Within the Quarantine, punctuality was of paramount importance. This had been ingrained and drilled into their minds the moment they had joined the most elite underworld community of the country. Time was the greatest currency in here.
And hence it was starting to be a bit of a concern when the party was not responding. The due date had arrived and departed with no sign of any communication. If Mirza came to know of this, death was imminent for the party.
Two of the forty sat watching their cell phones with hope. The consignment was an important one and it was imperative that it be delivered, as payment had been made in advance. Failure at this stage would mean a big loss and a bigger setback. Something the Quarantine was not accustomed to facing.
"What do we do?" asked one.
"I say we call up the party ourselves." said another.
The first one nodded his assent.
The second one called up the number they had been provided. Seven rings later, he disconnected.
"I don't think tha- " he began, but was almost immediately interrupted by the familiar tune of an old song.
The number was calling back.
It was a female voice that answered, "Yes? Who's this?"
The two looked at each other, uncertain how to respond. Then the second one said as discreetly as he could manage,
"You were to do something for us. We upheld our end of the bargain. It's your turn now. Fulfil your promises or else you know the consequences."
"Seriously? Is this a prank call? I do not entertain such stuff."
And the line went dead.
The two looked at each other, visibly fuming. Enough of talk. It was now time to take action.
"Call Mirza. We go in." said the first.
The second couldn't agree more.
