“Racket?” said Thakkar disingenuously.
“You’ve been running a racket that buys or steals organs and makes them available to your American insurance patients,” he said. “You may as well come clean. We know your entire modus operandi.”
Thakkar remained quiet. He had asked to see his lawyer but Sharma denied him the privilege.
Then, “You have nothing against me,” he said defiantly.
“We have accessed your company’s bank statements and balance sheet,” said Sharma. “You have made hundreds of payments to an unregistered firm. We’ve done our investigations. That unregistered firm belongs to Iqbal Ibrahim, someone who is notorious for the thriving black market he runs in human organs.”
“Then go get him,” replied Thakkar. “As CEO of a multinational company, you can’t seriously expect me to know every small payment that is made by my managers and staff!”
Sharma ignored the interjection and continued, “At first we were confused. The Indian arm of ResQ buys human organs. American patients are charged insurance premiums that cover this service. The question in my mind was this: how would the Indian operation ever make a profit?”
“So now you’re a chartered accountant?” asked Thakkar sarcastically.
“And then we realized that you don’t care,” continued Sharma, refusing to rise to the jibe. “You have a web of companies and subsidiaries and so long as they make money in the aggregate, individual losses are irrelevant. I think we have an excellent case to prosecute you as well as your company under the Transplantation of Human Organs Act 1994.”
Thakkar was quiet.
“In effect, you transfer profits to the American parent while bearing all the organ procurement expenses in India,” continued Sharma. “And since the money is a consequence of an illegal act, this is a perfect case for prosecution under the Prevention of Money Laundering Act too.”
“You do know that the Chief Minister is my friend?” said Thakkar, his cockiness having disappeared.
“I don’t report to fucking Jaswal,” snapped Sharma, the toothpick falling out of his mouth. “My boss is Chopra and he hates Jaswal. You also fall into the enemy camp by association. Hell, I’ll even get promoted if I make your life miserable. It’s only fair given that you fucked and then abandoned the boss’s daughter!”
“Bastard!” shouted Thakkar as he stood up.
He received a resounding slap from Sharma. “Sit down unless you are told that you can get up!” commanded Sharma.
Thakkar was stunned. His cheek had turned red from the slap but his other cheek went pink from the embarrassment and shame. He had never been treated this way.
“Now, here’s how this can play out,” said Sharma. “Either you cooperate with me or I will have to take you out of Tihar Jail.”
“I get out of jail for not cooperating?” asked Thakkar, confused.
“You are then taken to a place that is much worse,” explained Sharma. “There are a few interrogation rooms at the Red Fort. Usually they are only used by the intelligence agencies when they wish to break terror suspects. The big advantage of using these rooms is that anything goes. I can do whatever I want to make you squeal.”
Sweat dripped down Thakkar’s face. His throat was parched.
“My men will strip you naked and string you up spreadeagled,” whispered Sharma into Thakkar’s ear. “Then we will go to work on you with our interrogation tools. You will wish that you were dead by the time we are finished with you.”
“Could I get some water please?” whined Thakkar.
“Sure,” replied Sharma. “After we’re done. So, are you ready to cooperate or not?”
Chapter 87
ARORA HOPPED ABOARD the Blue Line train of the Delhi Metro at Indraprastha station and sat down. He waited for the next stop—Yamuna Bank. Apart from an elderly gentleman who sat reading a newspaper bearing the headline ‘WHEN WILL WE HAVE ANSWERS?’, he had the carriage to himself.
The doors opened at Yamuna Bank and a familiar face appeared. Ibrahim. A mere nod was exchanged between them before the train took off.
“I had told you to stop. Now Thakkar has been picked up by the cops!” said Arora, the urgency in his voice all too apparent.
Ibrahim looked at him and smiled. “It bothers you that, inshallah, I’m able to get the same stuff at a fraction of the price, right? You’re worried that your tidy little business model is getting disrupted by me. You were happy to use me as a conduit to Thakkar in the early days, only to cut me off when it suited you. You were happy to use me to dispose of the bodies…” Ibrahim grinned, revealing brown, crooked teeth. “Tell me, what did happen at Greater Kailash?”
With a curse, Arora looked left and right. “You know full well. You—that’s you, my friend—were supposed to destroy the…evidence in a safe, controlled space provided to you by myself, MGT, and Thakkar. We gave you the venue. All you had to do was concentrate on melting down the bodies.”
Ibrahim spread his hands. “Well then, I fulfilled my part of the deal because the bodies were indeed melted.”
“The operation was discovered.”
“A technicality. Answer me this: were any of the victims named? Were any of the bodies identified as patients of Dr. Pankaj Arora—the famous Dr. Pankaj Arora? TV’s Dr. Pankaj Arora? Did the discovery of those bodies result in policemen knocking on your door in the middle of the night? No, none of that happened, did it?”
Arora’s crimson face conceded the point.
“Let me tell you something else,” continued Ibrahim, warming to his theme. “That particular—what was the word you used?—venue was provided for a reason, was it not? So that if the operation was discovered then suspicion would fall on Mr. Chopra.”
“Well, that didn’t happen, did it?”
“Presumably because you failed to take into account the strength of Chopra’s relationship with the police chief, Sharma. Again, that’s not something for which I can be held responsible. Now, listen to me, my friend: I’m the man who procured valuable stuff for you. I’m the man who took those bodies to Greater Kailash for you. And yes, you got me started, but now you’re simply getting in the way. Your ego is getting the better of you.”
“I strongly suggest that we should let this activity be confined to what I do in my hospital,” said Arora menacingly. “If we have more deaths we’ll all be in trouble.”
Ibrahim scoffed so loudly that the old gentleman reading the newspaper looked across at them. “Take a look at what’s going on around you. Hasn’t it occurred to you that we’re already in trouble?” he laughed.
Chapter 88