zeb recognized the agent he had seen in RAW’s office. She’s his mother?

Time slowed.

He dove the remaining feet and got his arm around the woman’s waist.

Yanked her back and sideways, both crashing into the car.

Felt the blade cut across his chest, splitting his jacket cleanly.

‘TAKE HER!’ he roared at Irfan, who came behind the trunk of the car and shoved his mother towards him.

He lost his balance in doing so.

No change of expression on the killer’s face as he jabbed the knife forward.

Zeb turned his head in time, felt the rush of air as the sharp edge sliced empty space where his throat had been.

He caught the killer’s wrist.

It was slippery.

His grasp loosened.

The man kicked his groin.

Zeb turned his body around, caught the blow on his thigh, got slammed back against the vehicle and fell to the ground.

The man whirled and fled towards a line of cars.

Zeb drew his Glock.

The man glanced back as if he sensed the move, lunged to his right and slashed wickedly at a passing couple and disappeared behind another car.

The woman screamed, clutched her face, and stumbled back. Her husband shrieked and fell to the ground.

Zeb cursed as he rose got to his feet with liquid ease. He searched the parking lot for the slasher.

The wounded couple looked at him and screamed louder.

They’ve seen my gun. They think I’m with the killer.

‘TERRORIST!’ someone shouted. ‘CALL THE POLICE.’

‘No!’ Irfan screamed. ‘He’s not. It’s the other man.’

The damage had been done, however.

Police officers raced across to them and pointed their weapons at him.

60

There were RAW agents in the building. Zeb’s team was inside it as well, but it still took fifteen minutes for orders to be relayed, for Irfan to shout over the officers, before the cops lowered their guns.

Ambulance workers hurried the knifed couple into the building.

Meghan, Beth and Lavi ran up, panting.

‘I’ve got his car’s plates,’ the elder twin rapped out. ‘I’ve alerted everyone. Who was he? Why didn’t you shoot him? Why didn’t he shoot you? Why didn’t anyone else shout?’

Zeb rubbed his thigh, grimacing. Dude has one heck of a kick. He went with the last question first. ‘He was fast. No one realized what was happening. No one was paying attention either. By the time I got my Glock out, he had attacked that couple and had escaped. Never saw him before. He wasn’t from Khalil’s cell. He couldn’t risk shooting me. The sound would have attracted attention. The hospital is flooded with cops.’

More officers arrived. Lavi and Tanya came with them. ‘He ditched the car outside the gates.’ The former cursed. ‘He must have stolen another vehicle or gone on foot. There’s a lot of congestion on the approach to the hospital. It’s easy to get lost in that.’

‘But every officer is looking for him.’

Zeb recalled the way the slasher had used his knife. He’s a pro. An ace operative. He won’t be found.

Pounding steps. Irfan raced up, perspiring, sweat gleaming on his face.

‘What are you doing here?’ Lavi asked, surprised. ‘It’s not time for your shift.’

‘My mother had an appointment. I was dropping her off,’ he gasped.

‘Is she okay’?’ Zeb picked up his phone, inspected it and slipped it in his pocket.

‘Yes. Scared, but she’s okay.’

Meera arrived in her SUV. Blue shirt tucked in jeans, a police vest over her top, her Glock in a hip holster. Her hair was ponytailed, her features sharp.

‘Are all of you still here?’ Meghan rolled her eyes at her.

‘I was out grocery shopping when I heard,’ the RAW SA smiled briefly.

‘Grocery shopping in that?’ Beth drawled at Meera’s attire.

‘It helps me get quicker service. That man wasn’t from Khalil’s cell?’ She looked searchingly at Zeb.

‘No, it looks like we’ve got another player.’

61

Parvez walked swiftly as he headed to Sarojini Nagar Market. He had jaywalked across Mahatma Gandhi Road, which ran in front of the Trauma Centre, after ditching his car.

He was in a residential neighborhood. Quiet. Darker, with trees obscuring several street lights.

He twisted his lips when he pulled out his phone. He wasn’t looking forward to the call.

He briefed the man swiftly when he came on the line.

A long pause. ‘I don’t believe this, Parvez! You’ve never been so amateurish in all the missions you’ve carried out for me. Why did you return to the elevator in the first place?’

‘Carter was right there. Sitting across the doors, watching. He looked as if⁠—’

‘You lost your nerve.’

Parvez swallowed bitterly. He recalled Carter’s cool eyes assessing him, as if the American could read into him. ‘I pretended that I was in the wrong building and went out, but he followed me.’

‘Of course, he would! Carter has a sixth sense about danger. That’s why he’s still alive, still in the game. Your face is in their cameras now.’

‘It would have been even if the recon had gone smoothly,’ Parvez defended himself.

‘Yes, but then the Indians and Americans wouldn’t have known whom to look for.’

‘I’m not in any database. You’ve said that several times. That’s why I’ve been operating from India, unnoticed.’

‘That’s true. But we can’t go back to AIIMS now. They might seal off that floor … how did you get into that elevator? Did no one check your credentials?’

‘There was one police officer. I showed him a doctor’s badge I had stolen. He waved me inside.’

‘Huh? I was expecting much better security. I thought there would be police all over the place.’

‘There were many of them, soldiers too, but they were scattered. There was more of a presence on Kazmi’s floor.’

‘I don’t get it⁠—’

‘I do,’ Parvez said bitterly. ‘I overheard a couple of doctors in the lobby, when I was leaving. They were saying it was a waste of medical resources to pretend that the patient was alive.’

The man sucked in his breath sharply. ‘Kazmi is dead.’

‘Yes. The Indians and Americans wanted someone to make an attempt on him.’

The man hung up and threw his phone on the bed. He roared in rage.

I burned Parvez for no reason, he cursed. He went to the bar, poured himself a drink and let it calm him down.

Nothing’s lost. Only Parvez’s face is known, now. They still don’t know who he is.

Kohli and Ranganathan are still out there. His smile faded.

He went to the window and watched Delhi as the whiskey warmed through him.

A plan came to his mind.

Maybe it was time to sacrifice some of his assets.

62

They met Mathur at a dhaba, a roadside joint, outside Delhi, on the Delhi Jaipur Highway.

‘Eat,’ the RAW chief told Meera and the Americans.

‘We’ve had something, ma’am.’ Zeb declined the offer. He watched the distinguished-looking man leave Mathur’s side and go inside the restaurant. That must be her husband.

The ambience was homey. Instead of the conventional table-and-chair arrangement, the restaurant had rustic charpais, wooden-frame beds with twined ropes.

Customers sat cross-legged on them, or any which way they wanted, and ordered food which the servers brought in plates.

‘We were out here, meeting someone,’ Mathur saw his look. ‘It’s as good as place to meet as any. So, the trap worked but not in the way we wanted.’

‘Correct, boss.’ Meera sighed as she sat cross-legged on an opposite charpai. She shook her head at the server when he arrived.

‘We’re no closer to finding out where Khalil is.’

‘Yes, ma’am,’ Beth chirped. She and Meghan sat on the bed along with Meera, as if they belonged. Both comfortable in the ambience, nothing about them making them stand out other than their accents.

Zeb stood near them. Motionless. Only his eyes roving, checking out the customers, the comings and goings. He spotted Mathur’s security detail, discreetly spread out, who too were alert.

‘I’m missing something,’ Mathur said sharply. ‘None of you seem to be particularly upset.’

Meera grinned. She nudged Beth. ‘Shall I tell her, or will you?’

Beth gave the RAW SA her screen. ‘Go ahead.’

Meera flicked through it and showed a photograph to the RAW chief. ‘That’s the man in the hospital, boss. He’s all over their cameras. We don’t have a name for him. We found his getaway car and the police are searching it for prints or anything he could have left behind.’

‘That’s hardly something to be happy about, Meera.’

The RAW SA grinned. She brought up another photograph. ‘This is him at Delhi Airport, a few months ago.’

Mathur took the screen from her and inspected it closely. ‘You have his name? Which flight did he come on? Where did he go?’

‘Hamid Qureshi landed in India in the early hours of a Monday. We have no other sightings of him and while there are thousands of men with that name in our databases, none of them match our perp.’

Meera’s smiled broadened as she milked the moment. ‘Qureshi arrived in Delhi from a PIA, Pakistan International Airlines flight.’

Mathur remained unmoving for several moments. Her eyes flicked to Zeb. ‘You were wrong about Azhar. Qureshi must be his man, sent to clean up loose ends.’

‘That thought had crossed my mind, ma’am,’ Zeb answered.

‘I’ll call him,’ Mathur said coldly. ‘I’ll burn him. When I’ve finished, Prime Minister Hussain will have no choice other than firing him. No one will touch Azhar afterwards.’

‘What? You don’t agree?’ She whiplashed when neither Meera nor the Americans responded.

‘A known devil is better than an unknown one,’ Zeb replied.

‘What does that mean?’

‘If Hussain fires him, which is a big if since the prime minister doesn’t seem to have the support of the military, the new ISI chief might be even more hardcore. An unknown quantity for sure.’

‘What do you propose then?’

‘I’ll talk to Azhar.’

‘I’ll arrange that. Come to my office tomorrow. Let him stew the night wondering if we have made Qureshi.’

‘No, ma’am. I’ll meet him in Islamabad.’

She stared at him. ‘Have you lost your mind? I know I mentioned this before, but I wasn’t serious. You and your team are on ISI’s radar. They’ll arrest you⁠—’

‘Like I said before, ma’am, I’ll be a proper gentleman. The Brits will have nothing on me.’

She searched his face to see if he was joking. Looked helplessly at the twins.

Meghan said, poker-faced, ‘Zeb can be very persuasive when he wants to be, ma’am.’

63

‘All that was good,’ Beth lashed out at Zeb when they were returning to Delhi, ‘but how do you plan to pull off that meeting with Azhar? You haven’t told us any details.’

‘There’s a big military do in Islamabad tomorrow. In the evening. Fancy dinner. Charity stuff.’ He eyed her in the rear-view mirror and smiled faintly when she reached for her screen automatically.

Just him, Meghan, and the younger sister in the SUV. Meera had returned to Delhi separately.

‘In the Khan Palace.’ She nodded. ‘Very fancy hotel.’

‘Given that it’s a charity event, Azhar will be there. He doesn’t go to many public functions, but he won’t miss this one.’

‘You’re just going to rock up to the reception and say pretty please, can I get a ticket to this event?’ Meghan snorted.

‘Now look up Brigadier Colonel Asad Raza.’

Both her and Meghan’s fingers danced over their keypads.

‘Twelfth Corps?’ the older twin asked.

‘Yeah.’ Zeb nodded. He slowed at a police checkpoint and lowered his windows. Flashed the police identity and accelerated when the officer waved him on.

‘What about him?’

‘Read the recent news about him.’

‘Like these military types broadcast their lives on the internet and to the media?’ Beth scoffed.

Zeb grinned. They don’t, but Werner has access to some of Pakistan’s covert databases.

‘He had oral surgery a few weeks ago. He’s recovering but can’t speak.’

‘Correct.’

‘I still don’t see how all that helps us?’

‘Check out his build.’

Meghan whistled slowly when she examined a full-length photograph of the colonel. ‘You’ve done your research. Still, you need a way to get into Pakistan, impersonate him, find a way to corner Azhar, and then escape.’

‘That’s where you come in.’

64

Meghan knocked on Beth’s door at two am.

As she suspected, her sister wasn’t sleeping. She was in a loose tee and cotton pants when she opened the door, clutching her screen.

‘Are you thinking what I am?’ her twin asked.

‘Yeah, come with me. He might need some persuading.’

‘Him?’ Beth snorted. ‘No way.’

They went to Bwana’s door and knocked on it.

It opened minutes later. He blinked sleep from his eyes and then he straightened. ‘Problem?’

‘Yeah, go on, be loud, wake everyone else,’ Meghan whispered and brushed past him inside the door.

Beth shut the door behind them and joined her sister.

‘What’s up?’ Bwana looked at them expectantly.

‘Zeb’s going to Islamabad in the morning.’

‘He’s what?’

Meghan broke it down for him.

‘He can’t go alone.’ Bwana folded his arms. ‘Are the rest of us going?’

‘No, we need to be here, in Delhi. We’ve got to work with RAW.’

‘Zeb needs backup.’

‘Yeah,’ Meghan said patiently.

Bwana’s grin lit up the room when he connected the dots. ‘Of course, I’ll go. Since when have I passed up the chance to shoot some bad dudes?’

65

The charity worker reached Delhi Airport at five am.

He was dressed in white shirt and dark trousers and carried only a backpack with him.

He went through the security arrangements and at the immigration counter, the officer checked out his passport. ‘Mr. Hashimi, why are you going to Pakistan?’

‘I am with Unity Aid Foundation. A charity that works with earthquake victims in Pakistan as well as India. Please check my passport. I’ve been to that country several times. Here.’ Zeb pushed back the fake glasses on his nose and fumbled through his backpack. ‘This is an appreciation letter from Prime Minister Chauhan for our work.’ He slid the real-looking certificate to the officer.

The man read it. Looked at Zeb and compared his face to the photograph on the Indian passport. ‘When will you be back?’

‘Two days, sir. It’s a very short visit.’ If I am alive.

The officer stamped his passport but didn’t return it. ‘You’ve been to Pakistan many times?’

‘Yes, sir.’ That bit is true.

The officer leaned forward. ‘What do they think of us?’ he asked softly.

‘The ordinary people there? They look at us the way we view them. Sometimes they dislike our country when something happens on the border. Most of the times, they are busy with their lives.’

‘Has anyone hated you when you were there?’

‘One or two occasions, but then they realize I work in a charity and they keep quiet. We were all one country, sir, a long time ago. We come from the same land. We shouldn’t forget that.’

‘Yes, yes.’ The officer made to hand his passport back and then stopped. ‘Which flight are you taking?’

‘Unity Aid has its own chartered aircraft, sir. We are lucky to have good donors.’

‘Do you miss India when you are there?’

‘Every moment.’ Zeb took his passport back, having done his bit to improve India-Pakistan relations.

66

He boarded the Boeing 737 an hour later.

Unity Aid Foundation did exist.

It did have its own charter aircraft.

The airplane he had entered had the charity’s logo on its tail. However, it didn’t belong to the foundation.

‘Zeb.’ A burly red-haired pilot bounded out of the cockpit and stopped short. ‘That’s not you!’

‘It’s me,’ Zeb laughed. ‘Disguise. Can’t say much more, Cory. You know how it goes.’

‘Yeah. It’s good to see you, mate!’ Cory Dalton, Australian, slapped him on the back and pointed at his co-pilot, a woman, who stepped out of the cockpit. Burnished complexion. Dreads framing an angular, strong face. Sparkling eyes. Trim figure in her aviator’s coveralls. ‘That’s Jerry Mfeka. New addition to the crew.’

‘It’s good to meet you, Mr. Carter.’ She shook his hand with a firm grip.

‘Cape Town?’ Zeb detected the accent in her voice.

‘Wow,’ she laughed. ‘No one has placed me so accurately and so quickly. You have an ear for accents, Mr. Carter.’

‘Zeb will do.’ He looked questioningly at Cory, who nodded.

‘Jerry was one of South Africa’s first women fighter pilots. She’s read into you folks. She’s got the same security clearances I have.’

‘I left the Air Force last year.’ She smiled. ‘Medical issues. I was at home wondering what to do with my life when Cory called. I don’t know how he got my number. The opportunity to fly again, see the world … I couldn’t pass that up.’

Zeb shook her hand. Beth and Meg will like her. ‘No more Zeb or Mr. Carter. It’s Karan Hashimi from now on.

‘Copy, mate. Settle down. We don’t have cabin staff. Meghan’s call was last minute, we couldn’t get our crew back. It’s just us. You know the drill however. Pantry’s at the back. Fully stocked. Help yourself. Touchdown will be in four hours.’ Cory flipped a salute and retreated into the cockpit.

Zeb placed his backpack in an overhead compartment and settled down in the plush seat.

The aircraft belonged to Clayton Lukather, billionaire philanthropist. Or to one of his many businesses, Zeb corrected himself.

The Agency team had rescued one of Clayton’s family members during a mission. The billionaire, once he had found the covert outfit didn’t take payment, had gifted them a Boeing Business Jet 777X and had also put at their disposal his entire fleet of aircraft and satellites. He also dedicated flight crews to pilot the aircraft, former military personnel to whom maintaining confidentiality was second nature.

Meghan had called the billionaire’s aide in the night.

The executive assistant, in New York, had confirmed that there was a company Boeing in India coincidentally. It was crewed by Cory, whom the Agency had flown with often and no, it wouldn’t be an issue to apply the charity’s logo onto the tail even though there wasn’t much time left before take-off.

In fact, the aide had chuckled, Lukather Enterprises was one of Unity Aid’s biggest donors and he would make calls to the foundation to ensure that its staff would confirm whatever backstory the Agency needed.

With the cover sorted, the twins had worked through the night on the rest of the accessories that Zeb would need.

The Boeing accelerated on the runway and soared into the sky, its powerful Rolls-Royce jet engines making a mockery of gravity.

The cover was the easy part, Zeb thought bleakly as Delhi disappeared beneath clouds. Entering the lion’s den in Islamabad and getting away … I’ll need a lot of luck.

67

Islamabad

Zeb woke up when the aircraft’s descent started.

Islamabad International Airport was to the southwest of the city, less than an hour away from the country’s capital.

He fist-bumped Cory and Jerry when they landed and went down the ramp.

The jet parked a short walk from the terminal building and a uniformed ground staff pointed him towards the walkway.

Zeb took a deep breath and took in the Margalla Hills to the north of the city. A majestic mountain range that provided an Instagrammable backdrop to Islamabad.

Beyond those are the Himalayas. He pictured the map in his head. And somewhere in that terrain is the Line of Control, less than sixty miles away from Islamabad.

He smiled when he recalled Beth’s brief history lesson the previous night.

The state of Jammu and Kashmir was coveted by both India and Pakistan when the British partitioned the subcontinent. India wanted the state since its prince acceded the kingdom to that country, while Pakistan desired it because of its Muslim majority.

The countries fought three wars, she told him, with both India and Pakistan finally agreeing to a LoC—Line of Control—between the two countries.

It wasn’t an international boundary but was a separation between the Pakistan-controlled and India-controlled parts of Jammu and Kashmir, with both countries having a significant military presence on either side.

They shell each other’s territories, he thought grimly.

‘Sir.’ The ground crew member gestured towards the terminal.

Zeb nodded and went to the building. A lot of history here and bloodshed as well.

The immigration officer was bored. He flipped through Zeb’s credentials rapidly, stamped his passport, and waved him through.

He didn’t show the relief he felt when no one decided to check his backpack.

He flagged a cab to sector I-8. Islamabad was a planned city divided into zones, within which sectors were the administrative regions.

I-8 was both a residential as well as a commercial neighborhood. Highrise office buildings on the same street as bungalows.

Zeb exited the cab on Street 16 and walked to a large residential building on 11.

Similar layout as in India. A line of shops on the ground floor. Parking spaces, and above were the apartments. Washing lines hanging out in the balconies of many of them, children’s toys visible in a few.

He went up the stairs to the third floor. His belly rumbled when he inhaled the odors of cooking.

Inserted his key in the wooden door of the sixth apartment of number eight on the floor and swung it open.

Entered it.

Sensed the presence hiding behind the door but before he could react, a gun jammed into his neck.

68

The expected move was to stand still.

Zeb dropped to the floor, twisting as he punched the assailant in his groin, reached up to slap the gun hand away and stopped abruptly.

‘JEFF!’ he roared, falling on his back. ‘It’s me! Zeb.’

The attacker was as tall as him, as deeply tanned, with black hair and a thick beard. He let his gun drop and leaned against the wall, groaning, and massaging his thigh.

‘Dude,’ he panted, ‘you should have given me a heads up that you were coming.’

‘I didn’t expect you to be home. Don’t you have stuff to do? Shadow people. Take photographs, go through their trash?’

Jeff Walters, resident CIA operative, flipped him the bird and limped towards a couch where he flopped on it. ‘I could have shot you.’

‘Nope. The sound would have been loud. I knew you wouldn’t risk it.’

‘That’s an improvement.’

‘What is?’

‘Your disguise. It’s better than your looks. You should stick with it. How long will you be here?’

‘If all goes well, I should be away late tonight.’

‘Back to Stateside?’

‘Nope. India.’

‘You’re helping RAW with what’s going on?’

‘That’s why I’m here. My gear’s still here?’ He switched tactics. Jeff Walters had been operating in Pakistan for several years under his cover of Iqbal Masud, a carpet exporter. He looked and lived the part and his profession enabled him to maintain a warehouse in which he kept the more lethal gear he needed in his job.

The Agency operatives kept their Range Rover in the warehouse and their weapons in the apartment.

Zeb went to the bedroom at Jeff’s gesture, applied palm pressure to specific points on the wall beneath the window, and dug into the space when the slab of concrete slid back.

He withdrew a Glock, several magazines and a Benchmade.

‘Is that all you need?’ Jeff asked on entering the room.

He dropped several cheek pads and prosthetic noses and ears into his backpack. ‘If I need any more weapons, I’ll have failed.’

69

He took another cab to the warehouse, which was on the outskirts of the city, and retrieved the Range Rover.

Drove it to sector F-7 after meandering through the city to check for any tails.

No shadows.

He parked in the basement lot of Khan Palace and removed his glasses, replaced the black contacts in his eyes with brown ones, carded his fingers through his dark hair—which had gray streaks in it—to change its styling and went up to the reception.

He checked in as Rafiq Ansari, a businessman from Karachi here to attend a conference in the city.

Went to his room, opened an app on his phone and ran it around the room.

It glowed green, which meant there were no surveillance devices.

I’m in the hotel. He sent a message.

Welcome to Islamabad, Beth replied. Check these men out. All of them match your build and come closest to your features.

Zeb went through the three photographs she sent and read the brief write-ups.

All three were hotel employees.

All three will be servers at the charity event at night, Beth commented.

Are any of them single and living alone?

Hamid Khan, she replied.

I’ll be him.

70

Zeb went down to the lobby at four pm wearing another untucked white shirt over dark trousers, with his backpack slung over his shoulder.

The lobby was a large open space. Reception desk, concierge, signboards for various events and directions to the meeting rooms, a bank of elevators with gleaming, polished brass doors, couches and sofas scattered around for visitors … it had a quiet elegance that justified the hotel’s star rating.

The lobby branched out in a star pattern to various restaurants and event rooms.

Zeb searched for the Oriental Restaurant and found it next to a cozy library, down a carpeted corridor to the right of the lobby.

He sat at a table, ordered green tea and pretended to read the newspaper.

Hamid Khan was a server at another table.

He watched the man through his peripheral vision.

The timing had to work.

I can’t impersonate him for long. The rest of the staff will know I’m not him the longer I work as him.

He had to take over Khan’s role to get into the event room and stay just long enough to be undetected.

He hung around in the restaurant, ordering more tea and reading the newspaper.

A couple of uniformed army officers entered the restaurant an hour later. They sat next to his table and discussed the charity event.

Zeb sipped his drink. Pretended not to overhear them. Caught snatches of their conversation.

‘All the generals will be there …’

‘Orders that it wouldn’t look good on our records if we didn’t attend it …’

He folded the newspaper carefully and placed a tip beneath his saucer.

The military men stopped talking when he went to their table. ‘Janab,’ he addressed one of them. ‘Are you both here for the charity event?’

‘We can’t disclose military matters,’ the man said stiffly.

Zeb smiled. ‘Janab, the hotel is filled with army people. Newspapers and TV channels are covering this event. It’s hardly a secret, is it? I am enquiring to check if Brigadier Colonel Asad Raza has arrived. We are related and had agreed to meet, but he isn’t answering his phone.’

The men relaxed. ‘The colonel should be here any moment. He got held up in traffic.’

‘Shukriya.’ Thank you. Zeb bowed and returned to the lobby.

More military presence in the central space. Uniformed men greeting each other, laughing, joking, having serious conversations.

He took the passage to the left of the reception desk and followed the signs to the charity event.

A large corridor, thick carpet beneath his feet, framed photographs of celebrities on the walls. Dark colors. Ornate lighting on the high ceiling.

The event room had large double doors with posters announcing that it was raising funds for the widows of Pakistan’s armed forces.

A long table set next to the doors for registered attendees to sign in. More army men behind it, one of them on his laptop, the others conversing idly.

Zeb walked past the room. Two more doors, which were the bathrooms for both men and women, and then the corridor ended.

He returned to the lobby and snuck into a smaller hallway where there were more event rooms, considerably smaller than the charity one’s.

They were empty. He found the restrooms down that corridor, slipped into the Men’s and inspected it.

Porcelain sinks in a large slab of marble with gold taps. A large mirror that ran the breadth of the marble.

Six stalls with wooden doors. He checked each of them cautiously. Empty.

He removed the board from his backpack, which the twins had organized, and hung it on the bathroom door’s outside knob.

Out of Order. The sign looked official.

He glanced at his watch. Five forty-five pm.

He pulled out an identity card from the backpack and hung its lanyard around his neck.

Returned to the charity room, where he approached the check-in desk at which a long line of officers had gathered.

Asad Raza wasn’t in sight and neither was Azhar. The officers he had spoken to weren’t visible either.

He beckoned discreetly to one of the men behind the desk and raised his card.

‘I’m from CTD Islamabad,’ he said brusquely. ‘I need to speak to one of the hotel employees. The reception told me he’s inside.’ He jerked his head towards the room.

CTD, Counter Terrorism Department, was a police unit with sweeping powers.

‘You have to come now?’ The officer cursed. ‘Can’t you see how busy we are?’

‘You want to wait for the terrorist attack to happen?’ Zeb snarled at him. ‘His name is Hamid Khan. He is a server. Get him for me and I’ll be away.’

The officer nodded curtly, went inside the room and returned after a while with a nervous-looking Hamid Khan.

‘Follow me,’ Zeb told the man sharply and set off down the hallway.

‘Janab, what’s this about? Why is CTD interested in me? I have done nothing wrong.’

‘Stop talking. Do you want to make this worse for yourself?’

‘But, sir⁠—’

Zeb spun on his heel and glared at him. ‘I can handcuff you if you want and parade you through the hotel. Is that what you want?’

The server bit his lip, looking miserable, but followed quietly.

Zeb went to the out-of-order bathroom.

‘What’s this—’ Khan began.

Zeb spun around to face him as soon as the door closed behind them, cupped a palm around the man’s mouth, twisted him around and choke-holded him.

Hamid Khan had no time to react and before his brain triggered fight-or-flight responses, his resistance gave out.

Zeb released the server before he passed out entirely. Rested him against the wall and taped his mouth.

He unbuttoned the man’s maroon-colored top and trousers, removed them with difficulty from the semi-conscious man and then taped his hands and mouth securely and dragged him to a stall.

He placed him on the toilet, secured him with more tape to render him immobile, placed his backpack on the floor and closed the door to the stall.

He changed into the server’s uniform, removed his glasses and wetted his fingers to remove the gray streaks in his hair. He inserted cheek pads, applied a false nose, and shaped it to resemble the server’s as best as he could.

I won’t pass a close inspection. He was hoping no one would pay much attention to him, however.

71

Zeb returned to the event room. The event hadn’t started yet, going by the crowd outside the door.

He went inside the room and stopped for a moment to take it in.

It was large, with over fifty circular tables draped with white tablecloths, glasses and cutlery arranged on them.

Each table had eight chairs around it.

A central dais at the front on which was a lectern, several chairs for the guests, and a large poster.

Officers on the dais as they went about preparations, while servers hurried around the room making last-minute arrangements.

Zeb’s heart sank. How will I find Raza and Azhar’s tables before the event starts?

The tables had the names of the officers on small signs in front of the chairs, but there were too many of them to go about reading.

He followed a server to the inside kitchen and was met with a wall of sound. At least fifty servers in the crowded kitchen, moving quickly, relaying and taking curt orders from the sous chefs. Pots and pans clanged and cutlery clinked on ceramic plates. It was controlled chaos with various odors permeating the air

The background noise will help drown my voice to some extent. I don’t know how Khan sounds.

Zeb went to a white-aproned chef who seemed to be in charge. He was holding a pad and rapping out instructions. ‘Janab, the front desk told me that Azhar and Raza have to be at the same table.’

Please let him not know me well.

‘Hamid, where have you been?’ the man barely glanced at him. ‘Mastan, pour that chai properly. Don’t spill it. Iqbal, what are you doing? Arrange those bottles neatly. Hamid, what were you saying?’

‘Azhar and Raza have to be seated together.’

‘Now? At this last minute?’

‘That’s what they told me.’

‘Go quickly, then. Change the name boards. They’ll start entering any moment.’

‘Which tables are they on?’

‘DON’T YOU KNOW? YOU LAID OUT THE NAMES.’

‘I forgot, janab. There’s so much happening.’

‘You and I need to talk when this is over. You’ve been getting sloppy … They are on tables nine and twelve. Swap them in any way and return immediately.’

Zeb rushed out.

Twelve was deeper in the room and closer to the double doors. Raza was on it.

He brought Azhar’s name card to the table, placed it next to Raza’s chair, and swapped the other name with table nine.

He returned to the kitchen just as the doors opened and officers filed in.

‘Hamid!’ the chef whispered harshly, ‘take your tray and be ready.’

Zeb took one of the drinks trays from the shelf and joined the line of servers who were ready to enter the event room

He heard announcements from outside. Applause.

‘Where were you all this time?’ the server in front of him hissed.

‘One of the officers was talking to me.’

‘What about?’

‘We are from the same village.’

‘You were talking on such a busy night? The boss should fire you.’

‘He might.’ Zeb pretended to be miserable.

The chef swung the doors open and jerked his head forward.

The servers streamed out, going to the various tables and started serving drinks.

How do I do this? Zeb hustled to twelve and watched some of the servers go about their work in their peripheral vision. Okay, that looks easy enough.

Azhar and Raza were there, the ISI head to the colonel’s right. He was making small talk but didn’t seem to be happy.

He must have been expecting to be seated at the front.

‘Juice, sir?’ Zeb asked over his shoulder.

Azhar nodded without looking at him and continued talking to Raza, who was nodding.

The brigadier colonel had a small notepad in front of him and was scribbling on it and showing it to the ISI chief.

That’s how he’s responding to the conversation.

Zeb filled their glasses, going around the table, thankful that the officers’ attention was riveted on the dais as the MC made several jokes.

He rushed to the kitchen when laughter rang out, took another filled tray, and returned to twelve.

‘Janab,’ he whispered in Raza’s ear discreetly. ‘The reception wants you. Some urgent matter. I am to take you there.’

Raza turned around with a quizzical expression.

‘I don’t know what it’s about, janab. They said they can’t call you. Phone calls are not allowed here, but they said it is very urgent.’

Zeb smiled briefly at Azhar who was looking on curiously.

He stepped back when Raza pushed his chair back and led him out of the room.

No officers at the check-in desk. The corridor was empty except for an armed guard who straightened and saluted the colonel.

‘Over here, janab,’ Zeb indicated the smaller hallway.

Raza made a surprised noise and made to go straight to the lobby.

Zeb glanced to his left and to his right. No one watching them.

He grabbed Raza’s collar, punched him hard in the belly and dragged him to the out-of-order bathroom and before the colonel could straighten, smashed his head against the marble slab repeatedly until the man lay still.

Zeb laid him out on the floor swiftly and locked the bathroom door from inside.

He secured Raza and dragged him to another stall and locked him in it.

He went to Khan’s stall. The man was conscious. Watching him in alarm. Trying to kick free, but the binding on his legs was tight.

Zeb choke-holded him again to knock him out and went to his backpack, where he removed a brigadier-colonel’s uniform carefully.

He undressed and wore it.

He removed the cheek pads and nose and extracted a face mask from his backpack. Adjusted it carefully, pressing deep so that its edges would pass for wrinkles in the skin, and studied himself.

Brigadier Colonel Asad Raza looked back at him.

He went to the colonel’s stall, removed his nameplate, and stuck it on his own chest.

Lucky, both Khan and Raza have short hair. There’s not much styling for me to do.

He adjusted his belt, smoothed the uniform, and checked himself one last time.

He would pass.

The lighting in the event room is dim. That will help.

He went out of the bathroom, made sure the sign hung right and marched back as the colonel.

This might be the only time I impersonate a Pakistani officer.

72

‘Everything okay?’ Azhar murmured when he sat down.

Zeb nodded. Felt sweat trickle down his neck and hoped that the ISI chief wouldn’t notice it.

He took the notepad and examined Raza’s scrawl. No way I can copy that handwriting.

WE NEED TO TALK, he wrote in caps. LET’S GO OUT IN A FEW MINUTES. THERE’S SOMEONE WHO YOU SHOULD MEET.

‘What’s this about?’ Azhar asked sharply.

A few officers around the table looked at them.

Zeb smiled politely.

NOT HERE. NOT NOW. NATIONAL SECURITY. DO YOU KNOW WHEN THE COFFEE BREAK IS?’

‘In ten minutes.’

WE SHOULD GO BEFORE THE BREAK OTHERWISE IT WILL BE CROWDED. WE WON’T HAVE PRIVACY.

Azhar nodded.

Zeb sat, feeling more sweat break out on his face and trickle down his back.

Let Azhar think I am nervous about what I’m going to tell him.

He looked around casually as he took a sip. I’m surrounded by the most senior officers in Pakistan’s armed forces. All of them have handguns on them. They won’t hesitate to shoot if they know who I am. He put his glass down and wiped his palms against his thighs, beneath the table.

He glanced at Azhar, nodded discreetly, and got to his feet.

Action time.

73

‘What’s this about?’ Azhar snapped, catching up with him in the corridor.

Zeb put a finger to his lips and jerked his head towards the guard, who stiffened when they went past him.

He lengthened his stride.

‘Asad, tell me what’s going on,’ Azhar exclaimed. ‘Have you found something about terrorists? Is it RAW? Is something going on at the border?’

Zeb ignored him. Made a show of checking the lobby carefully before shaking his head. He darted into the smaller hallway, towards the bathroom.

‘Asad, stop right now. I won’t move⁠—’

Zeb looked behind him. The corridor was clear. The bathroom was just a few feet away.

He slapped Azhar hard and in the momentary shock that followed, caught his uniform, yanked him inside the bathroom and locked it.

He slammed the ISI chief against the door and slapped him again. ‘That India operation is all your doing. You lied about Khalil. You sent another hitter to get rid of Kazmi⁠—’

‘WHAT ARE YOU TALKING AB⁠—’

Azhar broke off in a choking gasp when Zeb throat-jabbed him.

He dry-retched and heaved and gasped and then straightened slowly. ‘Asad, what has happened to you?’ He panted. ‘How are you even able to talk …’

His eyes narrowed. His gaze sharpened. ‘You aren’t Asad,’ he whispered.

Zeb removed the face mask.

‘Carter!’ Azhar’s eyes widened.

His hand darted to his holstered gun.

Zeb knuckle-punched him in the throat again.

The ISI man ducked and charged with a roar.

Zeb, anticipating the move, side-stepped, caught him around the waist and smashed his head against the marble.

He kicked Azhar’s feet from beneath him and held him against the hard surface with only his hand at the man’s waist holding the ISI chief up. ‘I can kill you and walk out of here. No one will know you’re dead for hours, by when I would have escaped. Or, you can tell me the truth.’

‘You can’t get away⁠—’

Zeb slammed his head down again. ‘I have time. I’ll keep doing this. I’ll break your nose and your mouth first and then I’ll destroy your eyes.’

He released Azhar’s head briefly, punched him hard in the side and caught his hair before the ISI man could react.

‘Your choice,’ he said harshly, above Azhar’s groan.

‘I don’t know what you are talking about.’ The ISI chief tried to twist, but Zeb held him down, against the marble, blood from his forehead streaming on the surface.

‘You sent someone to kill Kazmi in hospital.’

‘I DIDN’T⁠—’

‘Keep shouting if you want to die.’

‘I didn’t send anyone,’ Azhar snarled. ‘I don’t know where Khalil is. I told you the truth.’

‘You aren’t going to do this easily, are you?’

Zeb unsnapped Azhar’s hip holster and freed his gun. He jammed it against the man’s groin.

‘WAIT!’ the Pakistani yelped. ‘I AM TELLING THE TRUTH.’

Zeb waited a beat and then yanked him up savagely and threw him against the wall.

Azhar grunted and fell to the floor. His forehead was split. His lips were bloody. His eyes blazed with fury, however, as he slumped on the floor.

‘Who’s this, then?’ Zeb showed him Hamid Qureshi’s photograph on his phone. ‘He caught a PIA flight to India a few months ago. Hamid Qureshi. You sent him. He must be running some other operation. When we captured Kazmi, you sent him to kill him at the hospital⁠—’

‘He’s not my agent!’

Zeb paused. He registered Azhar’s words. ‘Whose is he then?’

The ISI chief smiled through his broken teeth. ‘You don’t know, do you?’

Zeb crashed the gun’s barrel against his lips, breaking several teeth. ‘If I knew, why would I be here?’

Azhar groaned and spat blood on the floor. He straightened slowly. ‘We are looking for that man, too. He’s not Hamid Qureshi. His name is Parvez Dara.’

Zeb felt shock race through him. That name … it sounds⁠—

Azhar smiled wickedly at his expression. ‘Yes, Carter. You guessed right.’

74

Zeb bound Azhar and threw him in the third stall.

He went to the sink and washed his face and hands. Applied the mask and inspected himself.

He cleaned the sink and the marble slab and dried himself on a fluffy towel.

Checked on Azhar in the stall, who glowered balefully. ‘Look on the bright side. You’re still alive.’

He went out of the bathroom and strode confidently to the lobby. Thought he heard a sound from behind and glanced back. Nothing.

He entered the lobby, holding his breath. Civilians and a few military personnel on couches and at the reception desk.

He moved through them, the crowd parting as if he was royalty. In Pakistan, a senior army officer is royalty, he chuckled inwardly.

Ran through his moves in his mind. Go out of the hotel. Get my car and drive to the airport.

‘STOP HIM!’ a voice yelled.

Zeb looked back.

Azhar! How did he get free?

Gasps and shouts broke from the people in the lobby at the sight of the ISI chief’s bloodied figure stumbling into the lobby.

Zeb hurried to the door. He couldn’t run. That would give him away. No one had reacted yet to Azhar’s shout.

He dug into his pocket desperately for his phone. He had to convey Azhar’s revelations to his team.

Twenty feet to the glass doors and to freedom.

His phone was in his hand.

He looked down to unlock it, his fingers slipping on the smooth surface.

‘STOP HIM! HE IS A TERRORIST. HE’S NOT AN ARMY OFFICER!’

People threw themselves away. Someone shouted at him.

Zeb gave up the pretense and charged towards the door.

A woman screamed.

‘SURRENDER!’ another voice shouted.

Zeb got his palm to the door. He pushed it open.

A body crashed into him and brought him down. His phone slipped and fell on the carpet.

A soldier stamped his head and another officer caught his hands, twisted them around his back and zip-tied him.

Azhar crouched next to him, felt his face, and ripped the mask away. ‘You are mine, now.’

75

Zeb lunged towards his phone, despite the men restraining him, and got a few inches closer to it.

‘Unlock,’ he grunted hoarsely.

Werner recognized his voice and unlocked it.

‘Send message. Beth, Meg, Qureshi is⁠—’

Azhar’s boot stamped into the side of his head.

Zeb’s vision swam. His ears rang. He groaned, his head falling to the carpet.

Azhar snarled at him. ‘You thought you could come into Pakistan, to this event, impersonate Asad, torture me and get away?’

He drew his leg back to kick.

Zeb saw the blow coming, tried to roll his head back with it but was tightly restrained by soldiers who had a knee on his back and held his hands and legs down.

Azhar’s boot crashed into his mouth.

Zeb managed to turn his face at the last moment by a few degrees.

That helped.

The boot crashed into his cheek, scraping his skin, the heel gouging his ear.

He shouted as fire lanced through him and dropped his face to the carpet to hide it from the ISI chief. If he sees he missed my mouth, he’ll go again, he thought dimly.

He heard officers shouting orders, a few civilians yell back, a woman sobbing and someone yelling at her.

He moaned when someone grabbed his hair and turned his head up. Felt blood stream from his cut cheek to spread across his lips.

Azhar, face still bloodied, eyes alight, bent to pick his phone up and brought it to his face. ‘We’ll extract everything from this.’

‘Good luck with that,’ Zeb managed to sneer. It came out as weakly as an officer kicked him in the belly.

He dry-heaved and shuddered from another blow.

Saw the ISI chief frown at his phone. ‘TURN IT ON!’ he raged.

‘It’s … dead,’ Zeb panted. All the operatives’ phones were designed to self-erase if anyone other than the eight of them handled one. Werner knew their grips, their prints, had their biometric data, and activated wipe-out when anyone else took the devices.

Azhar kicked him in the chest. ‘TAKE HIM TO THE POLICE LINES STATION,’ he shouted. ‘I’ll interrogate him there myself.’

That’s where Islamabad Police headquarters is. Zeb remembered. He felt himself lifted off the ground. Blood dripped from his cheek and fell onto the carpet.

He got a glimpse of civilians crowded in the lobby, held back by a cordon of armed soldiers, all of them watching the spectacle.

Looks like the charity event is forgotten. He managed to smirk.

He was carried out and dumped into the back of a police van. Four soldiers climbed inside and arranged themselves on bench seats on either side of him.

Zeb glimpsed Azhar climb into a SUV.

‘Watch out for his friends. He wouldn’t have come alone. Find out how he entered the country,’ he heard the ISI chief say, and then the van’s doors slammed shut.

Zeb lay face down on the floor of the van as it fired up and drove out of the hotel’s estate.

A rubber mat beneath his face, smelling of dirt and many other odors that he didn’t care to analyze.

Two soldiers’ boots in front of him. The stocks of their rifles planted on the mat.

Bitterness filled him, momentarily drowning out the hurt from his injuries. I should have informed Beth and Meg in the bathroom itself. I failed.

Zeb allowed himself ten minutes of self-recrimination as the van raced through the city and then his training took over.

Azhar will torture me.

That was a fact. I humiliated him. He’ll want revenge. He’ll also want to extract everything I know.

I will break at some point.

That too was a fact. Everyone spilled, ultimately. It was only in Hollywood that the valiant hero never broke.

I’ll have to draw it out as long as possible.

He didn’t expect his team to come to the rescue.

They can’t. Azhar will seal up Pakistan. Clare will negotiate for my release, but Azhar might deny he has me. No, I’ll have to work out my escape myself.

Which is practically impossible, his cold, rational self told him.

Zeb tightened his lips and winced when the move sent a flare of agony through his cheek.

I’m going to die in a police cell in Islamabad.

He didn’t mind dying. He had accepted that a long time ago, that he would end up shot and killed in some hostile region.

That white-picket-fence and two kids … that dream vanished when my wife and kid were killed.

The hole in him had never filled and he had never engaged in any relationship thereafter. His team became his family and he was content with that.

It was failure that hurt.

I should have sent that message in the hotel itself, he gritted his teeth furiously.

‘Who is he?’ he heard one soldier ask.

‘I heard he is some American agent,’ another replied.

‘Why’s he wearing Colonel Raza’s uniform?’

‘That’s how he got into the event, you fool. Didn’t you see the mask he was wearing? These Americans are very clever.’

The van took a sharp turn.

Zeb rolled with the move and came up against the soldiers’ legs.

One of them kicked him away.

He grunted and then was flung at their legs when the van swerved violently.

Sounds of tearing metal. Raised voices. The soldiers gripping grab handles and shouting at the driver.

The van’s side caved in.

Zeb reared up to smash his head in a soldier’s belly.

Another soldier clubbed his head.

He fell back to the mat.

His vision turned hazy, dark.

He heard shooting. More shouting. Sirens in the distance and then the doors swung open and shots rang out in the closed space.

A hand on his shoulder, yanking him out.

And then he knew.

Only two people had that kind of strength.

He blacked out.

76

Bwana carried Zeb gently, swiftly to the ambulance.

He was masked, a body suit covering him from head to toe with POLICE stenciled across his armor.

‘Is he okay?’ Another hooded figure came to him.

‘He’d better be,’ Bwana growled as he strapped Zeb on the floor and made him as comfortable as possible.

He checked out the scene.

They were on Marvi Road, in sector F-7 of Islamabad. The street was blocked off by police cruisers on either side of the crash with masked SWAT officers.

Two trucks, coming out of Street 52, had taken out the front and rear vehicles of Azhar’s convoy, crumpling them with the force of the collision.

Police officers had jumped out of the trucks and poured lead into them, killing most of the soldiers.

Bwana had driven the third truck himself, crushing the van, sending it sideways against the curb.

He had aimed the impact deliberately, in the middle of the van, to create maximum damage to the vehicle and the soldiers inside.

More police officers had swooped onto the van to finish the soldiers in the cab and in the rear.

‘Go,’ the masked man told him. ‘We don’t have much time. The real police will work out we’ve impersonated them. Azhar’s men will soon realize they’ve lost contact with their boss. All those officers at Khan Palace will be alerted.’

‘I owe you.’ Bwana fist-bumped him.

‘Nah! You folks have done much more for me. This was a good workout for my team. They were complaining they were getting rusty. I’ll follow you to the airport and provide cover if needed.’

Bwana watched a ‘police officer’ change plates on the ambulance as well as the masked man’s official-looking SUV. ‘One moment.’

He went to the rear vehicle in the convoy and leaned over the shattered window.

Azhar, woozy from the impact, glass splinters on his face, bleeding lips and forehead, stirred. He blinked and reacted in alarm, reaching for his holstered gun.

‘Don’t kill him,’ the masked man warned.

Bwana was sorely tempted. His hands itched to empty his Glock in the ISI chief’s body.

He slapped the man instead, reached inside, removed his gun, and tossed it behind him.

He brought out a pen and scribbled on Azhar’s chest.

We can get you whenever we want.

77

Bwana went full EMT mode. Wailing siren and lights as he sped through sector F-7 and out of it, towards Islamabad International Airport.

‘Incoming package. Hot exit,’ he called Cory to say.

‘Copy,’ the pilot replied.

Bwana checked his rearview and side mirrors. The fake police SUV was following closely, its lights flashing too, clearing traffic.

‘My police scanner is squawking.’ The masked man laughed in his earpiece. ‘They’re trying to figure out what happened.’

‘Your fighters?’

‘They got away. I’ve four with me. We’ll ditch the vehicle and our clothing as soon as you enter the airport. We’ll become civilians.’

‘Someone might recognize you.’

‘I visit the airport several times. I have a legitimate business to run. Don’t worry about me.’

Bwana didn’t. His ally had been embedded in Pakistan for a long while.

He neared the airport and lowered his sun visor to make it harder for those outside to look into his cab.

Took the cargo exit, used his pass to raise the automatic barriers and blasted through the large hangar, and beyond it was the Boeing.

Zeb was still unconscious.

He clenched his jaw and carried his friend easily towards the aircraft. Up the airstairs.

Cory and Jerry with concerned expressions at the entrance.

‘Let’s roll,’ Bwana said tersely.

‘Copy,’ Cory replied. ‘We’ve already informed the flight tower. Nothing’s holding us back.’

Jerry hustled down the aisle, adjusted three seats to turn them into a makeshift bed, and helped Bwana lay Zeb on them.

They strapped him in with belts and then, as the Boeing taxied onto the runway, Bwana attended to his friend.

78

Zeb came to with his cheek against soft leather.

He lay still, kept his eyes closed and reached out with his senses.

I’m in an aircraft. Hands and legs are free. Seat belt across my waist and chest.

Which meant he was in a friendly airplane. Probably the Boeing.

It was quiet inside except for the background hum of the AC.

He opened his eyes a fraction.

He was in a row of seats configured into a bed. To the left of the central aisle.

A looming figure in the seat across from him.

Bwana.

His friend was looking out of the window, unaware he was awake. Dressed in a white tee over jeans, relaxed, but Zeb knew that his friend could exude menace with just a frown.

‘How long have I been out?’ he rasped.

Bwana turned. His slow smile was like the sunrise. ‘Three hours. How are you feeling?’

‘Like I’ve been through a washer and dryer.’

‘The good news is that you have no broken bones. Even the cuts on your face aren’t deep. They’ll heal. We should get your head scanned⁠—’

‘We shouldn’t,’ Zeb said firmly. ‘We’ll do that when we’re back home.’

Bwana shook his head but kept silent as he reached over to unbuckle the belts and help Zeb to a sitting position.

Zeb felt the dressing on his cheek and winced at the dull throb.

‘It might leave a scar.’ Bwana brought him a glass of water. ‘But that’ll only add to your looks. Give you character.’

If he’s already started with the snark, there’s nothing wrong with me. Zeb swallowed the painkillers his friend offered. Bwana left and returned with a tray of juice and food piled on it.

‘You?’ he asked with his mouth full.

‘I had something.’

‘What’s the bad news?’

‘I left Azhar alive.’

Zeb choked on his food, swallowed, and laughed. He finished his meal, drank the juice, and lay back against his seat. ‘Explain.’

‘Beth and Meg. They forced me to follow you.’

‘Forced you.’

‘Yeah,’ Bwana chuckled.

More likely Roger and he would have tailed me in any case. Zeb smiled.

‘I took the commercial class route.’ Bwana gestured at the aircraft. ‘Posed as a medical student from Nigeria, who’s studying in India, attending a conference in Islamabad.’

‘You, a student?’

‘You haven’t heard of adult learning? Beth and Meg arranged the paperwork that got me through Islamabad’s immigration. And then I contacted Jeff. He has these fighters⁠—’

‘Pashtuns.’ Zeb nodded. ‘I’ve met a few of them.’

‘He gathered thirty of them. Arranged fake police vehicles and then we monitored the police scanner. It was dead easy after that.’

It wasn’t. Zeb knew. Arranging the takedown at the last minute, closing off the street … that took a lot of phone calls, nervous energy, and luck!

‘You really think we would have left you as their prisoner?’ Bwana growled.

‘Azhar would have the entire country looking for you,’ Zeb said weakly. ‘It would be impossible for you⁠—’

‘Pshaw! Impossible is just a word,’ Bwana scoffed. ‘We would have turned the country inside out and left a trail of bodies to free you.’

Zeb believed him. He caught Bwana’s hands and squeezed hard.

‘What did you find?’

Zeb turned grim. ‘That India shouldn’t trust its allies.’

79

Delhi

It was three am when they landed in Delhi and taxied to the VIP terminal.

Zeb rocked back on his heels when Beth slammed into him and hugged him hard. He nuzzled her hair, high-fived Meghan and the rest of his team, and followed them to a waiting SUV.

Bwana narrated the rescue and drew a laugh when he got to the scribble on Azhar’s chest.

‘No, go to shotgun,’ the older sister ordered him when they approached their rides and got behind the wheel.

‘There’s nothing wrong with me,’ Zeb grouched but climbed in the seat and belted up. ‘Where are we going?’

‘To meet Mathur.’

‘This late?’

‘It’s not for her.’

They drove up at a luxurious five-star hotel in Chanakyapuri and went up its gleaming elevators.

To a large suite on the top floor.

Mathur and Meera’s team waiting for them.

The RAW chief in a frilled shirt over dark trousers with a blazer to complete. Her silvery hair immaculately styled as usual. Nothing about her to show she had been awake all night.

Meera inspected Zeb critically and hugged him cautiously, and then harder when he told her he wouldn’t break. Her team shook his hand or patted him on the back.

‘Looks like you had a long conversation with Azhar, Mr. Carter,’ Mathur said drily.

That broke the serious mood.

‘You could say that, ma’am,’ he chuckled and quickly recounted the events at Khan Palace.

She frowned. ‘I don’t get it. That hotel must have good security. Their cameras didn’t see you take the server or Raza to the bathroom?’

‘We captured their cameras, ma’am, and played an old feed in a loop.’ Beth suppressed a grin.

‘From here?’

‘The hotel’s security is good. Top-notch. But …’ she trailed off.

‘Go on, be smug,’ Mathur sighed.

Beth grinned.

‘What about appearances.’ The RAW chief frowned and then her forehead cleared. ‘You didn’t know which hotel employee you would impersonate so you couldn’t print a mask.’

‘Yes.’ Zeb nodded.

‘What if you hadn’t found that server or someone else who looked like you?

‘I would have found a way to get into the event room and seat Azhar and Raza together. I would have then used my fake CTD card to get Raza out of the room.’

She considered him for a long moment. ‘You’re lucky to be alive.’

‘Yes, and I have good friends.’

Bwana bowed.

‘So, who is it? Who’s this killer?’ Beth asked impatiently.

‘Parvez Dara.’

A moment of silence.

Meghan got to it first. ‘That name sounds … Iranian!’

‘He is,’ Zeb confirmed.

80

‘Iran!’ Mathur exclaimed over the side-conversations. ‘That doesn’t make sense. India is one of their big trading partners. We were one of their largest oil customers. Why would that country be active here? Was Azhar telling the truth?’

‘He was, ma’am.’ Zeb smiled grimly, recollecting his interrogation.

‘Dara is IRGC?’ Meera asked sharply.

‘No. Worse. Quds Force.’

A longer silence while his people and the RAW teams digested it.

Quds Force was part of IRGC, Islamic Revolutionary Guards Corps, which itself was part of Iran’s Armed Forces.

IRGC’s responsibility was to protect the country’s way of life, and over time its role had broadened to such an extent that it wielded enormous political influence and touched daily lives.

Quds Force reported directly to the Supreme Leader and carried out cross-border operations.

‘It’s a terrorist organization!’ Meera said bitterly.

‘Yeah,’ Roger drawled. ‘Our State Department has designated it as just that. An FTO. A Foreign Terrorist Organization. They support many other terrorist groups such as the Islamic Jihad and either carry out direct attacks in other countries and the West, or sponsor them.’

‘Quds Force is working with Khalil?’

‘Looks like it … or at least Dara is,’ Zeb replied.

‘How does Azhar know of Dara?’ Mathur demanded.

‘ISI identified him from surveillance photographs. They were monitoring rebel groups in the country and spotted him. They tracked him back to arriving in the country on an Iran Air flight. Azhar thinks Dara directed the recent IRGC strikes against a terrorist group in Pakistan.’

The news had flashed on every TV screen and newspaper in the world.

Iran had precision-struck a building in a Pakistan village close to the Iranian border. The operation had taken out several terrorists who that country held responsible for carrying out attacks in Iranian cities.

In retaliation, Pakistan had launched air strikes on Iranian villages close to the Pakistan border.

The world held its breath for a few days wondering if an all-out war would ensue.

Diplomatic efforts from both sides had, however, prevented any escalation.

‘Why didn’t Azhar share that with us when he was here?’

‘He gave us Khalil. To him, that was the end of his responsibility.’

‘You should have hurt him more,’ Irfan said viciously.

‘Why did Dara hook up with Khalil?’ Mathur frowned. ‘Where is he? What’s his objective? What else did Azhar tell you?’

‘Nothing, ma’am’ Zeb spread his hands helplessly. ‘He was stubborn. I had to force Dara’s identity out of him. I was also running out of time. I had to get away before someone came looking for him and Raza.’

Mathur took it calmly. ‘You have a recording of his interrogation?’

‘Yes, ma’am. Button camera.’

‘Can you share it with me?’

‘Yes, ma’am,’ Meghan responded.

‘Go, take rest,’ Mathur told them.

‘That’s it, ma’am?’ Meera asked her, puzzled. ‘We need to get whatever ISI has on Dara.’

‘I’ll get it.’ The RAW chief smiled enigmatically.

81

Mathur reached the Prime Minister’s Office at ten am.

She had chosen a dark-red sari with a black border and a matching blouse. Open-toed sandals, and a discreet designer handbag.

Power dressing helped women in India’s patriarchal political system.

Chauhan’s secretary escorted her to the prime minister’s office.

‘Come, Anjali,’ the country’s head greeted her as he finished signing a few files and handed them to a waiting aide. ‘What have we done to Iran that they are instigating terrorism in our country?’

‘I haven’t found an answer to that, sir.’

‘They are annoyed that we stopped buying their oil and are now buying from Russia?’

‘We stopped importing their oil several years ago. They should have started these attacks then, not now. In fact, we are negotiating with them right now on a possible oil deal. Their trade delegation is here, in Delhi.’

‘Yes, I’m being regularly briefed on that. What do you propose?’

‘You have the call lined up, sir?’

‘Yes.’

‘Let’s do it.’

‘Prime Minister Hussain, this is Parmeshwar Singh Chauhan. A very good morning to you, sir,’ the Indian leader boomed into the mic. ‘You are on speaker, sir. I have Anjali Mathur with me.’

‘Good morning, Prime Minister, and Ms. Mathur. I have Lieutenant General Jamil Azhar with me as you requested. This is a very unusual call, Prime Minister. Your secretary didn’t mention the agenda, but since we are such close neighbors, I accepted it and convinced Jamil to join.’

‘Prime Minister Chauhan,’ Azhar burst out, ‘I demand an apology from your country. Your agents entered Islamabad and carried out attacks. They assaulted me. I am lucky to be alive. Prime Minister Hussain, we should bring this up in the United Nations. We should file a case against India in the International Court of Justice. No country has attacked me in the manner India did.’

Mathur stifled a smile while Chauhan doodled on a pad.

‘Have you finished, General?’ The Indian Prime Minister asked politely when Azhar ran out of breath. ‘I haven’t heard of these attacks, sir. There was some news on TV about some incident in Islamabad yesterday in which several soldiers were killed. You were there⁠—’

‘Don’t try to play innocent⁠—’

‘General,’ Chauhan said firmly. ‘Please don’t forget whom you are talking to. I don’t like anyone to raise their voice at me and I am sure Prime Minister Hussain wouldn’t want anyone in his team to shout at a foreign leader.’

Mathur marveled at how smoothly Chauhan had drawn the Pakistan leader in his reprimand. Hussain will have no choice but to agree. He’s not going to say it’s okay for Azhar to yell at us.

She leaned forward at Chauhan’s gesture. ‘As for your accusations, General, no Indian operative from any agency or from our armed forces carried out those attacks. I can vouch for that.’

‘I never said it was an Indian agent,’ Azhar snarled. ‘You know who it is.’

‘I really don’t, sir.’ She smiled.

‘It was Zeb Carter! He was with you when I met him. You sent him to Islamabad.’

‘Mr. Carter is not an Indian agent, sir. I have no control over him. He was with us because he too was attacked at Red Fort and he’s working with us to find out where Khalil is. I did not know he was in Islamabad. He does not report to me and I don’t track his movements.’

‘He shot Khalil in Libya⁠—’

‘General,’ Mathur cut in coldly. ‘I don’t know how it works between you and Prime Minister Hussain, but in India, Prime Minister Chauhan isn’t read into all our missions. There is need to know. I’m going to end this call if you’re going to reveal confidential details. Our two leaders can talk to one another in our absence.’

Azhar breathed harshly but didn’t comment.

‘What did you want to discuss, Prime Minister Chauhan?’ Hussain asked mildly.

‘We want everything ISI has on a man, Parvez Dara. Your agency thinks he’s Quds Force. He’s in India. He’s a Person of Interest in the recent attacks in India. He might even be directing Khalil and his cell,’ the Indian leader briefed.

‘Jamil, that seems a reasonable request,’ Hussain told the ISI chief.

‘Janab, I went to India at your request. I met Mathur and gave her all that we have on Khalil’s cell. We don’t have anything on this man Dara and even if we did, we wouldn’t share it. RAW isn’t a friendly agency.’

‘India is our closest neighbor. Historically our relations with that country haven’t been great. I want to change that. Please share that file.’

‘No, janab⁠—’

‘Lieutenant General Azhar, that wasn’t a request.’

‘Sir, even you cannot interfere in the workings of ISI.’

Drop the hammer, Mathur scribbled on a pad and slid it to Chauhan.

‘Prime Minister Hussain,’ the Indian leader began warmly. ‘I’m not sure if you are aware of this, but Dara is a suspected Quds Force operative. He had a hand in the Iranian strikes on Pakistan. In fact, he was based in your country for a while.’

Mathur smiled at the long silence at the other end of the call. Azhar can’t deny it because he knows Zeb relayed everything to us. He’ll be humiliated if I play the recording.

‘Why am I hearing this for the first time, Jamil?’ Hussain’s voice rose.

‘Need to know, janab.’

‘Need to know applies to other operations, General. Not when a foreign agent is active in our country, bombing our own people. I have heard enough. Send this man’s file to India.’

‘No, janab⁠—’

‘Prime Minister Hussain,’ Chauhan interrupted. ‘You might not be aware, but your ISI head has been conspiring with your military generals. They are plotting to overthrow you. A military coup. We believe the only reason they haven’t acted sooner is because world politics aren’t in their favor. America would condemn their actions very strongly. We too would cut off all relations with Pakistan if that happened. We don’t like democratically-elected leaders replaced by generals⁠—’

‘HE’S LYING, SIR⁠—’

‘Let him speak,’ Hussain told the ISI head coldly.

‘What the generals don’t know, sir,’ Chauhan continued, ‘is that Azhar is betraying them, too. He’s a trustee on Pakistan’s Armed Forces Pensions Board. He’s been siphoning off money for years to an account in the Cayman Islands. He’s paid for his son’s education in America through that account. We have proof, sir. I’ll send you a confidential file.’

Another long silence and then Hussain broke it. ‘General, you have anything to say to that?’ His voice was even.

He’s smart. He must have suspected about the coup plotting, Mathur guessed.

Azhar didn’t respond.

‘Send that file to Mathur right away. Ma’am, please let me know if you don’t get it.’

‘Yes, sir,’ she confirmed.

‘Prime Minister Chauhan,’ the Pakistan leader continued. ‘An unusual request, sir. I would like to invite myself on an official visit to India. I think it would look good in both our countries⁠—’

‘Prime Minister,’ the Indian leader said warmly, ‘I was going to invite you but didn’t think this call was the appropriate moment. Of course, you should come. It will be a groundbreaking event and hopefully set our countries on a new path. I’ll get my people to talk to you.’

He beamed at Mathur when the call ended and shook her hand. ‘Very well played, Anjali.’

‘I’m learning politics from you, sir.’

‘I am not sure if that’s a compliment.’ He laughed. His humor faded. ‘We need to find out why Iran is involved. What their game is.’

‘We’re working on it, sir.’

‘You are convinced ISI has nothing to do with these killings?’

‘Yes.’

‘Who’s this Zeb Carter and what’s his role in all this?’

‘He leads an American covert team, sir. They were with my people at Red Fort. They too are lucky to have survived.’

‘You never mentioned this before.’

‘The fewer people who know about them, the better, sir.’

‘They are good friends?’

‘Very.’

‘Carter went to Pakistan and attacked Azhar?’

‘I don’t know anything about that, sir,’ Mathur said blandly.

Chauhan blinked and then nodded. ‘Need to know?’

‘Yes, sir.’

Islamabad

Azhar rose stiffly when the call ended. ‘I’ll hand in my resignation today, janab.’

Hussain stared at him, astonished. ‘But I didn’t ask for it. Why would you do that?’

The ISI chief gestured at the speaker-phone. ‘You heard what the Indians said.’

‘Yes, but I want you to stay. I insist on it.’

Hussain smiled at the confused look on Azhar’s face. ‘Because now, I own you.’

82

Delhi

‘There’s not much here.’ Meera pushed back in her rolling chair and made a face.

Twelve pm. An anonymous office in a business center near Connaught Place.

She had set it up, using one of the slush fund accounts RAW worked with.

The paperwork said the office was leased by an international management consultancy, which was good cover for Zeb’s team’s accents.

‘Yeah.’ Beth stretched. ‘Any chance Azhar sent us a sanitized file?’

Zeb flicked through Dara’s photographs on the digital record that the ISI head had sent over. The file had his images, his movements in the country, and long-range photographs of his meeting with other people. Beth and Meg must have run those folks through Werner and come up empty. ‘There are phone numbers and bank accounts.’

‘Burners,’ Meghan snorted. ‘They are dead. The bank accounts are in Pakistan. Not much help to us here, unless …’ she trailed off and fired commands to Werner. ‘I got it to check out incomings and outgoings,’ she told watching Agency and RAW teams. ‘That might lead us to an Indian account that Dara is using.’

‘I’ve gotten our AI to scan all camera feeds we have.’ Meera massaged the back of her neck. ‘No luck there either. We have just that one image of him at the airport.’

‘And at AIIMS,’ Zeb reminded her.

‘Yes, but we don’t know where he went from there. No forensics in his getaway car. We found that Hyundai too. Khalil’s escape vehicle from Gurgaon. No clues in it, either.’

‘Back to square one?’

They stood up at Mathur’s voice. She had entered unobserved and stood near the door.

‘Feels like it, boss,’ Meera said disgustedly.

‘You should stand down.’

‘What? Boss, what are you talking about?’

‘I worked out why the Iranians might be targeting you.’

‘Why?’

‘Because of Yemen.’

83

Zeb frowned. Yemen? What’s Mathur referring to?

‘Clare didn’t read you in?’ the RAW chief asked him.

‘No, ma’am.’

‘Boss, the office is secure. We sweep it thrice a day. We have mic and image cancellation at the windows as well,’ Meera said when Mathur looked at the ceiling.

Devices that emitted white noise to foil long-range surveillance. Another set of gadgets generated virtual AI images, invisible to the naked eye, that fooled cameras into thinking those false holograms were the actual occupants in the office.

‘Consider yourself read in, then.’ She smiled briefly, took the beverage cup that Lavi handed over and sipped. ‘You know the Houthi attacks on shipping in the Suez Canal?’

‘Yes, ma’am,’ Zeb replied. ‘Everyone knows of them.’

Houthi rebels in Yemen had commenced attacking ships passing through the Red Sea. Red Sea and onward to Suez Canal. That’s the shortest route for commercial vessels between Europe and Asia. Zeb knew the region well.

‘They’re claiming their attacks are in support of Gaza,’ Mathur continued. ‘Regardless of their motives, their actions have badly affected cargo shipping. Containers are now forced to take the longer route, around Africa. Longer means⁠—’

‘More expensive,’ Prasad finished.

‘Correct. India is affected too. Our imports have become more expensive. The oil that we buy from Russia comes through that route. America has led a series of strikes, joined by Britain, against the Houthis, to keep those sea routes open. It looks like it will be an ongoing operation since those rebels are entrenched and aren’t stopping.’

Whoa! Zeb sat up, stunned, figuring out what she was leading to. ‘India is joining in those strikes?’

‘Yes, but not officially. India has always maintained a non-aligned position on major global events … but this one is hurting us financially. We are a major oil importer and higher oil prices impacts everything in our economy.’

‘What’s that got to do with Meera and …’ he trailed off when it came to him.

‘Yes.’ She smiled briefly. ‘Meera and Vikram will be on those strikes.’

84

Zeb digested it. This is a big move for India. Very big. ‘Those strikes are aerial, ma’am. What will Meera and Vikram do?’

‘They will be based on the USS Dwight D Eisenhower. Their cover is as embedded journalists associated with India’s largest media group. Only a handful of people will really know who they are.’

‘But what will they do, ma’am?’ Chloe repeated.

‘Share intel and observe,’ Meera responded before Mathur could.

‘That’s all we are prepared to do for now,’ Mathur added. ‘It isn’t a decision we have taken lightly. You are aware, India has rarely aligned with America or even with Russia. On Russia’s invasion of Ukraine, we have been strategically ambivalent.’ She made air quotes. ‘We haven’t called out Russia and have said sovereign territory, which means Ukraine, should be respected. With Gaza, our stance has been more pronounced.’

‘India has said Israel has the right to defend itself,’ Roger pointed out.

‘Yes, and our position makes sense if⁠—’

‘If viewed through the Kashmir lens,’ Chloe guessed.

‘Not just that, but our entire relationship with the Middle East. We were one of the first countries to recognize Palestine when it was formed. And despite our support of Israel, we also voted for the recent United Nations Resolution for a humanitarian ceasefire and release of all hostages.’

‘A balancing act can be tough.’ Broker grinned. ‘A few eggs might get broken.’

‘No omelet got made and all that …’ Mathur shrugged. ‘India is a big enough country to weather that. And—’ Her smile flashed. ‘We aren’t an invading country.’

Touché, Zeb acknowledged. He knew Broker had commented in jest and Mathur had taken it in the same spirit. ‘I still don’t get why Dara, Khalil and his cell are targeting only Vikram and Meera? Would you call off the operation if they succeeded?’

‘Yes. Because I won’t be sending anyone else if Meera and Vikram can’t go. It’s a no go if only one of them is available.’

‘Vikram—’

‘He’ll be on the operation whatever happens to his father. He confirmed that.’

‘The operation is a show of solidarity. Optics.’ Zeb worked it out. ‘That you, India, support the strikes.’

‘Yes. A balancing act, like Broker said.’

‘Which is why you’re sending your best operatives.’

‘Correct.’

‘Ma’am, you have a leak.’

‘Don’t I know it?’ she said frustratedly. ‘There’s no other way Dara would have known of Meera and Vikram’s role in the strikes.’

‘When are they going?’

‘When we find Khalil, and now, Dara. Which is why,’ she turned to Meera, ‘you should stand down. You can’t lead the hunt for Khalil. You’re too exposed.’

‘You’ll have to fire me, boss, to get me to quit.’

‘I don’t want to make the call to your mother and tell her you didn’t survive an attack.’

Meera flushed. ‘I don’t want to tell my mother I am home because I was scared for my life. She’ll throw me out of the house.’

Mathur’s lips twitched. ‘Do you have to deal with such stubbornness?’ she addressed Zeb.

‘Always,’ he sighed, looking at the twins and Chloe, who flipped him their middle fingers.

‘If you aren’t going to leave this operation,’ she told Meera with iron in her voice, ‘you know what to do.’

‘Yes, boss. Find Khalil and Dara.’

85

Khalil scoped out various markets. Khan Market, Chandni Chowk Market and several others.

He went on his own, with a cap low over his head and shades over his eyes, a camera slung around his neck.

A tourist.

He had thought about wearing a disguise, but his skin reacted allergically to any prosthetics and he had rejected the idea. I will avoid cameras, he told himself before entering the underground market of Palika Bazaar.

He roamed the busy market aimlessly, snapping photographs, fingering electronic gadgets, and making it look like he was a wide-eyed visitor to the capital city.

He noted the exits, came out and walked to Connaught Place.

He went around the Circles, stopped at a street-side vendor on Hanuman Road and ordered a lassi. He sipped the salty buttermilk preparation and looked around idly.

Nearly choked on his drink when he saw Carter emerge from a building less than a hundred yards away.

86

Khalil was an experienced operator. He knew sudden moves caught the attention of the alert.

Still, he couldn’t help looking over his shoulder to check if the rest of the Americans were holding guns on him.

Hanuman Road was a smaller street nestled between Kharak Singh Road and Sansad Marg, both of which radiated out from the Connaught Circus and went out into the city.

There wasn’t anyone interested in him.

He whipped around to see the American cross the road.

Carter was with three women. All looked Asian, but the ISI man knew who they were. Two of them are the twins. They’ve dyed their hair, but I know how they look. The third woman was Ranganathan.

Carter went out of sight when he led the women into a restaurant.

Khalil ordered another lassi, his mind racing. Should I call the man?

No, why should I. I’ll take out Carter … no, I can’t attack him directly. I didn’t see where they came from. Whatever building he’s in will have cameras. I can’t risk it.

No, I’ll bomb Palika Bazaar.

The man wanted him to bomb a market. He would do just that.

He smiled and the lassi vendor smiled back.

He would use a car bomb, powerful enough to damage several nearby buildings.

Carter and Ranganathan will escape and then I’ll follow them and finish them.

‘Rakh lo.’ Keep it. He told the vendor who was searching for change for the high denomination note Khalil had given him.

The ISI man checked out the restaurant Carter had gone in and surveyed the buildings opposite them. They were all office buildings.

He shrugged and glanced at his watch.

Three pm.

Enough time for the city to see a conflagration that would rival the sunset.

87

Meghan spluttered her juice. She wiped her mouth hastily, balled the paper towel and tossed it on the table. ‘Let’s go.’

‘What?’ Zeb exclaimed. ‘We’ve just started.’ He indicated the full plates that their server had brought.

‘Zeb. Carter. We. Have. To. Leave. Right. Now,’ she said through gritted teeth.

He looked at her. Took in the ferocious expression and stood up automatically. ‘Can you pack this in take-out boxes for us?’ He smiled at the server who nodded, went to the kitchen and returned with boxes.

He transferred the contents of their plates to the four boxes while Meera and the sisters spoke softly, glancing at Meghan’s phone. ‘What am I missing?’

The older twin showed him her screen.

A man sipping a drink at a juice stand.

Tariq Khalil. Seventy percent probability. Werner’s message on the image.

‘He’s here?’ Zeb asked, stunned.

‘Somewhere close by.’

He threw bills on the table to cover their orders and followed them out.

Slowed down and pretended to laugh when Meera cracked a joke.

Checked his peripheral vision.

No Khalil

Crossed the street.

A taxi honked angrily at him.

He waved his hand apologetically and cased the front of the office building.

No one who resembled the ISI killers or Dara.

They took the stairs, pounding up silently and when they were in the office, Beth and Meghan rushed to their larger screens.

The rest of the American and RAW operatives sensed their tension and gathered around them.

‘How did you get that photograph?’ Zeb asked.

‘Cameras,’ Meera said absent-mindedly. ‘We installed several on lampposts outside the office. Late at night, before occupying this office. Up to about half a kilometer on either side of this building.’

That’s about five hundred yards. He did the math.

‘You didn’t tell us!’ Broker grouched.

‘What would you have done? Climbed the poles and installed them yourself?’ Chloe snarked.

‘HERE!’ Meghan pumped her fist in the air. She projected her screen onto the wall.

A video. Khalil appearing through a line of cars and towards the street vendor where he ordered the drink.

She froze the video when the ISI man stared in shock, looked back and turned around. ‘That’s when he must have spotted us.’ She glanced at her watch and nodded. ‘Yeah. The timeline makes sense.’

‘He was tailing us?’ Roger smoothed his Egyptian cotton shirt.

‘Doesn’t look like it.’ Meera frowned. ‘He looked surprised to see us. He must have been in the neighborhood. Where did he go?’

Meghan resumed the video. ‘He’s gone,’ she said disappointedly when the killer paid for his drinks and disappeared the way he had come. She typed several commands and shook her head after a while. ‘No other cameras nearby. No way to know where he’s gone. No one else from his cell was captured by the cameras. Dara wasn’t there, either.’

Meera broke off and made several urgent calls. ‘I’ve informed all patrol calls to watch out for Khalil.’

‘We should go out as well,’ Prasad suggested.

‘No! He’s seen us. He’ll be alert. Let the police do their jobs. We might get lucky.’

At six pm they got unlucky.

Zeb felt the building shudder. A dull sound, muted by the reinforced windows that rattled.

A blare of horns from outside.

‘BOMB!’ He recognized the sound.

88

It was a car bomb at the mouth of Hanuman Road, very close to Connaught Circus. A five-star hotel on one side of it and a temple on the other.

The vehicle bucked and turned into a burning metal carcass. The cars in front and behind it shuddered. Their windows shattered. Their alarms went off.

It killed several bystanders instantly. A street vendor’s wooden cart flew into the air and crashed on the road. Buildings shook and several of their dark window panes broke and fell to the ground, further adding to the casualties.

Zeb watched in horror as the pole-mounted cameras showed the ball of fire and smoke in the distance.

Tanya moaned, her fist crushed to her mouth. Irfan, Ritesh, and Prasad started cursing in Hindi.

‘Stop,’ Meera rasped at them. ‘That won’t help.’ She grabbed her phone, her hands visibly shaking, and spoke into it while glancing at the wall video. ‘Anything?’ she asked when she hung up.

‘No.’ Beth moistened her lips, her face pale. ‘Our cameras don’t have the range. We can’t see the actual car. What’s on the screen is all that we’ve got. There’s a five-star hotel near the explosion, but its cameras only cover the pavement. No signs of Khalil or any of the suspects.’

‘It could be any other bomber,’ Lavi said uncertainly.

‘It’s too coincidental,’ Bear growled. ‘It has to be him.’

Zeb went to the window, standing behind the RAW agents and peering over their heads.

Smoke, fleeing civilians and even as they watched, an ambulance sped below them. The bomb site wasn’t in view.

He felt Ritesh trembling and place his hand on the younger man’s shoulder.

‘That was a loud explosion.’ The RAW agent’s voice broke. ‘We could hear it even in our office. That road is busy. Office closing time …’

He trailed off. Lavi joined them. She brushed a tear off her cheek angrily.

Zeb cleared his throat. ‘Meg, can you launch a drone through the window?’

Everyone looked at him.

‘What’s on your mind?’ Meera asked.

Rage and shock were bubbling through him, choking his answer.

‘Zeb.’ She was next to him in a flash, squeezing his shoulder hard. ‘Do you know something?’ Her phone buzzed. She ignored it. She made way for Meghan, who had the drone in her hand, and watched Beth open the window a fraction for her sister to slip the UAV through it.

‘Zeb!’ Meera repeated.

He saw the sheen of tears in her eyes and in an instant, his fury was banked and he was in the clear-thinking zone. ‘Khalil saw us. He knows how we work. He’s aware our buildings have cameras. He doesn’t know about drones. Only you and a few other agencies use⁠—’

‘GET TO THE POINT!’ Beth yelled. ‘Meera, he means, Khalil might be out there, watching, waiting for us to rush out of the building⁠—’

Meera raced to her desk, leaned down and drew on her body armor. She grabbed her HK. Her team followed suit. ‘He wants to shoot us? Let him try.’

‘No, he won’t do that here.’ Zeb shook his head. ‘The street is filled with cops. He won’t stand a chance.’

‘Then?’

‘He’ll follow us⁠—’

She ran out of the office before he finished.

89

Zeb cursed when the rest of the RAW team disappeared behind the Special Agent.

‘WAIT!’ he yelled, but they had left.

‘Common comms channel is up,’ Meghan snapped. She tossed the Range Rover’s key to Zeb and picked up her smaller screen. ‘Drive. I’ll be busy.’

Zeb pounded out of the door behind the sisters and Chloe.

Adjusted his Glock in his shoulder holster.

‘We should look like we’re leaving the building,’ he panted.

‘That’s exactly what we’re doing,’ Bwana grunted. ‘No acting required.’

They reached the pavement. A stream of frightened civilians still escaping. Chaos in the air. Shouts and screams. Sirens. Police using bullhorns. An ambulance edging through the traffic. Several people leaning out of office windows, looking down.

‘WE ARE POLICE!’ Zeb roared when an onlooker shouted in panic. ‘MOVE BACK.’

He ran to their Range Rover, which was parked on the street.

‘It’s clear,’ Beth yelled when he faltered. ‘We have bodycams on it. No one’s tampered with it.’

‘Yeah,’ he grunted. ‘Forgot about that.’

He got behind the wheel and fired up the vehicle. Nosed out and navigated through the traffic.

‘Police,’ Broker shouted through his lowered window, repeatedly, to get other vehicles and civilians to make way.

‘HE’S THERE!’

Zeb winced at Beth’s shout.

‘Three cars behind us. In a black Suzuki. Still wearing that ballcap and the shades.’

‘One vehicle behind me,’ Bwana rumbled.

‘Meera—’ Zeb began, searching for the RAW vehicles, and saw them several car-lengths ahead.

‘Yeah, I heard her,’ the RAW SA said.

‘Drive out of the city. We’ll follow for a while and then split. Let him think we’re going elsewhere. We’ll loop back and ambush him.’

‘Copy. What about the rest of his team?’

‘Not visible in the drone’s feed,’ Meghan answered. ‘Keep your eyes peeled.’

Meera double-tapped the mic in acknowledgment.

‘Zeb, we’re going to break off,’ Bwana rumbled when they got on Barakhamba Road, a broader road where traffic moved more freely. ‘I’ll drive around until you greenlight us.’

‘Copy,’ Zeb responded. Police vehicles and ambulances raced in the opposite direction.

He saw Bwana’s SUV hang a left. He watched his mirrors but dragged his eyes back to the road at an angry honk from behind.

‘He’s with us,’ Meghan said. ‘Bwana, let us know if you’ve got tails.’

‘Before I take them out or after?’

Beth sighed. ‘Too soon.’

He made an apologetic sound.

Zeb slowed when they approached a red light on Mahatma Gandhi Road. A four-way intersection. Traffic piling up on all the roads.

What’s Khalil planning? he wondered. Is he going to attack Meera or merely follow her?

He got his answer when the RAW SA’s vehicle sped through the intersection at the light change.

‘WATCH OUT!’ Meghan yelled, looking up from her screen.

A vehicle raced up from the right and crashed into the RAW SUV.

90

Zeb lost sight of the RAW vehicle as horns blared simultaneously and traffic swerved to get around the accident. ‘ARE YOU⁠—’

‘We are okay,’ Meera began and then her voice rose. ‘THEY’RE SHOOTING.’

He heard the controlled bursts over the sounds of the congested traffic at the junction.

Zeb looked at the drone’s feed in Meghan’s hand. Saw Khalil’s ride inch forward. All the RAW rides are armored. They should be safe as long as Khalil’s killers aren’t using heavier weapons.

‘They’re drawing back,’ Meera said, surprised. ‘They’re fleeing. Towards Daryaganj!’

That’s Old Delhi, Zeb recalled. Congested. Narrow streets and alleys. Old buildings. ‘Khalil’s setting a trap,’ he guessed. ‘He wants you to follow his people there. They’ll ambush you.’

‘He doesn’t know we are aware of him,’ Broker drawled from the back.

Zeb cut past a public transportation bus. Ignored the driver’s angry honk and drove on the opposite lane in the face of oncoming traffic.

‘What are you doing?’ Meghan winced when a car swerved to avoid a collision.

Zeb glimpsed the black Suzuki in the opposite lane and then he was past it, racing along the edge of the road, sounding his horn continually, flashing his lights until he saw a branch road to Vjay Ghat and took it.

The neighborhood was on the other side of Mahatma Gandhi Road.

‘Let him think we’ve left.’ He glanced at her screen, which showed Meera’s SUV racing into Old Delhi. ‘We’ll come behind Khalil in a pincer move.’

‘I like your thinking,’ Roger growled in his comms channel. ‘But aren’t you forgetting Old Delhi is crowded? There will be civilians⁠—’

‘Leave that to me,’ Meera snapped. ‘I’ll arrange for people to go into their homes.’

‘How?’

‘By spreading a rumor that terrorists are out and about. Hold up! They’re escaping on foot! We’ll follow them.’

‘How many of them?’ Zeb asked. He navigated through an underpass beneath Mahatma Gandhi Road and got into Old Delhi.

‘Five.’ Beth leaned over and punched in the coordinates to Meera’s vehicle. ‘Ahmed, Mohammed, Shah … the survivors from Khalil’s cell. They’re all there. Our drone’s hovering over the ISI vehicle. It’s electronically tagged the shooters. Our bird’s high up. Great aerial view over several neighborhoods. We can see where they go.’

‘Locked and loaded,’ Bear said softly.

91

‘Khalil has entered Daryaganj. On foot. He’s wearing a jacket. Looks like he’s carrying a rifle beneath it,’ Meghan whispered in the comms channel. ‘He’s speaking in his radio … or phone. The video isn’t clear.’

‘How does your electronic tagging work?’ Meera asked.

‘Werner splashes any vehicle or person of interest with an electronic signature. It follows them, then on.’

The RAW SA parked her SUV beneath a banyan tree on Dayanand Road and climbed out. Checked her team when the second RAW vehicle rolled up.

All of them wearing armor with POLICE labeling. Carrying HKs.

‘Arjun, you and Irfan stay here. Watch for anyone who tries to disable our rides,’ she ordered.

The men nodded. She knew they wished to go on the hunt too, but they were experienced operators who were aware of securing their escape vehicles.

She looked at the buildings around them. Traffic flowing on the road, but many of the residences had their windows closed. The rumor is working, she thought in grim satisfaction. RAW had used the tactic often enough in the past. A WhatsApp rumor that spread like wildfire on all groups to send civilians scurrying to the safety of their homes.

‘Where are they?’ she asked in the comms channel.

‘Malik and Shah are on Kedar Nath Road. Daulat and Ahmed are on Subhash Bhargava Marg. Mohammed is hanging back near Mahatma Gandhi Road. Just inside Daryaganj. What’s he waiting for?’ Beth replied.

‘Khalil!’ Zeb said instantly. ‘Where’s he?’

‘He too is on foot. On Makhaan Lane. His trajectory … he’ll meet Mohammed. We have a problem!’

‘What? Meera asked.

‘Daryaganj’s narrow alleys and overhanging storefronts … our drone will lose sight of them soon.’

The RAW SA zoomed into the neighborhood on her map. ‘They seem to be converging in those blocks next to Subhash Marg and Dayanand Road.’

‘That’s our take as well,’ Meghan confirmed. ‘Khalil has joined Mohammed, now. They’re coming in that direction … and we’ve lost sight of Daulat, Ahmed, Malik, and Shah.’

‘Zeb, you folks patrol the three perimeter roads,’ Meera said swiftly. ‘Netaji Subhash Marg, Bhargava Road and Dayanand Road. We’ll go inside.’

‘Copy,’ the Agency team lead replied.

Meera pointed to Lavi and Tanya. ‘You’re with me. We’ll go down Kedar Nath. Ritesh, Kumar, Prasad, you take Hanuman Road. That leaves the two alleys next to you unpatrolled, but the Agency team will be on the external perimeter and once they leave the neighborhood, the drones will spot them. North to south. Stay safe. We want them alive, but if they resist, shoot to kill.’

‘We need to capture Khalil,’ Zeb pointed out.

‘We will,’ she said grimly.

‘What about Delhi Police?’ Chloe asked.

‘They won’t interfere. I’ve sent out messages. The boss will manage them. This is our operation.’

‘What if they take hostages?’

‘That’s a risk we’ll have to take, but look around you. Are you seeing any shops open? Any civilians on the streets? Everyone’s gone inside and locked the doors behind them. They won’t open the doors until police vehicles patrol, announcing that its safe. Children at school are staying back.’

‘The neighborhood is ours?’ Bwana asked.

‘And theirs, but they don’t know the rest of you are here.’

92

Meera set off on Kedar Nath from where it merged with Dayanand Road. Lavi and Tanya flanking her. All three of them spread out on the street.

Sweat trickled down her face. She didn’t wipe the perspiration. Her eyes were swiveling, taking in every doorway, every shadow. A grain sack in front of a grocery shop that the owner hadn’t taken inside. It could be a good hiding place. She tensed when Lavi got closer to it.

It was clear.

‘We’ve lost sight of Khalil too,’ Meghan whispered in the comms channel. ‘Last sighting on Dayanand Road, near the junction to Ansari Road.’

‘He could come up behind us,’ Tanya pointed out.

‘That’s where Beth, Zeb and I come in. We’ll watch out for him.’

Meera double-tapped in acknowledgment. Checked her rear. Clear.

Focus on the front, dummy, she told herself. Zeb will have your six.

Kedarnath was a long, dusty, narrow lane. Daryaganj was similar to the markets in Ghaziabad and Faridabad. Shops at ground level, residences at top. Commercial buildings interspersed with civilian accommodation. No high-rises.

The street was empty. Only the smells of grains and incense, dust and cooking in the air.

A pot clanged from a residence.

She froze and trained her HK at a window high above them. It was closed.

Lavi several feet to her right. She saw the young agent swallow.

Felt a burst of pride. She and Tanya are among our youngest agents, but they’ve already proven themselves.

She indicated with her fingers to keep going.

Shah and Malik will be coming up towards us.

No movement on the street, however. Just two long lines of closed shops on either side.

A torn newspaper flew down the alley and stuck to a water barrel outside what seemed to be a grain store.

Shuffling movement from beyond it.

She stopped and crouched lower, her eyes going down the barrel of her HK, which covered the source of the sound.

A cow emerged from a narrow crack between two shops. It scratched its neck against the water barrel. Didn’t look at them. It spread its rear legs and defecated.

Tanya crept towards the opening.

Meera and Lavi covered her.

Tanya peered around the barrel.

She relaxed and thumbs-upped in the air.

Meera exhaled.

Kept going down the street.

Tanya patted the cow on its forehead with her left palm.

Lavi started to smile at the gesture.

The shot came from behind them and at the same time Lavi pitched forward and fell, face-down.

93

‘SPLIT! Meera shouted and dove to the ground.

Tanya crashed sideways against the steps of a shop.

Meera landed on the ground on her left shoulder and spun instantly around to face the rear.

No time to think of Lavi.

Kedarnath Lane ahead of her.

Malik and Shah spread out on the street, crouching, shooting rapidly at them.

Less than a hundred meters away.

Their shots going high over her head and then closer as the shooters adjusted their aim.

Meera felt dirt kick on her face. She saw Tanya in her peripheral vision jerk and fall off the steps.

Rage filled her. Shock and fear as well.

She blinked when gravel struck her cheek and then became conscious of Malik and Shah screaming expletives as their shots got closer to her. A round whined against her face.

Shah’s face filled her sight.

She pressed the trigger softly.

Saw him jerk back, sent another shot into his chest and swiveled her HK to cover Malik, who had thrown his AK away and was lunging towards her, cursing, a knife flashing in his hand.

He weaved to throw her aim off.

Her first shot went wild.

Her second round caught his right thigh, but he still came and then he was less than twenty meters away, his body filling her sight.

He threw his knife at her.

It struck her in the chest and in that fraction of a second, she lost her aim and he was on her, his hands reaching for her face.

She reared up and planted her boots on his chest.

Kicked him backwards and emptied her magazine in his chest.

Rolled away instantly, checking Kedarnath, front and back, and went to Tanya who was sprawled sideways on the ground.

Blood from her temple soaking the hard soil.

And then Tanya groaned. Her eyes flared open.

She pushed up. ‘My armor,’ she grunted. ‘It saved me⁠—’

‘So did mine,’ Lavi said from behind them, and Meera’s legs turned to jelly in relief and she collapsed to the ground.

94

Chloe paused when she heard Meera, Lavi and Tanya’s voices in the channel. Her guts twisted when she heard the shots.

She and Bear on Subhash Bhargava Marg. Spread well out. checking every shop front, residence entrance, trash bin and other possible hides.

Moving carefully, their moves coordinated from experience, unaffected by the shooting and yells in their channel.

She relaxed visibly when she heard Lavi and Tanya’s voices. That’s better. How did Malik and Shah get behind them, though?

She discarded the thought. No doubt, the twins were already working that out.

An old car to the side of the street. A black Ambassador, a ubiquitous vehicle at one time, modeled on the British Morris.

She smiled involuntarily when Bear caressed its hood.

‘JUMP!’ she roared when she heard movement behind it.

Bear leapt on its hood, which buckled from his weight.

The car rocked on its shocks and then Ahmed dove out from behind it, triggering furiously, his face twisted with rage.

Chloe reacted automatically. She fell. Felt a round tug at her hair.

Her HK came up and even as Ahmed desperately tried to lower his aim, her controlled burst ripped apart his chest.

She rolled to her right, got to her feet, and shot him in the head to be sure.

Trained her attention to Bear, who was grappling with Daulat.

Her boyfriend was sprawled against the Ambassador’s windshield, his left hand gripping the killer’s AK, while his right was blocking.

‘NO!’ Bear grunted when Chloe moved around to the front of the car. ‘Don’t come between us.’

She lowered her rifle and watched alertly.

It was no contest.

Her boyfriend was six feet four inches tall with a wide frame, all of it muscle, and despite his size, moved like a panther.

Bear ripped Daulat’s AK from his hand and flung it away.

He caught the man’s collar, swiveled, and smashed his face against the windshield.

‘We want him alive,’ she pointed out.

‘He is,’ Bear panted. He lifted the man’s head and checked him out.

‘Oh!’ he said disappointedly. ‘He isn’t.’

95

Zeb was half-hidden behind a grain bin on the porch of a kirana store on Dayanand Road. It was a convenience shop that sold groceries, pulses, grains, and various convenience goods. Prevalent in every small town and village in the country.

Being replaced by chain stores, he thought fleetingly. The way mom-and-pop stores died out in America.

The grain bin was wheat-like in color and smelled of spices and various odors he couldn’t distinguish. It came to his chest and provided good cover for his dark outfit.

Beth and Meghan were two shops away, to his left, near the junction with Kedar Nath Lane.

The sisters were hidden behind rice sacks, from where they were watching the street.

‘I’m going down the lane,’ he told them.

‘Not smart,’ Beth warned him. ‘Khalil and Mohammed would have heard the shooting. They know their men are captured or dead. They’ll shoot first.’

‘No sign of him here,’ Roger drawled. ‘Broker, Bwana and I are on Shyam Lal Road.’

That’s the fourth boundary of the Daryaganj blocks the ISI shooters entered. Zeb dropped down from the porch. His HK an extension of his hands, held easily across his chest.

He went towards the Ansari Road junction.

Khalil hasn’t gotten past us. He must be somewhere ahead.

He went past the intersection with Shyam Lal Road, which branched off to his right.

A chopper high in the air.

Is that a police one or some TV company’s? He shrugged. It was irrelevant.

The road was quiet. No vehicle moved. No civilians on it.

Meera’s WhatsApp trick worked. He smiled briefly.

He skirted along the edge of Dayanand Road, using light poles, trash bins and parked vehicles for cover, moving easily.

A police cruiser sped past with siren and lights. He frowned. Okay, the road isn’t all that quiet.

And even as the wailing sound faded, two figures darted out from behind a car and ran into a small alley to their right.

Khalil and Mohammed!

96

‘I SEE THEM!’ Zeb yelled into his throat mic. ‘They’ve gone inside the alley next to Shyam Lal Road.’

‘Wait for backup,’ Beth warned him. ‘That’s a very narrow alley. It meets Subhash Bhargava Marg. We’ll come⁠—’

‘Too late,’ he panted as he sprinted to the mouth of the lane. ‘A patrol car passed some moments ago. That must have spooked them.’

‘We’ll cover Bhargava Marg,’ Meera said crisply. ‘We’ll choke his escape.’

Zeb heard Beth and Meghan cursing and shuffling. He reached the building, which was on the corner of Dayanand and the unnamed alley.

A pharmacy on the ground floor. He went up its steps and peered around it.

The lane was empty.

He cursed. They might be hidden in any of the doorways.

He darted inside. Went past bicycles and motorbikes. The porches of shops. An AC unit humming high above him.

A line of clothing flapping in a balcony.

An empty can rattling in the lane.

Beth and Meghan panting in the comms channel as they raced down to back him up.

Zeb went deeper into the lane.

Darker, because of the overhang of the buildings.

Electricity cables cutting between buildings.

An India flag fluttering in the wind on one cable.

A metal gate opened to his left.

Zeb swung his HK to cover it, rocking back on his heels.

An elderly woman in a long white dress, with a brass tray in her hand on which were incense sticks.

‘Wahe guru ka Khalsa,’ she murmured softly.

That’s a Sikh greeting. He recognized it. ‘Sat sri akal, ma’am,’ he greeted her in Hindi, in the Sikh way. ‘Did anyone enter your house?’

Senses alert. Eyes flicking to take in what he could see through the gate. A strip of courtyard and nothing else visible. The lane to his right and left were still empty.

Beth and Meghan appeared at the mouth of the alley. He gestured at them to stay back.

The woman looked at him and craned her neck to take in the twins. ‘No. No one came to my house.’

An incense stick fell off her tray to the ground.

Zeb stiffened. Why did she disregard the WhatsApp warning? Doesn’t she have a phone?

Her hand is shaking!

‘Are they inside?’ he whispered. ‘Two men. They’re holding guns to your family?’

She breathed audibly. Panic on her face. Her eyes wide.

Zeb took her hand gently and drew her to the side. ‘Go to those women.’ He cocked his head to the twins. ‘They will keep you safe. How many family members do you have?’

‘Only my daughter.’ Her voice broke. Her eyes filled with tears. ‘They said they will kill her⁠—’

‘Nothing will happen to her.’ He nudged her towards the sisters and when she was clear of the gate, dove inside the house.

97

Zeb fell on the hard ground.

‘There’s no need for that.’ A voice mocked him in English.

Khalil came into the courtyard with a young girl in front of him. She seemed to be in her early teens, her eyes glazed in shock, her lips moving but no sounds emerging. She was wearing an I’m a Swiftie tee over jeans. Barefoot.

Zeb got to his feet slowly. Saw the killer’s AK against her back. Partly hidden by her body. ‘Let her go.’

‘Yes, sure,’ Khalil scoffed. ‘You’ll shoot me the moment I do that.’

Another man emerged from the depths of the house, his rifle trained on Zeb.

Mohammed!

Both the ISI killers were scruffy, clad in jeans and loose jackets. A phone protruded from Khalil’s pocket.

‘You killed my men,’ he snarled.

‘I should have killed you in Libya.’ Zeb assessed his chances. No. He’ll shoot the girl. I can’t do anything. ‘What are you planning? Why are you working with Dara?’

A shocked expression on Khalil’s face, which disappeared swiftly. ‘I don’t know who he is.’

‘Quds agent. He was going to kill Kazmi. We know he’s directing you. Why are you targeting Meera and Vikram?’

Khalil shoved the girl forward. ‘You’re going to let us go. No one is going to attack us. I’ll release the girl once we are safe.’

He won’t. He’ll kill her. ‘Let her go now. Take me instead.’

The killer’s eyes flickered. He smiled grimly. ‘That’s tempting, Carter, but I know you. You are a threat even when you’re my prisoner.’

He jerked his head at Mohammed, who followed him cautiously.

‘Khalil.’ Zeb went behind them. ‘You can’t escape. Your men are dead. We’ll find Dara too. Give up. We know about the Houthi plan.’

‘Houthis?’ Khalil swung back at him. ‘What are you talking about?’

Zeb studied him. He doesn’t know. Dara mustn’t have told him.

‘Tell the police to stand down,’ Khalil snarled before he could reply.

‘There aren’t any police.’

‘Yes, I believe you.’

They went down the alley, towards the junction with Dayanand Road.

The girl at the front. Khalil behind her, his AK jammed into her waist, Mohammed bringing up the rear. Zeb several feet behind them, his HK ready.

The mother moaned when she saw her daughter. Beth held her with one hand and squeezed her comfortingly.

‘Nothing will happen to your daughter,’ Zeb said with as much conviction he could muster.

‘Don’t make false promises,’ Khalil sneered.

‘You said you would release her when you were safe.’

The ISI killer cursed.

The girl sobbed when he thrust his gun into her back.

They reached Dayanand Road.

Is he going to demand a ride?

A police vehicle came into sight with lights and siren.

Zeb tensed. Khalil will shoot her.

He raised his HK, ready to cut down the terrorists. ‘DON’T SHOOT HER!’

Khalil threw him a mocking glance when the vehicle rolled to a stop.

A man wearing shades behind the wheel.

‘That’s Dara!’ Zeb exclaimed, loudly.

98

The Quds man looked at Zeb impassively as Khalil switched places with Mohammed and swiftly climbed inside the ride. It was an old-style police vehicle with no side doors.

Mohammed turned the girl. Using her as a shield, he got one leg inside the vehicle.

His rifle was awry for a fraction of a second, as was Khalil’s.

That was all Zeb needed.

He lunged towards the girl.

Got his left arm around her waist and swung her to the ground.

And then his feet slipped on the gravel.

He stumbled.

‘GO!’ Khalil yelled.

His AK came to Zeb.

The vehicle surged forward.

Mohammed slipped out of it.

Khalil triggered.

‘STAY DOWN!’ Meghan roared.

Zeb rolled on top of the girl and felt a round smash into his armor. He gasped and held the girl tight as shots rang out over him and looked up when they died out.

The vehicle was racing into the distance.

Meghan, speaking urgently in her collar mic.

Mohammed’s body by the side of Dayanand Road, riddled with bullets.

And then the mother rushed over to hug her daughter fiercely, sobbing in relief.

99

‘He got away.’ Meghan, tight-faced, thrust a cup of tea in Zeb’s hand.

It was one hour after the shootout.

Zeb on the steps of the pharmacy.

Dayanand Road and the whole of Daryaganj filled with police and emergency vehicles.

Meera and her team talking to several senior officers.

Mathur in her vehicle, on her phone.

More choppers in the sky, hired by media companies who were broadcasting the events.

Zeb drank wearily. His ribs hurt from Khalil’s round. His cheek throbbed from when he had landed on the ground, covering Payal, the girl.

Her mother had wept in the sisters’ and his arms, her gratitude overflowing, and had told them how Khalil and Mohammed had scaled the gate to hold them hostage.

‘How?’ Bwana growled. ‘All the roads were empty. It would have been easy for the police⁠—’

‘Dara ditched the vehicle in another block, stole another, lost that too, and then ran through Old Delhi, through homes, and that’s as much as we know.’ Meghan sighed.

‘You should have shot them,’ Meera said bitterly on approaching them.

‘We did,’ Beth said defensively. ‘But Dara was driving fast and both he and Khalil must have ducked. We would have followed them, but our vehicles were far⁠—’

‘Yes, I know. Sorry.’ Meera waved her hand. ‘I wasn’t taking it out on you.’

‘We’re good.’ Chloe smiled briefly. ‘Khalil suckered us in, here too, didn’t he?’

‘Yeah.’ Zeb nodded. ‘Dara’s police vehicle. It was the same one we saw go the other way. He must have seen us. He must have warned Khalil, who decided to draw us into that lane and engineer his escape. Are any of his men alive?’

‘No.’ Meera wiped sweat from her face and straightened when Mathur approached.

‘You want to hear the good news or the bad?’ the RAW chief asked.

‘There’s good news?’ Broker raised an eyebrow.

‘No innocents were killed or even hurt,’ Mathur said. ‘All the ISI shooters are dead except for Khalil. That’s a win. The bad news is that Delhi Police will be forced to release Khalil and Dara’s identities to the public. Too many civilians have seen the bodies from their windows. Social media is filled with speculation. We have asked the apps to take down the images, but there’s a time lag. I’ll see how I can manage that. Did Khalil give any indication of what he’s planning next?’

Zeb shook his head. ‘No, ma’am. He and Dara know that they have lost. My guess is they’ll find a way to escape the country.’

Zeb hadn’t heard of Pavan Sharma.

100

‘Pavan!’ Saloni snapped as she entered the room. ‘You still haven’t taken a bath?’

‘Two minutes,’ he grunted.

‘Two minutes? You said that before I took the girls out. We shopped. We had breakfast and you’re still on your computer. What are you doing?’

‘The internet in this hotel is slow.’ He felt arms slip around him and smiled to reach behind and draw Pari and Ria into his hug.

His squirming daughters, four and six years old, tried to sit in his lap as he pushed back in his roll chair.

‘No!’ Saloni lashed out again. ‘Pari, Ria, come on. You need to change clothes. Let your papa be where he is. We have to go to Red Fort. We’ll leave him behind. He brings us on one family vacation and spends all his time on his computer.’

‘Papa, you promised you wouldn’t work,’ Ria lisped.

‘I’m not, baby.’ He kissed her head. ‘It’s these photographs I took. I am uploading them to the internet. It’s taking a long time.’

‘Yeah,’ his wife bit back. ‘That’s more important than going out and seeing Delhi.’

Pavan winked at his daughters, who giggled. He set them down on the floor and yawned lustily. ‘I’m going,’ he stretched. ‘Be ready. We’ll go as soon as I come out of the bathroom.’

‘You’ll go naked?’ Saloni glowered at him.

His lips twitched. ‘I’ll dress.’

‘Wear the pants and shirt I’ve put on the bed.’

He took in the blue and black attire and made a face. ‘Those?’

‘Yes, those.’

‘You know I don’t like those jeans⁠—’

‘Do I look like I care? Your dress sense is awful. If you’re with me, you need to wear what I want you to put on.’

‘I don’t know why Mummy married you, Papa.’ Pari sucked her sweet as she sprawled on her bed.

Pavan rolled his eyes. It was an old joke but never failed to lift him up. He marched theatrically to the bathroom as his daughters giggled and his wife sniffed. He squeezed her bottom playfully and got an indignant yelp in return.

Pavan stood under the shower and soaped himself. Life was good.

The forty-three-year-old accountant from Bangalore had quit his safe job in a big corporation and started his own practice. His friends and family had protested.

They said it was a foolish idea. Accounting didn’t pay much. He was earning well. Only Saloni supported me.

His wife, a homemaker, believed in him. She encouraged him. She had never doubted him even though the first few years of his business had been a struggle. Too few clients, not enough money, soaring expenses as their daughters grew older. Bangalore was one of the most expensive cities in the country.

She didn’t ask me to quit and go back to finding a job.

The Delhi vacation was their first after Ria’s birth. Pavan had promised Saloni he wouldn’t do any work stuff. Neither of them had been to the city before. It was a big event for all of them and he, the amateur photographer that he was, had snapped hundreds of pictures on his phone.

He toweled himself dry. Looped the towel around his waist and went out.

‘You need to lose weight,’ Saloni, still grumpy, told him.

‘You look like a bear, Papa.’ Pari giggled.

She squealed when he pounced on her on the bed. Ria joined him and swatted him with a pillow.

‘PAVAN!’ Saloni warned him in “The Voice.”

‘Someone’s angry,’ he whispered to his daughters, who giggled even harder.

He dressed swiftly. Went to his laptop and saw that only a few images had uploaded to his social media account. Made a face, disconnected his phone, and slipped it into his pocket.

It rang.

He checked it.

‘It’s Malhotra,’ he told his wife. His biggest client. The CEO of an export firm in Bangalore. ‘I’ll message him that I’m busy.’

‘No, take the call.’ Saloni sat at the dressing table and began combing Ria’s hair.

‘We’ll be late.’

‘Pavan.’ She used “The Voice” again. ‘Delhi will still be here after your call. Those Red Fort tickets are valid for the whole day. Take the call.’

‘Have I told you how much I love you?’

‘I’ll believe you when you buy me some gold jewelry.’ Her face softened when she met his eyes in the mirror.

I’ve the world’s best wife. He shushed his daughters with a finger to his lips and took the call.

Zeb removed his jacket and threw it on the bed. The lightweight armor followed.

He reached behind him and felt the bruise on his back where Khalil’s round had struck him. He winced at the dull pain.

My whole body will be one big pain by the time this is over. He picked up his towel and headed to the bathroom.

His door pounded.

Beth and Meghan, flushed, excited, the rest of his team behind them.

‘What?’

‘There’s someone else with Dara!’

101

Zeb stood aside to let them enter.

Beth mounted her screen on the table in his room, her fingers punching keys.

‘Here!’ She stood back and pointed.

Dara, on the screen.

The Quds Force man was emerging from what looked like a subway exit.

‘Where’s that?’

‘Palika Bazaar,’ she said triumphantly. ‘The exit on Janpath Road.’

Dara was in a crowd of other men, but the photograph had captured him clearly. Full face towards the camera, looking somewhere in the distance.

‘When was this taken?’

‘We don’t know when, but it was uploaded only today.’

‘Uploaded?’ Zeb asked sharply. ‘By whom?’

‘We got this from the social media account of Pavan Sharma. He’s from Bangalore. He’s visiting Delhi. Seems to be on a vacation, going by what else he’s posted. Werner flagged Dara’s photograph and alerted us.’

‘You said Dara is with someone else?’ Zeb searched the photograph.

‘Yeah.’ Meghan brought up another photograph.

Dara again. A few more men with him.

One of them had his face turned away from the camera. Only the side of his face and jaw on the screen. An older man, going by the flecks of gray in his short hair.

‘That could be anyone. There’s a crowd there,’ Zeb said disappointedly. ‘We can’t make his face out. Has Werner had any luck?’

‘No. Not enough nodal points.’

Nodal points. Features that AI software used, such as the distance between the eyes and the ears and width of the nose.

‘Why do you think he’s with Dara?’ Zeb said, feeling even more deflated.

Meghan smirked. ‘Watch this.’

She zoomed in on Dara’s neck and pointed to his shirt. ‘Can you see the pendant he’s wearing?’

It peeked out from beneath his upper-most button.

‘Yeah,’ Zeb recognized the fist clutching the rifle symbol. ‘That’s the Quds Force emblem. I’m surprised he’s wearing it. That would be a dead giveaway.’

‘Our theory is, he wanted to look casual in Palika Bazaar and that was the only accessory he had,’ Chloe offered.

‘Makes sense. But how does that help us in identifying this other man?’

‘Oh, you of little faith,’ Beth mocked, and brought up the second man again and expanded on his neck.

Zeb sucked in his breath sharply.

The man was wearing a crisp white shirt, buttoned to his neck. A breeze seemed to have flattened it against his chest and there, pressing against the fabric was the clear, visible outline of the design. ‘That’s a similar pendant.’

‘It can’t be a coincidence that two men are wearing the same accessory,’ Broker rasped.

‘No.’ Zeb went to his bed and put on his armor and jacket. ‘Do we know where Pavan Sharma is?’

‘We do.’ Beth’s eyes danced. ‘In a hotel in Chandni Chowk. We know what he looks like. We should talk to him?’

‘Yeah.’ Zeb holstered his Glock. ‘Let’s go ask him if he’s got any more photographs.’

102

Chandni Chowk was in Old Delhi. It was one of the busiest market areas in the city, close to the older railway station.

‘This was once the capital, wasn’t it?’ Bwana spoke in their channel when Zeb drove into the busy neighborhood.

‘Yeah,’ he replied, honking continually as a hawker darted across the street. ‘Capital of the Mughal Empire.’

‘Who came from Central Asia?’

‘Yes.’ Zeb grinned. Bwana pretended to be slow on the uptake but was one of the smartest of them all. ‘Mongol and Uzbek lineage. And then the British arrived.’

‘I know that! Tell me. We have been in Delhi all this while. Why haven’t we been to that street?’

Chloe groaned. ‘That street! That’s all you’ve been talking about ever since we got to India.’

‘It’s filled with parattha shops. I looked it up. It’s not far from the Sharma’s hotel.’

The alley was famous for its Indian bread restaurants.

‘It’s crowded,’ Bear pointed out. ‘We can’t drive through it. It’s dusty. It smells. We’ll be noticed. We’ll be surrounded by hawkers. We could be ambushed. But, I agree,’ he guffawed. ‘We should visit it.’

‘When this is over,’ Zeb said firmly. He entered Jogiwara, the Chandni Chowk neighborhood where Sharma was staying. ‘We’ll have to park here. Our rides will get stuck if we need to make a quick escape. Do you have a number for him?’

‘Yeah. Got it from his website. He’s not answering. He’s not responded to my messages either.’ Meghan shot out of the vehicle when they had stopped.

Zeb adjusted his shades. Went down the street. Bangles stores, jewelry, the sounds, smells, and heat of Old Delhi enveloping them. ‘Meera?’

‘On her way. Stuck in traffic, despite her sirens and lights.’

Meghan’s arm and shoulder nudges guiding them into narrow alleys. He, the twins and Broker at the front, the rest at the rear.

A few hawkers chasing them to offer their wares.

‘That one.’ Meghan jerked her head at a building.

Royal Hotel, the sign said in faded lettering. Whitewashed. Windows catching the sunlight. Bicycles and motorbikes in front of it. A cab.

Zeb dodged and weaved through the pedestrian traffic and went up the concrete steps to the glass doors.

Stepped inside the air-conditioned interior when his sixth sense warned him.

He spun on his heel.

Two men in shades hustling a family to the cab on the street.

‘THAT’S THE SHARMAS!’ Meghan roared. ‘Khalil and Dara have got them.’

103

Zeb sprinted out the glass doors and leapt off the steps.

He hung in the air for a moment, taking in the accountant and his family, who looked scared. Khalil leading them to the cab, Dara pressing close behind.

The Quds Force operative heard his team’s yells.

He whirled around.

Zeb landed on him.

They fell to the ground, on a tiled drain that ran the length of the street.

He saw Beth raise her Glock to the air and fire warning shots.

People screamed and scattered.

Zeb’s shoulder got stuck in a broken tile. The sharp edge of stone bit into his body.

He caught Dara’s gun hand and wrenched the man’s gun away. Couldn’t block his blow that rocked his head.

His vision swam.

Dara rose, kicked him in the belly and fled.

Zeb tried to get up and cursed when the tile broke under his weight and he slid into the drain.

He heard shooting, shouts, and tried to free himself and felt a hand yank him up powerfully.

‘You had to land in a drain?’ Bear swore at him.

‘Wasn’t meaning to.’ Zeb’s lips thinned.

His left shoulder wet from the gunk in the drain.

His team spread wide on the street, their hands falling helplessly to their sides while Dara and Khalil escaped in the car.

That’s the right call. Jogiwara is too crowded. We can’t risk a shootout. Our vehicles are too far for us to chase them down. Even if we did, they might take hostages.

‘None of us could shoot at them,’ Roger said bitterly. ‘They had Sharma and his family.’

The man and his wife were huddled next to the Texan, with protective arms around their daughters. The children crying in their parents’ waists.

Zeb watched Dara and Khalil’s silhouettes in the disappearing vehicle whose path was clear from the shooting. The ISI man turned back and Zeb could picture his sneering face. ‘How is it that we had to park our rides a distance away?’

‘Because Old Delhi isn’t made for car chases,’ Meghan snapped at him. ‘We can’t risk civilian lives.’

He turned to Sharma. ‘Mr. Sharma, we’re with Delhi Police. What did those men want?’

‘They took my phone.’

104

‘Nothing.’ Meera balled a sheet of paper and threw it in the trash can. ‘Sharma didn’t save his photographs to a cloud account. Our tech team tried to remotely hack into his phone, but it’s already offline.’

Zeb looked out of the window to the Lodhi Road traffic. Delhi’s residents had taken the spate of shootings in their stride. While the police and army had heavy military presence and there were checkpoints all over the city, traffic had returned to normal. ‘Sharma uploaded his photographs only today?’

‘Yes.’ Arjun crossed his hands behind his head and rocked in his swivel chair. ‘He and his family had joined a day tour of the city. He had taken those photographs outside Palika Bazaar a few days ago.’

‘Quds Force must be monitoring social media too,’ Chloe said bitterly. ‘That’s how Dara got alerted and then he and this mystery man were photographed …’ she trailed off.

‘Sharma didn’t see anything. Doesn’t remember anything.’ Prasad went to the whiteboard where the photographs of the ISI cell were tacked. He crossed out everyone else’s except Khalil’s. ‘He just happened to be at the right time at the right place.’

‘Where’s he now?’ Zeb straightened with his back to the window.

‘In a safe house.’ Meera managed a smile. ‘Under our protection. His girls are enjoying this new turn to their vacation.’

Zeb looked over the bull pen, at the RAW agents on their phones and screens. They’ll be checking every camera feed, calling every hotel and public accommodation in Delhi, searching for those men.

‘Needle in a haystack.’ Meera followed his gaze. ‘Dara and Khalil are pros. They know how to go to ground.’

‘What?’ Beth asked when the RAW SA hesitated.

‘I feel we have reached the end of the line. Dara and Khalil … what more can they do?’

‘They can still target you and Vikram,’ Roger pointed out.

‘Yeah, but they know we are fully protected. The risk to them is higher. It’s only a matter of time before they are found.’

‘They can do a lot of damage until then.’

‘Yes, but that wasn’t their original mission. That’s been destroyed.’

‘It sounds like you’re drawing a line on our operation.’ Bwana’s chair creaked alarmingly when he rolled it forward.

‘You’re welcome to hang around as long as you like.’ Meera grinned. ‘But don’t you have your own operations?’

Zeb and his crew went to the RAW office the next day. They idled around and in the evening Bwana declared he was hungry. Bear nodded and that settled it.

They returned to Old Delhi, where they visited several restaurants in the parattha lane.

‘This isn’t like a bar-hopping thing,’ Zeb groused when his friends stepped into the alley after finishing a meal in a small joint.

‘It totally is,’ Bear corrected him.

‘I am full.’

‘We aren’t.’

He gave up and followed them to another restaurant. It was smoky. Crowded. They were seated shoulder-to-shoulder, barely any room between the tables for the servers to pass through. Bollywood music playing loudly on speakers hanging from the ceiling. The sisters and Chloe head-bopping to the beat.

Zeb felt something loosen in him. Like a tightly coiled spring unwinding just that little bit. They were still alert. Each one of them had checked out the patrons and were continually scanning the street. But it was automatic. The tight, mission edge had blunted.

Still, he felt uneasy.

‘You still haven’t learned to relax,’ Broker bellowed in his ear.

‘There’s something on his mind,’ Chloe shouted. ‘I know that look.’

He shrugged when his friends looked at him. ‘It doesn’t feel right.’

‘What doesn’t?’ Beth asked, her head still nodding to the music.

‘Quds and Khalil targeting Vikram and Meera.’

‘They did that to stop RAW’s Yemen operation.’ She lowered her voice, but the background noise was such that no other customer would have heard it even if she had spoken normally.

‘I don’t know …’ he trailed off. ‘Maybe I’m over-thinking this. With the Quds organization and Khalil’s abilities, they could have gone after bigger targets. Preventing India from joining the Houthi mission … it won’t do much.’

105

They trained with the RAW team the next day and then went to their office.

Hung around. Chloe made paper planes and flew them in the air.

Beth was on the phone with Mark, her NYPD detective boyfriend. Broker mock-leered at her when he overheard snatches of their conversation. She flipped him off and continued talking.

Zeb rocked back in his chair. Messaged Clare, who told him to stay in Delhi as long as they wanted. Nothing pressing at my end, she finished.

Bwana’s been talking of doing a road trip to Rajasthan, Zeb recalled. We might do that. We’ll give this a few more days and see whether RAW or Delhi Police find Dara and Khalil.

Werner still hadn’t managed to identify the mystery man in Sharma’s photograph. RAW hadn’t been successful either.

Loose ends bothered him. The sense of unfinished business was still strong in him.

He straightened in irritation and idly flicked through a newspaper.

Iran Oil Negotiations Ongoing

He shook his head. Makes no sense why Quds is carrying out this operation when these negotiations are happening. Unless Dara and whoever is with him are acting independently.

He thought idly about it for a moment and got to his feet when Mathur entered the room.

‘Sit, Mr. Carter.’ She flashed the brief smile. ‘No need to be this formal after this long.’ She glanced at the newspaper headline. ‘They’ve invited me tomorrow.’

‘Who, ma’am?’ he asked, confused.

‘The Iranian delegation. One of their junior ministers wants to meet me.’

106

Zeb was with Bwana and the twins at a car wash in South Delhi.

It was a fancy one. Attendants cleaned the vehicles while customers waited in a plush reception area where they were served food and drink. A floor-to-ceiling window gave them a view of the washing. TVs around the room that played Bollywood and Hollywood movies. Soft music that was piped through invisible speakers.

It was a five-star car wash and going by the accents of other customers, was frequented by Delhi’s wealthy.

‘You know our rides will get dirty during the road trip to Rajasthan.’ Zeb inspected the canned drinks in the refrigerators and chose one.

‘Our Range Rovers need to be clean when we start.’ Beth rotated her neck to loosen her muscles and sighed in relief when Bwana stood behind her and massaged gently.

‘Any news from Meera?’

‘She and Mathur have gone to meet that junior minister.’

Zeb paused from his sipping. ‘They know why? Mathur wasn’t aware when she told us.’

‘Nope,’ Meghan replied. ‘They’re still in the dark.’

‘We have his name?’

‘Rostami something.’ Meghan checked her phone. ‘Ali Rostami. You want us to check him out? Meera said he’s clean. She asked us to back off and take some downtime, which was why Beth and I didn’t look him up.’

‘Won’t hurt. Might as well do some work before we leave.’

‘Work!’ Bwana scoffed. ‘Werner will be doing that.’

Zeb went to the window and watched the attendants wipe down their vehicles. A couple next to him watched their BMW being cleaned and spoke of their shopping trip to Milan.

Rajasthan will be different. He smiled to himself. We’re skipping the tourist areas. We’ll drive deep in the desert and camp there.

His palms itched from the urge to get behind the wheel and leave the city behind. ‘If I had to live in another country, it would be here.’ He saw his friends nod in the window’s reflection. ‘Or in South Africa.’

Bwana’s grin was dazzling. He came over and fist-bumped him so hard that Zeb staggered a step.

‘Either country works for me,’ Beth declared.

‘What about Mark?’ Meghan sniggered.

‘He’ll come where I go.’

The attendants signaled to them that their vehicles were ready.

Zeb tipped the servers, donned his shades, and stepped out into the sunlight.

Rajasthan was a day away.

He drove out of the car wash with Meghan by his side and Bwana and Beth in the second vehicle.

‘Huh?’ The elder twin pursed her lips when he hit Mandi Road and aimed towards Lodhi Road. ‘Rostami has only a couple of photographs out there. One’s on Iran’s Ministry of Petroleum website. Another is in a newspaper of him attending a reception in Tehran.’

‘He’s a junior minister. He won’t have much coverage,’ Zeb replied absently as he let a truck overtake him.

‘That hotel he’s staying at in Delhi. Werner hacked into its system. There’s a room in his name. But, get this. The CCTV cameras have nothing on him. It’s as if his presence has been wiped clean.’

It took a moment for her words to register and then Zeb stamped on the gas.

‘WE’RE GOING HOT!’ he roared in his collar mic.

Beth and Bwana acknowledged. The rest of the team checked in from the Lodhi Road accommodation.

He punched in the coordinates for the Lotus Hotel.

‘You know that Cayman Island bank where Azhar has his account?’ Beth said tightly. ‘Guess who else has an account there?’

‘Who?’

‘Ali Rostami!’

‘Try Meera and Mathur. Try everyone in their team,’ Zeb snapped.

‘Did.’ Meghan dropped her phone. ‘No one’s responding. I remember there are some dead zones, no signal areas, near Lotus. I’ve left messages for Lavi, Tanya, all of them.’

‘How about Delhi Police?’ Roger asked.

‘Rostami might kill Mathur and Meera instantly, if he suspects anything.’ Zeb thought rapidly. ‘No. Our best bet is for us to infiltrate that hotel and take him out before he acts.’

‘That won’t be easy. That hotel will be crawling with security. Rostami might have watchers.’

Zeb flashed his lights and honked continually as he sped down the road. ‘We’ll need a distraction.’

107

Ali Rostami came out of the negotiating room during a coffee break and searched the hallway. He spotted a uniformed hotel attendant, who rushed over at his glance.

Rostami took the coffee cup from the man and checked discreetly that they were alone. ‘You had any problems getting into the hotel?’

‘Looking like this?’ Dara smiled. ‘No. The identity you provided worked. No one questioned me. Everyone thinks I am Pratap, the real hotel employee.’

‘Mathur has confirmed she’s on the way. She’s bringing Ranganathan as well.’

Dara smiled wider. ‘That’s a bonus. So, your mission will end the way you wanted it to.’

‘Yes.’

‘Is our friend ready?’

‘Yes.’

‘Does he suspect anything?’

‘No. He wishes Carter were here too.’

‘That’s not going to happen. He’ll have to go after the American on his own time. We have a very small window for this to work.’

‘It will. Everything is in place.’

108

‘Tell me more about Ali Rostami.’ Mathur inspected her appearance in her compact and put it away when she was satisfied.

‘There isn’t much about him, boss.’ Meera opened the man’s file on her phone. ‘He’s a junior minister in their Ministry of Petroleum. He’s been in the position for four years. He’s had foreign assignments. He was posted in Washington DC, at their Embassy in London, and even spent a year in Islamabad. He’s not Quds or IRGC for sure. Every US and British agency investigated him thoroughly. Mossad looked into him too. We have their reports. He’s what his title says. A trade negotiator, but not a senior one.’

‘A glorified secretary.’

‘Yes. He’s been in Delhi for a while. Came long before their trade team arrived. He’s staying in a fancy hotel in Chanakyapuri.’

‘Iran has oil money.’

‘Yes, boss, but the rest of their team is staying in the Lotus, where the negotiations are happening. We’re meeting him there. He alone is staying in that other hotel.’

‘He must come from wealth.’

‘Yes. Dad had a carpet export business in Tehran, which he inherited. Why did you agree to meet him?’

‘Because he said he wanted to discuss a matter of national security.’

Meera frowned. ‘Why does he want to meet with the RAW chief?’

‘That’s what I want to know.’

‘You could have sent anyone for that.’

‘I could.’ Mathur smiled. ‘But I am intrigued. What does Mr. Rostami have for me? How does he even know who I am?’

‘IRGC and Quds know about you.’

Mathur closed her handbag and looked over Meera. The SA was in a sari too, light green with red and orange dots. A black blouse to contrast, hair drawn back, no makeup on her face.

She chuckled at her large bag. ‘That’s big enough for your HK?’

‘Am carrying only my Glock and spare magazines and a few odds and ends. Are you armed?’

‘Why do I need to be, when you’re with me? Besides, the security there will be tight. Any update on Khalil or Dara?’

Meera scowled. ‘Vanished into the air. Everyone is looking for them. I thought you were going to reveal their ISI and Quds identities to the public?’

‘I spoke to the prime minister and we decided not to. Hussain wants to have a better relationship with us and with these oil negotiations … we don’t want anything to stir things up. The public knows them as unnamed terrorists and that’s how it will be for the time being.’

She looked searchingly at Meera. ‘Yemen⁠—’

‘Vikram and I are going. I spoke to him yesterday. His father is getting better and there’s sufficient care around him.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘Yes, boss. The rest of my team can hunt Khalil and Dara.’

‘Good. The British and Americans are getting impatient. I’ll commit a date to them. What about Mr. Carter and his friends?’

‘They too have turned off the intensity. Which makes sense. There isn’t anything more they can do. They’re going to give us a license of their AI software. It has hooks to so many databases …’ Meera shook her head in amazement. She looked suspiciously at Mathur. ‘Did you have something to do with that?’

‘No! It’s all on you and Vikram. They like you.’

‘You think of Zeb any differently now?’ Meera grinned slyly.

‘I like him, but don’t tell him. What happened?’ she asked when Meera made a face and returned her phone to her bag.

‘No signal.’

‘Yes, this part of Delhi is notorious for that.’ Mathur sat up when their ride turned into the Lotus Hotel’s driveway.

It was showtime.

109

After going through the security scan, Meera hurried after her boss into the hotel. She showed her RAW identity card when her Glock showed up in the screening. Several calls ensued and she was finally cleared to enter the hotel.

She held back when a man in a suit spoke to Mathur and directed them to an elevator.

‘He’s from the Indian trade team,’ the RAW chief murmured when they headed to its gleaming brass doors. ‘Looks like Rostami is a bit player on the Iranian side. He doesn’t know why the man wants to meet me either.’

They exited the elevator at the fourth floor. Got security checked again. More hushed calls, and this time the two-person security team inspected her Glock.

‘Sorry, ma’am. You will be meeting the Iranians,’ an Indian army officer told her. ‘They don’t want any weapons in the room from any side. No one is armed beyond this point other than us.’

‘I’m not surrendering that,’ Meera insisted. The officer looked at her, shrugged and made a note in his pad.

‘I expected more guards,’ she surveyed the hallway.

‘Five of us are enough for this floor, ma’am.’ The military man smiled at her. ‘The only entry here is through the elevators and stairs. We check those out regularly. Every hotel employee has been vetted. Every food tray is inspected before and after coming here. Only the delegation room is occupied on this floor. Every other one is empty. Bomb squads, sniffer dogs, we have them all. This hotel is as secure as Rashtrapati Bhavan.’

We have infiltrated such secure sites, Meera thought, but didn’t articulate her words. The only secure way to conduct a meeting was to not have it. Which isn’t going to happen.

An Iranian suit approached them and introduced himself as a member of the trade delegation. He shook their hands and led them down the hallway to a small conference room beyond the one in which the trade delegations were.

‘I thought we were meeting Ali Rostami,’ the RAW chief said.

‘He’ll be joining you here, ma’am. He said it was a private meeting.’ He left the room.

Mathur shrugged. Took a chair. Meera sat next to her and played idly with the hotel’s pen and notepad on the polished desk.

The room had a circular table, six chairs around it, a side table on which were refreshments.

She rose and went to the window. Peered out through a crack in the curtains. Immaculate lawn of the rear garden.

She returned to her chair when the door opened. A man in a dark suit and white shirt entered. His hair had gray flecks in it. His eyes were sharp, intelligent.

‘I’m Ali Rostami.’ He smiled and shook their hands. ‘Your trade team is tough. They aren’t budging an inch.’

‘I’m sure your folks aren’t bad either,’ Mathur said drily. She introduced Meera, and after small talk made a hand gesture. ‘Mr. Rostami, why did you ask for this meeting? I didn’t know I was on Iran’s Ministry of Petroleum’s radar.’

‘Please call me Ali. My ministry has no interest in you.’

He chuckled at their expressions, removed his jacket and spread it on a chair. He took a seat opposite them. ‘There’s an Iranian intelligence agency that I’m sure you are aware of. They asked me to request this meeting.’

‘There are several such agencies, Mr. Rostami,’ Mathur said sharply. ‘Which one are we talking of?’

‘I can’t name it. I was told you would figure it out.

Mathur paused a beat. ‘Go on. I’m listening.’

‘That agency uses conduits like me to convey information.’

‘Yes, I’ve worked that out. What do you have for us that requires this cloak-and-dagger stuff?’

‘I understand RAW is looking for a possible Iranian. Parvez Dara.’

Meera gave nothing away. She sat still and chuckled inwardly at her boss’s game face. She’s like the Sphinx. I’ve seen her in action. No one can guess what she’s thinking, with that expression.

‘Parvez Dara?’ Mathur repeated. ‘I haven’t heard that name before.’

‘He’s one of the men whose photograph is flashed on TV. The other man is Tariq Khalil.’ Rostami seemed to be enjoying himself.

‘Those are their names?’ Mathur asked sharply.

‘Ma’am, we don’t need to play these games. The agency behind this meeting is aware you know of the identities of these men.’

‘Can we get to the point?’ Meera sighed.

‘This agency wants you to know that Dara is not working on any sanctioned mission. Whatever he’s up to … he’s acting by himself … or with this other man, Khalil’s, support.’

‘Does this agency’—Mathur made air quotes—‘have any proof about that?’

‘That’s all I was told to convey, ma’am.’

‘And this agency wants us to believe it.’ Meera snorted.

‘That is up to you.’ Rostami shrugged.

The door opened behind them.

A hotel employee entered, served them teas and stood back.

Meera’s phone rang. She reached into her bag and brought it out.

Rostami was out of his chair instantly. He came around the table and squeezed her wrist so hard that she dropped the phone.

‘I’ll take that.’ He smiled and rejected the call.

She stared up at him.

Her eyes focused on the V his shirt made at the collar. On the pendant that was imprinted against the fabric.

‘You’re him,’ she breathed.

110

‘Who?’ Mathur asked uncomprehendingly.

Meera caught Rostami’s collar and yanked it hard. His shirt buttons broke loose, exposing the Quds medallion dangling around his neck.

She reached for her bag on the floor and he knuckle-punched her in the throat.

Mathur yelled and stood up and was shoved back by the server.

‘Don’t touch her!’ Meera gasped, struggling to breathe, eyes tearing up from the blow, and lunged up unsteadily.

Rostami punched her in the belly, removed her Glock from the bag and pointed it at them. ‘Be quiet. No one can hear you. The door is locked. You can’t get away.’ The small smile still played on his lips.

Meera checked on her boss. Mathur had a shocked expression, her eyes wide, but she wasn’t panicking. The RAW chief nodded slightly.

Can’t get my phone and warn my team or Zeb. How many people does Rostami have? The SA forced herself to think.

Rostami went around the table and leaned against the wall, smirking, while the hotel employee went through Mathur’s bag, extracted her phone, and turned it off.

‘Meera, who is he?’ Mathur asked.

Her voice is steady, the SA thought admiringly. We can’t afford to panic if we’re to get out of this alive. ‘He was next to Parvez Dara⁠—’

Her breath caught when the hotel employee joined Rostami and removed the face mask he was wearing to reveal the Quds force operative.

‘A tourist snapped Dara at Palika Bazaar and posted the photo to his social media site,’ Meera began, trying hard not to let her fear be reflected in her voice. ‘Next to him was Rostami. His face wasn’t visible. We couldn’t identify him. But we could see the outline of that pendant against his shirt and knew he too was Quds. We’ve been hunting him⁠—’

‘And here I am!’ Rostami mock-bowed.

‘Ali Rostami, or whatever your name is,’ Mathur spat, ‘you really think you can get away with this? There are soldiers and police outside this door and throughout this hotel. You can’t escape⁠—’

‘I’m not going to.’ Rostami fingered the Glock, his eyes dancing.

He seems to be proud of himself. Will he talk? We need to buy time. My team will go hot when the boss and I don’t check in soon. ‘Who are you?’ Meera asked before Mathur could question further.

‘I am Ali Rostami.’ The junior minister chuckled. ‘Quds most successful undercover team leader. He’—he patted Dara—‘is my agent. The two of us have pulled off missions in many countries without their agencies even suspecting us. You, RAW,’ he said, smirking, ‘didn’t know of me. You weren’t even aware of Parvez until Azhar told you.’

Meera kept her expression unchanged. How does he know Azhar revealed Dara’s identity? ‘All this,’ she said and gestured at herself and Mathur, ‘is because you want what?’

‘I’m sure you’ve guessed it by now. We knew you and Kohli were joining the Yemen operation⁠—’

‘How did you know that?’ Mathur challenged.

‘Your agency isn’t as secure as you think it is,’ Rostami sneered. ‘We couldn’t allow India to take part in that operation. What happened to your non-aligned stance? The Americans put pressure on you and you caved in?’

‘No one put pressure on us,’ Mathur said coldly.

‘So, you joined on your own? That’s even worse. All that talk of India being neutral … hot air!’

‘Khalil’s attack, the bomb in Connaught Place … all those were just so that you could stop us?’ Meera’s fists clenched.

‘The bomb was a diversion,’ Dara spoke for the first time. Precise English. No trace of an Iranian accent. He wasn’t smirking like Rostami. He looked almost bored.

Meera wasn’t fooled by his appearance. He’s a pro. Maybe even better than Rostami.

‘If Khalil had killed you and Kohli, our mission would have been over. He failed and you nearly got him and then I had to step in.’

Meera tensed when Rostami pointed his gun at her. ‘Why did you request this meeting? You could have taken out Vikram and me any other way.’

‘You think this mission was only about Yemen?’ The Iranian laughed. ‘You still haven’t put it together, have you? Our government didn’t like it that you stopped buying our oil and went to Russia … and now there’s world pressure on you to⁠—’

‘There’s no pressure on us to do anything,’ Mathur said calmly. There was a shine of perspiration on her forehead, but she looked cool, composed.

‘Spin it however you want.’ Rostami shrugged. ‘India had to be punished. Those negotiations next door are for⁠—’

‘So, the mission is about oil!’ Meera gasped.

111

‘It’s also about oil,’ Rostami corrected her. He put the Glock on the table. It fell to the floor, but neither he nor Dara made to pick it up. ‘Higher priced oil. Imagine how this will play out.’

Rostami gestured in the air like a movie director. ‘Terrorists attack the India-Iran trade negotiations, killing many of the delegates. My country is deeply upset about that event. My leaders say India is not a safe country anymore. Your country has to pay a price for the death of our delegates. We demand a significantly higher price for our oil. Your country has no other option but to accept because’—he smirked again—‘where else are you going to get oil? The price we set for you will be adopted by other OPEC countries so even if you go to other countries in that club, they’ll charge you the same. Russia will try to undercut us, but they’re being squeezed by the Americans.’

Meera glanced at her boss. Is he right? she telegraphed.

Mathur had a thoughtful expression on her face despite the peril. ‘We can buy from America, Canada … other non-OPEC countries.’

Rostami cackled. ‘They’ll price higher than us. That’s why you haven’t imported from them in any significant volume.’

‘So, you or Dara, or both of you, are going to kill us and then shoot the delegates, leaving a few survivors … what about the soldiers? You can’t take them all,’ Meera raged.

‘Parvez and me? No, our hands will be clean.’ Rostami puffed his chest in pride.

He cocked his head at a soft knock. Dara went to the door, opened it to let in another hotel employee.

The newcomer was carrying an AK-12. Suppressor fitted on it.

‘All done.’ He fist-bumped Dara. ‘The soldiers are dead. I have shot the negotiators. Some of them are dead. I locked the negotiations room. They can’t escape. Phone signal is jammed. Elevators and stairs are also jammed. No one except us can come up to or go down from this floor.’

He glanced at Mathur and Meera. His AK rose and he made to crash its stock in the RAW SA’s forehead when Rostami caught his arm.

‘Not now,’ the Iranian laughed as he took the man’s rifle and he and Dara went around the table to face him and the RAW hostages.

‘You’re getting the picture?’ Rostami raised his eyebrows at his captives. ‘Why don’t you introduce yourself to them?’ he directed the newcomer.

Meera froze when the hotel employee removed his face mask to reveal a smirking Tariq Khalil.

‘He’s the terrorist,’ Rostami crowed. ‘He’s done our dirty work.’

‘That still does not answer how you’ll escape.’ She heard her voice come from a distance. She licked her lips. Ignored the panic welling inside her. ‘There are soldiers in the rest of the hotel.’

Rostami made an exasperated sound. ‘You aren’t paying attention. I said I won’t escape. Parvez will kill both of you and shoot me in my left shoulder. Tariq has set the fire alarm to go off. There will be a stampede. Parvez will escape in the confusion. I will remain here until the Indian soldiers arrive and tell them that Tariq was the shooter and I somehow fought him but couldn’t save both of you. Your government might even give me a medal for that. With you both dead no one will know I am a Quds agent and that it was our mission.’ He removed the pendant from his neck and pocketed it.

Meera rolled her chair back to get closer to her boss. I have to protect her. She took in Khalil, whose forehead wrinkled.

‘We agreed I would kill them. Why is Parvez going to shoot them? Wait! How will I get away?’ the ISI shooter asked. ‘With Parvez?’

Rostami shook his head apologetically. ‘I am sorry, Tariq. You aren’t escaping. In the fight that we had, you and I, and it was a ferocious one because you are a great operative, I killed you.’

He reached for the AK.

‘WHAT?’ Khalil yelled. ‘After all I did for you? You can’t⁠—’

‘I can and I will. That was my genius idea. Framing you. When will the fire alarms go off?’

‘Don’t kill him just yet,’ Mathur said emotionlessly. ‘What Meera asked you … I still don’t get why you wanted me or both of us here. You don’t need our presence to frame Khalil and get the unsafe country angle. You can target Meera at any time. Why risk the scrutiny of getting us here for a fake meeting?’

‘That—’ Rostami returned the AK to the table, slapped his thigh, and chortled in glee. ‘Was the third part of the mission. That bit isn’t sanctioned by my government. It was a late development. A well-wisher of yours paid me a lot of money to kill you.’

‘Jamil Azhar!’ Meera exclaimed. ‘You made contact.’

‘Correct. He reached out and made me a very generous offer. That I should kill both of you. He even paid me an advance⁠—’

A dull explosion reached them. The hotel shuddered.

Simultaneously, the fire alarms went off and the ceiling sprinklers came on, drenching them.

‘What?’ Rostami looked up and then at Khalil. ‘That’s earlier than we agreed.’

The window exploded.

The curtains billowed inside and caught fire.

Smoke filled the room.

And through it, a figure climbed inside.

112

Zeb felt hot threads from the burning curtain stick to his face.

He ignored them.

Jets of water from the sprinklers slapped him.

He didn’t wipe his face.

The fire alarm shrieked overhead and throughout the hotel, and through the shattered windows shouts could be heard.

He forced the sounds to the background.

His mind was empty.

He was focused on what came next.

Rostami, with an AK in his hand, along with Dara to the left of the table.

Mathur and Meera to the right.

Khalil behind them.

All of them shocked, staring at his entrance.

He took one long step inside, coming to the edge of the table.

Threw his spare HK at Meera.

It crashed into her chest.

Khalil shifted behind her.

Rostami started to raise his rifle.

Zeb grabbed Mathur and shoved her to the floor. ‘STAY DOWN!’ he roared and ran at Rostami.

His shout seemed to break the spell on everyone.

Dara spread out, away from Rostami.

Doesn’t look like he’s armed. Zeb checked him out briefly and then ignored the Quds man.

He saw Meera grapple with Khalil. Mathur out of sight, on the carpet, beneath the table.

And then he was on Rostami, his cheek against the AK’s barrel, his right hand fisted, punching the man in his throat and smashing his head back against the wall.

He snatched the rifle from the Iranian’s hands easily and swung it around to crash the barrel against the man’s chin and send him slumping to the floor. Checked his body swiftly for more weapons and whirled around.

Dara against the far wall.

The sounds of scuffling, cursing and swearing to his right.

Ignore that. Meera will deal with Khalil. Mathur’s out of any firing line.

Zeb raised the AK. Not enough time to drop it and free his own HK or Glock, which were strapped to his chest and thigh.

He fired wildly.

Felt the missile in the air.

The glass paperweight Dara had thrown caught him on his cheek.

The blow stung. His eyes watered. He blinked rapidly to clear his vision, tripped over a chair and Rostami’s sprawled body, and fell on the carpet awkwardly.

He had a clear view beneath the table. Chairs. Meera and Khalil’s lower bodies twisting and turning as they fought.

Mathur, on the floor, her eyes, large, scared, peering at him above the crook of her elbow.

And Dara, visible waist down, against the far end.

Zeb fired again, a long burst that punched the walls, left to right, tracking towards the Quds agent’s body.

Dara leapt high in the air.

The table creaked when he landed on top of it.

Zeb fired through the furniture.

His magazine clicked on empty.

He reared up and flung it against Dara and saw it crash into the Iranian’s chest.

He dropped down to the floor again and was wrestling with his HK to free it when shots ripped holes in the table, searching for him.

Where did he get the spare magazine from? he thought dimly as he rolled desperately towards the far wall, hoping that would surprise the Quds agent, who would expect him to draw back towards the window.

Zeb shoved a chair away. Felt the rounds get closer as Dara guessed his move. Came up against the wall. Twisted. Cursed when the HK got jammed beneath his elbow.

Felt a shadow loom over the edge of the table.

Dara, snarling, the AK straightening, half bent to fire into him.

Zeb was in the zone where action and reaction were faster than the brain could process visual signals and send commands to the synapses.

Everything was grayed out in his world except Dara’s sneering face and the AK’s bore.

He reared up and caught the hostile’s rifle with his right hand to jerk it away, just in time to let the shots pound into the carpet to his right.

He pulled the weapon down.

Dara went with it, holding the rifle with both hands, putting his body weight behind it.

Zeb’s left hand flashed to his thigh, drew his Benchmade and thrust it high and up, sinking it between Dara’s ribs.

The Iranian grunted. His eyes widened in shock and pain, but he kept letting his body weight fall onto the rifle even as his finger rested on the trigger, waiting for his aim to correct to send the lethal rounds into the American.

Zeb’s hand shook with the strain of keeping the AK away from him. His left hand remained on the knife, which was jammed into Dara.

Can’t loosen my grip on either. Any such move would weaken his hold on the rifle, giving the Quds man the advantage.

The Iranian sensed it. His lips curled into a smirk.

Sweat soaked Zeb’s face, his eyes narrowed to pinpoints, chest heaving with the effort of taking Dara’s weight on his right hand through the rifle.

His feet crashed into the table’s legs as he tried to find purchase, which gave him the idea.

He jammed his boots against them and heaved back with all his strength, using the wall to his back for support.

The table was sturdy.

The carpet provided friction to ground it firmly.

It moved despite that.

Only an inch.

That was enough, however, for Dara to lose the delicate balance he had over Zeb and his hold over the AK wavered, the barrel inching farther away from the threat vector, and Zeb snatched that infinitesimal moment to pull the Benchmade out of the Iranian’s body, sway to his left and in doing so, lost his grip on the rifle totally. He felt the weapon jerk as the Iranian fired into the carpet, but none of the rounds were near him and his left hand was flashing up to tear the Quds operative’s throat with his knife and Dara fell on top of him, the Benchmade going deep into his neck.

Zeb lay there, his muscles twitching, sucking in air tortuously, his body shuddering as the Iranian lay on top of him, spasming in his death throes, and the AK fell silent as the magazine emptied into the carpet.

113

The HK crashed into Meera’s chest, snapping her out of the shock of the fire alarm, the sprinklers, exploded window, and Zeb’s entrance.

She got both hands on the weapon before it fell to the floor, but before she could turn it around on Khalil, the ISI man moved.

He wrapped an elbow around her neck and kicked out her legs from beneath her. ‘You die here!’

She gasped, feet struggling to find purchase as the lock around her throat tightened, his breath washing past her face.

She twisted to try to smash the HK against him, but he caught it expertly with one hand and in a lightning move, wrestled it out of her grasp and before she could react, brought it up against her neck and pulled it back with both his hands.

Meera groaned as the rigid weapon choked her air supply.

Can’t last long. She bunched her fists and punched backwards. No force in her blows.

Khalil’s mocking laughter in her ears.

She kicked back and caught one of his legs. He jerked, but the HK against her neck was pressing inexorably and she could see black spots dance in the edges of her vision.

She flailed wildly. Why did I wear a sari today? Her open-toed sandals caught the edge of the table. Pain shot through her toes.

That momentarily forced rational thought.

She bunched her knees and reared up, swearing loudly at the restricted movement her outerwear afforded her.

Her sandals found the table.

Khalil yelled at her sudden weight on him, but his hold on the HK against her throat didn’t ease.

Meera let out a strangled shout and heaved up again, levering off the table, using his grip as a fulcrum, fighting against the sudden crush of the HK against her throat, her powerful abdominal muscles swinging her high in the air, curving above him, her entire weight transferred to him.

Khalil lost his grip. His staggered.

Meera’s sari fell over her waist.

She didn’t care.

Her knees couldn’t flex much because of the garment.

Irrelevant.

She grabbed the HK with both hands, snatching it out of Khalil’s grasp and spun acrobatically in the air anti-clockwise, saw Khalil dive away to her right and corrected the rifle’s angle even as gravity did its job and yanked her down, but the HK was with her and Khalil was scrabbling on the floor, desperately trying to roll under the table for cover when her rounds smashed into his chest and then she fell.

She freed her left hand to anchor herself against the floor.

That wasn’t enough to break her fall.

Meera landed awkwardly. Knees crashing against a chair and then the carpet, the wretched sari not helping at all, her right elbow knocking against the wall.

She collapsed in a heap.

Khalil kicked her face.

It rocked her head. Her teeth came together painfully. He’s still alive?

The ISI man was at her two-o-clock, his chest bleeding, his face twisted in rage.

Meera caught his foot even as he was dragging it back, pulled it forward savagely and with one hand, turned the HK around, jammed its barrel against his belly, emptied the magazine and then scrambled up and smashed his head with the barrel repeatedly until he lay unmoving.

‘Last time I’m wearing this.’ She swore.

No one laughed.

She searched beneath the table.

Where was her boss?

‘DROP IT!’ a voice yelled.

114

Zeb heard the voice.

Rostami!

He shoved Dara’s body away and struggled to his feet, where he stood panting.

The Iranian had Mathur in front of him, a Glock to her temple.

That must be Meera’s. How did he get it? How did he recover? I smashed his head hard.

The answers weren’t important. The Quds officer had the upper hand.

Meera got to her feet too, hair disheveled, her face streaked with sweat, the water jet plastering her sari to her body.

Khalil didn’t rise.

‘Drop your weapons,’ Rostami ordered.

Zeb raised his hands in the air.

Meera dropped her HK.

‘You can’t get away.’ Zeb attempted a conversational tone. His voice cracked. ‘You’re dead if you kill her.’

Mathur licked her lips. Her eyes locked with his. She seemed to tremble, but he couldn’t be sure.

‘I’ll take my chances,’ the Iranian grated, ‘but can you afford to let her die?’

‘This is my fault,’ Zeb said.

‘What are you talking about?’ Rostami flared.

Zeb didn’t look at him. ‘This is my fault,’ he repeated.

Mathur’s eyes sharpened. The panicked expression on her face changed.

‘I should have killed Azhar when I had the opportunity,’ Zeb continued. ‘He joined up with Rostami, didn’t he?’

‘Yes,’ Meera spat through clenched teeth. ‘All this was for Yemen, oil and money.’

Mathur didn’t speak. She kept looking at Zeb, water sluicing down her face.

‘I had the chance in Islamabad,’ he said, ‘but I didn’t take it. That was a loose end.’

‘STOP TALKING!’ Rostami roared. ‘I want a chopper, right now. I’ll give the pilot the directions only when I am on board. She comes with me⁠—’

‘You need to look away,’ Zeb told Mathur. ‘Deniability. Or, if you don’t, you can blame what happens next on me.’

‘I WILL KILL HER IF YOU DON’T STOP TALKING. GET ON THE PHONE. GET ME A HELICOPTER,’ Rostami screamed.

Zeb ignored him.

He saw Mathur nod jerkily. He felt Meera’s puzzled glance. ‘Take the shot,’ he said, and this time his voice didn’t crack.

Rostami’s head exploded, splattering Mathur with blood and gray matter.

115

Mathur shouted. She fell to the floor and would have landed hard if Meera hadn’t darted forward and caught her.

She was dimly aware she was hyperventilating and her agent was talking softly, while Carter seemed to be speaking into his collar and then the fire alarms stopped, as did the sprinklers.

‘You’re okay. You’re safe. We all are safe. It is over.’ Meera, repeating the words, her voice registering, and then Mathur’s universe fell into place and she used her agent’s forearm to straighten herself and step away carefully from Rostami’s body.

Her knees wobbled.

‘Zeb, is it safe to go outside?’ she heard Meera call out.

‘Yeah,’ the American replied.

Meera caught her forearm and led her out of the room.

The bodies of the fallen soldiers in the hallway. Pounding from within the negotiations room. Shouting and the sounds of something crashing down below.

‘Those are security people, trying to come up to this floor,’ Meera explained. ‘I don’t know the details.’

Her agent took her to the bathroom, which was empty.

Mathur rushed to a stall, closed the door behind her, knelt, and retched into the toilet. She remained there until she had emptied her stomach and her body shook with dry heaves.

She wiped her mouth and face, flushed the toilet and went out.

Meera was sitting on the floor, her back to the wall with a faraway expression.

Mathur washed her face and dried herself with a fluffy towel. ‘I was in Jammu,’ she said, marveling that her voice was steady. ‘Flying a Mirage. It was a routine sortie. We were patrolling the Line of Control. This missile came out of nowhere and locked onto my jet. I released my flares and chaff and it exploded … but I thought I was going to die that day. The second time I felt that way was today.’

‘Yes.’ Meera stood up clumsily and washed her face too. ‘I didn’t expect us to live.’

‘Are you’re sure we’re alive?’

‘Yes, boss.’ The SA laughed hollowly.

‘How?’

‘I don’t know.’ Meera waved her hands helplessly. ‘Zeb … his friends … I don’t know what they did. Those explosions, that window … that helped.’

‘You took out Khalil.’

The SA glanced down at her torn, grimy, and blood-stained sari. ‘I don’t know how I did that either.’

Mathur bowed her head and stared sightlessly at the marble sink, breathing deeply, taking in the scent of the hand lotion, letting it seep into her, and then she straightened. She centered on what was important to her. Her husband. Her team. It grounded her and when she looked in the mirror, her control was back. It was shaky, tenuous, but it filled her with confidence, nevertheless.

‘Meera Ranganathan.’

‘Yes, ma’am.’ Her agent straightened at the crispness in her voice.

‘Never wear a sari again when you are on official work, whatever it is.’

‘Noted, ma’am.’ Meera managed a smile.

116

Beth, Chloe, and Bear were in the room when Mathur and Meera returned.

All three hard-faced, weaponed-up, talking in low voices in their collar mics.

They must have come through the window.

Mathur felt Zeb’s glance. ‘I’m good,’ she said. She picked her bag up from the floor and checked her phone. It was working, the signal showed full bars. She messaged Raj that she was unhurt and that she would explain everything later, and went to the window.

Stepped back instantly when a shadow appeared.

Bwana clambered inside the room, huffing.

‘Ma’am,’ he panted, reached behind, and brought out clothing from his backpack. ‘These are for you and Meera. Meghan ordered me to deliver them to you.’

Mathur took the shirts and jeans and handed a pair to her agent. ‘How?’

‘I don’t know, ma’am. Meghan rustled them up somehow and asked me to get up here. No one tells me anything. I’m just the delivery man.’

She searched his face and caught his grin and then he hugged her hard.

‘Broker or Roger could have come up,’ she said against his chest.

‘They aren’t good at climbing pipes. Zeb and I are the best at it.’

‘You could have come up through the elevators or stairs.’

‘Your agents, the police, and soldiers, are feeling jumpy. They’re looking like they’ll shoot first and ask questions later. I didn’t want to take that risk.’

She felt small next to him when he held her back and inspected her. ‘Clare would have shot us herself if we had lost you.’

‘Yes, I wouldn’t have liked being dead either,’ she said drily and leaned up to kiss his cheek.

She and Meera went to the bathroom again, changed into the jeans and shirts and when they emerged into the hallway, soldiers and security personnel had flooded the corridor.

‘Meera, this scene is ours until we have questioned everyone.’

‘Yes,’ her agent said and hustled to the senior-most officer.

Mathur watched them speak, the man nodding repeatedly and gesturing towards the negotiations room, from which dazed and scared men and women exited. Security personnel draped blankets over their shoulders and directed them to chairs and to tables where hot beverages were lined up. Several medical personnel were working in the room.

She searched the floor. The soldiers’ bodies had disappeared.

She went to the smaller room where the Americans were.

Sheets over the hostiles’ bodies.

She went to the window. The lawn was crawling with police and soldiers. A chopper hovered in the air.

She focused on the large tree that was some distance away.

A branch rustled. Leaves parted and Meghan waved at her.

‘Best shot in our team,’ Bwana growled at her side. ‘Zeb and I were the best at one time. Then she joined us and we aren’t even close to her skills.’

Mathur watched the twin disappear behind the leaves and took in Carter.

He was still. One hand casually draped over Beth’s shoulder, listening intently to her.

His face was shiny with sweat, his HK slung on his back. No expression on his face, but even from a few feet away she could sense the force of will within him.

He met her eyes.

‘How did this happen?’ she asked.

‘Beth, Meghan and Chloe. Their doing,’ he said.

Mathur took the cup of tea that Meera offered, sipped deeply, and listened to the younger sister.

How the Americans had made the connection between Rostami and Azhar. They had decided that since they didn’t know what Rostami and Dara had planned, they had to counter with surprise and shock.

‘We blew up the car park. We identified a remote part of it and launched our pellet bombs at it.’

‘Pellet bombs?’ Mathur asked.

‘Thermobaric bombs. I’ll explain later. We hacked into hotel’s security system, took control of the fire alarms and water sprinklers.’

‘We had our drones in the air,’ Chloe added. ‘Luckily, a few conference rooms on this floor had their curtains drawn back. Our UAVs could see into them. We guessed which room Rostami had you in.’

‘How did you get ont the hotel’s premises without anyone seeing you?’ Meera queried.

‘That was easier than we expected. That parking lot blast had everyone’s attention. We came over the rear wall of the hotel’s garden and Zeb climbed up. He’s expert at that.’ Chloe grinned. ‘Explosive against the window and he was inside.’

Mathur searched their faces when she fell silent. ‘Meghan?’

‘She got onto that tree and found a branch which gave her a shooting angle into this room.’ Beth’s eyes danced. ‘She could have shot Dara, but she didn’t know where Zeb was and if the Iranian shot reflexively, even while dying …’ she trailed off. ‘And she didn’t have Meera and Khalil in sight. She had her clear shot only when Rostami grabbed you and came in the window’s frame.’

‘How did you know it was safe for me to go out into the hallway?’

‘We got one of our drones to enter the hotel through a broken window.’

‘A lot of things could have gone wrong.’ Mathur shuddered inwardly.

‘Yes,’ Zeb replied steadily.

‘Rostami could have shot Meera and me instantly.’

‘Yes.’ He didn’t sugarcoat it.

She reached out blindly with her cup and drank the tea when Meera filled it. That steeled her slipping control. She nodded at her agent, who briefed the Americans about Rostami’s admission.

‘Rostami was planning this for a long while,’ Chloe guessed when Meera had finished. ‘He knew which hotel employees Dara and Khalil would impersonate. He had gotten their face masks made. Khalil’s AK … I am sure the cops will find it was hidden somewhere where the security people or the sniffer dogs didn’t go.’

‘It was a foolproof plan,’ Meera said bitterly. ‘His only mistake was inviting us both to a meeting.’

And he didn’t factor in the Americans, Mathur thought. ‘Meera, how many negotiators did Khalil kill?’

‘Six, ma’am. Four from our side and two Iranians. Three others are injured. It looks like he stepped into the room, sprayed, and left immediately. Which saved a lot of them.’

Mathur gazed at Khalil’s covered body. ‘So much killing just to prove a point.’

‘Mr. Carter,’ she began and then stopped. How can I thank him and his team? Whatever I say will be inadequate.

He sensed her thinking. He smiled briefly. ‘Your agents saved us at Red Fort.’

117

Anjali Mathur met Prime Minister Chauhan at eleven pm.

The Indian leader hugged her hard and inspected her when she drew back.

‘I am okay, sir. I have had several hours to get myself together …’ She gestured with a hand.

‘This is an act of war,’ the prime minister said grimly. ‘Not just by Pakistan but by Iran as well. We will act decisively⁠—’

‘You shouldn’t, sir.’

He frowned and gestured towards a chair.

She sat opposite him. ‘We have announced to the media that all these attacks were by a rogue ISI cell operating in India. Even the soldiers and the police in the hotel believe that. We have named Khalil and his team. We haven’t revealed Rostami and Dara’s real identities. We’re making it look like they too are ISI. Leave it at that. You can apply pressure on Iran. Tell them that unless they roll back on their oil demands and in fact, give us a special deal, you’ll go public with Quds involvement.’

Chauhan listened intently. He steepled his fingers. ‘The defense minister wants us to take hostile action. Most of my cabinet agree with him.’

‘How many of them know of Quds involvement, sir?’

‘Only the defense minister. I told him after you briefed me earlier today.’

‘Can you limit the news only to him?’

‘Yes, and he won’t talk.’

‘In that case, sir, I think going hot and hard would be the wrong move. It’s better to use this information to get an edge over Iran.’

The prime minister thought for more moments and then nodded. ‘Join my cabinet, Anjali.’

She smiled. ‘No, thanks, sir. I am happy where I am … unless you are thinking of replacing me at RAW.’

‘No! I like your idea. I’ll personally call Iran’s president and lay it out for him.’

He looked in the distance and shook his head. ‘I can’t even imagine being the leader of a country who will order an attack on another nation just to spite it and get a negotiating edge.’ He sat motionless for long moments and then his shoulders slumped briefly. ‘Actually, I can,’ he whispered almost to himself. ‘Ideology. It gets in the way of rational thinking. No democracy has progressed once its government is gripped by it.’

Mathur kept silent. She was aware the prime minister was battling various factions in his own party. He’s referring to them.

‘We uncovered some more intel on Rostami, sir.’ She slid a file across when he straightened finally and gave her his attention. ‘Now that we know who he is, we have got sightings. Satellite, security camera and social media photographs of him. Training the Houthi rebels in Yemen. He was also in Ukraine, sir, in the northeastern part, where Russia has its troops. He’s been training their soldiers in use of Iran’s drones.’

Chauhan sifted through the photographs and skimmed the reports. He looked up. ‘How do you suggest we use this information?’

‘You don’t have to do anything, sir. I got this from my American counterparts. President Morgan will act on it.’

‘Good.’ The prime minister nodded. He shut the file and laid it to the side. ‘What about Prime Minister Hussain and Jamil Azhar?’

‘Do nothing, sir. Hussain wants to build better relations with us. Those initiatives shouldn’t stall. Leave ISI to me.’

‘Am I going to read in the newspaper that Azhar died mysteriously?’

‘RAW is an intelligence agency, sir. We don’t carry out assassinations.’

He laughed briefly and didn’t pursue the subject. ‘Anjali, we came close to losing you.’

‘Yes, sir. I have been pinching myself every hour … I can’t believe I am alive.’

‘I want a list of all your agents. Those who died. I’ll personally see to it that they will be awarded medals and that their families will be made financially secure.’

‘Thank you, sir. Six negotiators died, too. Many soldiers and police officers have died.’

‘They too will be awarded. Even the Iranians. Now, about these Americans …’

‘I have thought about that, sir,’ she said and briefed him.

118

They were back in Mathur’s office the next day.

Zeb and his team mingled with Meera’s agents. Vikram had shown up briefly and after hugging them, had left to be with his father.

He surveyed Mathur discreetly. The RAW chief was elegant as ever in a white sari with tints of green and orange in it. Those are the Indian flag’s colors. She must have deliberately chosen that outfit.

She looked cool, confident, and seemed to have recovered from the previous day’s ordeal.

‘Mr. Carter.’ Mathur cut through the small talk, ‘Clare tells me you and your friends have this weird notion of not accepting awards and medals.’

‘If that’s what she said, it must be true, ma’am.’ He grinned.

A brief laugh swept the room.

‘That leaves me in a difficult position.’ Mathur tapped her pen on a file. ‘The prime minister has ordered me to thank you on the country’s behalf.’

‘No thanks⁠—’

‘Don’t interrupt me.’

Zeb clamped his jaws tightly when Beth gouged her elbow into his side and Meghan stamped on his boot.

‘So, I have a dilemma,’ Mathur continued. ‘And this is the best I could come up with.’

She slid eight envelopes towards them.

Meghan took them from her and distributed them.

Zeb slit his and extracted the single sheet from it.

He read it swiftly and then re-read it.

Heard Bwana’s low, rumbling pleased sound and saw Beth’s fist-pump that drew whoops and cheers from the RAW agents in the room.

‘This—’ Zeb looked up.

‘That is a directive by Prime Minister Chauhan.’ Mathur’s face softened. ‘That all of you can enter the country without needing a visa or any other paperwork other than that letter. No border official can stop you. That letter will hold good even with a change in government. It may not mean much, Mr. Carter, but it is what we could do, given your peculiar nature.’

‘It means everything to us, ma’am.’ Roger got up and bowed deeply and got his back thumped by the RAW team while applause, whistles and cheers broke out.

119

Islamabad

One week later

Jamil Azhar walked on eggshells every day. He jumped whenever the phone rang. He rushed to Prime Minister Hussain’s briefings whenever the leader called for them.

The country’s head had torn into him when India had gone public with Khalil’s identity, but that was all that Hussain had done.

He wasn’t sacked. RAW was intact.

There was no mention of Rostami or Dara. It was as if the Indians hadn’t identified the Iranians and thought them to be part of Khalil’s cell.

Azhar didn’t know what to believe.

He got his security team to inspect his car and his home repeatedly.

No bombs had been discovered.

He got every agency in the country to watch out for Carter and the rest of the Americans.

None of them were sighted.

He was looking in the wrong places.

On the seventh day, he was returning to his office after briefing the prime minister, when the shoulder-fired missile launched from the back of a truck tore into his car and turned it into a burning wreck.

120

Rajasthan

They were deep in the Thar Desert, in the northwest of Rajasthan. The world’s eighteenth largest desert that also spilled over into Pakistan.

They had driven out of Delhi after the meeting with Mathur and after a day of driving, had made camp in the arid region.

Tents with portable AC units. Food and water. Books and games for them to entertain themselves.

Not much contact with RAW other than a terse message from Meera to say they had found their traitor. No other details.

Zeb didn’t ask for them. Mathur will deal with it. No one will ever know some RAW agent had been turned.

On the seventh day, in the evening, his phone buzzed.

He read the newsflash and grinned when Broker looked up from his device too, punched the air and returned to reading.

‘It went down?’ Roger didn’t look up from the chess board he and Bear were hunched over.

‘Yeah,’ Zeb replied.

Any trouble? he messaged Jeff.

Nope. Give me a bigger challenge next time, came the prompt reply.

He was putting his phone away when it rang.

‘It’s Mathur,’ he announced.

The sisters emerged from their tent and came to him.

‘Ma’am,’ he acknowledged when he accepted the video call.

‘Mr. Carter,’ she asked suspiciously, ‘did you kill Jamil Azhar?’

‘Ma’am—’

‘Are you aware a rocket was fired into his car? He’s dead.’

‘I saw the newsflash, ma’am. But we had nothing to do with it.’

‘Why don’t I believe you?’

‘Ma’am,’ he protested. ‘We are in the Thar Desert. We haven’t left the country. See for yourself.’

He panned the camera to show the sisters, who thumbs-upped at the phone, and the rest of his friends.

She went quiet and then exclaimed, ‘Wait, is that Bwana cooking for all of you? All by himself!’

‘He cooks very well, ma’am.’ Beth chortled.

‘Ma’am,’ Bwana boomed solemnly while he waved his spatula in the air. ‘Please record this video and post it on the internet. You’ll help bring down the establishment.’

It was the first time Zeb heard Wing Commander Anjali Mathur laugh unrestrainedly.

* * *

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BONUS CHAPTER FROM AFRICA

South Africa

Thabo Nkosi was tired but content.

The eight-year-old trotted by the side of the N1, the expressway that began in Cape Town and ended at the border of Zimbabwe. It was the first section in the Cape-to-Cairo Road.

Thabo was on the outskirts of Kraaifontein, a small town to the north-east of the larger city.

He had been wandering up and down that stretch of the highway all day, selling his wares to cars that slowed or stopped.

Wooden eagles, lions, beads, plastic jewelry; he carried them in his backpack and hung them off a metal rack that he carried in his hand.

He wore a faded, grimy tee that had once been white. Khaki shorts that came to his knees and worn sandals on his feet.

His head was bare. He had a water bottle in his backpack along with some food.

It had been a good day. He had sold two lions to an American family and three eagles to other tourists.

He patted his pocket where he had the rands rolled up and glanced at the sky. The sun had set and darkness was rolling in fast.

It was another kilometer to join his papa in the field.

His father sold his wares farther down the N1 and he covered a longer stretch of the expressway.

It was the only life Thabo knew of. He and his father slept in the open fields, under trees during the summer, and hid in abandoned shacks in the winter. They met other street vendors in the evenings and shared stories.

Thabo played football with the other boys when they had a day off, and shared meals with them.

He didn’t know who his mother was. She had died while birthing him and his father rarely spoke of her. His papa was a man of few words in any case.

Thabo skipped, humming, as he ran. Bandile, his close friend, had promised to show him how to carve an eagle and he was eager to meet his friend before they had dinner.

It was dark by the time he reached the field where the street vendors set up camp.

Thabo frowned when he saw it was dark.

There were tents, usually, and the sounds and smells of cooking and people.

He got off the expressway’s shoulder and climbed the earthen bank to the field.

He saw two vehicles. They looked black but it was hard to make their colors out in the night.

Both were pointing to the north and had their headlights turned on.

Thabo was about four hundred meters from them.

He could see three men in the light, their backs to him.

He crouched low instinctively when he got on the field, and looked around.

Now he saw the tents, their lighter colors contrasting against the earth, but they were destroyed and lay on the ground. He couldn’t see anyone else and it was too dark to make anything out.

He heard one of the men raise his voice.

Thabo fell to his belly and wondered what he should do.

He decided to crawl closer. Maybe his papa was with the men.

He heard another voice. It seemed to plead.

He cocked his head. That sounded like … he listened hard.

Yes! It was his father’s.

Fear gripped Thabo.

He removed his backpack, threw it aside, and crawled faster to the men.

Got close enough to see between them.

He gasped.

His father was on his knees.

The three men had guns.

One of them rumbled softly.

Thabo couldn’t hear what he said.

His father shook his head.

The man raised his voice.

Still, Thabo couldn’t make his words out.

His father tried to stand up.

The man shot him in the head.

Thabo blinked.

He looked away and back again.

His father was on the ground.

‘PAPA!’ he screamed and shot towards the men.

He ran, his small legs pumping, lungs bursting, ignoring the men who spun around, weaved between their legs and felt something smash into his head.

He fell on his father, who lay unmoving.

His vision started darkening.

‘He’s just a kid,’ he heard a voice say.

‘He saw us,’ another man replied. ‘We can’t take any chances.’

Thabo tried to rise and then he heard a sound and he heard nothing else.

AFRICA, CHAPTER 2

New York

Cutter Grogan was in his office.

Sprawled in his chair. Feet propped on his desk.

A paper bag within reach.

It held his lunch sandwich and a couple of pastries.

Not anymore, he growled inwardly.

In front of him were his visitors.

FBI Special-Agent-In-Charge Peyton Quindica and her partner, New York Police Department First Detective, Gina Difiore.

Quindica was in a chair opposite him, finishing off half of his sandwich.

The rest of it was in Difiore’s hands and even as he watched, she ate the last of it.

The detective’s butt was on his desk. Sideways to him. Her normal expression was one of distaste when she regarded him.

It was replaced with one of bliss when she held up the pastries.

They were from Lin Shun’s bakery. New Yorkers fought among themselves to get her delicacies fresh out of the oven, such was her repute.

Cutter stood in line patiently, gave his order, paid for it, only for Difiore to grab it.

Boundaries. He watched bitterly when Difiore and Quindica ate the pastries. Difiore didn’t have any when it came to Lin Shun’s offerings.

Especially when Cutter had them in his possession.

His ownership of them was a minor, irrelevant detail to her.

‘That was mine,’ he snarled.

‘Was.’ She dusted her fingers, reached across his desk, uncapped a new bottle of water, which was also his, swigged from it, wiped her lips, and handed the bottle to her partner. ‘Now, where were we?’

He made to answer but his phone rang.

He took the call while glowering at her. ‘Yeah,’ he rasped.

He stood up when the voice spoke. His felt as if he had been punched in the gut. ‘I’ll fly out today,’ he said hollowly and hung up.

He stood for a long time staring sightlessly until Difiore’s and Quindica’s voices registered.

‘Grogan.’ The detective tugged his sleeve. ‘What happened? Who was that?’

‘I have to go.’ He bent to his desk and brought out his passport.

‘Go where?’

‘Cape Town.’

‘What?’ She shot to her feet. ‘Why?’

‘My friend has been killed. His eight-year-old-son too. Thabo Nkosi was my godson.’

* * *

AUTHOR’S MESSAGE

* * *

Thank you for taking the time to read Delhi. If you enjoyed it, please consider telling your friends and posting a short review.

Sign up to Ty Patterson’s mailing list and get The Watcher, a Zeb Carter novella, exclusive to newsletter subscribers. Join Ty Patterson’s Facebook Readers Group, here.

BOOKS BY TY PATTERSON:

ZEB CARTER SERIES

Zeb Carter Series

Fourteen books in the series and counting

Cutter Grogan Series (Zeb Carter Universe)

Nine books in the series and counting

Hawke and Stryker Thrillers (Zeb Carter Universe)

Two book and counting

Zeb Carter Short Stories

Three books and counting

Warriors Series (Zeb Carter Universe)

Twelve books in the series

Gemini Series (Zeb Carter Universe)

Four thrillers in the series

Warriors Series Shorts (Zeb Carter Universe)

Six novellas in the series

Cade Stryker Series

Two military sci-fi thrillers

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

* * *

Ty has been a trench digger, loose tea vendor, leather goods salesman, marine lubricants salesman, diesel engine mechanic, and is now an action thriller author.

Ty lives with his wife and son, who humor his ridiculous belief that he’s in charge.

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