Syndicate [Thriller]

Chapter 3: One Above

The blindfold came off with a sharp tug, and the harsh light flooded my vision, forcing me to squint against the sudden brightness. My hands were still bound behind the chair, my shoulders stiff from hours of being held in the same position. The room was small, windowless, with the dull thrum of a generator somewhere nearby.

Across from me stood a man in a crisp grey suit, his eyes sharp and calculating behind a pair of thin-framed glasses. He was older, with the kind of face that had seen too much and didn't bother hiding it. Behind him, a couple of plainclothes officers loitered, watching, but it was clear who was in charge.

"Ajay," the man said, his voice clipped, with a faint Bengali accent. He paced slowly, sizing me up. "I'm Uday Bakshy. Head of the task force out of Calcutta. Do you know why you're here?"

I blinked a few times, getting used to the light. "Maybe it's because I'm terrible at blind dates."

Uday didn't smile. He wasn't the type. He leaned forward slightly, resting his hands on the back of the chair opposite me. "You were taken near your pub. Not the kind of place I'd expect to find someone involved in national security matters. Unless, of course, you've been busy behind the scenes."

I gave a small shrug, as much as the ropes allowed. "National security? You think I'm running for office?"

"We're not playing games, Ajay," Uday snapped, standing straight again. His eyes were cold, calculated, but I could tell I'd hit a nerve. "A weapons convoy was stolen last week. Army-grade hardware, enough firepower to start a war. We know the Naxalites were behind it."

"And you think I'm with them?" I asked, raising an eyebrow. "I run a pub, Uday. Not exactly the revolutionary type."

He didn't miss a beat. "That's what concerns me. Men like you—you don't stay neutral. You survive by picking sides, making alliances. So why don't you start talking?"

I let out a slow breath, shaking my head. "If you're looking for someone who's cozy with the Naxalites, you've got the wrong man. I don't care much for politics. And I don't steal weapons convoys."

Uday circled the chair, his voice lowering. "You expect me to believe that? You've got your fingers in more than just whiskey and cigarettes, Ajay. The syndicate you run has eyes everywhere—so don't tell me you don't know about the left-wing extremists making moves."

I met his gaze, unflinching. "I don't care about them, and they don't care about me. The Naxalites aren't my problem."

"They're about to be," Uday said coldly. He stopped pacing, his hands in his pockets now, eyes locked onto mine. "You see, Ajay, they've already made themselves your problem. This isn't just some local turf war. They're getting bigger. Stronger. And they've just stolen enough weapons to turn this into something much worse."

I leaned back slightly, feeling the tension in the room shift. "And what does that have to do with me?"

"Everything," Uday said. "Because if you don't know about it, you're in danger. And if you do, you're playing a very dangerous game."

I smirked. "Either way, I'm in trouble, right?"

Uday's lips twitched, but it wasn't a smile—it was something colder. "You catch on fast. But I'm not interested in dragging this out. We both know the Naxalites have been making inroads. The Bhaskarans, the smaller gangs—they're all shifting under this new pressure. Someone's behind it all, pulling the strings. We need to know who."

"And you think I'll help you with that?" I asked, raising an eyebrow.

Uday crossed his arms, stepping closer. "I think you don't have much of a choice. Your little empire is in the crosshairs now, whether you like it or not. But here's the thing—I can help you. Or you can keep pretending this has nothing to do with you, and watch it all burn."