It has been said, 'time heals all wounds.' I do not agree. The wounds remain. In time, the mind, protecting its sanity, covers them with scar tissue and the pain lessens. But it is never gone.
- Rose Kennedy.
Agent Rahane along with several others was in IB control room, listening to comms with rapt attention as the Task force arranged for Haqqani's capture got a tip and was now heading to capture him. Capture, not kill or fatal injury. His mind without his permission suddenly put up a flash of ETF and ACP Mukherjee, and he was thankful she is in no way a part of task force or his organization.
Beside him the Deputy was breathing in a way like any loud sound from him will spook the task force. He turned to look at him, a question nagging him from several hours now making its way.
"Sir,''
The Man looked at him with slight bit or irritation.
"What happened to the arsonist in Nasir murder case?"
The irritation vanished and now he was curious, "What made you think about him all of a sudden?"
Rahane shrugged, "Haqqani's country's co-operation kinda shocked me, so I wondered what happened to the other foreign criminal. What's External Affairs position on it?"
The Deputy adjusted his comm over ears as he answered, "It's stuck. There is no pressure from RAW to bring him back and PM is not too keen to ruin political relation with Bangladesh."
He exhaled, "I never understood why exchanging criminals will ruin relation between countries."
The Deputy smirked, "You better start nodding to whatever the upper level throw at you, Rahane, if you want to get on top." Sobering up, he added quietly, "The real thing is, after Haqqani showed himself, foolishly if I may add, Government is not too keen on small fishes like Nasir or the arsonist. Their eyes are on real prize, not silver or bronze."
"We got Haqqani through Nasir."
"And now we will get Haqqani. Nasir is dead." He dismissed the talk, turning his head toward an operator and asking him to give position detail on the task force.
After 4 hours of waiting with bated breath, wincing at every gun shots fired and grunts of task force cum Haqqani's men, one voice through comms informed them they got the 'Prize'.
"I repeated, we got the Prize." The task force leader repeated, voice exhausted yet proud of his team's achievement. In the control room everyone cheered and congratulate each other.
Rahane only wanted Haqqani's interrogation to start ASAP. He has many questions to ask.
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
It was a sunny day. There was a murder. ETF was there.
Just another perfectly, normal day.
A woman was found dead beside a busy Highway around early morning. By the time the team reached the crime scene, it was midday and people are gathering around it, hampering the police procedures, looking eager and excited like it's an art show and not dead body rotting in daylight.
The woman turned out to be a lonely housewife of a nearby locality, who was heading towards the library which was adjacent to the park near highway, like she does every other Friday. A seemingly innocent housewife's murder shocked and intrigued everyone, and it was another circus when the team went to interrogate the family and neighbors. Safe to say, nothing turned out from the enquiry.
When the team sat for the case discussion in the evening, they were exhausted not only by the heat of day, but also the crowd which seemed like ever present, like a shadow, wherever they go. It's not like people were unaware about ETF, but after the virus case which made headlines, and Director's shooting which made even bigger news, they were kind of celebrities, which is much less cool than it sounds, interfering with the work as people can't seem to come to the point about the case at hand, directly or indirectly mentioning past events from which the team was trying to move on. At one point, Sameer and Riya walked out of a neighbor's house because they were barely holding it together, letting Shree and Chotu take over who looked kinda surprised at the senior officer's reaction, but not at the ACP's.
The only point team could agree on was maybe, the woman had an affair and the BF did it, obviously about whom the husband would have no idea. As it was an affair, it was discreet, so asking others about any suspect was futile. It also puts the husband directly in murder suspect list, and leaves the team to find out a BF, about whom they had no clue till yet.
Sakshi picked up the book which was lying beside the body, flinching a little at the dried blood on the covers as she turned pages after pages, "Love story. That too non-steamy. Maybe BF kept the romance alive."
Sameer scoffed at the 'love story', to which she raised one eyebrow.
"I thought you liked these kind of books."
"Oh no, keep me away from those books." He put hands on air in a 'hands up' motion, "Don't see the appeal, really."
"It's a best seller." Chotu was saying, "Saw many college girls carrying it around. Heard its angsty." Pausing dramatically, he added, "Spoiler alert- the GF dies and guy mopes around."
"Aww." The crime journo cooed, "I take back my words, maybe it's not BF."
"We are blessed that you took back words." Rawte quipped dryly, leaning back on his seat, to which she semi glared, not really minding the jab.
"I never liked love stories." Sameer said, looking somewhere far, "More so these type of love stories, where one dies and other carries the story ahead."
"A Walk to Remember." Madam Director, who was silent till now, said with a dreamy look in her face. Sakshi sighed softly at the title.
"I guess the reason I never liked it was the lack of 'Why's." He explained as others frowned at that, except the ACP who was not following the conversation, lost in her own mind, "Why this dead person matters so much? Why is their love so special that it spreads through out some five hundred odd pages? Why should I sign up for the angst of the hero just because he lost his girl? Why there is only revenge/ moping talk and no real romance?"
"The angst, the revenge, the flashbacks, all are nothing but result, of the tragedy, of the incident which changed the hero, or heroine, forever." Everyone's head snapped as the ACP started talking, as if in a trance, obviously following the topic of convo, "The main story is, or should be, about the two people who loved each other deeply, shared a bond, created memories and were happy. It should be about those walks in park, laughs without any reason, listening to the others talking nonsense, all those silent moments when you are just content, lost in the bubble which you mistake for forever. It should be about those special looks only reserved for him, the longing you feel when you are apart only for minutes, the never ending talks in phone at the dead of night. It should be about those moments, but it's not, the angst and revenge takes the front seat because," She paused slightly, "because, it hurts to think. To think what I had and can never have again. To think about the last time I saw him and that I will never see him again. To think the voice mail message left by him is the only thing left which proves he existed sometime. To see the laundry left by him, annoyed that the pile is so high, only to realize he won't need it because he is gone. To think the photographs are the last memories I have of the two of us. To look at my side, expecting him, only to get hit with the reality. To see myself in the mirror, and realize it, for the thousand times in a day that I am the only person left behind, the other half. To see the stars, the Universe and think why I was chose to endure this pain, why he had to go. Countless questions, but nobody has the answers."
In the stunned silence of the room, she concluded, "That is why, the precious memories are so less. The name mentioned like it's unspeakable, or too sacred. That is why the angst dominates, because it's the only thing that carries the hero forward."
It felt as if she didn't realize she talked and let others see a part of her soul, when she went back to her shell and silence descended once again in the room. The guys, initially looked flabbergasted, like they didn't know if they should stay there or listen, but as went deeper, a look of understanding fell on their face, and by the time she finished their hearts were aching in a rare moment of sympathy. Tears from the crime journo's eyes were falling silently, which she didn't even attempt to wipe away, away from her the Director looked torn between to reach out toward the girl whose heart was bleeding silently, and controlling her own emotions. She had seen the other woman in love, so alive and happy yet exactly the same. Meeting her after years when tragedy hit her, the emptiness in her eyes and determination in her 'Personal' case made her realize how far it had changed her, which was physically painful for her, maybe even more than the bullet hit her a few weeks back. Of course, everybody noticed how the ACP went from third person to 'I's without even noticing.
It also made everyone realize, apart from the moping and vengeance part, that loving and losing the other half leave a deep scar, something majority of people in real life can hardly come out of. She is still living in that life, and maybe she will never come out. In a way its' pathetic, going through each day of your life with the memory of a dead person, but sympathy and her doesn't really go hand in hand.
Unknown to all of them, the unreadable look in Arjun's eyes were not due to sympathy, or pain for the ACP. It was one of those moment when you realize something, and at the same time lose it. As the ACP went on about the fictional Hero's psychological issues, he realized he wants to be that heroine, or other half, for someone. He wants to be that other part of soul who knows every tick, every mood, every sigh, every expression, who stay awake late night because the other half could not sleep, who share the silence which is sometimes stormy, full of meaning, sometimes peaceful, who has those special laughs or looks or touch reserved only for her. And like every other human who ever walked on this Earth, greedy as his ancestors, he wants someone to have those things for him. He can do without dying, scarring her for life, of course.
The desire to belong to someone hit him with such a power, which made his brain to go to overdrive mode, which also revealed something else. He wants to be that other half for her. ACP Riya Mukherjee. Riya. Eccentric, mysterious, broody, sarcastic, super-ninja skill, kickass, with a dead ex- boyfriend on whom she is still hung over. Riya. For her. Of her.
Once had thought about her personality and decided it suits her, and nothing else would have worked. In a way he accepted whatever shi* happened in her past. But da*n, if he doesn't hate that dead lover ATM, ruining a future prospect about what he had no idea before this monologue.
Suddenly the air was too less for him to breathe.
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
Somewhere in the World
"We are scre*ed." A man's voice came through the phone, clearly agitated and angry, "Bloody Indians scr*wed us two times over. Traitors, we should have never trusted them."
"We should not have involved Haqqani, Janaab." The Man holding the phone replied curtly, "You gave him freedom to do what he wanted to. He went and messed it all up."
"It's because we had a plan." The other replied, "It doesn't matter now. We need to . . . " He exhaled a shaky breath, "We need to abort."
His eyes widened, "Abort? Are you sure?"
"Do we have any other choice?" The Man over the phone snapped.
"We worked on it for months, planned for years." He was lamenting, not ready to let go.
"You don't need to tell me that." The Man yelled, losing the last thread of calm he had, "It was my vision! I introduced it to others. Don't you dare tell me what I could be losing because of all this mess, because I know it very well."
The Man holding the phone kept quiet for a while, the sound of ragged breath audible on the other side. He asked quietly, accepting defeat, "What about the boys?"
"Send them back. They belong to us." The reply was instant, like he was already thinking over it before the Man asked, "I have already talked to others. We will do every arrangement possible for them. After all, they served country, even though the mission is aborted now." The bitterness can be tasted from here.
"It's not only your boys, Janaab." He reminded.
"Eliminate the others." He replied gravely, yet with enough sternness, "They are liability now."
There was nothing else to say, yet the Man over the phone waited, and only cut the call after a small and defeated, "Okay."
Unknown to them someone was tapping the phone call.
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
It felt surreal. An imagination.
Azeem Haqqani. Wanted associate of terrorist gang and middleman between shady people. Azeem Haqqani, who was a ghost until few months ago, whom the NSA could not find, who chose to appear in the city of dreams, in a party, making a show of himself and mocking the law enforcement. Haqqani, against whom the Union declared war, after whom the whole country ran like a Dog with bone.
Agent Vir Rahane could not believe the dishelved, stunned Man sitting less than 6 feet away from him is really Haqqani, and they really got him.
Through the one way glass, thousand questions and thousand interrogation techniques were running through his mind. In a way he should be in the team who handle the interrogation, because he was the one who found him (actually a hacker did, but whatever . . . ), who was nearly killed in the process, and because of whom the organization got him currently. If he is in team, he will surely lead the interrogation, but he refused to hope, until official confirmation comes nothing is final. Maybe someone else could . . .
As long as he gets his answers, he don't care who conduct the interrogation.
It's been 3 days since his capture. From the looks of it, Haqqani is still stunned, unnaturally quiet, not throwing tantrums like a caged tiger. Like he was not expecting them to come behind him, to catch him. Like nothing is making sense for him.
Right now, it's not making sense to Rahane that why nobody started asking him questions.
"You have to wait to ask him questions." He looked to his side and found RAW additional secretary Anita Desai, a specialist on Indo-China and Indo-Pakistan relations, standing near him, looking at the glass penetratingly. The instant 'Why' was on his lips, but before he asked the older Woman answered, "There is a hitch."
He suppressed the urge to groan, "What now?"
The exasperation must have shown on his face and heard in his voice, because the Secretary was looking at him now, "We got stonewalled by his country. They are accusing us of not keeping our words."
"We got him. He won't get out and ruin his country's already infamous reputation." He mocked, "What else they wants now?"
"When the agreement happened, naturally they thought we will kill him, not capture. But we reminded that 'Kill' word was nowhere in the contract." She said, "They are talking about betrayal. God knows what evidence of betrayal by them we will get once we start making him talk." Her face hardened momentarily. Rahane took it all in, thinking for once they could have done without these political hindrances.
"Do they want him back?"
"There is no such talk, but we can't overlook that possibility." She replied, "But Haqqani is not going anywhere. Pakistan is forgetting that others countries were involved too in the contract. Just because they are panicking and throwing tantrums like 5 year old that doesn't mean we will give in. They will threaten to severe political ties, oppose us, what's new in that? Meanwhile, we will gather dirt and beat them in their own cat and mouse games."
"When?" The possible future course didn't look it will be solved soon.
"Very soon." The older Woman smiled.