The Dust Will Never Settle (5 page)

Mark nodded. That he understood. He liked that Ruby was thinking through to the end. Her recent long silences had made him uneasy.

‘Tell me about the team I asked you to put together, Mark… Who are the three guys you picked?’

‘Solid, reliable hitters – just the kind you wanted. Experienced blokes who don’t ask too many questions. They take orders and have no qualms in executing them.’

‘Perfect.’

‘Yeah. Not the fancy, brainy, officer types.’

Ruby laughed. ‘Any of them have criminal records?’

‘Nope.’

‘Perfect. Can’t have any flags going up when they cross the border.’

‘Don’t worry about it.’ He waved airily, but Ruby could tell there was something on his mind. ‘Say, boss,’ he said after a while, ‘any chance they won’t be coming back at all?’

Ruby shrugged. ‘Depends on them and how things pan out… and how they handle them.’

‘Fair enough.’ He cleared his throat. ‘Well, the first two are a couple of Aussies, Gary Boucher and Shaun Ontong, who currently operate in South Africa, and the third, Rafael Gerber, is from Germany. All three are clean and perfect for the job.’

‘Did they have any questions?’

‘Not the Aussies, but the German did. He is a bit anal, wanted to know who he’d be working with so I had to give him a brief about the Aussies. He was happy to know they’re operating in Africa. He’s been there for many years and thinks it’s the best training ground.’

‘Nothing about me, I hope?’

‘Not a peep about you.’ Mark smiled reassuringly. ‘In any case he had but one primary concern.’

‘Which is?’

‘Wie was das Geld ist?’
What is the money like?

‘Das Geld is gut,’ Ruby replied firmly.

‘Yeah,’ Mark grinned. ‘That’s exactly what I told him. Half payable on reaching Delhi and the rest when the job’s done. He had no further questions.’

‘Did you set up the communication protocol with them?’

‘I did. They are packed and ready. One text message and they’ll move to Delhi.’

‘Perfect.’

Twenty minutes later they were off again. The further they moved from Colombo, the A9 highway seemed to get worse. As did the condition of the buildings they passed. It would take time for Sri Lanka to recover from the devastation of the decades-long conflict.

Ravinder and Mohite had finished hammering out the details of the security arrangements for the Summit and shot it off to Thakur when Gyan, Ravinder’s office runner, entered.

Gyan had been with Ravinder for several years. Though less than brilliant, Gyan was rock-solid and devoted to Ravinder. The bond between them had grown ever since Ravinder, learning about Gyan’s cancer-stricken seven-year-old son, had ensured that Gyan was always posted where the best medical facilities were available and received aid from police welfare funds to care for his son.

‘There is a visitor for you, sir.’ Gyan’s gentle tone was a contrast to his massive size. A moment later a tall, well-built man with close-cropped blond hair and bright blue-grey eyes walked in.

‘Mr Gill?’ Dressed in a smart grey business suit, he appeared slightly ill at ease. ‘I am Chance… Chance Spillman. I’m with the agency.’ His British accent made it abundantly clear which agency.

‘Ah! Mr Spillman.’ Ravinder extended his hand. ‘The home minister told us to expect you. How are you?’

‘Very well, thank you, sir. It is a pleasure to meet you.’ Chance held out a letter. ‘Our director asked me to convey his regards.’

Ravinder took the letter. ‘And how is my friend Edward?’ He was referring to Sir Edward Kingsley, Director of MI6.

‘He is well, sir.’

‘Did he mention that we had been at college together in London?’

‘I don’t believe he did, sir.’ Chance smiled. ‘Not that I meet him very often.’ He grinned again. ‘I am still at the lower end of the food chain.’

Ravinder felt himself warming towards the man. ‘Right.’ Ravinder laughed. Turning to Mohite, who had a frown plastered on his face, he said, ‘This is DGP Govind Mohite, my deputy.’ The two men shook hands warily.

‘When did you get in, Mr Spillman?’ Ravinder continued.

‘Just this morning, sir.’ Then he added, ‘Chance is good enough for me.’

‘Chance, it is,’ Ravinder acknowledged. ‘An unusual name, if you don’t mind my saying so.’

‘Well, that was my dad for you,’ Chance said. ‘He always believed that everything that happened was purely a matter of chance, and only that.’

‘Well, Chance, I want you to know that we really appreciate your government sending you down to help us,’ Ravinder said.

‘I would like to assure you that I will do my best to make things work in whichever way you want them to. We understand this is your turf and…’

‘I am glad you understand that, Mr Spillman.’ Mohite made no effort to keep his tone polite. ‘India has been fighting terrorism for over thirty years and we don’t need anyone to tell us how to do things around here.’

Ravinder groaned inwardly at Mohite’s rudeness. But before anyone could respond, there was another knock at the door and Gyan entered. A fair, attractive woman with auburn hair followed him in. She was of medium height, in her late twenties or early thirties, with curves in all the right places. Like Chance, she too was dressed in a grey business suit. Despite her physical attributes and chiselled facial features, everything about her screamed secret agent, only the earpiece and dark glasses were missing. Her nasal twang defined her nationality.

‘I am Special Agent Jennifer Poetzcsh.’ She shook hands with the three men, a strong handshake, the kind women adopt when working in a male-dominant field.

Ravinder noticed the appraising look she gave Chance. Her gaze lingered on his wedding finger, when they shook hands, noting the absence of a ring. Chance also seemed taken by her.

She presented her CIA credentials to Ravinder.

With that out of the way Ravinder spoke, ‘As you both know we have just started preparing for this Summit so may I suggest you two spend the next few days getting a feel of Delhi while we complete the arrangements.’

‘Very well, sir.’ Chance nodded. ‘If there is anything we can do in the interim, please call us.’

‘Of course, Chance, thank you.’ Ravinder liked the professionalism of the young MI6 man. ‘Where are you two staying?’

They named different hotels.

‘Then may I suggest you both shift to the Ashoka, since that is the venue for the Summit. Govind will have a word with the hotel. They will give you rooms on the seventh floor, where we all will be staying. We are sealing off the top two floors for the Summit, the seventh for security and admin staff and the eighth for the delegates. You two will have adjacent rooms on the seventh floor.’

‘Excellent suggestion, sir. I will shift tomorrow.’

‘So will I.’ Jennifer nodded. She shot another glance at Chance, clearly pleased to be staying closer to him.

‘Lastly, may I also request you to contact your agencies and get us whatever intelligence they have – anything that may affect the Summit.’

‘Well,’ Jennifer began, ‘we have indications that a terror strike on Delhi may well be underway.’

‘Really?’ Ravinder asked. ‘What’s the target? What else do—’

‘That’s all we know right now,’ Jennifer broke in. ‘No way of knowing if the target is the Commonwealth Games or the Peace Summit.’

‘Anything specific?’ Ravinder asked when he realized she was not going to continue. ‘What is the source?’

‘It’s classified,’ Jennifer countered. ‘Just that we have electronic intelligence to suggest that mercenaries, probably from England, have been hired by Lashkare-Toiba. I’ll let you know as soon as we have anything more.’

The manner in which she delivered her words created tension in the room. Mohite’s face displayed increased hostility. Even Chance looked uncomfortable. Ravinder masked his irritation, though he had half a mind to remind her that terror strikes were something Indians expected almost every day.

The meeting did not end on a great note.

The A9 highway from Colombo to Vavuniya was an unpleasant drive. Ruby saw little cultivation on either side of the road. Barring an odd civilian vehicle and frequent army trucks, there was little traffic.

Lounging in the rear seat, Mark dozed off again. Though tired, Ruby was wide awake, her mind boiling with thoughts and memories that would not let her sleep.

The sight of soldiers and their surroundings felt strangely familiar to Ruby. The bleakness was so similar to what she had recently encountered in Congo…

Again her mind flew back… to the last time Mark and she had operated together. That day, too, they had been in a similar vehicle.

Ruby folded the newspaper she’d been speed-reading and let it fall to the floor of the five-door, eight-seater Toyota Alphard. The engine was running so the air conditioner could beat some of the stifling Congo heat. She threw a glance at the house across the street before checking her watch again. Only an hour had passed. Tired of sitting still, Ruby shifted, trying to make herself more comfortable.

‘The wait is always a bitch,’ Mark, sitting beside her, murmured; as usual he didn’t miss a thing.

‘It’s these bloody vests,’ Ruby muttered, trying to wipe away the sweat that was making the vest stick to her skin.

‘Yeah! But I’d rather be hot than not wear these when there’s lead flying around.’

Ruby was about to reply when her Motorola handheld, a frequency-hopping piece of work, crackled to life.

‘They are coming out now,’ Mission Control said in a calm, clipped voice.

The words unleashed a rush of adrenaline in Ruby. Her spine straightened and her breathing ramped up. Her fingers clutched her weapon.

Like Mark, she was carrying a 5.56x45mm NATO, 30-round Heckler & Koch G36K. She loved its heft; it was a lightweight and low-maintenance weapon, constructed almost entirely of tough carbon fibre-reinforced polymer. Its barrels had been exchanged to give it a carbine profile, making it more useful for close quarter use. The fight ahead was likely to be up, close and personal. And bloody.

‘Nitpickers?’ Mission Control again, asking and alerting them simultaneously. The code word showed MC’s kinky sense of humour.

‘Ready to nitpick.’ Chance Spillman’s voice carried the undercurrent of a man ready for action. Despite its tautness, it ignited a storm of feelings inside Ruby. Desire. Regret. Confusion. The nagging feeling of something left unfinished, unresolved.

Ruby had always worked to ensure no one ever got under her skin. She had always kept her distance. But Chance had managed to touch her heart. Being around him just reminded her of the feelings she had for him. She knew she wanted him back in her life, but…

‘He is the enemy, Ruby,’ her mother’s voice tugged at her. Rehana had been miffed when Ruby had told her she was moving in with Chance. ‘You are forgetting your purpose. He will never understand or accept what our people have suffered.’

‘But I love him, mom.’

‘More than your people? More than our cause? You are ready to throw everything away, everything that we suffered to ensure you are trained and ready when the time comes for you to act.’

Unsure, conflicted, Ruby had faltered. Love, an intense feeling of care and longing she had never experienced before, had pulled her to Chance. Love for her mother and her cause pulled her away from him. It had torn her apart.