Wednesday, December 12, 2018

The room was interesting, Raghuveer thought, though it could be that he could find no other suitable adjectives to describe it. Stretching along half the width of the building, the board room was large, with the glass front wall providing unimpeded access to the sea and the Worli-Bandra Sealink, a cable-stayed bridge. He looked at the bridge, cited as a famous example of modern architecture, it was beautiful with the hundreds of cables glinting in the sunlight. It was no wonder that within a decade since its opening, it had become both a tourist attraction and an icon for the city of Mumbai.

Luc stood silently beside him and Raghuveer for grateful. Over the past few days, he had seen the contemptuous indifference with which Luc regarded humans, laced with the occasional admiration. He was not too sure what to make out of the Devil's contradictory opinion of humans in general. It was not misplaced, he agreed, it was often that he was ashamed of his fellow men but it grated on him. Yet considering that he was now a killer for hire for the Devil, he kept silent, he would have to focus on what had to be done, his feelings be damned. Tarun deserved to live a full life and if the past two days were any indication, the persons did deserve to die.

It was uncomfortable to think that he was good enough to judge others' actions and there would be consequences his too but he would face them when the time came.

Turning away from the window, he looked at the room again. In the centre, ran a long table, of teak it appeared, the glossy surface reflecting the morning sun. It could seat around twenty members with ease and provided enough space for an equal number to stand around. What was strange was that it was empty and there were no indications of any proposed meeting, for there were no papers or pads. Against the far corner was another narrow table, set against the wall, which must be used to set out the refreshments, as evidenced by the glass pitcher of water and glasses.

It would not have been so confounding if he had been prepared.

He had decided to go to the office in the morning, hoping that the paperwork which had seemed so distasteful, would be mundane enough for him to pass the day. Unfortunately, the minute he had stepped out of his home, he saw Luc waiting for him near the gate and in a matter of minutes, he found himself in the conference room.

He preferred to carry out his task in the shadows of the dark, the daylight was disconcerting. 'How was it that he could kill someone yet hesitated to say that word?'

Unable to hold his curiosity, he turned towards Luc, who anticipated his question, for he simply motioned him to be quiet and handed him a holster.

"I need you to hear in so that it would ease your conscience and do not worry, they will not be able to see you. You would not need a rifle today, it would be close range," he said, "But do remember, as usual, you will fire at exactly the time I say and at the spot I specify. That does not change."

Raghuveer let out a soft whistle as he pulled the gun from the holster Luc handed to him. The Glock 17 could be famous in the world but was exorbitant in India and the 9mm was a prohibited bore requiring a special licence. And given the bureaucratic red tape, one would have to wait for an eternity. He appreciated a good weapon and the Glock was suitable for the job at hand, even if he was uncomfortable with what he had to do.

Testing its weight, he slipped it back into its concealment holster and clipped it to the waistband of his trousers. Then settled down to wait with a few misgivings, for despite Luc's assurance that they would not be seen, he felt strange being in plain sight.

The woman who entered was a striking one; tall, slim and attractive, who exuded stern grace as she stalked to the head of the table in her four-inch heels, the carpet floor unable to complete mute the firm footfall. Dressed in what Raghuveer called a power suit, her diamond earrings and bracelet added a sparkle to her steely demeanour. A woman who meant business, he thought, though he had no idea who she was or what she did.

"Deepshika Phatak "

He looked momentarily disconcerted that Luc knew both of his ignorance and about the woman. The name rang no bells and he bemoaned his dismal lack of knowledge of the business world for he still could not identify the woman. Though he did wonder what her sins could be that Luc wanted her dead.

Raghuveer did not have enough time to find out what her sins were, though the short conversation with the man who followed her gave him a good insight into her intentions. The man, whom Deepshika greeted as Mr Gupta was tall, his bearing and features would have classified him as attractive, but for the cold glint in his eyes. His spoke in a soft voice, devoid of all emotion, as he tried convincing her not to go ahead with her intention of shutting down the factory that had been in her family for decades and which employed around two thousand employees.

Despite their slightly raised voices, Raghuveer heard no more; It was the same story, the younger generation was usually more interested in the bottom line of the company rather than the livelihood of their employees. Loyalty had no preference over profitability.

Two thousand employees would mean an equal number of families, roughly ten thousand people whose lives would be turned upside down by one single decision. A slow burn began in his chest, rage against those who seemed impervious to the lives they destroyed in a single instant. His doubts receded, her death would save thousands of lives, and he relaxed enough to tune back to the conversation.

Ms Phatak was equally determined, her eyes blazed with anger, as she disagreed, "I have made up my mind, Mr Gupta, that factory must be and will be closed down. I am aware of your seniority but that does not mean you are always right, especially when I have given you the reasons. It is quite appalling that you refuse to see things from my point of view and continue to harp on the loss of employment. Jobs can always be found. I would prefer not continuing this discussion further."

"Deepshikha, I have known you from your childhood and I had presumed that you are a better person than what you have turned out to be. Guess I misjudged you, and I wish you all the best."

The anger and sarcasm in his voice were not lost on Raghuveer, as he watched Mr Gupta walk out of the room. Mr Gupta did not turn back even as Deepshikha retorted, "I thought the same of you, Uncle, guess both have misjudged each other."

Deepshika waited till Mr Gupta closed the door behind him and then turned to the windows. It startled Raghuveer, for it appeared that she was staring straight at him. Luc whispered, "She cannot see us, but be ready."

Too many things happened at once.

The door to the conference room opened and Deepshika was turning to see who had entered when Raghuveer fired at Luc's signal. Something metallic glinted in the man's hand, though at that instant Raghuveer only focussed on his bullet hitting its mark. Deepshika stumbled and Luc caught her for a few seconds, before letting her fall to the ground.

It was a gleaming haze, of the deepest emerald shade, a vibrant mist that gleamed in the sunlight as it flowed into Luc's hand. But that was not all he saw, there was a shadow, a dark tall one that also leant over the body as it extracted something else and then everything blacked out.

Raghuveer jerked awake when his head hit the table, he had fallen asleep in his chair. His neck had a crick and there was drool on his chin. Grateful that he had a cabin to work in and hoping the none had popped in to find him asleep, he stood and stretched. He slowly paced the room, his shoulder hurt, the pain increasing with the slightest movements. When he glanced at his watch, he noticed that only an hour had passed since he had been intercepted by Luc, it had seemed longer than that. When and how had killing someone been so easy and took so little time? Deepshika appeared to be in her mid-thirties and it had taken him less than that many minutes to conclude that she deserved to die.

Yet there was a tinny voice that disagreed, a voice that protested he had been hasty, one that he suppressed. Heeding to that voice would need courage and might lead to a reconsideration of his decision, and that would not do.

He would not let his son down.

And so Raghuveer decides to go on, turning a deaf ear to the tiny voice of protest. What do you think, does it bode well? I would love to hear your thoughts.

Thank you for reading,
Nyna