He issued fresh instructions to the cab driver, asking him to take him to the well-known Himalaya Studio. From the studio, Atharv quickly walked to the hotel, where he took the key for room number 201 from the reception and deposited the rucksack inside the water tank in the room, as directed by Al-Wali. Before he left, Atharv quickly scanned the articles in the room. Two English newspapers, three empty packets of potato chips, several packets of biscuits, half a dozen bananas and a small piece of paper, roughly three inches by one inch. Atharv picked up the piece of paper. It was a bus ticket issued by Mumbai’s BEST, which ran the city’s iconic flaming-red buses and double-deckers. The ticket was bought for Rs 10 at Andheri East railway station with ‘IIS&T, Powai’ as the destination. He kept the ticket in his wallet. He then left the hotel and took a cab to Reay Road.

On reaching Anwarat, Atharv ran to Vasant Communications and called Somaiya.

‘They sent me to Kashmir, which they call Nanihal. I just returned with two AK-47s, eighty rounds of ammunition and two grenades,’ Atharv gave the update on his debut Lashkar mission to his CTC handler.

‘Do you know what this operation is all about?’ Somaiya asked him.

‘No, but two AKs, eighty rounds and grenades mean they could be planning to kill several VIPs. Or they need them to deal with a counterattack from security personnel after they kill whoever they mean to kill,’ Atharv said.

‘The bus ticket is our best clue,’ Somaiya said. ‘Meet me outside Reay Road railway station in an hour.’

‘Yes, sir,’ Atharv said and hung up. He took another cab to Reay Road railway station.

‘Son, have you reached Mumbai, where are you? Check out from Nilgiri Hotel at once. Keep the project files safely,’ Al-Wali said into the phone.

‘Trainees aa gaye kya?’ he asked.

42. TERROR ON A PLATE

42

TERROR ON A PLATE

‘Tell me, Mr Siddhant Sharma, why should we give you a chance? You have not shown me even one A-list event that was handled by your catering agency, about which I have never heard in any case,’ a middle-aged man, square, metal-rimmed spectacles perched on his nose, said to the young man.

‘Do you think we are some government welfare department offering blankets to the needy?’ he continued.

The young man, clad in black jeans and a dark brown shirt, stood opposite the black leather chair occupied by the bespectacled man.

‘This is the Indian Institute of Science and Technology. IIS&T is India’s premier institution for engineering education and research,’ the middle-aged man said, his voice rising slightly.

The name plate outside the cabin where this conversation, which was currently a monologue, was taking place stated that the man in the black leather chair was Deputy Administrator, IIS&T, Joseph Dias. Dias had worked with the Powai-based institution for the past thirty years.