October 4, 1971
Sikka Transport Office, Bombay.
The ceiling fan wobbled lazily, cutting through the thick smoke of incense and cigarettes. Kuldeep Sikka sat behind his desk, his eyes fixed on a crumpled piece of carbon paper.
Ganesh, the spy, stood nervously by the door, clutching a bag of cash—his reward.
"Are you sure this is the original copy?" Sikka asked, tracing the numbers on the invoice.
"Yes, Seth-ji," Ganesh nodded vigorously. "I took it from the export file while the accountant was at lunch. Look at the price. $12.00 per meter."
Sikka grinned, exposing his red-stained teeth. The market rate for canvas was $2.00. This piece of paper proved that Pratap Industries was receiving massive, unjustified foreign funds from Bhairav Holdings. In the eyes of the law, this was a clear violation of the Foreign Exchange Regulation Act (FERA). It was money laundering.
"You have done well, Ganesh," Sikka said. "Go. Disappear for a few weeks."
As Ganesh scurried away, Sikka picked up his telephone. He didn't call the police. He called a private number in Delhi.
"Agent Menon," Sikka said, his voice dripping with satisfaction. "I have the smoking gun."
Intelligence Bureau Safe House, Bombay. 4:00 PM.
Agent Menon sat across from Sikka in the dimly lit room. He picked up the invoice with a pair of tweezers, treating it like a murder weapon.
He adjusted his glasses and studied the figures.
Buyer: Bhairav Holdings Pte Ltd (Singapore)
Seller: Pratap Industries (India)
Payment: 100% Advance ($60,000)
Menon looked up. "This is clumsy. He's moving money so fast he didn't even bother to make the fake pricing realistic."
"He's arrogant," Sikka spat. "He thinks because he drives trucks for the Army, he is above the law."
"Nobody is above the law, Mr. Sikka," Menon said coldly, sliding the paper into a government folder. "Not even a war hero."
Menon stood up.
"Thank you for your patriotism. We will take it from here."
"I want to see him ruined," Sikka demanded.
"You will see justice," Menon corrected. "Now leave."
As Sikka left, Menon turned to his subordinate.
"Draft the warrant. Section 23 of FERA. We are freezing the accounts of Pratap Industries immediately. And get a team ready for Ballard Estate."
"Target?"
"The General Manager," Menon said. "Behram Pestonji. He signed the invoice. We pick him up for 'questioning'. Once we break him, we go for Rudra Pratap."
Central Logistics Hub, Nagpur.
Rudra was in the middle of a briefing with his convoy commanders. The mood was high. Convoy Alpha had reached the border in record time.
"Sir, we can shave another six hours if we bypass the toll at..." Raghu started, but he stopped when he saw Rudra's face.
Rudra had gone pale.
A high-pitched whine, like a dying capacitor, screamed in his head.
[CRITICAL SYSTEM ALERT][THREAT LEVEL: EXISTENTIAL][Event Detected: Legal Compromise.][Source: Invoice #EXP-71-004 in IB custody.][Action Imminent: Asset Freeze & Arrest of Key Personnel (Behram Pestonji).][Time to Impact: 2 Hours.]
Rudra stood up slowly. The room went silent.
"Everyone out," Rudra ordered quietly. "Now."
As the drivers filed out, confused, Rudra grabbed the radio handset. His hands were steady, but his mind was racing. He had underestimated Sikka. He had underestimated Menon.
He didn't have time to buy a counter-measure. The paper was already in government hands. If they arrested Behram, the old man would crack or the company would be paralyzed by the scandal. The Army would cancel the contracts to avoid bad press. The Hubs would close.
Everything he had built—the trucks, the factory, the reputation—was about to be seized by the state.
He dialed the Bombay office.
"Behram," Rudra said when the line connected.
"Rudra? I was just finalizing the payroll for the..."
"Listen to me very carefully, Behram," Rudra cut him off, his voice urgent. "Do not hang up. Do not ask questions. Is your passport in the office safe?"
"Yes, but..."
"Take it. Take the ledger for the Singapore accounts. Leave the building. Now."
"Rudra, what is happening?" Behram sounded terrified.
"The IB is coming, Behram. They have the invoice. They are coming to arrest you."
"Arrest me? For what? I just signed what you told me to..."
"I know," Rudra said, a pang of guilt hitting him. "And I will fix it. But you cannot be there when they arrive. Go to the rear exit. Balwant's cousin is waiting with a taxi. Go to the Parsi Dharamshala in Udvada. Stay off the phones."
"Rudra... this is madness."
"This is war, Behram. Move!"
Vajra Logistics HQ, Ballard Estate, Bombay. 5:30 PM.
Two Ambassador cars with red beacons screeched to a halt outside the office.
Agent Menon stepped out, flanked by four uniformed constables and two IB officers in plain clothes. He marched past the stunned receptionist.
"Nobody moves!" Menon shouted, flashing his ID. "This is a raid under the Foreign Exchange Regulation Act!"
The office staff froze. Papers fluttered to the floor.
Menon kicked open the door to the General Manager's cabin.
"Behram Pestonji! You are under..."
The room was empty.
The chai on the desk was still steaming. The chair was spun slightly to the left.
Menon walked to the desk. He touched the hot cup. He looked at the open window leading to the alleyway.
"He was tipped off," Menon hissed. He turned to his men. "Seal the office! Confiscate every file! Freeze the bank accounts! And put out an All-Points Bulletin for Behram Pestonji."
He walked to the telephone on Behram's desk and dialed the Nagpur Hub.
Nagpur.
The phone rang in Rudra's container. He knew who it was.
He picked it up.
"Hello, Agent Menon," Rudra said.
"You are a fast runner, Mr. Pratap," Menon's voice was icy. "But you can't run forever. We have the invoice. We have the proof. Your accounts are frozen as of five minutes ago. Your trucks have no fuel money."
"You are making a mistake, Menon," Rudra replied, leaning back in his chair, though his knuckles were white. "You are stopping a war supply line based on a misunderstanding."
"It's not a misunderstanding. It's fraud. And treason," Menon countered. "I suggest you surrender yourself in Nagpur before I send a team to drag you out."
"If you arrest me," Rudra said, his voice dropping an octave, "five thousand soldiers on the border will freeze to death without blankets next week. Are you ready to explain that to the Prime Minister?"
"I am ready to explain that I caught a thief," Menon said. "You have 24 hours, Rudra. Then I come for you."
The line went dead.
Rudra looked at the receiver. The System was silent. The "Shop" couldn't buy him out of a federal warrant.
He was cornered. Sikka had won the battle. Now Rudra had to survive the siege.