Free Weapon of Vengeance by Mukul Deva

sat.
    â€œGetting worked up is not going to help,” Chance whispered back.
    â€œWhat is the precise problem?” Ravinder asked after instructing Gyan to get some tea for Chance and himself and coffee for Jennifer.
    Chance took the lead. “We don’t want to be difficult, Mr. Gill, but Mr. Mohite will not share any information. We have no idea what your security plans are. So how can we confirm to our superiors that our people will be safe?” Struggling to find the right words, he went on. “Please understand that we also are under a lot of pressure. Our agencies will hold us accountable if…” His voice petered away, unwilling to state the bad stuff.
    â€œI understand, Chance.” Ravinder met his gaze evenly. “Let me assure you that I will personally look into things and make sure you are in the loop at all times. Give me a day to sort things out.”
    â€œFair enough, Mr. Gill.”
    Jennifer looked unconvinced, but she caught the look on Chance’s face and subsided.
    â€œThank you.” Ravinder stepped in smoothly again. “While I put together a document for you, why don’t the two of you take the opportunity to do some sightseeing? Delhi has a lot to offer. Check out the Qutab Minar, Jantar Mantar, Red Fort.… You won’t regret it, I promise you.… It’s a lovely walk down history.” He smiled.
    â€œSeems like a good idea.” Chance returned the smile.
    Jennifer visibly perked up. She appeared eager to spend some personal time with Chance; the attraction between them was evident. They left.
    Ravinder sat down and began to work out how to resolve the issue without ruffling more feathers, either with Thakur or his crony Mohite.
    *   *   *
    The paperwork put together by Ruby, passing them off as volunteers working with a British aid group, got them through the checkpoints, but the delays irritated her.
    It was past noon when they entered Vellankulam, a clutter of houses and huts amidst clusters of palm trees, some of brick, but mostly mud-walled.
    The sun was almost directly overhead, but the heat was mitigated by a sprightly sea breeze as they alighted outside a small house by the sea with faded wooden doors and windows. Several windowpanes were missing; the gaps boarded over with cardboard and yellowing newspaper. The house was screened off from all sides by trees.
    On the Sri Lankan eastern coast, Vellankulam was historically a convenient, though illegal, jump-off point to India. During the war years, it had been an established staging post for men and warlike matériel. So it abounded in fast-moving speedboats and men who plied this risky trade. It was one such man to whom Chanderan had brought them.
    They were expected; he stepped out to meet them as their vehicle navigated through the narrow wooden gate.
    Though he was a few inches taller and several kilograms heavier, there was not much difference between him and Chanderan. Neither told them his name. They both wasted no time in pleasantries.
    The cargo sought by Ruby was already loaded on the dull gray speedboat lashed to the jetty. Mark checked each item.
    The rocket launchers were Swedish 84mm Carl Gustav, easy to use and effective. Both were wrapped in oily polythene. Accompanying were two containers of rockets: the first had two high-explosive rockets and the second two high-explosive antitank rockets.
    â€œEverything seems to be in order,” Ruby told Chanderan when Mark gave her the thumbs-up.
    â€œOf course it is,” he replied with a smile. “Should we move, then?”
    Ruby nodded. They clambered into the speedboat and after covering the items with a tarpaulin took off.
    The sun bounced off the water, blindingly bright. There was a lively breeze, but that did not affect the high-powered boat, since it was literally skimming the surface.
    For the first few minutes, Chanderan tried to point out places on the coastline receding behind them;