Seven

6. Battle for Fortitude

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.