Ghatak : The Assassin

April 13 | Muzaffarabad, Pakistan-Occupied Kashmir (PoK) – 8:00 AM (IST)

The man was having breakfast after finishing his morning prayers - "Fajr'. The atmosphere here was pleasant at this hour, yet he appeared restless. Even as he sipped his tea, he kept glancing repeatedly at the iPhone lying beside him. The moment the phone rang, he lunged for it and answered the call. By the time the conversation ended, he looked much more relaxed. The news he had been awaiting for two days had finally arrived; his jihadi boy had reached the designated location. Now, the real game would begin. "Naya Hindustan"—let's see if they can still say that! Let's see what they're made of. A dangerous solder cum ruthless assassin, hand-picked and trained by him, had arrived there to sow chaos and despair across this "Naya Hindustan." Reassured and at ease, Ghulam Rasul, the Deputy Chief of Lashkar-e-Taiba, picked up his saucer to finish the rest of his tea.

********************

April 14 | Maniktala, Kolkata – 9:00 PM.

A storm had broken out; It was the season's first. People, exhausted by the scorching heat of the past few days, were rejoicing in the sudden gusts of cool air and the spectacle of lightning tearing across the sky. Asgar might have done the same, but at this moment, he lay sprawled on the floor of his studio. He couldn't scream because his mouth was gagged, though it wouldn't have mattered much even if it were free. His throat was parched dry. Despite the air conditioner running, he was sweating profusely. The cause was fear, He was writhing in sheer terror. The stranger in the room tossed his finished cigarette into the nearby ashtray and stepped in front of him, then smiled faintly and said, "Be ready."
But for what? The stranger seemed to sense the question in his mind.
He nodded and said, "The case has gotten a bit messy. It’s a top-priority project, and on top of that, you have a... special relationship. Don't you?"
Saying this, he held up his mobile phone: a photo of Asgar taken at a restaurant, with a young woman seated in the chair opposite him. Asgar’s eyes widened in shock. They knew everything!
The stranger continued, "If I’d known earlier, I might not have assigned this job to you, but it’s too late now. The time for your Qurbani has come! Good bye."
With that, he slashed his knife across Asgar’s throat. In an instant, Asgar’s throat was slit open. A few moments of thrashing, and then - silence! Picking up a packet from the table and a wallet from the drawer, the assassin headed toward the door. Then, on a whim, he glanced at the photo again, specifically at the young lady. He had heard that behind that beautiful face also lurked a fierce storm; Ajanta Mukherjee - the most decorated officer of the Kolkata Detective Department.

********************
May 15th / Tulsibag, Pune – 5:00 PM.

Standing in the crowded market, the man drank some sugarcane juice. After paying, he slowly vanished into the throng. No one noticed that he had left a small nylon bag beside a cart loaded with sugarcane. Inside the bag there was a two-tier steel tiffin box wrapped in a towel. Leaving the market, he walked briskly to the nearby bus stand. He sat on an empty bench and took his mobile phone out of his pocket. It was an ordinary scene — a man surfing the web on his phone at a bus stand, especially in a free WiFi zone. But a closer look would have revealed that he had opened a specific app on his phone. As soon as he entered the password, a stopwatch appeared on the screen: Thirty seconds to go.
He didn't rush at all; instead, he muttered a single word: "Inshallah!"
Then, he pressed a red button at the bottom of the screen. Exactly ten seconds later, it was as if a thunderbolt had struck the marketplace. A deafening explosion was accompanied by a blinding orange flash that stunned everyone. Everyone, except this man. He calmly stood up and walked toward a blue maruti car parked in front of an ATM by the roadside. As soon as he settled into the back seat, the driver started the engine without a word. He knew he had to get out of the area before the roadblocks were set up.

********************
May 16th / South Block – Ministry of Defence, New Delhi – 10:00 AM

Several high-ranking officials were seated in the conference room. Their faces were grim; the Pune bombing had shaken the entire nation.
"Are you sure?" the Defence Secretary asked.
"Absolutely, sir," replied IB Chief Paramesh Gupta. "It’s Rafiq Islam — a ruthless terrorist from Lashkar-e-Taiba. His face was spotted at an ATM near the Shanipar bus stand. It’s a perfect match. He drove away in a blue maruti."
"Where to?"
"I’m sorry, sir, but we haven't been able to track him yet."
"Why?"
"His car passed through the toll plaza before the roadblocks were announced. We’ve released the car's number and description to the media, but..."
"Shit!" he cursed inwardly but managed to compose himself - "Okay, team, I hope you realize the gravity of the situation. There is only one way forward for the country's security. we have to nail that bastard as soon as possible."
Although he addressed everyone, he fixed his gaze specifically on Kalyan Mishra, the chief of the NCA (National Counter-terrorism Agency). Mishra had no trouble grasping the meaning of that look: they wanted "him". As soon as the meeting concluded fifteen minutes later, he strode briskly out of the room.
Then, while getting into his car, he called his secretary and told her, "Patch my call through the secure channel, and get him."
The secretary asked no questions; she knew that in a situations like this, his boss sought out only one specific person, and that person had to be located immediately, by any means necessary.

********************
May 15th (the day before) / Udyog Vihar, Gurgaon – 10:00 PM

Torrential rain is sweeping across the city, accompanied by gusty winds. Thanks to this unseasonal downpour, the streets are virtually deserted; there is no one around to view the black innova parked by the roadside with suspicion. Sitting in a car on such a stormy night is usually a tedious affair, but the two men inside remain unperturbed. They are professionals; the climate does not affect them. Seated in the front, they gaze outwards. Suddenly, a mobile phone rings - exactly four times.
They immediately sit up alert, then exchange glances and nod.
"Abul, he's coming. Quick!" The man in the driver's seat commands in a low voice.
Abul pulls a small pistol from the glove compartment and tucks it into the back of his waistband. Looking at the driver, he says, "Salim, I am going outside. Start the engine, and be ready."
Within a minute, a shadowy figure emerges from a narrow alley across the street. A man, roughly fifty years old, dressed in a simple shirt and trousers, is drenched from head to toe by the rain. He crosses the road with a slight limp and approaches the car. Abul steps out and stands before the stranger.
Then, in a cold voice, he asks, "Name?"
"Suhash Joshi," the stranger replies. "Hurry up."
Without a word, Abul opens the rear door on the street side. Just as Suhas is about to get in, a racing bicycle silently emerges from the same alley; the rider crosses the road at breakneck speed and stops right in front of the car. A young man, dressed in black kurta and trouser; looking as a local hoodlum. Sensing danger, Abul reaches for his waistband, but before he can act, the cyclist raises his arm with lighting speed, revealing a semi-automatic pistol in his hand. Before anyone could realize what was happening, he fired three times in rapid succession. The first bullet struck Abul in the forehead - killing him instantly. The second hit the Innova’s tire; the wheel began to deflate within moments. The third struck Suhash Joshi in the chest. Clutching his chest, Suhash collapsed onto the road. By then, Salim had leapt out of the driver's seat, a small pistol in his hand too. He raised his weapon, aiming it directly at the cyclist. The cyclist smiled silently. A smile so ruthless that it made Rafiq’s blood run cold. This young man was a professional assassin. But why? From whose's side? Suddenly, his eyes fell upon the assassin's pistol. It's an Auto 9mm — the Indian Army's sidearm!
That meant... He had no time to think further. The cyclist’s left hand struck his stomach with the swiftness of a striking snake. An intense pain instantly radiated through the area. Staring in disbelief, he looked down at his stomach to see a knife embedded there. Before he could process anything else, the cyclist snatched the mobile phone from Salim’s pocket.
Then, in a calm voice, he said, "You are going to hell now. But don't worry, your boss will be joining you up there soon."
"But you'll never get to the boss. No one knows where he is. There's nothing on my phone," Salim managed to stammer.
"There isn't anything yet, but a call is coming; arrangements have been made."
Even as he spoke, the phone rang. Salim stared in wide-eyed shock. It wasn't a local contact, the display showed a number from a different city: 33—Kolkata. It meant this entire scenario was staged; It was a bloody trap. Joshi wasn't the primary target, they were! The killer had silently trailed Joshi on his bicycle and closed in on them! Joshi’s update had already been leaked to the market, ensuring the Boss would get busy and call him directly — a brilliant plan by the assassin. He couldn't think of anything else; Because he was growing faint from blood loss. But who was this master assassin?
In a weary voice, he asked, "Who are you?"
"You know we aren't allowed to reveal our identities, don't you? But take note of the code name, so you don't become India's enemy in your next life. If you do, I’ll have to come back to destroy you. It's SHATRUGHNA (Destroyer of the Enemy)."
Saying this, the assassin pressed the muzzle of his pistol against Rafiq’s ear. A shot, fired at point-blank range shattered Salim’s skull. It was just a matter of some seconds, for sending a secure message to the cleanup team. Then, leaving three dead bodies on the street, Soumya Roychowdhury, aka, AGENT SHATRUGHNA, one of the NCA’s finest operatives, vanished into the darkness of the night.

********************
Present Day (May 16th) / Mahavir Chowk, Aurangabad – 4:00 PM

Sitting at a roadside eatery, Rafiq Islam smiled to himself. He knew that shortly after the explosion, India’s intelligence agencies would identify him and hunt him down like a rabid dog. Red alerts would be issued in his name at railway stations and airports. But he was Rafiq Islam, Lashkar’s most dreaded assassin. Interpol hadn't placed a fifty-thousand-dollar bounty on his head for nothing. This time, he had made a move so cunning that no police force on earth could catch him. While the police were likely still searching for that blue maruti, he was slipping away via a different route. He was going to hide in a place no one could even imagine. And that was where he would strike a second time. The risk might be high, but this next blast would be even more devastating. He felt a twinge of regret for his driver—poor fellow! But for a Jihadi, such collateral damage was simply part of the job. He sipped his tea, completely at ease.

********************
Same day / SP Marg, NCA Headquarters, New Delhi – 5 PM

Soumya was sitting in her cubicle. He had spoken to his boss; He was to leave for Pune the next morning. Before that, he was reviewing the documents and doing her homework. From what he had gathered so far, a few points were clear: (1) The bomb had been placed inside a tiffin box, and the detonator was triggered using a mobile phone. (2) Although the device was located within a free Wi-Fi zone, that specific network had not been used. (3) The mobile phone, along with its SIM card, had been found in a nearby bush.
Soumya bit her lip. This was the terrorists' modus operandi — everything fit the pattern. Yet, something was nagging at the back of his mind; something didn't quite add up. Anyway, he would see what else turned up once she reached Pune. Just then, his mobile beeped with a notification, a new email had arrived. It was from their IT cell. They had received the details of the SIM card used in the blast. It had been purchased two months earlier in Bangaon, West Bengal, using a PAN card.

********
One hour later

Soumya was sitting in his boss's cabin. Placing his phone down, Mishra-ji said, "It's arranged."
"So, everyone agrees?"
"Yes. Not just me, even the IB agrees that there is some link to West Bengal. Therefore, an officer from Kolkata Detective Department will be part of the investigation team. She is also heading to Pune tomorrow; you two will be working jointly."
"Do we know who it is?"
"Your old partner — Inspector Ajanta Mukherjee."

********************
Same day / Banshilal Hospital, Aurangabad – 10 PM.

Dr. Niranjan Kale shuddered once more as he gazed at the corpse lying on the dissecting room table. He had seen many murder victims during autopsies, but nothing quite like this. The victim had been shot, and then a small plate had been embedded into a cavity carved into the body, looking for all the world like a milestone planted in the ground. With trembling hands, he extracted the plate. But what was it? There was some writing on it. "MH"—and then nothing else was legible; the rest was obscured by blood and flesh. Two lines of text. A thought flashed through his mind like lightning: It was a vehicle license plate! But what kind of car required a dead body to hide its license plate? He picked up his mobile phone; he had to inform the police immediately.

********************
May 17th / Shivajinagar – Police Headquarters, Pune – 9:00 AM

The two of them were sitting in an empty room. Their meeting with the SP had concluded, yet there were no new leads. Ajanta remained somewhat quiet, perhaps trying to suppress the emotional storm that rose within her whenever she saw Soumya. Would she ever be able to reveal it?
"Are you okay?" Soumya’s voice snapped Ajanta back to reality.
"Are you alright?" she asked again, this time in Bengali.
Ajanta straightened up. "Yes, go ahead."
"You’ve looked through the files, haven't you?"
"More or less. Nothing unusual caught my eye. Except, I heard about the SIM card..."
"We’ll get to that later. But first, take a look at this clip. It’s from the ATM's CCTV."
They watched the footage. Rafiq approached a blue car with cautious steps. Before getting in, he looked directly into the camera.
"Did anything seem suspicious?" Soumya asked.
"Nothing specific, though the way he looked straight at the camera...!"
"Exactly! You hit the nail on the head. That’s what’s bothering me, too. A terrorist like Rafiq Islam, someone with an Interpol red alert against him, someone whose every move is calculated, who doesn't even use the free-zone WiFi; Why would he park his car right in front of an ATM? And why would he look directly at the CCTV camera before getting into the car?"
"So, there's no point in looking for that car, then?"
Soumya shook his head in frustration - "The way he exposed himself to the camera... it seems pointless to look for him, let alone the car. He wants the police to keep searching, knowing they won't find him. Meanwhile, he..."
"Will make a clean getaway — right? That’s why Rafiq deliberately showed his face to the camera. So, it’s a diversion?"
Soumya nodded with a faint, wry smile.

Just then, local SP walked into the room and said excitedly, "Team, we have an update. We’ve found Rafiq’s driver. To be more precise : driver’s dead body."

********************
Same day / Same location – 2:00 PM

A video conference is underway. Soumya and Ajanta are on one side; the IB Chief and the NCA Director are joining virtually on the other.
"So, it's Aurangabad?" Gupta asked.
"Yes, sir," Soumya replied. "Forensics has deciphered the plate recovered from the deceased driver's body. It’s the same car. We haven't found the vehicle itself yet, but we don't need to. Rafiq killed the driver and hid the number plate inside the corpse."
"How dangerous! But one thing isn't clear. After the Pune blast, he was supposed to flee the country; why is he moving deeper inland?"
"Two reasons: (1) To hoodwink Indian intelligence. (2) To plan an even bigger operation."
"Any idea where he went?"
"There's a bus stop right next to where the driver's body was found. Only one interstate bus passes through there, the one to Nagpur."
"My God! That means Rafiq has taken shelter in Nagpur!"
"Yes, sir, it certainly looks that way."
"So, I'll instruct the Nagpur police to start searching for Rafiq."
"It's not that simple, sir."
"What do you mean?"
Soumya then explained the CCTV situation: "Rafiq knows no one will find him. He doesn't just think it; he is one hundred percent confident. That implies he must have something up his sleeve."
Then Mishraji said, "That means Rafiq has altered his appearance."
"You mean plastic surgery?" Gupta asked.
"I am not sure. Plastic surgery is a time-consuming process; it's not something done for such a short timeframe."
"I'd like to think this over, sir," Soumya said. "Agent Shatrughna, time is running out. We don't want another massacre in Nagpur like the one in Pune. Whatever needs to be done, do it fast. Anyway, good job, guys." With these words, IB Chief Gupta concluded the meeting.

********
After the meeting ended, Ajanta said, "So, there’s no link to West Bengal after all. My trip here was a waste of time."
Soumya remained silent for a moment. Was the investigation the only thing they could talk about? Would he never be able to reveal his true feelings to Ajanta? Frustrated, he made a sudden, sweeping gesture with his hand, causing a lightweight file to slide off the table and hit the floor. A sheet of paper slipped out of the file, revealing a photograph. Ajanta was stunned the moment she saw it. Why was this paper here?
Soumya picked up the paper, handed it to her, and said, "This is the copy of the PAN card used to buy Rafiq's SIM card. We need to speak to this man."
Ajanta sighed and said, "That's not possible."
"Why?"
"Because he’s no longer alive. He was murdered in his home a month ago. The killer was never caught. I handled the investigation myself because he was very close to me."
"What do you mean?"
"It means we met the day before he was killed. He started to tell me something but stopped short. I realized he had some major information for me, so I didn't press him." She then looked sternly at Soumya and added, "Don't be confused. He wasn't my lover; he was my watcher."
"What?"
"Yes, Agent Shatrughna. This man, late Asgar Ali - a renowned make-up artist for Bengali film, was one of my most reliable informers."

********************
May 20th / Hotel Star, Sadar Bazar, Nagpur – 9 PM

Room No. 15. The best double-bed room on the second floor. A knock at the door : "Dinner, Saab".
A rough-looking young man opened the door. Outside stood two waiters holding trays —a man and a woman.
Annoyed, he asked, "Why both of you?"
The man replied in a polite tone, "You ordered quite a lot, Saab, that’s why..."
The young man hesitated for a moment, then stepped aside and gestured for them to enter. He closed the door behind them. They placed the trays on the table while simultaneously scanning the room with watchful eyes. Then, a bizarre incident occurred. The male waiter stepped toward the second person in the room. An elderly man sitting on the sofa, holding a water pot. He splashed the pot's contents, scalding hot water, onto the old man's face. The face burned; the old man cried out in agony, "What the hell is this...!"
The waiter said calmly, "Identification."
"Meaning?"
"Meaning I wanted to see your real face to confirm your identity, Mr. Prakash Dave. Or should I call you Rafiq Islam? The hot water melted your prosthetic mask, revealing your true face. Your game is over."
********
For a few moments, there was pin-drop silence the room. Then, the rough-looking young man lunged forward, a pistol appearing in his hand; but a single pivot kick from the woman sent him flying against the wall, after which he slumped to the floor like a sack of sand. Before he could even catch his breath, he realized the woman had shoved the barrel of a Glock automatic pistol into his mouth. A whisper reached his ears: "This is Inspector Ajanta Mukherjee. Freeze, or you're dead."

 
********
Rafiq didn't wait to see his partner's situation. He lunged toward the door. But it was futile; the man shoved him aside with a single push, followed by a solid punch. Taking a blow to the stomach, he was sent reeling onto the nearby bed. As he steadied himself, he froze; A pistol was pointed right at him. Rafiq recognized it instantly. It was the standard sidearm of the Indian Army and intelligence units. That meant...! He had no time for further thought; Agent Shatrughna’s stern voice rang out, "All escape routes are blocked, Rafiq. The police have sealed off the entire hotel. Instead, just sit quietly and listen to a story — a chronicle of your life."

"Lashkar-e-Taiba’s operation this time was planned on a massive scale. Multiple blasts across multiple cities within a short span of time. That’s why you came up with a brilliant idea to confuse the Indian police. Constantly changing your appearance using prosthetic masks. You visited Asgar Ali, a renowned make-up artist from film industry in Kolkata, and ordered several distinct masks under the guise of a film project; Paying him a hefty sum, of course. But when surveillance revealed he was an informer for Inspector Ajanta, you decided not to take the risk. On the day the masks were to be delivered, you murdered him, stole his wallet, and fled. Later, while escaping to Bangladesh via the Petrapole border, you used his PAN card to purchase four SIM cards for the serial blasts in India. You’ve already used and discarded the Pune one; there are three left—right?"
"No, that’s all nonsense. There’s no proof."
"Is that so?" Ajanta interjected. "A specific brand of cigarette -555, was found in Asgar’s ashtray. That same brand is here in this room. And I’m confident the same fingerprints will be found on both stubs."
"Exactly," said Soumya - "Over the past three days, we scanned the guest check-in lists from every hotel in Nagpur and identified a hundred and fifty names. The IB has verified everyone's background, except yours. However, your disguise caused some confusion, which is why we arranged for this hot water. Now get ready; the police are waiting downstairs."

By then, Rafiq had regained his composure. In a flash, he lunged toward the pistol hidden beneath his pillow. But a pair of powerful hands pinned him to the bed with lightning speed, clamping down on his throat to stifle any scream. Rafiq gasped for air. The jihadi terrorist, whose hands were stained with the blood of innocents, realized that he was not the true assassin here; Rather the stranger is. He is the master assassin, the perfect executioner from Indian intelligence.
A whisper brushed against his ear: "Get ready for hell."
Even amidst the agonizing struggle for breath, Rafiq managed to choke out, "Who are you?"
The reply came: "The Destroyer of the Enemy — SHATRUGHNA."
With a sharp, forceful twist, his neck snapped; Terrorist Rafiq Islam was dead. Shatrughna, aka, Soumya — took a breath and checked his watch. The entire operation had taken exactly five minutes. He smiled at Ajanta, who gave him a passionate hug. then made a call to his boss's mobile: "Sir, AGENT SHATRUGHNA reporting. Target neutralized; mission accomplished successfully."