“Good,” said Jack. He looked left and right at his colleagues, drawing a line under the dispute. “You said earlier you know who the killer is. How about starting our new dawn by sharing that particular piece of information with us?”
“It’s a man named Ibrahim,” said Sharma. “He’s been working with Dr. Arora at the Memorial Hospital, but he’s gone rogue. He’s been negotiating with someone else to shift his business to them instead of Thakkar’s mob, ResQ. Most likely he’s trying to destroy the entire ResQ network—Kumar, Patel, Thakkar. With all the key players gone, he’d have a free hand to expand with a rival corporation.”
Nisha was shaking her head. “What about Roy’s murder?” she said.
Sharma shrugged. “Roy was Health Secretary. We’ll have to ask Ibrahim why he deserved to die when we catch him.”
Still shaking her head, Nisha looked across at her colleagues. “No, no, this is wrong.”
“Well, let me hear your better ideas, then,” frowned Sharma.
“Wait. If you think it’s Ibrahim, then why come to us?” said Santosh. “Why not just bring him in?”
“Because I want to be sure. Because I’m betting you can help find him. Because your associate Mrs. Gandhe here has seen the killer, remember?”
“And because you want to tie up any political loose ends,” said Nisha.
Sharma rolled his eyes. “To our mutual benefit.”
Jack signaled cool it and then turned to Sharma. “You’ve got surveillance on Thakkar and Dr. Arora?”
“Logic tells us they’ll be the next victims,” said Sharma. “In the meantime, if we could locate Ibrahim, that would be helpful as well. Unless you really have been sitting around scratching your asses, I’m guessing you’ve got to Ibrahim and I’m guessing you have something on him.”
Santosh nodded. “We have cell phone numbers.”
“Then we can trace him,” said Neel, the first words he’d spoken since the meeting began. He looked at Santosh. “We can trace him more quickly than the police. We have the StingRay.”
Chapter 98
“SURE, LET’S TRACE Ibrahim’s numbers,” said Santosh. “It’s the easiest and most effective way to reach him. Neel, you think we can do it?”
Neel nodded. “We’ll head to his usual area in the StingRay.”
An hour later, Neel, Nisha, Jack, and Santosh were in the StingRay van. Nisha took the wheel because Neel needed to operate the equipment at the back of the van. Jack got into the passenger seat next to Nisha, his Colt .45 tucked away under his jacket.
Private had invested substantially in StingRay technology because all other wiretapping and tracking systems needed the cooperation of telephone companies. The telecom operators would usually only respond to law enforcement requests or court orders. This left agencies like Private out in the cold.
Neel had outfitted a van with international mobile subscriber identity (IMSI) catchers—also called StingRays. A StingRay was essentially a portable “fake” cellular base station that could be driven to the area of interest. Once activated, the StingRay unit sent out a strong signal to cell phones within its range, thus causing such phones to attempt a handshake with the StingRay as though it were a real base station of the cellular company. Instead of latching on, the StingRay device would simply record the identity of each cellular phone that registered with it and then shut itself down.
The van made its way through the congested Delhi roads crossing Kalka Das Marg and Sri Aurobindo Marg. Nisha unashamedly blasted the horn to get auto rickshaws to move out of her way. She continued along Prithviraj Road, Tilak Marg, and Bahadur Shah Zafar Road to Urdu Bazar Road. She swerved the van toward an empty parking slot by the side of the road and asked, “Now what?”
“Now we activate the StingRay,” said Neel, opening up his laptop. The screen immediately presented a map of the locality and little dots began to light up. Neel punched in the two cell phone numbers that ostensibly belonged to Ibrahim and waited for the next fifteen minutes, allowing the StingRay unit to make friends with various cell phones in the locality.
“Got him,” said Neel, looking at the Delhi map on his computer screen. “He’s heading toward the hospital.”
“Arora,” said Santosh. “He’s going after Arora.”
They looked at each other, all four members of the Private team.
“Come on,” sighed Jack. “Let’s go save the heartless butcher.”
Chapter 99
THE OFFICE LIGHTS were turned off except for the desk lamp. Seated in the visitors’ chair was Ibrahim with his hands tucked into the side pockets of his calfskin jacket, his head protected by his customary skullcap. Dr. Pankaj Arora sat on his usual executive chair, sipping hot water and honey. It was cold in Delhi and the hospital’s heating system seemed to be on the blink.
“It has become clear to me that you will never allow me to receive a fair market value for my efforts,” said Ibrahim. “I’m now evaluating other options that, inshallah, may be more lucrative.”
“Don’t forget who got you started,” said Arora brusquely, baring the gap between his teeth. “If I could get you started, I can also get a hundred others to do my bidding. No one is indispensable—including you.” The threat was unmistakable. Arora wiped his glasses.
Ibrahim felt his anger welling up. Sure, Arora had gotten him started and given him a fresh lease of life with the business. But did that mean lifelong servility? No! Enough was enough. It was time for Ibrahim to be his own man. The offer from the Middle East was an exciting one and Ibrahim was going to take it. But before that there was unfinished business. The ResQ network had to be debilitated.
Arora picked up on the determination in Ibrahim’s voice. He would need to try a different tack—one of gentle persuasion. He got up from his chair and walked around to sit on the edge of the desk, near Ibrahim. He gently placed his hand on Ibrahim’s shoulder. “You are like my son,” he said. “I’m the person who trained you and taught you everything there is to know. If you want to work for someone else, I shall not get in your way.”
Ibrahim’s hands stayed inside his calfskin jacket as though he were attempting to stay warm. Inside the right pocket was a syringe with the plunger extended all the way up. Inside the plastic tube was a full dose of etorphine. Ibrahim held the syringe gently, his thumb stationed on the plunger. He was careful not to put any pressure on it, though. He did not want any of the liquid getting wasted before the needle met its target.
Chapter 100
FROM OUTSIDE CAME a noise, and when Ibrahim moved to the window and used a finger to shift the blind, what he saw was a van screech noisily into the forecourt below. From it tumbled several figures, one of whom he recognized: Santosh Wagh, the guy from the detective agency—supposed to be dead—as well as a woman and two other men.
And in the distance he heard the wail of sirens.