“The same squadronyouinsist on antagonizing, you mean?” Zeyar fired back, eyes blazing.
“Wait.” Samina’s soft voice interrupted them. “Let Raman finish. Is there any more information?”
Raman sighed, pressing his lips together. “My man says that the crew was outnumbered, at least three to one. Perhaps they suspected some of the crew were daivyakt and prepared accordingly. Most of the ship’s crew tried to dive into the water and swim away, but the pigs had nets, and reinforcements came by motorboat to round up the rest. The spy counted eleven men taken into custody.”
“Eleven?” Hasan sat upright. “Paranjay’s crew numbers twelve, including himself. Where’s the last man?”
“My team is looking,” Raman said. Turning to the other middlemen, he added, “It’s likely that whoever escaped will be injured. The officers brought guns with them, and my spy says shots were fired. Tell your crews to keep an eye out for healers’ dens. The man won’t risk visiting a hospital?—not when he knows police are looking for him.”
While Raman spoke, Hasan glanced over his head to the back of the room, where Zeyar leaned against the wall, lips pressed into a grim line. He lifted his scarred brow in a mirror of Hasan’s expression. Both knew the same thing: If Paranjay was the twelfth man, he’d have already come home.
“The twelfth man will turn up.” Hasan fought to keep his voice even. “We have eyes all over the city. But we need to come up with a plan to rescue the other eleven.”
“I’ll put some funds together,” Zeyar said.
“Are you fucking serious?” Hasan stared at him. “You know Montrose can’t be bribed. He’s the reason we’re in this mess.”
“Perhaps Montrose and his inner circle can’t be bribed,” Jayendhra said, “but I seriously doubt that not one man guarding those cells would be impervious to a little windfall.”
Hasan shot his cousin a glare, but before he could respond, Vinay asked, “Where do you intend to get the funds? We can afford ransom for two men, maybe three. But eleven?”
For a moment, Zeyar looked startled. His lips parted soundlessly, as though he hadn’t considered the logistics, but Hasan knew him better than that. Zeyar never spoke without running some sort of cost-benefit analysis, calculating the return on investment of each word before he said it. His brother hadn’t failed to do the math on his bribery scheme. He’d made his calculations with only one target in mind: Paranjay.
“What’s the alternative?” Kaushal retorted, saving Zeyar from having to respond. “Attack the police headquarters?”
“Why not?” Hasan said. “If we gather all our fighters, we could overwhelm them.”
“They have advanced weapons,” Zeyar objected.
“We have daivyakhi.”
Zeyar shook his head. “Only the daivyakt. The vasudhakt make up the bulk of our numbers, and they have neither magic nor weaponry. It would be a bloodbath.”
“Attacking the precinct is not only risky,” Harithi said, speaking for the first time, “but it will ruin our relationship with all of the police officers, including the ones who currently tolerate our operations. Right now, there is no evidence that we have daivyakt among us. A full display of divine power would ensure none of them work with us again.”
“Thankyou,” Zeyar said.
“Your idea is preposterous too,” Harithi informed him coolly, tossing her black braid over her back. “We could have the funds to ransom fifty men, and it still wouldn’t work. Why? We’re not bailing out one of our brawlers who got into an ill-advised spat. We’re talking about a notorious drug smuggler and his crew, individuals who are connected to the infamous Jackal, who is a suspected heretic to boot. Montrose would hang the man who cost him such a prize. Even if the guards are not handpicked by him, there is no amount of money you could pay them to stick their necks out like that.”
“Everyone has a price.” Zeyar stared Harithi down.
She held his gaze, unflinching. “Not everyone.”
Hasan cleared his throat, uncomfortable with the tension that had filled the room. “Okay,” he said. “Since we can’t come to an agreement, here’s what we’ll do. Everyone is to alert their network and ask them if they’ve seen anything suspicious. Harithi, Raman, I need you to coordinate moving our remaining opium stores to our storehouses in the countryside. Jayendhra, Kaushal, you’ll work with Zeyar to check whose debts are coming up soon. See if you can collect early?—chip off some interest if you must. Samina, Vinay, I need you to observe the police station. I want to know about the guards, their loyalties, how many officers are in the building?—any information that could help us if we were to attack. Questions?”
No one spoke. Hasan nodded. “Okay. We’ll regroup once we have more information. Dismissed.”
His crew leaders shuffled out of the room without enthusiasm. Hasan couldn’t blame them. The gang had suffered a heavy blow, and instead of making a united counterattack, they couldn’t agree on a plan of action. They’d have one soon, he swore.
Vinay stopped near the door, resting a wrinkled, sun-browned hand on Hasan’s shoulder. He didn’t ask if Hasan knew what he was doing. If he felt any doubt at all, he didn’t show it. Instead, he said, “I was there, when we lost your father. I know it’s not the same, but it’s hard nonetheless. I’m here if you need to talk.”
Hasan’s throat tightened. “We haven’t lost Paranjay,” was all he said.Not yet.The elder man squeezed his shoulder, then left.
Hasan turned around to see Harithi still there, her gaze pinned on Zeyar. She rose, readjusting the dupatta on her shoulder. “Splitting up is a bad idea,” she warned. Turning, she addressed Hasan. “You’re wasting your time. You boys will need to get more creative than bribery and violence if you want to get out of this.”
Hasan tightened his jaw. On any other day, in any other crisis, he’d have been more appreciative of Harithi’s direct counsel. But today, it was all he could do not to make a scathing retort back. “Noted.” He tilted his head at the door. “You’re dismissed.”
She pressed her lips together but left without another word. Zeyar pushed off the wall and collapsed into her empty chair, a cigarette dangling between his lips as he fumbled around for a lighter. Hasan’s temper cooled. He reached over and used a pinch of his daivyakhi to light the end of his brother’s cigarette.
