The Dust Will Never Settle (8 page)

A man emerged from the shadows and helped them offload the cargo.

‘He will have them trucked down to Delhi and stored. They’ll be there by the end of this week. You can collect them from the address I have given you,’ Chanderan told Ruby.

‘Have you told him about our return?’

‘Of course. He will wait for you at the guesthouse in Chennai. It is perfectly safe… my cousin owns it. You just reach there and he will get you back.’

‘And him?’ Ruby gestured at the boatman. ‘He will wait for you here for four days starting October fourteenth. Remember this temple,’ Chanderan pointed. ‘It is an easy landmark… just ask for the Devipattinam temple.’

Mark and Ruby took note of the long, unfamiliar name.

‘Right. That’s it then. Let’s go.’

Minutes later they were heading back to Vellankulam. Their escape route had been physically reconnoitred and their weapons were being delivered to Delhi.

By now the darkness around them was almost complete. Barring the rhythmic throbbing of the powerful Yamaha outboard motor and the sound of water swishing past, silence surrounded them. It was almost spiritual. The dark skies, the overwhelming magnificence of the ocean, and the wind zipping past, all came together in harmony. Soon, the glow of the dying sun also vanished and darkness gathered strength, broken only by the twinkling lights of some distant coastal village or passing ship. Their boat rode without lights.

Ruby felt a comforting calm. It began in her heart and slowly spread through her, enhancing the positive feeling she had woken up with that morning. Despite that, somewhere deep inside, the sight of the receding Indian coastline unsettled her. She knew that somewhere out there, in that massive land of millions, was the man who had abandoned her – her father.

Where is he? Will I run into him?

Does he think of me? Ever?

All at once she wished they would never stop moving.

But they did.

Soon they were rushing through the night, back to Colombo. They had a flight to catch to Delhi. Ruby did not want either of them to enter India illegally.

It was pushing midnight when the cab brought them back to Ashoka hotel. Chance paid the driver and followed Jennifer in. Both had rooms on the seventh floor, in the zone that was being secured.

The encounter with Mohite that morning had soured the start of their day. But then, realizing they needed to give Ravinder time to sort things out, they’d taken his advice and gone sightseeing.

They’d had an exciting time traipsing through the Qutub Minar. Though access to the upper reaches of the world’s tallest brick tower was no longer allowed, they had fun walking around it. Jennifer tried to embrace the famous iron pillar after their guide told them that anyone who managed to encircle it fully would have his wish fulfilled.

Watching her, Chance wondered what she was wishing for. Then, out of the blue, the thought of Ruby dropped into his mind. He wondered where she was… how she was doing… what
she
would have wished for.

What would I have wished for?

That caught him by surprise. It was an uncomfortable thought. He pushed it away, declining to try the pillar when Jennifer asked him to.

The ultra modern Lotus Temple was a change from the historic Qutub Minar, its exquisite construction and serene gardens leaving them enthralled. An hour’s drive later, they reached the Jantar Mantar, a collection of architectural astronomical instruments built by Maharaja Jai Singh II. They were amazed at the sophistication of the 18th century monument. Then they spent a few hours wandering through Jama Masjid, Delhi’s oldest and most famous mosque, built by Emperor Shah Jahan, who had also built the Taj Mahal. They were exhausted by the time they arrived at the Son-et-Lumiere, the sound and light show at the Red Fort, but felt rejuvenated by the time the brilliantly choreographed show finished. The evening ended with an authentic Indian dinner at Karim’s, a restaurant near the Jama Masjid, in one of Delhi’s oldest markets – the ambience as exotic as the food.

As the day progressed, Jennifer’s attempts to get closer to Chance became obvious. It began with small gestures, a brush of his hand, a touch on the shoulder, and by evening they were holding hands and strolling through the Red Fort. Though uneasy, Chance made no attempt to free his hand.

The ancient fort with its sprawling, lush gardens had an irresistibly romantic aura. Chance felt it even though he didn’t want to. It had been a while since he’d been with a beautiful woman. Still, he felt confused responding to Jennifer’s flirtations. He was unsure where he stood with Ruby, and this made him feel uncomfortable. Almost guilty.

‘Would you like to come in for a nightcap?’ Jennifer asked as they halted outside her room.

The hint of desire in her eyes tugged at him. But Chance hesitated. ‘Not tonight, Jennifer.’ Realizing he may have been too abrupt, he added, ‘I am very tired. It has been a long day. Maybe tomorrow.’

‘Maybe.’ Jennifer gave him a light peck on his cheek and went inside.

Chance stood in the corridor, wondering if he should knock on her door and tell her he had changed his mind, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it.

On the other side of the door, Jennifer sighed as she heard him walk away.

Ravinder was feeling drained by the time they managed to get away from the clutch of relatives at the wedding. It was not the ideal way to end a stressful day at work.

Jasmine too was feeling the pressure. These days, weddings were not high on her list of favourites, especially with Simran using every occasion to have one or the other of her sisters and cousins try and talk her into settling down. Several times Ravinder had seen Jasmine surrounded by a gaggle of aunts, looking hurricane-hit. More than once he’d even worked up the courage to wade in and rescue her.

Simran, of course, was thriving. She loved the hustle and bustle of these functions.

By the time they finally got free and hit the road, it was near the witching hour.

Ravinder was almost asleep when he remembered.

He had again forgotten to tell Simran and Jasmine to remain cautious. And he’d also forgotten to check on the latest with Mohite, about the hunt for Javed Khan and Aslam. The APB that had been put out yesterday and the request to Int had yielded several leads that Mohite was following up on. He thought of waking up Simran and Jasmine and cautioning them, but it had been a long day.

Tomorrow. First thing tomorrow
, Ravinder promised himself.
We have to find those bastards before…

Day Three

R
uby woke up as the plane began its descent towards Delhi’s Indira Gandhi International Airport.

She checked her watch, a Cartier Tank with an ivory dial, blue metallic hands and black Roman numerals encased in a stainless steel body, a steel bracelet with yellow-gold links forming the strap. It made her smile. Rehana had saved up for it and gifted it to her when she had finished her MI6 training.

Well beyond my pay grade,
Ruby thought with a wry smile.

As the aircraft hit the ground with a thud, bounced once and then settling down, roared down the runway, Ruby came back to reality.

Seven days to the Summit.

The ops clock in her head started ticking louder. It happened before every mission. Her spine stiffened and shoulders squared as she got off the plane.

Battle mode was on.

The massive, recently commissioned Delhi airport was bustling with energy. Mark and Ruby cleared immigration without any hassles and caught separate cabs. Mark made his way to the Radisson, a short hop from the airport and within striking distance of the target.

Ruby checked in at the Hyatt Regency, a short run from the Ashoka, where the Summit would be held.

She settled into her room and reached for the phone.

Ravinder was getting ready to leave for the office when the phone suddenly rang. He paused for a second, one hand still trying to push the links through his shirt cuff, deliberating if he should take the call.

‘Good morning, sir. The man from Mossad is here. He wants to know when he can brief us.
’
Mohite’s voice crackled through the phone.

Ravinder glanced at his wristwatch and mentally worked out his calendar – it would be another chock-a-block day. But this briefing could be important. ‘Can he make it at twelve?’

‘Of course he can. What else is he here for?’ Mohite declared with his usual tact. ‘I will tell him to come to the office at noon.’

Ravinder shook his head. He thought of telling Mohite that this was not the way to go around making ‘friends’, but didn’t have the energy. And, knowing Mohite, it would be futile.

‘And Govind, please request Chance and Jennifer to be present for the briefing.’

‘Why?’

‘Because they are here to help us secure the Summit. They need to be kept in the loop… that’s why,’ Ravinder replied patiently.

‘But…’

‘And just in case they are not in their rooms, leave a message with the front desk
and
send them a text,’ Ravinder cut him off. He was about to end the call when he remembered. ‘Oh, yes, what’s the latest on Javed and Aslam? Any progress?’

‘Nothing so far, sir,’ Mohite replied, suddenly subdued. ‘We drew a blank on seven leads. False alarms.’

‘How many leads are there?’

‘Nine, so far. Three from Int and six public sightings. I’m having the remaining two public sightings followed up today.’

‘Keep me posted. And no matter what happens, keep up the publicity on these buggers. Radio, television, flyers, posters… the works. That will keep them on the run and not give them time to sit down and plan their strikes.’

Ruby tapped her feet impatiently, waiting for the phone to be answered. She had already called five times.

‘Damn it, Mark! Where the hell have you been?’ Ruby realized she had spoken more sharply than she had intended. She added, more gently, ‘I need you to confirm with that guy about the remaining equipment.’

‘I had gone down for breakfast and then I was just taking a shower, Ruby. It was a long flight. And I had to go out to call our man… I didn’t want to do it from the hotel.’

‘And?’ Ruby knew he was right about taking these precautions, but she was itching to find out if he’d made any progress on procuring the Glocks.

‘Anyway, he is out of Delhi and can only meet us the day after.’

‘No way he can make it sooner?’

‘I tried to get him to, but he says that’s the earliest he can get back.’

‘Damn! Well, in that case, let’s focus on the reconnaissance for now.’

‘Where do you want me?’

‘Not with me. Not yet. The less we’re seen together, the better. But there are some places I want you to check out on your own.’

Chance and Jennifer were already there when Ravinder walked into the conference room. So was Mohite. He sat beside a well-built, fair, serious-looking man at the other end of the table.

‘Good afternoon.’ The newcomer held out a large hand. ‘I am Ido Peled.’ His English was only slightly accented.

Ravinder brought the meeting to order and Peled began his briefing.

‘My government has asked me to give you a detailed account of the Jerusalem attack and the people responsible for it, since we believe they will try to disrupt this Peace Summit too. I will also give you details of all delegates and try to answer any questions you may have.’

‘The delegate profiles,’ Mohite asked loudly, ‘how are they relevant? Does your government believe that some of them may also attempt to disrupt the Summit?’

Ravinder acknowledged that the question was valid, but winced at Mohite’s tone. Jennifer looked at Mohite sternly. Chance, more in control of himself, simply looked away.

‘We have no reason to believe that the delegates could be involved in an attempt to sabotage the Summit, Mr Mohite,’ Peled replied non-committally, meeting his gaze evenly.

‘I see.’ Mohite appeared inclined to discuss this further.

Ravinder intervened. ‘Fair enough. Please tell us about the terror strikes.’

‘Our investigations confirm that fifteen people were involved in planning and executing the terror strike on Jerusalem, though only twelve women carried out the actual strike. These women had four things in common.’ Peled, clearly a fluent communicator, had practised his presentation.

‘First, none conformed to the profiling systems of most security agencies post 9/11. They appeared to be well-integrated members of society and thus were the ideal undetectable recruits.

‘Second, all identifying dental work and body marks had been removed, and every stitch of clothing on them had been procured locally. Barring false passports, they carried nothing that could reveal their identities or show which group they belonged to.

‘Third, all twelve were prepared to die as readily as they were to kill.

‘Finally, they had all been trained thoroughly, especially the six women who arrived last. The first six entered Israel from various points in Europe. The other six, also of European origin, came from Pakistan. However, since passengers from Pakistan are subjected to extra scrutiny by most countries, this lot too was routed in through European cities. They had been handpicked from amongst 185 women trained for two years at two special Lashkar-e-Toiba camps at Bhimber and Kotli in Pakistan-occupied Kashmir.’ Peled paused for a sip of water. ‘This was done so that the planners could pass off this attack as a Zionist conspiracy.’

Mohite interrupted, ‘Considering the efforts taken to prevent all this from coming out, you seem to know an awful lot.’

‘Yes, because we pieced the whole thing together from camera footage at the airports, from the targets, eyewitness accounts and forensics.’ After a pause he added softly, ‘Also because we captured one of them alive.’

‘You did?’ Jennifer couldn’t contain her surprise. ‘But that was not in the news.’

‘We don’t want the people behind the strike to know we are onto them.’

‘Good thinking.’ Ravinder gave an approving nod. ‘So you know exactly how the raid was executed?’

‘Yes, we do.’

‘Please share it with us. I am sure there can be major lessons in it for all of us.’

Peled gazed at Ravinder. Then he began his story. ‘The strike on Jerusalem began at precisely ten-fifty that morning.’

As he spoke he held a wireless controller in his hand. Powered by his laptop, footage from a security camera began to beam onto a screen at the far end. It showed dozens of tourists milling around, along with several security men.

‘The attack started innocuously enough, but escalated so rapidly that our security was initially swamped. By the time we recovered and started a counter-attack, the raiders had gained a foothold, a tenuous one, but enough to ensure that the damage inflicted was substantial.’

His four-person audience listened in rapt attention.

A security camera zoomed in to show three women walking up towards the Al Aqsa mosque. All seemed to be in their mid-twenties and blended into the touristy crowd with ease. They held travel books in their hands, big cameras slung around their necks, and water bottles peeped out of their backpacks. Their heads were covered with scarves and they wore full-sleeved shirts and trousers, ensuring there was no indecent display of skin.

In retrospect it was easy to see that their eyes were not still; they constantly darted around, like the advancing scouts of a rifle section. They had divided the area into zones, so between the three of them maintained a total view of the surroundings. This heightened awareness was mostly due to the Benzphetamine pills they had taken a few minutes ago.

It was at the Al Aqsa mosque that the Holy Prophet was given the commandment to pray five times a day for the following sixteen-and-a-half months, with Jerusalem as the Qibla (direction of prayers), though today Muslims face Mecca while praying.

The Dome of the Chain marks the central point of the Al Aqsa, which like most mosques has four minarets, three square ones and a cylindrical one from the Mamluk period. Recognizable by its lead dome, which replaced the aluminium covering built in 1964 in order to restore it to its original cover, Al Aqsa comprises three distinct parts: narrow arcades running along one end, a huge atrium, and a covered area to the south.

Signs of damage done to the mosque in 1969, when a fanatic Jew set fire to the covered area, are still visible. Amongst the numerous sad losses was the loss of the beautiful handmade pulpit from Aleppo made of over 10,000 interlocking pieces of wood, ivory and mother of pearl, held together without a drop of glue or a single nail, and considered one of the most beautiful pulpits in the world.

‘If the plan that had been developed for these terrorists had fully succeeded, the damage would have been much more severe.’ Ido’s tone was sombre.