Captured

Chapter 4

Ranvijay sat behind the glass wall, watching the men being beaten blue and black. Their skin was swollen red and their breath elevated. Blood was dripping from their noses and mouths as they hung their head low to inhale loudly. Their clothes had torn off and streaks of muddy water soaked the threads.

"Stop!" He raised his hand when he saw the guard taking another blow and stood up. He padded inside the chamber and walked to the men. The tip of his shoes near their lowered head. He bent to their level and cocked his head to see them properly. Their bloodied face made him momentarily flinch. He was terrified of blood. Despite tough training, it made bile form in his throat. He resisted being in situations where he'd have to witness this. It reminded him of...his mother.

Shaking the horrible memory, he pulled out his revolver, carried on an unaffected face and tipped the chin of a traitor. "It will take one minute to kill you and free you from your sufferings but that is very easy. I need to know more before I give you death."

"We are sorry, Hukum." He wheezed, catching his breath and clenched his eyes close in pain. "Forgive us."

"Give me a reason!" Ranvijay barrelled back his revolver and glanced at the other man who had fainted. "You made up the excuse of dying mother to get this job and planned to backstab me. Reason enough to kill you ruthlessly. Why should I forgive you?"

The man grew silent and Ranvijay stared at him. "Even so, I can have mercy on you. But, for that, you've to give me more names. Who are the other allies of yours!? What did you plan to do with these men?"

"I...I don't know, Hukum." The man stammered, gulping. "I was only asked to provide Ali passes. I don't know anything else."

"And who are those men? They aren't one of you, are they?"

"I... I don't know. I don't know, Hukum." He cried in pain and Ranvijay stood straight. He tucked his revolver back in the waist and looked at his guards. "Throw him and his relatives out of the border. If he's seen again, shoot him."

He strode out, feeling claustrophobic and Bhushan followed him closely. The moles were caught and dealt with but something kept ticking. There was no name to blame. His legs moved to the west wing and he dismissed Bhushan, seeking some time alone. Bowed heads and murmuring platitudes greeted him when he reached the open area of a never-ending, wide courtyard.

He immediately ordered his target to be set up as he unlocked his cufflinks and folded his shirt sleeves to one third. He put on the sunglasses and wore headphones as he blindly threw bullets in the sniper and fixed the rolls. The target was set and aim was taken. Nothing distracted him when he aimed. His sole concentration only at the target. In adolescent years, this was for leisure but he gradually developed his fad for it and thrived in it, securing a few medals in the field.

His finger slipped on the trigger, and the explosion came, deafening in its thunderous exultation, the bullet ripping the air, piercing and penetrating the nitrogen mixture, leaving a ragged whole in reality like a photo negative with its passage and thrust in the target within nano speed.

Ranvijay debated mentally on who was a prime suspect. Nothing heard was true, nothing seen was veridical. He was unsure how to deal with his own brother. His anger was spurting out in the form of agitated and furious shooting. One after another the bullets left its origin and dug deep in the thick, almost thrashed, bullseye but he was still restless.