All is riddle, and the key to a riddle is another riddle.
- Emerson
He tried, really tried. He made fake ID, booked tickets of several trains to reach the destination in the most roundabout way possible. He packed his bags, put on fake moustache, and changed 3 taxis to reach VT station.
He did all those things he had recommended other people in his daily work.
Still it could not save him.
As soon as he walked through the giant entrance of VT, someone grabbed him and then there was this bag on his head. He tried to fight back but whoever were holding him, were more powerful. He figured there are 5 people, one driving the van, 2 holding him and other 2 just keeping a look. As he could not fight, he screamed his lungs out, for which he got a weird pinch in his neck which made him semi paralytic.
He knew this can't be any law enforcement. Did anyone see those fatso officers whose belly were bursting through their shirts? There were reasons why he survived all these years, also he made occasional payments to them as well. They can't betray him like that, after all he was laying law for a week. He got the most stupid tip some days earlier, and that IB was on his tail. He thought maybe the people for whom he made those fake IDs, one of them might have turned out terrorists or something, it's not like he made them filled out any kind of form. He had decided to flee city for some months, just to be safe, but now he was caught by bouncers and here he is.
No, definitely not Police.
Did he unintentionally crossed some big mafia? He was always blind when it came to money though, he might have help someone who betrayed mafia boss and now mafia boss wants his head on a platter? What's next? Will it be bullet or knife? He had heard some mafia bosses are pretty sadistic, they like to cut limbs. He shuddered, will his limbs be cut before his death or after?
The van stopped suddenly and then the men were dragging him. He felt they pushed him into a wooden chair, and then tied his limbs with ropes tightly, he could barely move his hand. The bag was pulled off his head and he was blinded by the amount of light around him. He adjusted to it, and then saw the room. What a cliche, he thought, old warehouse. Bollywood films really cemented the use of these kind of places. There were at least 10 people, and now he noticed, there was a girl too. Mafia girlfriend? But if she was, he was disappointed, does not mafia GFs dress up like hookers? If this was his death, the sight was not pretty.
One of the Man, who was wearing a suit and tie in this 40+ degree heat, dragged a chair in front of him and sat on it, his face impossibly calm.
Here it begins.
"Nasir Jamal." The Man started speaking, "I am Vir Rahane, from IB. We would like to ask you a few questions, and hoping full co-operation from you."
He blinked in surprise, looking around the warehouse and then back to him. No Mafia?
That's good news.
But IB?
Umm . . .
"Shall we start?" The Man, Vir, asked, and actually waited for him to do something. He nodded stupidly in response.
"It has come to our attention that you help illegal immigrants to settle here in our Country with fake IDs, also provide fake passports to people, possibly dangerous criminals, so that they can flee the country. Do you deny these accusations?"
Sounds like normal interrogation. But the official way this Man is asking, also, the way they pulled him from VT, he might have dealt with a very nasty kind of guy to get IB on his ass, he thought to himself.
"I do." He said, and hurried, "Of course I do. I deny this all. I am a clean person. Really."
Liar, his inner self said and he told it to fuck off.
"Are you?" The Man countered, intimidating him with his piercing gaze and the way his frame is facing him, "We know all about it, Mr. Jamal, no point of denying. The Tea stall through which you send IDs and receive money? The meeting point behind that bar? The places you make these IDs? We know all about it."
Then why are you asking me, was his inner question, but he bit his tongue.
And he called him Mr. Jamal. IB or not, it's pretty good to hear his name sounding like that.
"All we want," The Man continued, "are the names of the people you helped. You can side with us. If you agree to help us, we can assure your safety, give you new place to live and new identity, far away from this life of yours. If only," He paused, head cocked to a side, "you help us. Give us the names."
Ha, like he was going to fall for that. IB or not, they can't offer deal like this. New identity? With his luck, he might have helped people so far off his radar, like dangerous people, those who have ears in all places. Who knows, Mafia with limb cutting habit will be really on his ass then.
"No." He said.
"No?" The Man repeated, eyes wide with mock surprise, "Which part? The fake ID thing or not giving names?"
"Both." He blurt out, "I didn't make fake IDs for anyone. You are mistaking me for someone else."
If there was any other Man, he would have laughed, but this man sighed in frustration, "Why don't you cut the crap and save us both time and effort? We know everything, Mr. Jamal."
He doubted that, "You don't have anything on me."
"We have." The Man pressed, and then the girl appeared before them, handing over him a file. He took out something from it and put it in front of me, "Remember this Man?"
Of course, he said to himself. Turned out to be a homophobic serial killer. Police got him from airport, he was about to flee.
"We actually got your name from him." The Man leaned back on his seat, "So, ready to give up?"
No doubt now.
What are the chances here? If he doesn't give up, then, well, these bouncers are not for display. He never liked to be beaten or tortured. If he does give up, the odds are he would be killed on his way to WitSec. Both side looks nasty.
"I will give you some time to consider." The Man got up, looking at him calmly, "We will meet soon."
Obviously.
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
"So," The Man sweated profusely as the words flowed at him, "ready to give your confession?"
Well, he should be. Not every day the ETF Director handles interrogation.
But this case was special. The man made a very crucial mistake of going behind the Director's back and call someone higher to save himself. To his misfortune, he called Raghu sir, who, though looked like a loyal dog obedient to powerful people, was a Lion in disguise, carefully planned his every step and made the prey fall into his traps. True to his form, he called the Director and told her to do everything in her power to get this SOB off his back.
So she did. The Team did.
Senior Officer Sameer Rathore and ETF Director Aisha Kapoor was handling the investigation, the former ranting something about the illusion of control. Others monitored the interrogation through PCs, while Second in Command Rawte along with ACP Mukherjee stood a little bit away from the team, watching the interrogation through glass wall, talking simultaneously.
"Look at him, cowering under her gaze." ACP said in appreciation.
"Not much courage to call anyone I guess." Supplied the former, and then took a glance at her quickly before looking right ahead, "So," he drawled, and she gave him a look.
"Who were those men that day?" He asked. She barely suppressed to roll her eyes.
"You were there." came the reply.
"IB." He lowered his voice, "Why they took you?" He gave a suspicious look as she looked amused in the reflection, "What you did?"
"Why do you think I did something?" She tried to come up as annoyed but failed.
"Because you are always up to something." He answered seriously, "Really, why they were here? Are you in trouble?"
She spun her head toward him, ready to give him one of her famous answers, sarcasm plus dismissive, but then sobered as she took in his honest expression, "No."
"No what?"
"No I am not in trouble."
"Then why they took you?"
"What if this is the time I tell you to stop asking," She lowered her voice, not liking this interrogation, "Nicely." She added. He exhaled in irritation, looking away.
"Then I will stop asking." He replied, "And nice don't suit you."
"Oh?" Her lips curled upward, "What suit me then?"
"Murderous looks." He acted nonchalant, "Sarcasm works too."
She looked away to hide her smile, which was rare, and was surprised herself at the action, "Since when you stop asking questions instead of pestering?" She wondered.
"Since when I succeeded in getting answers?" He asked rhetorically.
"So you just give up?" She asked in surprise, part mocking, part curious.
"If I did, I would not be asking questions." He answered.
"Still you try." She pointed out.
"Yes I do." He agreed, eyes showing that unreadable expression, "Would not be me if I stop trying."
They both were silent for some moments, focusing back on the scene unfolding inside.
"Why they were here?" He asked once again.
Like he said, he won't stop trying.
She gave him one of her 'Unbelievable' look, "I heard you saying you will stop."
He shrugged and she shook her head.
"I seek them out."
His eyes widen in shock, "How on Earth . . . "
"I did that?" She finished for him, eyes never moving from the glass wall, "I had resources."
"Of course you had." He mumbled, still in shock, but soon the expression was replaced by concern, "What you are getting yourself into, Riya?"
The seriousness in his voice sucked all the amusement from her, her eyes turned stone cold and face became impossibly composed, devoid of any expression, "You should stop."
"Alright." He answered, but in mind there was nothing alright.
"So does this mean you will take off without any word more often?" He asked after a while.
"We will see." The tiny smirk on her face was back.
"The Director won't be happy."
"The Director is never happy with me." She answered truthfully.
"You don't sound remorseful about that." At his comment, she turned to face him.
"I can't show remorse for something and do the same thing the very next moment."
They stared at each other for quite some time, and he might have lost track of time because apparently he missed her phone's vibration, the end of the interrogation inside and the opening of the door near them. She walked away from him and he looked, hearing the soft hum behind him.
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
Vir Rahane met ACP Mukherjee 4 days after they captured Nasir Jamal. The day was little bit chilly after a good day of raining like crazy, and he saw her coming at him as she adjusted her jacket's collar, carrying off the carefully careless look in a damn good way.
Not that he was checking out. Nope.
She doesn't believe in exchange of pleasantries, or in 'Good Morning' and weather talk. She jumped straight to topic when they were near each other, "Why RAW suddenly decided to take him off the streets? Why now?"
"IB." He corrected, to which she gave a look, "We told him it's IB. I don't want any other name to slip in front of him."
"The answer." She dismissed everything else he said and he sighed in frustration before speaking again.
"He was going to flee city. Maybe even Country. Even if we let the police catch him, he would have been suspicious. So my seniors decided we had enough of tailing and surveillance, it's time to speak with him directly." He put his both hands in pocket, then took out one hand to fix his tie.
"Did he speak?" She asked without missing any beat.
"He gave us some pretty big names."
"Can I have him now?"
He moved his hand, "All yours."
As soon as they walked inside the warehouse she demanded to remove the bouncers, to which he refused.
"I want to be alone with him."
"It can't be possible." He refused flat out. She gave him a steely gaze and he hurried to explain.
"It's for your safety."
She smirked at that, "I am the last person who needs safety."
"You are some kind of Superwoman or something?"
"Remove them, or I will tip off the Media." She threatened.
"You will do no such thing."
She crossed arms, "You don't believe that."
He didn't.
He pondered over her words, and with great difficulty dismissed the guards, "I will be here with you." She didn't look happy, but he was not letting her get her way in every step.
They stepped near Nasir who looked like he was about to fall asleep, "You have visitor, Mr. Jamal." He started. The former blinked his eyes and fixed it on the ACP, who took a chair and sat in front of him, clearly taking charge.
"Who are you?" The Man slurred, voice grave and barely coming out.
"Someone whom you should answer honestly and quickly." She answered, taking out her phone and showed one picture to him, "You remember him?"
Nasir frowned and stared at the picture for many seconds, and then nodded slowly.
"Not much, but I remember that face."
"You were in contact with him." She stated, "Why?"
Nasir suddenly went still as he remembered something. He took deep breaths before saying, "I don't remember."
Vir could clearly tell how that answer pissed her off, but she tried to compose herself as she closed the app in her phone and looked at him again, "You don't remember or you don't want to remember?"
He didn't reply.
"I just need a name." She asked, and he remained silent. She stared at him for several moments, in the meantime Vir walked across the room, only to grab the water bottle in the far away table. He opened and closed the lid of bottle, which caught Nasir's attention, his eyes pleading silently.
"You want the water, don't you?" She asked, tilting head. He looked like he was about to tear the ropes and snatch the water.
"It won't work." He rasped.
"We will see." Vir mused, "What is this, the 3rd day without food and water?"
She glanced at him and Nasir at that, before settling on him, "Just a name."
"They are powerful." He answered, already on edge, "I don't want to get caught in the middle."
"We guarantee your full safety." Vir pressed, but he shook head.
"None is safe from them."
Nasir didn't open his mouth, literally, so they had to move out of the place. ACP Mukherjee adjusted her jacket's collar as the wind threatened to blow it away.
"He really didn't have water for days?" She asked.
"You Police officers use sticks and Guns, we use basic human needs. Food, Water, Air, Washroom." Vir answered, "Less mess, but more effective."
"Ruthless."
"So what, spilling blood is humane?" He scoffed, then sobered, "You did good back in there, playing along. It's all true, what I read about you. You are quite ruthless yourself."
"I would like to think I am different than your high ranking methods." She looked away.
"Will you continue to jab me about that rank thing?" He wondered, barking out a disbelieve laugh before continuing, "You could be a good Agent yourself, if you want to."
She didn't answer to that, so he went to the next point, "Who was that Man?"
"From whom it all started." She answered, and it made no sense to him.
"Explain."
"You got all your answers, right? So stay away from mine." She gave an icy stare. He put his hands in pocket and squared shoulder, subtly indicating he is not going to back down.
"I don't like not knowing what's going on around me."
"You can't always have answers."
"I have methods."
"So use them and stop asking me." She answered and walked away from him. At first he thought she is just moving away from him, but she actually went off, sat in her ETF SUV and drove away, without any 'Bye' or anything that would have indicated she is leaving. He stared as she left, rather dumbfounded, then exhaled and shook his head.
She is really something.
As she gave him full permission to use any methods, he ordered people around him in Agency to search about that Man, not before making a sketch to an artist.
Not that he needed any permission.
The picture didn't match any criminal, suspect, hit list or Interpol. In fact, the picture didn't have match in any database. No ID, no driving license, no real picture in any ATM, traffic or Shopping mall CCTV.
It's not odd. If the Man is from some village or place where technology is not so widely spread, it's possible not to have any digital info on him. Unique Identification didn't reach the whole country so there was another reason.
He frowned to himself, and then pulled out all record of that mysterious ACP Riya Mukherjee.
There, he finally found it.
A picture in some parking lot, it appeared as if the Man was trying to pull the ACP to somewhere, his smile a little bit mischievous and childlike. He was dressed in casual, a simple T shirt and torn jeans, and his shirt matched the color of hers. She looked half reluctant, half amused, but the thing took him by surprise was her relax posture and carefree expression in the picture, along with the casual dressing. All the pictures he had gotten of the ACP was of recent times and in most pictures she dressed in more or less white shirts and jeans. All these recent pictures had the stiff and determined woman, not the carefree girl in her mid- twenties.
He had a hard time to take in this piece of information, that once upon a time she was this much relaxed, happy, in her life.
Once he was out of his shock, he dug more about this mystery man, and once again, came up empty. But he noticed far more interesting things, like this Man died 4 years and some months ago, and the ACP took an active interest in the case. The case stopped due to their inability to catch the main culprit, Johny. After the case was officially shut down, the ACP went MIA.
Whoever this Man is, he must be special, both for her and Jamal. He actually sew his lips when he saw the face.
Who is this Man?
He needed to find out why this Man was important, as he like to know every aspect of what he is walking right into. As no information is available digitally, he needs someone to physically go out there and get everything.
Human Hindrance. Just what he hates most.
Something was telling him it won't be easy, and he is not thinking about the ways of gathering info.