Private Delhi Page 15

  The Deliverer had crept up to the bully’s bed and plunged the fork into his thigh. The bully had screamed in agony but the lights of the dormitory had been off. The Deliverer had retrieved the fork and crawled back to his bed, pretending to be asleep. By the time the lights had been switched on a few minutes later, the bully had been writhing in agony.

  He had been quickly transferred to the Army Hospital and was declared dead from snake bite—a common occurrence in Varanasi—six hours later.

  The Indian Machiavelli, Chanakya, had said in 300 BCE, “Even if a snake is not venomous, it should pretend to be so.”

  The Deliverer had stopped pretending. He knew he was venomous.

  Chapter 82

  SANTOSH LAY PROPPED up on his hospital bed, with Jack, Nisha, and Neel at his bedside. A nurse popped in to check his blood pressure and temperature then left. It had taken almost an entire day for him to emerge from his near-dead state.

  “You really need to stop landing up in hospital,” joked Jack, going on to tell Santosh of the timely intervention that had stopped him from dying.

  “How did you know your approach would work?” Santosh asked Neel.

  “There is significant research on this subject,” replied Neel. “A case in point is the ordinary garden worm. Research shows that ninety-nine percent of garden worms die within twenty-four hours of exposure to temperatures just above freezing point. But if they are first deprived of oxygen, their survival rate is almost ninety-seven percent. Upon rewarming and reintroduction of oxygen, the worms reanimate and show normal life spans.”

  Santosh thanked him with a nod. “And now we find ourselves in the lion’s den,” he said.

  He looked at Nisha. After just two days off looking after Maya she’d insisted on returning to work—ignoring Jack and Neel, who’d urged her to spend more time with Maya—and she looked exhausted.

  “How is Maya?” asked Santosh.

  “She’s being looked after at the Oberoi,” said Nisha, flashing a tired but grateful smile at Jack.

  “Little Miss Gandhe could charm the birds out of the trees,” laughed Jack. “She already has the entire staff wrapped around her little finger.”

  “I can’t imagine what she’s been through,” said Santosh.

  Nisha dropped her eyes. A sympathetic, respectful silence fell across the room. “She needs me at night but otherwise she doesn’t want to talk about it. She’s repressing it. Outwardly she seems fine. Like Jack says, she gives the appearance of having the time of her life, and yet she witnessed Heena’s murder. She was tied up—on the point of being assaulted by Roy. I can’t even begin to comprehend what that might do to a little girl.”

  “Children are very resilient,” said Santosh. “More so than adults.”

  “I hope so,” said Nisha quietly.

  “And now you’re in the position of having had contact with the killer,” said Santosh.

  “I saw him briefly on the drive. He was running away.”

  “But you’ve formed the opinion that he’s a vigilante?”

  “Yes. We’ve been assuming that it’s some kind of organized crime war going on. But what if we were talking about a personal vendetta? What if this were the family of one of the victims? What he said to Maya suggests someone driven by a desire to do …”

  “Good?” said Santosh.

  “In his mind at least, yes.”

  “Saving Maya was a humane act, but even hit men have a moral code,” said Jack.

  “It’s not just that. It’s his interest in the essay, not to mention his MO.”

  “You said yourself, the gruesome murders could be a warning,” Santosh reminded her.

  Jack cut in. “I gotta say, I’m warming to Nisha’s theory. The Godfather movies get it right: when organized crime cleans house they do it in one fell swoop. Boom, boom, boom. Not one at a time like this, giving the enemy time to regroup and prepare. You said yourself, Santosh, that Thakkar’s increased his security.”

  “So have Jaswal and Chopra,” said Neel. “Whatever our killer’s motives, he has the great and the good of Delhi in a spin.”

  “It couldn’t happen to a nicer bunch,” said Nisha tartly, earning a penetrating look from Santosh.

  “There are armed guards in this very hospital, too,” noted Jack. “No doubt here to look after Dr. Arora. They’ve all got them. Nisha’s right, Santosh, this is a rogue agent we’re dealing with here.”

  “Then the motive is revenge, and we must work out who is the killer’s next victim,” said Santosh.

  “In the meantime, I’m not comfortable leaving you here,” said Jack. “It seems we’re investigating on two fronts now: a vengeful serial killer and an organ-harvesting operation—and they’re as defensive as each other. Someone tipped off Ibrahim about you. What’s to stop them having another go?”

  “I’ll be on my guard, Jack,” said Santosh. “But for the time being here is where I want to be. What are your plans?”

  Jack pushed his hands into his jeans pockets and stood thinking for a moment, chewing his lip. “I think it’s about time I had a word with our friend Mohan Jaswal.”

  The Private team went to leave but Santosh called Nisha back. She hung by the door, unwilling to meet his eye.

  “It’s not just Maya who went through an ordeal the other day, is it?” said Santosh, pulling himself up in bed a little.

  “You almost lost your life.”

  “That’s not what I mean, and I think you know it.”

  “She’s alive and unharmed, that’s the important thing. If only I could say the same for Heena.”

  “For Maya things could have been much worse.”

  Anger flashed across her face. “You don’t say.”

  But Santosh plowed on. “Things could have been worse if not for the intervention of the killer. I can’t be the only one who feels that if this killer is targeting the men behind an organ-harvesting scheme, and if he’s killing the likes of Amit Roy, then maybe he’s doing the world a favor.”

  And now she was rolling her eyes. “Oh God, not you as well. I got this from Sharma. He went as far as to insinuate that the killer and I were in league together.”

  “You’re an excellent shot, Nisha.”

  “It was dark. What if I’d killed him? What if I’d killed him and he turned out not to be the killer but a burglar who was in the wrong place at the wrong time?”

  “We have to stop him, Nisha. The fact that he saved Maya cannot have a bearing on that.”

  “I know,” she said tightly. “Can I go now, please, and get on with the business of trying to catch him?”

  “Just as long as you are,” he said.

  And now she rounded on him. “You’re sounding fairly sanctimonious for someone who sat on evidence! We knew Arora had links to the bodies at Greater Kailash and we haven’t done a thing about it. For all your talk about cutting off the head of the snake, we’ve done precious little cutting of any description, and in the meantime more people have died, and my little girl …”

  For Nisha that was as much as she could take. Choking on her words, she wheeled, snatched open the treatment-room door and stormed out, leaving Santosh alone.

  “I’m sorry,” he told the empty room, judged by the silence.

  Chapter 83

  JASWAL SAT IN his usual place in the Delhi Legislative Assembly, attempting to stay calm. The doors were covered by armed guards, strong and impassive, silent sentinels amid the ruckus. The opposition seemed to have ganged up to accuse the government of every conceivable crime. Jaswal consoled himself by stroking his beard.

  The leader of the opposition, a balding, chubby man in his sixties, was attempting to have his voice heard over the din. “This government has lost the moral authority to rule. Multiple corpses of patients were discovered inside a house at Greater Kailash. We have been kept in the dark regarding who these victims were. Three key people associated with the health sector—the Health Minister, a health care tycoon, and the Health Secretary—have
died in mysterious circumstances. We’re being told that Kumar committed suicide when, as anybody knows, he was murdered, just as Patel and Roy have been murdered. It is evident that there is a deeper conspiracy that the government is attempting to hush up.” He brandished a poster satirizing the recent murders, adding, “You see this? Even rabble-rousers on the streets know our system is corrupt. We demand that the Chief Minister must resign.”

  Almost all seventy members of the house were on their feet, shouting at each other. The helpless speaker of the house kept urging the honorable members to sit down in order to restore order but nobody was interested in listening. Jaswal was probably the only person who remained seated and utterly quiet. He looked positively haggard.

  Chapter 84

  THE LOTUS TEMPLE was a Baha’i House of Worship and an architectural symbol as striking as the Sydney Opera House. Inspired by the lotus flower, the temple was composed of twenty-seven free-standing marble-clad “petals” arranged in clusters of three to form nine sides. The nine doors to the temple led into a vast central hall more than forty meters tall and capable of holding up to two and a half thousand people.

  In a corner of the massive hall sat an odd couple: TV reporter Ajoy Guha and the police chief, Sharma. A fine pair they made: the overweight, perspiring Sharma; the tall, bespectacled Guha. The meeting had been initiated by Sharma but Guha had been happy to oblige.

  “So, what did you want to see me about?” he asked Sharma, regarding the cop through his wire-framed glasses.

  “For a start I thought you might want to thank me for giving you the lowdown on Roy. That little scoop sparked off the most dramatic thing to happen in Delhi for years. You must be very pleased.”

  Guha preened a little. “Well, if the cat wasn’t already among the pigeons it certainly is now. It’s a good time to be a newsman in the city, watching its high rollers run around like headless chickens. I suspect the security companies are pleased too.”

  Sharma chuckled. “The whole city is awash with conspiracy theories, bloodlust, tales of corruption, lies, and more damned lies, and it’s only getting more and more fervent. The other day I saw a bit of graffiti that said, ‘Are they telling us the truth?’ Today I saw graffiti that said, ‘You are being lied to.’” He smirked, evidently enjoying himself.

  “In such circumstances revolutions are born,” said Guha.

  “It won’t go that far. You know why? Because the likes of you and me won’t let it. The current system favors you just as much as it does me. I think we’ll give the city a shake-up and see who comes tumbling out of the bag afterward. No doubt there will be changes, but all for the better, I’m sure of it.”

  “In other words, changes that favor your boss, Ram Chopra.”

  “You’re wrinkling your nose at the smell of dirty tricks, are you? Let me tell you, Jaswal is not above employing them himself. Rumor has it that he’s hired himself a detective agency, the Private agency, no less, to do his dirty work for him. Anyway, what does it matter to you? A scoop is a scoop.”

  Guha frowned. “You might be right.”

  “And now I’ve got another one for you,” said Sharma. He handed over a small package.

  “What’s inside?” asked Guha.

  “Details of preliminary investigations into how illegal organ removals are being carried out at the behest of a company called ResQ,” replied Sharma.

  “Aha, now I see,” said Guha. “Head of ResQ is Jai Thakkar, who just happens to be good buddies with Jaswal, your boss’s mortal enemy?”

  Sharma shrugged. “I say again, does it matter? Any man involved in organ harvesting is a man who needs to be stopped.”

  Guha stood. “I’ll see what I can do.”

  “Oh, and Guha?” Sharma stared up at the journalist. “I’m continuing my investigations, so watch this space.”

  Chapter 85

  THE TWO MEN sat at a table of the upmarket Cafe E, in the opulent surroundings of the DLF Emporio Mall, Delhi’s best luxury mall.

  The well-dressed Thakkar sipped mineral water with a calm, meditative air that belied how he really felt, which, if he was honest, was a touch on the nervy side. Added to the recent spate of murders—among them his business associate Samir Patel—was the distinct sense that things were coming apart at the seams. It was an impression not helped by the somewhat harassed and bedraggled appearance of Arora, who sat opposite, an untouched coffee in front of him.

  On tables at either side were their security details, four men in total, two for each man. They wore sharp suits tailored to disguise a bulge at the armpit, and dark Ray-Bans to hide eyes that constantly scanned the area around them, ever alert for danger. Cafe E occupied the entire ground floor of the mall, giving them unrestricted sight, which was just how they liked it.

  Thakkar set down his glass. “We have over a hundred patients from the United States lined up to visit Delhi next month,” he said. “As of now you have arranged organs for less than fifty percent of them.”

  Arora swallowed. “Why does everything become a crisis with you? You have now started bypassing me and have been directly in touch with Ibrahim. I’m the one who set him up. I even provided him with the van. And now you bypass me and go to him?”

  “I wouldn’t need to directly contact Ibrahim if you delivered on your commitments,” replied Thakkar.

  “But this is getting dangerous,” argued Arora. “You know what happened at Greater Kailash.”

  “Was that Ibrahim’s fault?”

  “Of course it was. And now he’s going after poor residents of the slums at Yamuna Pushta. Such an aggressive strategy is a recipe for disaster.”

  “What’s the harm in that?” asked Thakkar.

  “He and that hack he calls a surgeon do not have the required medical capabilities,” hissed Arora. “Surgeries are being performed in his fucking van! We will all get into trouble … He’s using guys who don’t even have a medical license. If this were ever to get out—”

  Before Arora could finish the sentence, Thakkar’s cell phone rang. He took the call. “Hello,” he said, “who’s this?”—already regretting instinctively answering his phone when he didn’t recognize the number.

  “Mr. Thakkar? Is that Mr. Thakkar?”

  And now Thakkar regretted answering the phone even more bitterly, because though he didn’t outright recognize the voice, there was something about it that pointed to the drawer marked “irritant,” “troublemaker,” “enemy.”

  “Who is this?” he repeated cautiously.

  “Why, this would be Ajoy Guha of DETV. You were recently a guest on my program, Carrot and Stick.”

  “Yes, I remember. I remember it being a most unpleasant experience.”

  “Well, I must apologize for that. It is not our aim to make our guests feel uncomfortable. Perhaps you would like to make another appearance, a return visit, so to speak? There is a most important issue I would be very keen to discuss.”

  Thakkar felt his insides clench. First Arora’s doom-mongering. Now this. He had a sudden flash of insight: he should have got out while the going was good. He had taken things too far. He hardly dared ask his next question. “What issue are you keen to discuss?”

  Now Guha’s voice took on a different tone, as if—yes, of course—the bastard would be recording it. “Mr. Thakkar, I have information that you are illegally trading organs. Would you like to confirm or deny the allegation?”

  Oh God, oh God, oh God. This was what it felt like when your world came crashing down.

  “Of course I deny it,” hissed Thakkar, “of course I fucking deny it.”

  But as if Guha’s call wasn’t bad enough, Thakkar now saw another situation develop. Opposite him Dr. Arora’s eyes had risen from the tabletop and gone to something happening at the far end of the mall. Thakkar turned to see a squad of four armed police enter, and his mouth dropped open. Guha forgotten about, he ended the call, watching as the squad led by the chief, Sharma, made their way across the mall toward the cafe.

/>   As one, the security guards rose to their feet, their seats skidding back on the marble flooring as they reached inside their jackets. At the same time two of the armed policemen brought assault rifles to their shoulders and the other two moved smartly to one side as though to outflank the security detail. Sharma’s voice boomed: “Draw your weapons and we will open fire, gentlemen. It’s that simple.”

  To a background of audible gasps from shoppers as they realized what was happening and took shelter behind columns lining either side of the atrium, the security men froze mid-draw, looking to their respective employers for guidance.

  Arora gave a nod. Do as you’re told. Thakkar the same.

  “Good lads.” By now Sharma was on top of them. “Thakkar,” he boomed, and the ResQ CEO shrank in his seat, “I have a warrant for your arrest under the provisions of the Transplantation of Human Organs Act 1994.” He turned his attention to Arora. “And who might you be?”

  Thakkar could see the temptation to lie flick across Arora’s face, but evidently he chose to come clean. “Dr. Arora,” he whimpered. “I’m just a doctor.”

  “Just a doctor, are you?” sneered Sharma. “Just a doctor in league with this one, perhaps?”

  “No, no, no,” protested Arora, giving himself away in the process.

  “I see. What’s so bad about being in business with Thakkar that you’d deny it so vigorously? Not telling me he’s up to no good, are you?”

  Locks of greasy hair fell across Arora’s forehead as he grew even more agitated, realizing he was digging himself into a hole. “No, no. I don’t know anything.”

  “We’ll soon see about that, won’t we?” said Sharma. For a moment or so it looked as though he was seriously considering arresting Arora, but then for whatever reason thought better of it. With a wave of his hand he indicated to two of his men, who yanked Thakkar from his chair. A moment after that they were gone, leaving Dr. Arora perspiring, despite the arctic chill of the mall’s air conditioning.