Vansh Rathore walked out of his house in his best two piece Louis Philippe covering his waist holster which held his old pistol safely. He went to the garage where his Royal Enfield was parked. He had an income that barely supported his life, but he had decided to keep a vehicle. He had always wanted to become a bike racer as a child. He smiled at the strange recollection. He rode his bike down the streets of the city and came to a stop outside a massive structure constructed very recently at the outskirts of the city. The HQ of RAW was a set of three massive buildings placed in a triangle. US has the pentagon, we have the triangle, he thought.
Entering the building, Vansh was requested to submit his sidearm. The man who had taken it looked at the pistol curiously. "Which model is it, sir?" He enquired. Vansh smiled and asked, "How old are you, son?"
"Twenty-three, sir," the man answered, astonished at the question.
"Then you wouldn't know it. Because it is older than you are," Vansh replied with a smile and walked towards the escalator.
On his way up, he noticed desk-workers sitting at their office, being the brain behind all the operations being conducted here. But Vansh could sense the tension in the air. People were walking briskly, each eye constantly sweeping the whole area, looking for anything suspicious. The bombing had everyone on their toes. A few agents looked at him quizzically, as if thinking What are you doing here, grandpa?
He walked straight to the office with the word 'Director' on the door. The assistant near the door stopped him and said, "Who would you be, sir?"
"Vansh Rathore," Vansh replied calmly.
A pint of blood drained from the man's face as he said, " Sorry sir. I'll tell the director you are here right away."
Vansh smiled and told the man to take it easy. As he sat in the lobby, he saw some men who were very uncomfortable in front of their computers, getting up and walking around every ten minutes or so. Field agents, he thought forced to become desk jockeys. His eyes caught a woman who was intently staring at him with her eyes wide. He looked at her and smiled. The woman quickly scrambled away. He stared as she disappeared in her office, confused at her action. Her face seemed vaguely familiar, but he was having trouble remembering where he had seen her. He was searching the depths of his mind when the Director's assistant came back and said, "He is ready for you, sir."
Vansh nocked at the door. The voice that came from inside was hoarse and rugged, "Come in."
Vansh entered. He wished the man a quick Good morning and sat down opposite to him. Vikram Markande was an army brat. Vansh could tell that by just looking at his eyes that were constantly alert, scanning some papers at his desk, the coiled up energy even in his old frame and the way he had maintained his shape even after being at least in his mid-sixties.
He finally looked up from his papers and said, " I got a call from the PM yesterday. Said you were coming. But you know what is troubling me, Mr.Vansh?"
Vansh raised an eyebrow.
"I couldn't find a damn thing about you. And there are very, very few things above my pay grade."
"I would be astonished if you would have, sir. I am a secret well kept," Vansh replied in an amused tone.
"We need that kind of secrets on this one, Mr.Vansh," the man said.
His voice had an undertone of grudging respect that Vansh's file details had had on him. Vansh did not believe for a second his talk about not finding anything on him. He was the director of RAW. If there was anyone other than the PM who could access Vansh's career files, it was him. But Vansh understood why he was reluctant to share the details he had found. He was afraid of Vansh due to the subtle reason that he had been directly responsible for his predecessor's death. I would be afraid of me too if I were him, Vansh thought.
"What have you figured out as of yet, sir?" Vansh asked.
"Nothing much. We've sealed the area and have agents on the spot, but there isn't much to investigate. Some irrelevant stuff about how the PMs were a few hours late during their trip to the Victoria Memorial and how the German PM was drunk,"the man replied.
"There were two people near the place that night. A man and a woman. The man had a gun. The woman also looked as if she was running away from something. Can we locate them and bring them in for questioning?" Vansh enquired.
"Generally, no. But under current circumstances, not a problem. I'll have someone find them and bring them in by tomorrow. Anything else?" Markande said.
"Yes. I want all the details of the car used to transport the German PM and the list of all the Indians in contact with him during his stay. Tell the Germans that we will be cooperating with them as much as we can," Vansh said.
"All right. I'll talk to the German foreign minister. He's an old friend. But we have to catch the man fast, Vansh. Also, why the Indians in contact with the PM? Doesn't this sound like a foreign conspiracy to you?"
"Yes, but something you said just made sense. The PMs were a few hours late? That is highly unusual. When we are dealing with people this important, we don't go around changing timetables. Certainly not for hours. Also the news said that the German PM was due for a small EU conference. Someone had to tweak and change the timetable or cause some issues that would have delayed his timetable," Vansh said.
Markande nodded thoughtfully. "I'll have someone check on it. Meanwhile, I'll hand over your credentials and I guess you already have a sidearm. So all set, you are working for the government again, Agent Vansh Rathore. I have a security meeting. I'll try to pull in some favours from my contacts in the EU and UN, but for now you can go and have something to eat in the café and my assistant will inform you when your partner shows up."
Vansh nodded. Both men stood up and shook hands. Vansh left for the cafetaria and Markande for his meeting. None of them had noticed a small device underneath Markande's table which had been broadcasting their entire conversation to a lone person sitting somewhere.
As Vansh was walking down the isle to the cafetaria, he saw a picture of the ex director, Late Samarth Balakrishnan standing in front of the newly constructed HQ.
'Burn in hell, Balakrishnan. And I'll see you when I'll get there,' Vansh thought.