Mission Or What??

“Do you even know whom you are talking to? Do you know who I am?”

The man behind the counter raised his eyebrows even as the one in front of him kept at the charade.

“How dare you talk to me in such a disrespectful tone? If I make a single phone call, troops of camouflages will descend on you. And then you will rot in the cell till the end of your life,” he huffed and puffed, for all this shouting was making him breathless.

The man behind the counter had seen many such “well connected” vagabonds. He swept his experienced eyes over the other and pronounced the verdict. Pretentious. 

Byomkesh Gambhir, for that, was his name, felt compelled to introduce himself. “I work for DOGS. My father works for DOGS. You are welcome to ask the DOGS who is Byomkesh Gambhir, and they will tell you that I am one of their most hardworking guys.” He paused at this moment, for he realised that the man behind the counter was laughing. “How insulting! First, you detain me because I had ten rupees less. Then, you laugh when I introduce myself. To begin with, spies never reveal their true identity, but I did. And yet, you seem to disbelieve me. This place is going to the dogs, I am telling you, to the dogs.”

The man behind the counter used all his willpower to suppress his laughter. “You are a spy?” he asked in amazement. “What is dogs?”

“Not dogs. DOGS. Delta Omega Group of Spies. I belong to the elite group of spies who work relentlessly for the safety and security of the country. You as a common man owe us a lot, for we sacrifice ourselves at every step to keep you safe. We keep an eye on offshore threats and nip them in the bud. We also keep track of unrest within and quell them before it’s too late. In short, we are the eyes and ears of domestic security. We are also the hands and legs of espionage. We, spies, are an invaluable asset, and I am proud that I am part of such an august group.” He paused to catch his breath. “And un-informed commoners like you think that the country runs by itself. If the country were a clock, we spies are the oil. We are faceless and nameless. We give our lives for the sake of the country. And this is the kind of treatment we get. Deploring I say, very sad.”

The man behind the counter gave Byomkesh another look. He was young, mid-thirties, impeccably dressed, not a hair out of place. His eyes were aflame and his nose quivered with emotion. He carried a backpack that kept slipping from his shoulder, and he kept adjusting it. For the umpteenth time, he pushed it back onto his shoulder and glared. “I have ten rupees less. You will have to adjust.” It sounded more like an order than a request.

“I am sorry sir. I didn’t know who you were. I am extremely sorry for the inconvenience. Please accept my apologies.”

“Umhh…. Never mind. But do consider that every other customer could be a spy in disguise. Now, not everyone will reveal their identity, would they?” Byomkesh asked with an earnest look on his face. He walked out of the eatery, smiling contently, convinced that he had turned around into a non-believer. Little did he know that behind his back, the man at the counter had quietly slipped into his chair, clutching his stomach and shaking with silent laughter. It was not long before he burst into a roar. It would be safe to assume that he had broken his own record of the longest laugh time.

“What a dude!” The man behind the counter said after he had composed himself. “If he is a spy, as he says he is, then I can all but imagine what the state of affairs is at the Department of Intelligence. Well! Spy or not, the man has a vivid imagination.” He smiled to himself, remembering the events that occurred not long ago. “All you enemies out there, beware! Byomkesh Gambhir is coming!” And he had a fresh fit of laughter.

As Byomkesh Gambhir walked out of the eatery, he turned left. The streets were unfamiliar to him, yet he walked as if he knew the surroundings. Always trust your instincts, he told himself, and his instincts told him to turn left. B-zone was new to him. He had heard a lot about the city, its notorious daytime traffic and even notorious nightlife. He had always wanted to visit B-zone, though he had never got the opportunity to do so. Thus yesterday, when he was asked to carry out a mission that required him to travel to B-zone, he was glad. Whatever little he had seen of the city, it had lived up to its image. Loud and over-the-top, it was full of life, both literally and figuratively. It had a dark underbelly too. As one walked around the streets, one got a feeling that he was watched.

But Byomkesh never noticed the prying eyes. He was too busy soaking up the sounds and sights. It didn’t look any different from Maxim, where he lived. Yet the feeling was alien. It wasn’t homely. Quiet understandable, he told himself, for it wasn’t home. He walked slowly, gazing at the shops and their displays. He spotted a colourful stole and thought his sister would love it. He had half a mind to walk in and buy it, but then remembered the stern voice of his Mission Manager, “The mission is of utmost importance.” He made a mental note of the shop, promising to return once he had completed the task assigned to him.

As he reached the end of the street, he felt something. He was not sure what triggered the feeling, but he knew that someone was onto him. Perhaps it was a sound, or it was a movement that he subconsciously caught. Byomkesh was certain that he was being followed. Observation is the key, his professors at the National Spy School had insisted. He was glad he had paid attention to his lessons. He casually dropped down to his knee, pretending to tie his shoelaces. When his hands reached his shoes, he realised that he was wearing laceless shoes. What a bother, he chided himself, he should remember what type of shoes he wore. 

He thought fast and pretended to have a pebble stuck in the shoe. To make it look real, he sat on the steps of the nearby shop, grimaced as he removed his shoe, shook it well, and sat massaging his foot. As he did the actions, he looked around. There was nothing unusual. People walked about their daily businesses, shoppers shopped and shopkeepers arranged their wares. There was a man though, at the other side of the road who seemed to be staring at him. Byomkesh got suspicious. He quickly picked up his shoe. He intended to cross the road and probe this mysterious man.

His eyes were still on the man, who hadn’t moved an inch. As Byomkesh struggled with the shoe, his backpack slipped from his shoulder yet again. It now hung from his elbow. But Byomkesh was distracted as he was troubled by the shoe. Shoes are emotional characters. They have to be dealt with tactfully. One can’t just shove his foot in and think that he can get away with it. And so it happened with Byomkesh. His shoe grew adamant all of a sudden. As a fight ensued between him and his shoe, Byomkesh noticed that the man across the road had begun to walk away. Byomkesh scurried, pushed his foot in, got up and was in the act of rushing forward when he felt his hand being pulled. The pull was so great that he lost balance and fell backwards. 

It all happened in an instant. It was too fast for his brain to process. He felt numb, half from the impact and some from the fact that everyone was looking at him. Don’t draw attention to yourself, his professors had said. What was happening here was exactly the opposite. People stopped mid-step to look at him. He was embarrassed and felt that he owed them an explanation. “I fell,” he said weekly. He got up, dusted himself, raised his hand to his shoulder in a subconscious gesture of adjusting his backpack, and realised the worst. 

The backpack was missing. Byomkesh panicked. The one thing that he had to do, the only thing that he had to do, was to deliver an envelope. It was in the backpack, and the backpack was missing. Where could it have gone? He had been guarding it so well. In fact, he had never let the backpack out of his sight, not even when he had to use the washroom. 

“Your mission is to deliver an envelope to the National Space Agency. Be very careful with it. It has some confidential information. We have reasons to believe that the enemy wants to have that info so as to use it against us. Guard it with your life. It should not fall in the wrong hands.” The Mission Manager had said as he had briefed him. It had hardly been twenty-four hours since he had been handed the envelope and he had already lost the backpack and the envelope in it.

“My backpack,” Byomkesh shouted. “Has anyone seen my backpack? It’s black in colour. I had it on my shoulder when I fell. Has anyone seen it?” he pleaded, but no one had. “Someone snatched it. And that was why I fell. Did anyone see anybody fleeing with my backpack?” he asked, but got no answer. In panic, he scrambled towards his left, then stopped. Perhaps he should go towards the right. He rushed in the opposite direction. But he stopped after advancing a few steps. He looked across the road, but there was no sign of the man who had stood staring at him. What to do? He never felt so indecisive before. 

After what seemed like hours, he made up his mind, to follow the man across the road. He swiftly crossed the road and ran towards the right, for that is where he saw the man turn. As he looked around for any signs of the man, he was fighting off varied emotions. His father was the Director of DOGS. Needless to say that there was a lot of pressure on him to live up to his father’s achievements, which were no mean task considering that his father was one of the shining stars of the agency. To make matters worse, he had overheard a conversation between two seniors where they were discussing that Byomkesh’s appointment was done purely on the basis of his father’s position and not merit. 

A lot many expectations rode on this mission, his first. He had to make a success of it, such that it will shut all the doubters. And for that to happen, he had to complete the mission by handing over the envelope to National Space Agency. At this moment, it seemed a remote possibility. Byomkesh was getting desperate. He scrambled in and out of shops and peeped into the back allies. He asked around if anyone had seen a man with a black jacket. As for his face, he was not sure how it looked. From a distance, it was difficult to make a note of distinct facial features. 

As he scurried around desperately, he bumped into a woman. She had a basket of oranges that went tumbling down when Byomkesh collided with her. She gave a shout and treated Byomkesh with some of her favourite abuses. Had it been some other time, he would have returned the gesture, but not now. “I am looking for a man, a man with a black jacket. Have you seen him? Please, it’s important,” he said. 

“A middle-aged man?”

“Yes, have you seen him?”

“Yes, he went into that building,” she pointed to a two-story building at the corner of the street. 

Byomkesh rushed forward, then remembered that he had neither said sorry nor thanks to the woman. He stopped and turned back with the intention of yelling thanks and sorry when he was surprised to find her gone. A few oranges were lying on the cobbled pavement. The disappearing woman was a problem for another day, he thought to himself, as he hurried towards the building.

As Byomkesh was trying to salvage his mission, a train arrived from Tubound in the crowded railway station of B-zone. An elderly man poked his head from one of the windows of the train. “Porter,” he said to no one in particular. Within a few seconds, a porter materialised. 

“To the taxi stand,” the elderly man ordered. The porter picked up the one suitcase that the elder man pointed to and offered to help the man down the train. “I can manage. These old bones have still enough strength left in them. Thanks for asking, young man,” he said as he picked up his walking stick. “Be careful of the suitcase, will you?”

The porter couldn’t help but smile as he led the way to the taxi stand. He was relieved that this gentleman did not bargain as his other customers tend to. He saw to it that the old man was comfortably seated in the taxi. He placed the suitcase on the empty seat next to the old man. These old people and their quirks, he thought to himself, they are paranoid of their belongings. As he accepted the money from his hand, the porter noticed that for a man that aged, his hand seemed surprisingly wrinkle-free.

The elderly man gave an address to the taxi driver. The vehicle moved and the old man took a deep breath. He adjusted his glasses, ran his fingers over his forehead and cheeks, smoothed his hair and dusted his kurta. He looked left and right at the other vehicles plying along, then glanced back at those coming behind the taxi. He then sat back and closed his eyes. One hour more, he said to himself.

The taxi reached its destination in about twenty minutes. The fare duly paid, the old man went in, lugging his suitcase with him.

Meanwhile, Byomkesh opened his eyes. He felt as if he had been sleeping for a very long time, but in reality, it had been hardly fifteen minutes. He stretched himself, let out a long yawn, rubbed his eyes and got a shock of his life. He wasn’t on his bed. He was on the floor of an unfamiliar, dark, dingy room. He closed his eyes tightly, clenched his fists and forced himself to think. It slowly came back to him. He had been given a mission to deliver an envelope to the National Space Agency. He was on his way when he had been robbed. He had entered a building in search of a mysterious man, and all he could remember was a bang on his head and he had woken up to find himself in this room. Byomkesh opened his eyes. As he had been warned, someone was eager to get their hands on the papers. Having gotten his memory back, he now had to figure out where he was.

He looked around, but there was nothing in the room that would give him a clue of his whereabouts. A dim bulb hung from the ceiling that threw strange shadows on the dirty walls. A single window was barred and boarded such that neither light nor sound entered. Byomkesh walked to the door and tried to open it. It was no surprise that it was locked from the outside. He tried to press his ear to the door and could hear faint sounds. He could not decide whether they were sounds of traffic or of people.

He banged the door with all his might. He screamed at the top of his voice, “Open the door, you bastards. You don’t know who I am. I will get you all arrested. Release me this instant.” He added in a few swear words for the added effect. But whoever he was aiming the tirade at seemed unaffected. He let out a sigh and fell silent.

The old man reached the front desk of The Fishermen. He asked to see the manager. When he arrived, the old man produced a letter which the manager read with great attention. Then with all due respect, he led the other to room 208. “Hope you find everything to your satisfaction. You may call me directly on this number if you need anything,” he scribbled a number on the hotel stationery. Then he took leave. 

The old man looked at himself in the mirror. He smiled. It was a kind of smile that one tends to give oneself in acknowledgement of the good work done. He straightened to his full height and stretched himself backwards. Pretending to be an old man with a bent back left him stiff in the muscles. He swiftly locked the door and drew the curtains. He opened the suitcase and took out a worn-out office bag and a pair of fresh clothes. Then he proceeded to remove his makeup. A quick change of clothes and he was a transformed person. 

He now looked every inch a middle-aged, overworked man, whose entire life had been spent behind a desk. He tucked his much-worn, ink-stained shirt haphazardly and removed the grey wig he had worn earlier to reveal a balding head. He didn’t have to apply any makeup though, for his face was naturally wrought with sleeplessness and fatigue. He looked at his reflection in the mirror from top to toe and grunted approval. He packed the clothes he had worn earlier along with the wig and other accessories into his office bag, swept his eyes over the room to make sure he had not left anything behind, and then called the manager, “I am leaving. Thank you.”

“Godspeed,” the manager replied.

He left the empty suitcase behind, to be taken care of by the manager.

Byomkesh sat on the bare floor in the middle of the room, hugging his knees. He was thinking of the guys at the National Space Agency. They might have placed a call to his father by now complaining of his absence. Byomkesh had to admit that his father was first the director of DOGS, then his parent. He would initiate a hunt, and after he finds Byomkesh, would hang him first for noncompliance, and ask about his welfare later. If only he had an aide, he fell to thinking.

Then he heard the sound of the lock click. He was immediately alerted. Someone was coming. He stood up and took combat position. In came a man wearing a monkey cap. Silly guy, thought Byomkesh, for winter’s not set yet. The man held Byomkesh’s backpack. Seeing that, he forgot all about his combat position. “My backpack! Give it to me,” he lunged forward and snatched it from the man’s hand. 

“What trash you keep in it,” the monkey-capped man exclaimed. 

“Have you been looking into my backpack? How dare you? Don’t you have any decency? You could have at least asked me,” Byomkesh said angrily, furious that someone had been rummaging through it. He emptied it, skimmed through the objects and asked, “Where is it?” 

“Where is it?” the other man echoed.

“I am not talking to you.”

“But I am. Where is it?”

“What?”

“You know what I am referring to.”

Byomkesh didn’t reply, for he was contemplating another mystery. He suddenly felt that he had seen this man earlier. Where, was the big question.

Meanwhile, the other man was exasperated. “Will you open your mouth? Or I have other ways to make you talk.”

It dawned on Byomkesh. He hadn’t seen this man, he had seen this jacket somewhere. And it hadn’t been much long ago. He closed his eyes tight and clenched his fist. He was thinking hard. Recently, I have seen this jacket recently, he said to himself.

“Are you deaf or something? Where are the papers?” the man was losing it, and losing it fast.

“Yes!” Byomkesh gave a shout, “You were the one across the road. Weren’t you? In any case, you are wearing the same jacket.”

“Don’t you play games with me? Where are the papers?” The man said sharply.

Byomkesh finally got the message. 

“What do you want the papers for?” He adopted the combat position once again. “Tell me, or I will strike you down. Don’t think of me as a beginner, I have been learning karate since I was in school. I have years of experience.” He was jumping from side to side like a monkey on hot coals. He got no response from the other man who just stood there gaping at him. 

Byomkesh continued, “You don’t know who I am. You don’t know my father. A single phone call, mind you, a single phone call will bring the police, army and navy here. There is no way you can escape. You will be annihilated in a matter of minutes I say, in a matter of minutes.” Byomkesh’s adrenaline was up. He was breathing fast and his face was flushed. He still held his position. The man in the jacket too hadn’t moved except for his eyes that scanned Byomkesh up and down. He could have laughed out loud, but he was too stunned.

Around the time Byomkesh was busy exhibiting his combat skills, someone was making a silent exit in another part of the city. The middle-aged, overworked man with the worn-out office bag left the hotel through the fire escape. He walked a short distance and hailed an auto. “Planetarium,” he directed the driver. 

“Going for the show, sir?” the auto driver asked. He seemed to be an exceptionally chatty one. “It’s a good one.” He assured. 

The ride to the planetarium took longer than expected, it is a Sunday. Throughout the ride, the auto driver kept talking and when the ride ended, the passenger heaved a sigh of relief. He entered the gates and promptly got lost in the crowd. He was relieved to find the place bursting with people. Things have worked beautifully in my favour, he thought. 

Cautiously he made his way to the cafeteria. He bought a bun and sat in an obscure corner. He observed his surroundings and after having satisfied himself, he slowly got up and circled the cafeteria. At the rear were kept some huge garbage bins and the whole area looked in dire need of cleaning. Somewhere hidden behind the bins was a rusty old door. It seemed to be an out-of-use door, that hadn’t been opened in years. 

The man stood in front of it, looked at it straight and did some hand signs. After a moment, the door opened. The man entered the dark abyss and the door closed as noiselessly as it had opened.

“You have no idea what DOGS is capable of. Give me a phone. Just one phone call and I will show.”

“Are you really one of the DOGS?!” 

“What do you mean? Of course, I am one of the DOGS. Ask anyone about Byomkesh Gambhir, and they will tell you that I am one of the hardest working agents. You don’t know me, do you?”

“I don’t want to know you. I just want the papers.”

“Papers? The ones I was carrying? They were meant to be delivered to the National Space Agency.”

“Yes, I know, I want them. Where are they?”

“I don’t know where are those damn papers,” Byomkesh cried. “Release me, will you? I have to go search the papers, or my father will kill me. And who are you?” He paused, as if waiting for an answer, then decided against it and continued talking, “Listen, it is very urgent. Let me go. You have no idea how important it is. Actually even I have no idea how important it is,” he began speaking to himself, “I don’t know what are in those papers. Should have asked. But what’s the use, they wouldn’t have told me. And now I am stuck in this strange city, with no one to call my own, and the papers that seem to have disappeared. Let me get hold of the man who stole my backpack, and I will show him what stuff I am made of. He has no idea whom he is up against. I will crush him, I will punch him so he goes flying.”

“Hey!” Byomkesh’s monologue was cut short rather rudely, forcing him to acknowledge that he had been held hostage by an unknown person.

“Please,” Byomkesh pleaded, “Let me go. Someone stole my backpack. I need to find him.”

“Are you really one of the DOGS?” The man in the jacket and monkey cap was bewildered.

“What do you mean?” Byomkesh seemed upset. “Do you want me to show you my identity card?”

The other man rubbed his forehead in exasperation. A headache was creeping into him. All he wanted now was to get away. He was thinking of a refreshing cool drink. 

“Listen, and listen carefully, for I won’t repeat myself again. You have been abducted. We want the papers that you were carrying. We have been following you since you landed here. We were the ones who robbed you of your backpack. See, that’s your backpack there,” he pointed to the bag lying forlorn on the floor. “Have you understood? We stole the backpack from you. We want those papers.” The man spoke slowly and clearly. He wanted to make sure that Byomkesh could comprehend his every word. 

Byomkesh didn’t disappoint him. He nodded his head to indicate he understood. “We,” Byomkesh repeated. “But how many people does it take to snatch a bag?”

The man in the monkey cap felt another wave of pain seeping through his forehead. He had a sudden urge to throw something but restrained himself at the last moment.

“Who are you?” Byomkesh asked.

The other man felt relieved. He took a deep breath. At last, something sensible comes out of this loony’s mouth. “When you were given the papers to deliver, were you told of someone trying to get their hands on them too?” Byomkesh nodded his head vigorously to this question. “Good,” the man spoke as if he was speaking to a toddler. “We are those people about whom you were warned. We want those papers. We were to sell them on the black market. We hoped to get millions for it.” 

“Millions?” Byomkesh's eyes went wide.

“They are no ordinary papers. They are the blueprints for a satellite. It is rumoured that it will be the best spy satellite ever. Needless to say, everyone wants to get their hands on it. Imagine, all the countries, especially the rouge countries, vying with each other and placing bids for those papers. We would have sold the blueprints to the highest bidder and could have spent the rest of our lives in luxury. Millions, we stand the chance to earn millions.”

“Really?” Byomkesh’s jaw had fallen open. “Those papers are worth millions? If only I had known!”

“What would you have done?”

“Well!” Byomkesh puffed his chest, “It is a matter of great pride, isn’t it? The agency has immense trust in me. Otherwise, why will it call upon me to deliver such valuable papers?” He was elated, “I am not able to believe this. I can’t wait to tell everyone.”

“Hold your horses, will you? We did not find any papers in your backpack. There was nothing. You heard me, there was nothing in the envelope. That damn envelope was empty.”

“Empty?”

“Yes. Do you want to see it?” He took out an envelope from his jacket pocket and flung it towards Byomkesh. “Do you recognise it? Is it the same envelope that was handed to you?” 

“How??” Byomkesh was puzzled beyond words. He flipped it front and back, shook it violently and checked inside it thoroughly as if expecting something to fall from within. “Was I given an empty envelope?” He thought aloud. 

“In all probability, yes. You were given an empty envelope.” The man in the jacket and monkey cap paused so as to let it sink in. “Do you know where the real papers are?”

Byomkesh shook his head morosely. 

“Had it been someone else, I would not have believed him. I got you lured into our trap when I found the envelope empty. I thought I could extract that information from you, but when I met you, I realised that you are equally clueless. I am certain that it is absolutely pointless to expect that you have any kind of knowledge about the papers.” The man turned towards the door. “Don’t you worry young man, you will be released soon.”

“But, the papers? My mission?”

“Seems like you have been used as a ploy by the agency to distract us. I guess this was your mission.” The man walked out and closed the door behind, leaving Byomkesh much confused. 

The debriefing concluded, and Byomkesh was sipping tea. He was still trying to wrap his head around the events that occurred not so long ago. The mission was a success, his father had said. A thought kept troubling him, what exactly was the mission?

*The end*

Disclaimer:

The story is a work of fiction. All the characters and places in the story are fictional and any resemblance is purely coincidental. The names used too are fictional.