The Lalbaug textile mill was the largest of the three. It sat like an iron fortress in the middle of a crowded market district.
Malhotra had reinforced the perimeter with concrete barriers and armed sentries. Because of the crowded surroundings, Vikram knew they couldn't use a loud assault.
"The market kids will create the diversion," Rahul said, pointing to a group of street vendors and youths gathering near the main gate. "They're going to stage a protest against the corporate curfews. When the guards move to disperse them, you go in."
"Rohan, you stay here," Vikram said. "Your leg is too weak."
"I can shoot, Vikram," Rohan argued, holding a stolen Aetheric pistol.
"No," Vikram said firmly. "We need you to coordinate the escape route. If Patil's men cut us off, we're done."
Outside, the crowd began to shout. Pots and pans clashed, and a smoke bomb went off near the security gate, filling the air with thick yellow fumes. The guards ran toward the commotion, their rifles raised.
"Go," Rohan muttered.
Vikram slipped through the shadows of the side wall, his body blending into the dark brickwork. He climbed a rusted fire escape, his eyes fixed on the rooftop entrance. The final transmitter was waiting.