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  “What you looking for?” Atal asked.

  “The Palace Hotel,” Himesh snapped.

  “That dump?”

  Mirza shook his head again. Atal almost sounded disappointed his new heroes didn’t have a secret lair. “You know where it is?”

  “Yes.” Atal held out his hand. “For ten rupee I’ll show you.”

  “We just saved your life,” said Himesh.

  The kid shrugged. “If I can’t eat I may as well be dead.”

  Himesh took a note from his pocket and gave it to him. “Regular little entrepreneur, aren’t you?”

  “This way.” Atal led them down the street, around a corner and into the entrance of the hostel.

  “You’re kidding me,” mumbled Himesh as they climbed the stairs. Unlocking their room, he waved Atal to one of the beds. “Take a seat.”

  Mirza offered him a plastic container filled with last night’s leftovers of naan and curry. “Are you hungry?” When the street urchin snatched it from his hands and attacked it with vigor, he chuckled. “I guess that’s a yes.”

  He smiled as he watched the boy devour the meal. He put his age at about twelve but he could have been older. Slightly built, the boy had a gaunt face with innocent brown eyes and a nasty bruise on his cheek. “Your name’s Atal, right? I’m Mirza and this is Himesh.”

  The youngster looked up from the bowl. “You cops? You don’t look like cops.”

  “No we’re not cops. We’re Special Agents,” said Himesh as he handed Mirza a medical kit from his bag.

  He eyed them curiously as he chewed. “You mean like CIA? Like in the movies? James Bond, Jason Bourne? Lots of guns and gadgets. You got guns?”

  “Yes, just like the movies.”

  “So cool.”

  Mirza finished cleaning his wound and wrapped a bandage around it. “Atal, the men that attacked you, do you know who they are?”

  “They’re with a gang.”

  “Criminals?”

  “Yeah, thieves and body snatchers.”

  “Body snatchers?”

  The youth stopped with a hunk of the flatbread halfway to his mouth. “They take people. Cut out their parts to sell to rich people needing new bits. They sell anything.” He lowered his head and continued eating.

  Mirza glanced at Himesh, who nodded grimly.

  Atal kept talking with food in his mouth. “That’s why they were after me.” He shrugged. “Or maybe it’s because of those Pakis.”

  “Pakis?” Mirza asked.

  “Yesterday, I took some Pakis to the gang’s house. Told the cops. They don’t listen.”

  “Where’s the house?”

  “Near the market. Big gray building.” He lowered his voice. “They cut up the bodies there.”

  “Can you take us there?”

  “You have money?”

  Himesh reached into his pocket and took out a thick roll of rupees. “If you show us the gang’s hideout we’ll make sure you don’t go hungry.” He peeled off a note and held it out. “There will be more.”

  Atal scraped the last trace of curry from the bowl before taking the money and inspecting it. “Not enough.”

  “I said there would be more. We’re going to need your help, Atal. If you play your cards right this will be very lucrative.”

  “OK. If I’m working with you big secret agents, I want a gun.”

  Himesh rolled his eyes.

  Mirza reached into his pocket and took out a folding knife. He extended the blade with a snap of his wrist. “You can have this. But be careful, it’s sharp.”

  Atal took the knife and weighed it in his hand. He closed it and snapped it open the same way Mirza had. “It’ll do. I take you now.”

  Himesh grabbed his backpack. “Excellent. Let’s get going.”

  ***

  As Atal led them through an older part of Chandni Chowk, Mirza felt as if he was trapped in a maze of ancient streets teeming with people. Sounds and smells assaulted his senses. Tinkers battered pots with wooden mallets, cobblers polished shoes on spinning brushes, and woodworkers ground peppershakers on makeshift lathes. Only the aroma of Indian cooking, freshly ground spices, and curried meats offered relief.

  “This way.” Atal took them up a staircase wedged between two buildings.

  As they climbed, Mirza noticed the mold-covered walls and cracked slime-slick tiles. Reaching the top, he stepped onto a flat rooftop covered with rows of laundry drying under the harsh sun.

  Atal weaved through the clothing, crouched behind the lip of the building, and pointed to the busy street below. “Down there. Through the orange door.”

  The door barred access to a lane that ran between the low-rise buildings. He glanced at Atal. “You’re sure that’s where the gang lives?”

  “Yes. See how that lane goes back to an open bit. See the gray building at the end?”

  “Yes.”

  “They do the evil in there.”

  Mirza pulled out a compact digital camera and snapped a few photos. He noted the barred windows on the building. “It’s well secured.”

  Himesh ruffled the urchin’s hair as he focused on the scene below. “Good work, kid. This is a great spot.”

  “Is there any other way in or out?” Mirza asked.

  “They can use the roof, but they don’t.”

  “You’ve watched this place before, haven’t you?”

  Atal nodded grimly. “Yes. They took a friend, two years ago. He’s dead now. They stole his insides.”

  “Did you tell the police?”

  Fists clenched at his side, the boy’s body trembled. “They do nothing! Gangs pay good.”

  Mirza put his hand on the youngster’s bony shoulder. “You help us, Atal, and you’ll have your revenge.”

  “Yes, it’s time to stop them. Time somebody paid them back. We can be like Avengers, bring justice to the neighborhood.”

  Mirza knew Himesh wasn’t listening. He was focused on the street.

  “It’s busy. Plenty of foot traffic,” Himesh said.

  Mirza snapped photos of two men ambling down the road. Even with their scruffy beards, long hair, and local attire they stood out. “Himesh, check out these two.”

  “Already on it,” he said.

  “Look like cops.”

  “Undercover cops,” Himesh corrected.

  The men swaggered toward the gray building. One of them knocked on the orange door.

  “Atal, do you know who they are?” Mirza asked.

  “No. But they’re police. Walk like they’re big men. The boss.”

  Someone opened the door and spoke to the visitors before disappearing back inside.

  Himesh opened his backpack and took out another digital camera and a cell phone. “Atal, we don’t have as many men as we would like. So, we’re going to rely on your skills to work out who else is inside that place.” He pulled a five-rupee note from his pocket. “Can we count on you?”

  The youth took the money and stuffed it into his pants. “Yes.”

  “Good.” Himesh showed him how to use the camera. “I want you to take photos of anyone who comes or goes, OK?”

  Atal nodded.

  “Just don’t get caught. And don’t lose the camera. If you see anything important, call us on this phone. Both our numbers are in it.” Himesh showed him where they were stored. They were the only two in the phone’s contact list.

  “Where you going?”

  “Close by, we’re just checking a few things out.”

  Mirza snapped another photo of a man at the orange door. “Take a look at that guy, Himesh. The fat one.”

  “Wearing a white singlet and tracksuit pants?”

  Atal snorted. “That’s Neeraj. Big boss. Everybody knows him.”

  Mirza watched the crime boss talk to the two men. As he spoke, he waved his hands in an agitated manner. Then one of them lifted his shirt. At the sight of a pistol, Neeraj shuffled outside and shut the door.

  “You going to be OK by yourself, Atal?”
Mirza asked.

  “I’ve always been by myself.” He snapped photos as Neeraj was escorted from his lair.

  “Remember to call us if anything happens,” Himesh said as Mirza and he left. Once on the street, they merged with the crowd. “If we parallel them, we should be able to cut in behind.”

  CHAPTER 15

  A block from Neeraj’s compound, Lieutenant Colonel Prasad was perched on a pile of rugs. He smoothed the creases from his slacks. Glancing at the empty doorway, he clenched his jaw. “Where is the fat fuck?”

  “They’ve got him and are on their way,” said Captain Roshan, leaning against the wall of his cousin’s store.

  “That greasy cockroach better not lie to me. If he even tries, I’ll crush him under my boot. Then I’ll—” At a sharp knock, his lips thinned and he jerked his head toward the door.

  Roshan opened it a crack and glanced back. “It’s them.”

  Prasad nodded toward the rug in front of him.

  The muscular captain flung open the door, grabbed Neeraj by the back of his neck, and dragged him to the rug. “Sit!”

  Neeraj dropped to the mat, confusion on his face.

  Prasad motioned for the two escorting officers to leave the room. His eyes narrowed as he fixed the gangster with a stare. “How long have we known each other, Neeraj?”

  “I, I’m not sure. Maybe five years? Yes that’s it, five years.”

  “And over those five years have I looked after you?”

  His eyes flicked to Roshan standing in front of the door. “Yeah. I guess so. What’s this all about, Colonel, is there–”

  Prasad raised his hand, silencing the man. “I’ve looked after you, Neeraj. I’ve let you go about your vile little business. I’ve even turned a blind eye to your more nefarious activities, including those that involve Pakistani intelligence.”

  Neeraj shook his head. “What are you talking about? I never–”

  “Enough! I know all about your deals.”

  “I would never betray my country.”

  “Bullshit. Your loyalty only goes as far as the next rupee. That’s why you’re here. I’ve got a deal to offer you.”

  Neeraj swallowed. “What type of deal?”

  “The type where you tell me what I want to know and Roshan doesn’t shoot you in the head.”

  He swallowed again and glanced at the NSG captain. The Black Cat winked as he screwed a suppressor onto his pistol. “What do you want to know?”

  “Tell me about your new Paki friends. What are they doing here in New Delhi?”

  “What? What Pakis–”

  Prasad nodded. With a thud a round buried itself in the carpet next to Neeraj’s leg. He jumped. The NSG officer fought the urge to smile as the man switched from a smug liar to a terrified coward. It was funny how some people changed when you applied a little pressure, he thought.

  “Next one’s in your knee, you piece of shit,” Roshan hissed. “Answer the Colonel’s question.”

  “The men are workers, from Lahore. I’m letting them rent a room from me. I promise that’s the truth.”

  Prasad smiled, the toothy movie star smile he used to woo the ladies. “That’s fantastic news. And here I was thinking they were ISI sponsored fedayeen planning to blow up half of New Delhi.” With the last word, his smile dropped. “I’m giving you a choice, Neeraj. Tell me the truth. Or I’ll send my boys to your place, shoot every one of your child-murdering rats, and burn your rancid nest to the ground.”

  He watched beads of sweat roll off the man’s brow as his gaze darted around the room. He had the man by the balls.

  “OK, OK. They’re working for someone in Pakistan. They arrived in two groups. Four last week and another five yesterday.”

  “So two separate teams?” he asked.

  “Yeah. They keep four of them locked up in a little room. They pray all the time. Only the two guys in charge are allowed to see them.”

  Prasad glanced at Roshan scribbling in his notebook. “Go on.”

  “They have a room with maps and pictures on the wall.”

  “Of what?”

  “I haven’t been able to get a good look.”

  “Why don’t I believe you?”

  “It’s true, I give you my word.”

  “Your word isn’t worth shit. You’re a thief, a traitor, and a child-murderer. If I shot you now, I’d make the world a better place.” He stood up and walked toward the door. “Captain Roshan, squash this bug.”

  “With pleasure.” Roshan aimed his pistol.

  “No wait. I saw a picture of a woman.”

  Prasad paused. “I’m not interested in your porn collection, you sick fuck.”

  “I think they’re going to kill her.”

  “Who is she?”

  “That woman from the TV. The lawyer from the terrorist case.”

  Prasad spun on his heel. “Sonia Jayaram? They’re going to try and kill Sonia Jayaram?”

  “I don’t know her name. I just saw her picture on the wall. They had a map of all the places she goes.”

  “Is that all? They’ve sent nine arseholes to New Delhi to kill one uptight bitch?”

  “That’s all I know.”

  He sighed. “Try not to ruin the rug, Roshan.”

  “No! The cricket. They keep talking about the cricket stadium. That’s all I know. I swear on my life. I’ve told you everything,” he said, sobbing.

  Prasad walked back to the pile of rugs. Crouching, he leaned in close. “Listen to me very carefully, Neeraj. You’ll return to your filthy hovel and discover exactly when and where these jihadist bastards are going to hit.”

  “What do I tell them about this meeting?”

  “We squeezed you for extra protection money.” Thrusting out his hand, Prasad smiled. “Which is exactly what’s happening.”

  “You’re kidding me?”

  “Do I look like I’m joking, shit head?” he snapped.

  Neeraj reached into his pocket and took out a thick roll of cash. He peeled off individual notes until Prasad snapped his fingers.

  “All of it thanks.” He plucked it free from the criminal’s tight grip. “If I don’t get word from you within the next two hours I’m going to send in my boys.”

  “Two hours,” wailed Neeraj.

  Prasad pointed to the door. “Get the hell out.”

  Roshan grabbed Neeraj’s shoulder and tossed him out the door into the waiting hands of the plain-clothed NSG officers. He locked the door and turned back to his boss. “So he’s been hiding them the whole time.”

  Prasad remained seated, pondering all the new information. “Sonia Jayaram,” he said softly. “Seems they’re going to deal with our little problem. Don’t you love it when things work out for the best?” he asked with a chuckle.

  “Yeah. But what about the praying guys? They sound like suicide bombers.” The big man’s brow was furrowed. “Neeraj said they’re going to target the cricket stadium. The test starts this afternoon.”

  Prasad was still thinking about Sonia and fought the urge to smile. It was funny how karma worked. Only twenty-four hours ago, she was a thorn in his side. Now, she was the target of a terrorist hit squad.

  “Boss?” Roshan interrupted his thoughts. “What do you want me to do?”

  “Have your men increase surveillance on Neeraj and everyone leaving his place. I’ll move the assault team closer to the stadium. They can stage out of Jama Masjid.”

  “They’re going to ask why.”

  “We’ll tell them it’s a short-notice exercise.”

  “So we’re going to hit the terrorists at the stadium?”

  Prasad nodded. “We need maximum impact. They need to have a modicum of success before we wipe them out.”

  “What if they manage to set off a bomb?”

  Prasad snickered. “If Paki terrorists set a bomb off in Feroz Shah Kotla, well, then we won’t have to worry about funding for a bloody long time.”

  CHAPTER 16

  Entering their ro
om, Mirza sat on his bed, pulled up a sleeve, and checked the bandage. One couldn’t be too careful; in the slums infections were the norm.

  “Let me see it.” Himesh leaned forward as Mirza removed the dressing. “Looks fine.”

  Mirza smeared antibiotic salve on his wound and covered it. “Just a bit sore.” He finished taping up the bandage and checked his phone.

  “Did you try to ring Atal again?”

  “Still no answer. What’s your take on him?”

  “Don’t know how reliable he’s going to be, but he’s got street smarts. He was right about the guys with Neeraj. They had to be cops.”

  “NSG?”

  “Could be, or maybe local cops shaking him down.”

  “If it’s NSG, they might already be on to the terrorists.”

  “I hope so. I’ll check in with HQ, see if you can raise Atal again.” Himesh dialed. It rang twice before a secretary picked it up. “Himesh for the Major.”

  “Himesh, good to hear from you. How are things going with the NSG?”

  “All good, we’ve located the cell.”

  “Didn’t take long. Not even twenty-four hours. Where are they? Is NSG ready to move?”

  “A criminal gang in the Chandni Chowk area’s harboring them.” He paused. “As far as I know, the NSG isn’t aware of it yet.”

  “Why not?”

  “We haven’t had time to check in with them. Mirza and I are heading there now.”

  “You’re telling me you found these guys based off your own initiative.”

  “That’s correct, sir.”

  “Good work. But it’s critical you plug in with the NSG. We’re working on their turf. The director’s made it clear they’re to take the lead.”

  “Understood.”

  “It’s your job to ensure they move on this. We can’t afford for them to sit on their hands.”

  “Got it, sir.”

  “Good luck.”

  Himesh hung up. He frowned at Mirza’s concerned expression. “What’s wrong?”

  “Still can’t raise Atal.”

  “Engaged or switched off?”

  “Switched off.”

  “Doesn’t make sense.”

  At the knock on the door, both men reached for their weapons. Mirza moved to the door. His free hand on the doorknob, he asked, “Who is it?”