NLT: Chapter One (Part 1)

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Chapter One

Don't Shoot!

‘It’s almost one o’ clock.’ Sajan was looking at his watch rather impatiently.

Ajay didn’t comment on it. He ran his eyes across every face that came out of the airport. He was searching for a face that he could hardly miss, yet it was possible that it would slip unnoticed like it had done before.

‘Qureshi could come any moment.’ Sajan was eyeing everyone like he was paranoid.

Most police officers would have winced at the mention of his name. But Sajan, a sub-inspector of the Mumbai police force, spat out that name with disgust and contempt. He was from Bihar and like all good Biharis hated politics, corruption, and crime. He worked hard to be in the force. He worked as if he had a personal vendetta against all criminals. He was ruthless to them.

Ajay too, was an honest officer in the otherwise bought Mumbai police. What other officers could achieve in years, he could do in months. But like Sajan he too had to fight against many odds: gangster threats, colleagues’ indifference, and superiors’ interference. Here, honest officers were a sort of endangered species.

‘Saab, chai?’ the vendor asked.

Ajay sipped his tea. He looked at men with turbans, beards, and glasses. In his mind’s eye he saw how they looked without those features. None resembled him. Ever since Ajay became an inspector, he was obsessed with one name: Iqbal Qureshi.

Iqbal Qureshi was an underworld kingpin. His crimes exceeded those of Ivan the terrible. The magician who could make entire families disappear. The police and the politicians eat out of his hands. Rivals in the business keep a low profile to keep their heads. Even the police commissioner used to attend his parties. So do other high officials and starlets.

Ever since Ajay first heard of his atrocities, he was working on collecting evidence on his crimes, interrogating witnesses and victims. In most cases, the FIR was written favorable to the don, proof that most police officers were on his payroll. Ajay carefully collected every piece of evidence to nail the don.

Two days ago, an informer who was afraid that he was going to end up dead soon, telephoned Ajay with a piece of information: Qureshi was coming home to Mumbai, after a pleasure trip to Thailand. Two days were enough for Ajay to make a special team of highly able officers. His plainclothes men were ready to take on Qureshi.

Two hours before the operation, the commissioner came to know of it. And that was all. Ajay and his men were posted in the parking lot. The commissioner with the constables holding .303 rifles were posted at the entrance. Ajay knew about the rifles, they were the kind used in the Second World War.

Ajay didn’t want to believe it, but he knew the commissioner was bent on saving Qureshi. The uniformed men were enough to put him on alert. Then Mr. Q would take care of himself. Or else the commissioner would even escort him to his car.

‘Sajan, move near the gate. Look for disguises, but probably he won’t try that. Be careful. His bodyguards are said to be lethal shooters. I’m moving to the entrance. Good Luck!’

‘No probs. I’ll make sure he won’t slip that way.’ Sajan walked towards the parking lot gate.

Ajay finished his tea and looked around for a garbage can.

‘Beep beep.’ His mobile rang. Could it be his lookouts inside the airport? Did they spot him?

Ajay took out his cell phone. Surprisingly there was no number on the screen. He thought of switching it off, but couldn’t take the chances. He pressed the answer button and held it to his ear.

‘Qureshi. Black business suit. Two goons with him. Possibly armed. At the entrance. Move, quick!’

Still keeping the phone to his ear, Ajay turned around. The informant should be close by yet able to observe the entrance. A few yards ahead, he saw two men. One of them had a cell phone to his ear. He had his back to Ajay. He could be tall enough to be a pathan. The other even taller wore round framed glasses and seemed to be staring at him. He had a cup of tea in his hand.

‘He’s leaving. Now!!’ The voice in the phone erupted.

Ajay wasn’t sure it was the same man. But the words sprung him into action. There was no time. Qureshi could be leaving. He tossed the plastic tumbler to the ground, and thrust his mobile to his pocket. He sprinted to the entrance.

Even at the distance, Ajay recognized the bald man in the black suit. The bastard made no effort to disguise himself. Too confident, he thought.

Ajay felt the excitement, the anger. The bleeding tales of the victims, their tearful eyes at the interviews, everything came to his mind. He pulled out his FN-35, an encounter specialist’s delight.

‘Freeze!! Police!!!’

The commissioner who stood so close to the don that he might have brushed shoulders with him, suddenly faked an element of surprise, ‘What?! Q..Q..Qureshi?’

Everything fell so silent that Ajay could hear nothing but his heart beating frantically against his ribs. Qureshi rather than felt cornered, might have felt insulted. The commissioner was terrified more than anyone else.

‘Surrender Qureshi, we have a warrant. There is no escape!’ Ajay’s voice was trembling, but it was furious.

Perhaps it would have led to a peaceful arrest if it weren’t for the thug in the dark green suit. The thug pulled out a gun fast. But not fast enough. He tried to pull out the safety hatch.

Bang! Ajay shot him in the chest.

The thug fell to the floor and spat blood. But he held on to the pistol, and tried to raise it.

Bang!!

He spat more blood and was no more a threat. The second shot came from Sajan. Ajay looked at him. Sajan’s expression was ruthless. In one hand he had a gun. In his sweaty other hand, his cell phone.

‘No escape Mr. Q. Surrender.’ He spoke calmly.

The commissioner woke up from his trance, ‘Huh.. Yes.. Mr. Q.. Qureshi.. pl.. please surrender..’ The policemen, like tin soldiers, raised their rifles.

The onlookers who were stunned until then slowly began to back away in panic. The other bodyguard raised his hands up in the air, kneeled down and saved his life. It was a clever move.

Qureshi’s wrath was immense. But he was quick and jumped over the railings into the crowd nearby.

‘Damn sonofabitch!’ Ajay followed suit. He couldn’t shoot. Not in a crowd. Innocent people could get hurt. Sajan hurled abuses at Qureshi and rushed into the crowd. He knew Qureshi couldn’t get far. But something spoiled their calculations.

Qureshi snatched a three year old girl from her mother. He held a gun to the child’s head. Qureshi had a hostage.

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