“That’s what you’re here for, is it? To make sure that nothing potentially damaging emerges?” said Nisha, her voice dripping with contempt.
“It was Chopra who insisted we put a stop to this, young lady,” snapped Sharma. “It’s to him we should be thankful.”
Nisha scoffed. “Thankful? What’s clear is that the state government has allowed things to reach boiling point in an attempt to score political points. And don’t call me young lady.”
“And what have you been doing at Private, then?” retorted Sharma. “Twiddling your thumbs?”
“The political situation made it difficult for us to come to the police with our findings,” said Santosh calmly. Did he imagine it, or did he feel Nisha’s eyes burning accusingly into him?
“Very well, very well,” said Sharma, hands spread. “Then let this be the dawn of a new era between us.”
“Good,” said Jack. He looked left and right at his colleagues, drawing a line under the dispute. “You said earlier you know who the killer is. How about starting our new dawn by sharing that particular piece of information with us?”
“It’s a man named Ibrahim,” said Sharma. “He’s been working with Dr. Arora at the Memorial Hospital, but he’s gone rogue. He’s been negotiating with someone else to shift his business to them instead of Thakkar’s mob, ResQ. Most likely he’s trying to destroy the entire ResQ network—Kumar, Patel, Thakkar. With all the key players gone, he’d have a free hand to expand with a rival corporation.”
Nisha was shaking her head. “What about Roy’s murder?” she said.
Sharma shrugged. “Roy was Health Secretary. We’ll have to ask Ibrahim why he deserved to die when we catch him.”
Still shaking her head, Nisha looked across at her colleagues. “No, no, this is wrong.”
“Well, let me hear your better ideas, then,” frowned Sharma.
“Wait. If you think it’s Ibrahim, then why come to us?” said Santosh. “Why not just bring him in?”
“Because I want to be sure. Because I’m betting you can help find him. Because your associate Mrs. Gandhe here has seen the killer, remember?”
“And because you want to tie up any political loose ends,” said Nisha.
Sharma rolled his eyes. “To our mutual benefit.”
Jack signaled cool it and then turned to Sharma. “You’ve got surveillance on Thakkar and Dr. Arora?”
“Logic tells us they’ll be the next victims,” said Sharma. “In the meantime, if we could locate Ibrahim, that would be helpful as well. Unless you really have been sitting around scratching your asses, I’m guessing you’ve got to Ibrahim and I’m guessing you have something on him.”
Santosh nodded. “We have ce
ll phone numbers.”
“Then we can trace him,” said Neel, the first words he’d spoken since the meeting began. He looked at Santosh. “We can trace him more quickly than the police. We have the StingRay.”
Chapter 98
“SURE, LET’S TRACE Ibrahim’s numbers,” said Santosh. “It’s the easiest and most effective way to reach him. Neel, you think we can do it?”
Neel nodded. “We’ll head to his usual area in the StingRay.”
An hour later, Neel, Nisha, Jack, and Santosh were in the StingRay van. Nisha took the wheel because Neel needed to operate the equipment at the back of the van. Jack got into the passenger seat next to Nisha, his Colt .45 tucked away under his jacket.
Private had invested substantially in StingRay technology because all other wiretapping and tracking systems needed the cooperation of telephone companies. The telecom operators would usually only respond to law enforcement requests or court orders. This left agencies like Private out in the cold.
Neel had outfitted a van with international mobile subscriber identity (IMSI) catchers—also called StingRays. A StingRay was essentially a portable “fake” cellular base station that could be driven to the area of interest. Once activated, the StingRay unit sent out a strong signal to cell phones within its range, thus causing such phones to attempt a handshake with the StingRay as though it were a real base station of the cellular company. Instead of latching on, the StingRay device would simply record the identity of each cellular phone that registered with it and then shut itself down.
The van made its way through the congested Delhi roads crossing Kalka Das Marg and Sri Aurobindo Marg. Nisha unashamedly blasted the horn to get auto rickshaws to move out of her way. She continued along Prithviraj Road, Tilak Marg, and Bahadur Shah Zafar Road to Urdu Bazar Road. She swerved the van toward an empty parking slot by the side of the road and asked, “Now what?”
“Now we activate the StingRay,” said Neel, opening up his laptop. The screen immediately presented a map of the locality and little dots began to light up. Neel punched in the two cell phone numbers that ostensibly belonged to Ibrahim and waited for the next fifteen minutes, allowing the StingRay unit to make friends with various cell phones in the locality.
“Got him,” said Neel, looking at the Delhi map on his computer screen. “He’s heading toward the hospital.”