Lying For A Living

2

The strong wind was troubling Kabir Akhtar. He was waiting for his target to come out from his elaborate party so that Kabir could put a bullet clean through the man's aorta.

Fifty-six Kabir thought. This man would make his score fifty six. Most men would be crushed mentally under the pressure of killing so many men, but Kabir only wished he had killed more. These men who had made their live's motive to destroy his nation by twisting his religion into something so evil and imperceptible that it made young children kill their own countrymen deserved no more life than a monster. They men destroyed people’s lives, by turning them into shields for themselves and their heinous crimes Kabir had never thought about institutionalising them, as human rights activists often say. What these people needed was a good year in a war zone, and they would know what ‘institutionalising’ these monsters would yield.

At thirty-one, Kabir Akhtar was the country's best assassin. But he had heard stories of Vansh Rathore, the country's best assassin ever. Kabir had unfathomable respect for the man, despite the fact that he had gone rogue and killed the previous director of RAW. Kabir had been recruited to DivisionX for only a month when all of this had happened. Kabir was now the age at which Vansh had gone rogue, but he had never once thought of questioning his superiors. He knew that they were deeply patriotic men who had the guts to do what was right, even though the methods may be questionable.

Kabir thought of the day an agent from RAW had come to recruit him to divisionX. Kabir had asked how making a platoon of assassins was an attempt at 'world peace', as the man had said. The man had smiled and quoting Vegetius, had said, " If you want peace, prepare for war."

He gazed down the scope of his Macmillan Tac50. His man posted indide had yawned near a window clearly in Kabir's line of view, signalling him that the man was coming out. His finger wandered over the trigger as the man stepped out and hugged his partners. Kabir drew a bead a few inches right of the man's neck and had no qualms or second thoughts as he pulled the trigger.

From nine-hundred yards away, elevated ground and a strong wind blowing right to left, Kabir Akhtar had killed the head of a small terrorist organisation. He quickly yet calmly dismantled his rifle and placed it systematically in a violin box and walked down the stairs of an abandoned factory in eastern Baghdad. He calmly walked down the streets, where people were running towards the place where the man had been shot. Kabir could clearly hear an ambulance nearby, but the man was dead. He was sure of it. The blood would be flowing out so fast out of the aorta that there would be absolutely no chances of recovery.

A voice called behind him, "Bhaijan!"

Kabir turned slowly, debating whether to pull out his g*n or not.

The man said, "qumt bi'iisqat mandilik" You dropped your handkerchief.

Kabir smiled as he accepted the handkerchief. "Shukran"

.........x........x.........x.......x.....

Vishank Rai was sweating. The previous night's events had brought him in the attention of his boss's boss which was not a good thing. Vikram Markande was not a man you would like to speak to once you have been part of such a big blunder.

"So you have absolutely no idea who the man was, or how he saw the sniper to save your sorry arse, son," Markande said.

"That will be a negative, sir," Vishank replied, another drop of sweat forming on his forehead.

Vikram Markande was the Director of RAW. He had been appointed ten years ago due to the untimely death of his predecessor by a rogue agent. He had filled in the big shoes with utmost dedication accompanied with unwavering ruthlessness. More people had been killed in these ten countries years than the previous thirty. But if there was one thing all the agents under him were sure of was that he was downright patriotic and they followed his every order very religiously. Patriotism was the only religion, faith and belief here.

"Have you figured out who the bullet was supposed to hit? Because as far as my fifty years of experience says, nobody would undergo such troubles to shoot a desk jockey such as you," Markande asked.

"That is what has been troubling us, sir. There was absolutely no one near me at that time. The PMs were inside the park and other agents were near the convoy. Even if the bullet had not grazed the man, it would have been meteres away from hitting the PMs," Vishank replied.

Vikram Markande was confused. In his ten year long reign, no one had ever attempted any potshots at the VIPs of the country. But apparently someone had tried to shoot the agent sitting in front of him, which was unheard of, and probably not even the correct answer. Markande hated the feeling of helplessness he was feeling now. Then there was the mystery man who had saved his agent and had vanished in thin air.

"The German PM?" Markande inquired.

"Was due on his flight the day after, but decided against it and hopped on it yesterday night itself," he looked at his watch "would have landed by now."

Markande nodded. "And has the sketch of the man come up?"

"Yes sir, of what I remember of him," Vishank replied.

"Good."

The men sat in uncomfortable silence for a few minutes when Markande's secretary burst into the office. "You should see the news, sir"

A feeling of dread started to grip Markande as his hand pressed the ON button on the remote.

"-was just back from a political visit to India and had gotten on a flight because of an attempted assassination on him. The bomb is being assumed to be in the car in which he was riding-"

Vishank gasped and stood up. Markande's secretary maintained a solemn face and the man himself looked as if he would pass out from shock.

"Oh my god!" Markande muttered.

He looked up and Vishank could have sworn that the man looked ten years older.

"Get me Kabir," Markande said weakly.

..........................................................................