The Quest | Final post - pg4

"Chachu," she whispered, her eyes beseeching him not to raise an alarm.

"How can I let you go?" he said helplessly.

"I have to go. My life won't make any sense otherwise. Please, Chachu, don't stop me. This is important for me."

"You know I trust you. So I won't stop you. But I really don't understand how, after everything that has happened, you - Why, Meena? Why do you have to run away from us, who love you so much?"

She could not answer. She loved her family no less.

 "I will be back," she promised.

But not until she had found what she sought. This, she had promised herself.

She stepped out in the night air, finding her companions in the strong gusts that blew that night.

Part I

Sanju leaned back in his armchair and smiled, content.

He liked that chair. It made him feel like a Prince - a feeling which probably had something to do with the fact that the chair had been stolen from an antique-collecting thief who had picked it up from some palace in Udaipur.

He also liked the fact that the smuggling deal was proceeding as per expectations.

"Okay, the old factory, Friday, after the lockdown, bring the stuff," he said before throwing away the cell phone on a nearby sofa lazily. He was stretching his arms slowly when suddenly something made him stop abruptly. He froze and listened intently. He surveyed the room sharply, inconspicuously fingering with his right hand the trigger of the pearl-studded gun hidden in his velvet gown. Every pore of his body stiffened as he readied himself for a possible attack.

Minutes passed. Nothing. It was nothing. He relaxed. It must have been the wind. But one cannot be too cautious. He pressed the intercom button and ordered his aides to set the dogs free.

"Damn," Vicky said under his breath, hidden behind an ostentatious Greek God statue, some twenty metres away from Sanju. Why did he have to want to sneeze just then? His bossy partner, Gaurang, threw him a look of acute annoyance that said very clearly that Vicky would have to endure another lecture on how detectives should conduct themselves. Vicky couldn't see Gaurang's expression, but knew almost certainly what was awaiting him. "Damn," he repeated.

In the hour that passed, Vicky was given numerous other opportunities to swear. Sanju was just sitting in that stupid golden chair and whiling away time on his computer instead of going to eat. His wife had sent the maid twice to call him. Vicky's knees were beginning to hurt from crouching behind the statue for so long, and he was craving some pav bhaji from Hari's shop.

A few metres away, the more patient and serene of the two, Gaurang, was planning their getaway, perfectly immobile behind the heavy velvet drapery that served the dual purpose of concealing the safe while uglifying the room further in the pretentious style that had become a signature of Sanju's.

Towards the end of that hour, fatigue finally overcame Sanju and he decided to leave his private office and go for supper.  As soon as he locked the door, Gaurang slipped out of his hiding place quickly and opened the window quietly. They only had a few seconds before Sanju activated the motion sensor from the keypad outside the office. Vicky grabbed Sanju's diary, followed Gaurang onto the window ledge and slid the window shut behind him. A millisecond later, the alarm beeped once to indicate that it had been activated.

Gaurang smiled wryly at Vicky. He was a man of few words, but that did not seem to hamper his communication with others.

"I know," Vicky sighed, "the dogs. It's my fault."

"Is that an apology?"

"Oh come on Gauri -"

"Gaurang."

"We're standing on a miniscule ledge outside the fifth storey of Sanju Damadiore's mansion, awaited by carnivorous Dobermans below, not to mention his WWF henchmen, and all you can think of is your name. Wow!"

Gaurang said nothing. Engaging in a pointless discussion with the brainless sidekick would not help. Vicky would have a quip for everything he said. And he needed to think. There had to be a way out. He wished he had thought of the possibility of dogs. He resolved to be better prepared on their next assignment. Next assignment. Yes, there would be one. All he needed was a plan.

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"The plan sucks," Vicky informed Gaurang.

Gaurang, unsurprised, did not respond and tightened the harness on his waist.

Vicky grumpily did the same.

He had imagined something more glamorous and James Bond-like, something like sneaking into Sanju's daughter's bedroom, getting her to fall madly in love with him so that she would willingly help them out of the mansion and give them further incriminating evidence. But boring Gauri had solemnly pronounced that it was the stupidest plan he had ever heard.

The two detectives spared each other a perfunctory nod and slid down the wall and landed in the garden.

Almost immediately a bark was heard in the distance. Two dogs were running towards them, madness in their eyes. Guards were yelling in each other's walkie talkies, delighted at the prospect of a new prey in their midst. Dogs in other parts of the compound, excited by the promise in the air, raced to the scene, salivating.

Their hearts thumping, Gaurang and Vicky made for the outhouse. They managed to shut the door just before the two dogs reached them.

"Where's the tunnel?" Gaurang said, moving the barrel that was supposed to have been concealing it. They had made the tunnel last week as part of a backup plan in case escaping by scaling the wall was made impossible by unforeseen circumstances.

"Damn, they covered it," Vicky gasped.

Gaurang, undeterred, began to shovel out the boulders. They could not have filled up the whole tunnel. They had surely assumed that the tunnel was a way of getting into the mansion, not a way of getting out of it. Criminals, no matter how cautious, can almost always be relied upon to make at least some arrogant assumptions as to their so-called invincibility.

The outhouse was now surrounded by what sounded like a dozen bloodthirsty hounds. A henchman was trying to force the door open. The bolts were quivering. Soon they would give way. The heavy lead box Vicky had dragged in front of the door was slipping away treacherously. Vicky pointed the gun they had stolen from Sanju's brother earlier that day at the door, his hand trembling.

"Come," Gaurang said as he pulled down his mask and lowered himself into the tunnel. Vicky pulled down his mask too and threw a small self-made smoke bomb at the outhouse door, before following Gaurang into the tunnel. The bomb would cause a sufficient diversion while he and Gaurang would be crawling along the horizontal part of the tunnel. It was while they were in that part of the tunnel that they would be most vulnerable. Once they had climbed down into the gutter, it would be more difficult to find them. Still, Gaurang was not one to take any chances, so before climbing down the ladder, he and Vicky blocked the tunnel with a heavy metal lid that would delay their antagonists further.

Three hours later, in his flat, after a few showers, Gaurang took Sanju's diary from Vicky's waterproof pouch and smiled slightly.

"You know," Vicky said, "for all the trouble we went through, that policeman had better pay us more than -"

"This is not about the money," Gaurang said irritably, as he paged through the diary. This was about peace. But Vicky would not understand. He allowed Vicky's monologue to trail on. The man liked the sound of his own voice. Why deprive him of the pleasure? Meanwhile Gaurang struggled to switch off his mind. It had begun to reminisce again. He craved amnesia; he craved the power to be able to forgive. But the object of his quest remained as elusive as ever.