Doosra: The Other One Read online

  PRAISE FOR DHAMIJA'S PREVIOUS BESTSELLERS

  “A Psychological Thriller.”

  - The Hindu

  “Thrills and Chills.”

  - Deccan Chronicle

  “Crime thriller that did brisk business.”

  - The Tribune

  “...(keeps) the reader hooked till the end.”

  - The New Indian Express

  “Taut... Twisted...A compelling Read!”

  - Mukul Deva, bestselling author of Lakshkar

  “Ingeniously plotted and rich in characterization, Bhendi Baazar is highly readable crime thriller that is part psychological and part detective. Twists and turns in the narrative, fused skillfully, intensify the suspense, bringing up an end that is both bewildering and satisfying at the same time. Highly recommended.”

  - Kulpreet Yadav, bestselling author of The Girl who loved a Pirate.

  “The detective in charge of the case (Rita Ferreira) is not your typical hero. She drinks, flaters and gets frustrated, but pursues every lead.”

  - The Hindu

  “Dhamija unequivocally tells a good story.”

  - The Tales Pensieve.

  VISH DHAMIJA is a crime fiction author of three bestselling novels: Déjà Karma, Bhendi Bazaar and Nothing Lasts Forever. He is best known for his multi-layered plots, believable characterisation and captivating storylines. In a recent survey by eBooks India website, Vish was listed among the top 51 Indian authors you must follow.

  Glimpse Magazine called him: India's John Grisham for stimulating the genre of legal fiction in India which was almost non-existent before his arrival on the scene.

  Vish was born and raised in Ajmer, India. He lived and worked in Jodhpur, Jaipur, New Delhi, Chennai, Jamnagar and Mumbai before moving on to pastures abroad. He has specialisation in Marketing and Strategy from Manchester Business School, UK.

  Doosra is his fourth novel.

  He currently lives in London with his wife, Nidhi.

  Rumour Books India

  Plot. No 40, Sector 4, Panchkula, Haryana,

  India - 134112

  www.rumourbooks.com

  This edition 2016

  1

  First published in the Indian Sub-continent

  by Rumour Books India in 2016

  Copyright © Vish Dhamija 2016

  Vish Dhamija asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

  ISBN

  978-1-943730-71-1

  This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents

  portrayed in it are the work of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to

  actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental,

  unless stated otherwise.

  Printed and bound in India by

  Lakshmi Printographics, Sonepat

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a

  retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic,

  mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior

  permission of the publisher.

  Find out more about Rumour Books India at

  www.rumourbooks.com

  Vish Dhamija

  DOOSRA

  THE OTHER ONE

  www.rumourbooks.com

  For my parents.

  “THOUGH SEEING, THEY DO NOT SEE...”

  — Matthew 13:13

  Doosra - like Googly is a term used in the game of cricket. It's a kind of bowling delivery that promises to go one way after the bounce, but goes the other. The primary reason most batsmen succumb to it is because they are misguided by the illusion that the bowler's arm creates. However, history is awash with batsmen who could look past that illusion by reading the seam on the ball. If any experts tell you differently they are not adept enough. Remember — an illusion can only work till something eludes you.

  What you can see, you can know.

  Contents

  Prologue

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Nine

  Ten

  Eleven

  Twelve

  Thirteen

  Fourteen

  Fifteen

  Sixteen

  Seventeen

  Eighteen

  Nineteen

  Twenty

  Twenty-One

  Twenty-Two

  Twenty-Three

  Twenty-Four

  Twenty-Five

  Twenty-Six

  Twenty-Seven

  Twenty-Eight

  Twenty-Nine

  Prologue

  ANTWERP, APRIL 2

  Ron Jogani was ushered into Aaron Diamonds with genuine courtesy. The light pat down by the jeweller's security was perfunctory. After all, he had been picked up by Aaron's personal chauffeur right from Brussels Airport's arrival lounge that very morning and driven straight to Antwerp. He had only arrived in Belgium at 07:50 hours from Mumbai on Jet Airways Flight 9W228 and unless he had surreptitiously arranged to pick up some ammunition or weapon from the immigration authorities themselves, there hadn't been any opportunity, as he hadn't stopped anywhere on the way or met anybody since. And, the Indian Airport Authorities wouldn't have let him on board with any firearms, would they? They wouldn't have missed it either, as there had never been any security lapse on any flight that had taken off from India in over fifty years.

  Jogani wasn't here for the first time or the last, and he wasn't stupid enough to attempt a burglary. In fact, Jogani was one of the bigger players in the diamond trade that had been dominated for decades by Jewish and Indians — mainly of Gujarati ancestry — in Antwerp's Diamond Quarter. For someone in the diamond trade in India a regular visit to Antwerp was sacramental; as such Jogani had been here numerous times but the purchase on this visit would be the biggest he had ever done. The diamonds were for a syndicate back in India. Instead of individually flying to buy the polished stones, they had entrusted Jogani to buy and courier a few of them. This transaction could be in excess of €10 million, but it hinged on two dynamics: first, Aaron had to physically hold the inventory of the requisite stock — the specs had already been wired a month prior — for Jogani to evaluate, and second, and more significantly, Aaron had to be willing to undervalue the rocks to save on import duties and let unaccounted money change hands. Aaron had tentatively agreed to the condition, but didn't want to discuss it any further on the phone or online: the what-and-by-how-much was left open for negotiation.

  Jogani was of Gujarati descent, but his clan had lived in Mumbai for generations. He was a large man, stood six-feet-one from the ground; he had recently celebrated his fiftieth birthday and a bit of paunch had only started to make an appearance. He wasn't good looking, no. But he was loaded. Single — he was divorced at an early age and decided he was better off single given his predilections — and unapologetically promiscuous; diamonds and women were his only two weaknesses. His biggest skill was his knowledge of precious stones, especially diamonds. Even with a naked eye he could price a diamond and he wouldn't be any more than five percent away from the real value. Oh, he knew his diamonds. It was for this very proficiency that he had been picked by the diamond merchants back home to carry out the transaction on their behalf in Antwerp.

  Jogani had been comfortable when his driver dropped him at Mumbai International airport at midnight the previous day. He had had a couple of drinks, and looked forward to some free Scotch before the steward made his little bed in the Première cabin.

  ***

  So comfortable, that he had missed some p
redatory eyes that had been watching him from the airport, all through the flight and him being picked up and driven out of the Brussels Airport to Antwerp. The sentience undoubtedly seemed lackadaisical; a consequence of having repeatedly done the exact job so often that it bred a false feeling of invincibility, of overconfidence. More notably it almost tangibly heralded the carelessness to those watching and sinisterly lying in wait. His travel plans, his movements were being keenly tracked.

  ***

  But now, clad in Ralph jeans and a white polo, Jogani was shepherded into the vaulted office of Aaron Diamonds and made comfortable in a cream leather chair across the large mahogany table — almost the size of an American pool table — inlaid with ivory and tortoise shell, an antique actually imported from India before the independence. It was apparent that Mr Aaron did not fancy making his affluent client wait for long. He arrived the moment coffee was served. Leonard Aaron, the tall, slim, pointed-nosed, silver-haired, aging diamond dealer who had been around since after the war, solely owned Aaron Diamonds.

  'Welcome to Antwerp, Ron.' Aaron forwarded his hand

  'Thank you, Leonard. And thanks for the pick-up at the airport.' Jogani smiled as he shook hands with the dealer.

  'You're welcome. How was the journey?'

  'As usual. It's a convenient flight, I had a good six-seven hours of sleep and then this drive up from Brussels was, as always, a pleasure.'

  'Would you want me to make a hotel reservation for you here in Antwerp or Brussels?'

  'It's already been arranged, thanks.'

  Leonard Aaron was a respectable and honest man; Jogani trusted him, but he still wanted the camels tied. With a consignment of loose diamonds of the value that he was here to buy today, it was better that way. The fewer the number of people who knew his whereabouts, the safer it was. He would ask his host to get him dropped in downtown Brussels and then disappear into the hotel he was booked in for the night. There was no way he would share the name or location of the hotel with anyone, not even Aaron.

  ***

  However, what Jogani didn't know was that some individuals had already identified the hotel he was booked into. They even had a copy of his electronic reservation. They had waited till the hotel allotted the room to him in their register, at noon on the day of his arrival, and then the room in front — across the corridor — and both rooms on either side of Jogani's assigned room were booked. Of course, three rooms weren't necessary, but it was better that no one else stayed in them either.

  Those booking these three rooms were cognisant that the morning flight that had brought Ron Jogani to Brussels this morning was a shuttle — it returned to Mumbai after a few hours, after the usual change of staff, routine engineering checks and refuelling — and Jogani was booked on the same flight to fly out of Brussels in a little over twenty-four hours of his arrival in Belgium. Intrinsically, thus, they had less than twenty-four hours at their disposal to put their plan into action and get away.

  ***

  'A man with a plan. I wouldn't tell you where I was staying with ten million Euros worth of rocks under my ass. No worries, I'll ensure my driver drops you back to Brussels safely.' Aaron chuckled.

  'Thanks for that Leonard.'

  'Now, let's get down to business, my friend.'

  'Sounds like a good idea. Have you been able to source the diamonds according to the requirement?'

  'You know me better than that to ask, Ron. All inventory is on site.'

  'What are we waiting for then?'

  'The preliminaries... I think it's best if we clarify what kind of discounted invoice you require before we get to the merchandise.'

  'Oh right. We'd like you to undervalue the rocks so it saves us on import duty—'

  'Which, on cut and polished diamonds, is now a meagre five percent...' Aaron had obviously read about the recent hike in Indian import duties.

  'But which translates to quite a sum on a purchase of ten million.'

  'What are you not telling me, Ron?'

  'Well, OK. Custom duty is one thing. A lot of merchants in India — my clients — do not want to declare the total amount of the purchase simply because a lot of retail sales happen without invoices. Ergo, some of the money I pay you for this transaction today is also unaccounted for. You know what I mean.'

  'So what are you suggesting?'

  'I buy ten million worth — provided they are what we want — and get billed for close to five million.'

  'That's a whopping fifty percent discount.'

  'It's not a discount Leonard, it's the value declared. It also helps you to get rid of the unaccounted merchandise you hold, so it's a win-win, isn't it?'

  Aaron smiled. If he had thought he could swindle this Indian for extra money for under-billing, he had grossly overshot.

  Jogani smiled back. 'Could I see the diamonds now?'

  'Yes, of course.' Aaron nodded and, after both the men had finished their coffees, he pressed the buzzer under the table. The door to the dark wainscoted room opened and a blond girl walked in. She acknowledged Jogani with a smile before Aaron said something to her in French or Flemish, Jogani couldn't be bothered; he was intensely admiring the girl's pert rump. She scuttled out and returned almost immediately with a tan suede spread that she unfolded on the table and left the room once again.

  Aaron waited to see her leave and then got up. He walked to the door, locked it. The switch to open one of the panels only activated after the room was locked from inside. A naked eye browsing through the room would have certainly missed that one of the walls concealed a vault. Aaron kept his camels tied too. Behind the panel was a substantial safe that required a key, a numerical combination and Aaron's fingerprints to open. He deftly opened the safe, not giving his client any opportunity to see what else was in the safe, removed a small pouch and shut it back. Locked.

  Jogani withdrew his loupe as Aaron sat down again, opened the velvety pouch and let the sparklers roll out on the suede. In all, there were twenty rocks. If someone wanted to learn how to shrink cash, this was a crash course. Jogani was well versed with diamonds. Diamonds are valued on cut, clarity, colour and carats. And their imperfections. He looked for the imperfections first. He spent the next two hours in silence, studying the twenty diamonds — varying from a single carat to a little over six carats —with Aaron quietly watching him.

  'Fantastic, Leonard.' He finally pocketed the loupe after he couldn't find a reason to reject any of the rocks presented. Aaron wasn't here to play games.

  'It's always a pleasure to be at the service of my clients.' Aaron picked up the largest diamond — a six point something carat rock — and superciliously looked at it in the light. The sparkle was worth killing for.

  'What's the total price?'

  Aaron kept looking through the rock he had picked up. 'I couldn't get the exact pieces to balance your order. These are worth hundred thousand over ten million.'

  'I'll give you fifty over.'

  'Done. Only because you're an old client, Ron.'

  'And a loyal one at that. What's your account number?' Jogani pulled out his wallet and extracted a card that had nothing except a number embossed on it; the number of his relationship manager at his private bank in Switzerland.

  Aaron scribbled a number on the pad in front and pushed it towards his client: his account details to transfer the funds into.

  ***

  Jogani was back in the car a little after 5 PM.

  The diamonds were in a black crocodile leather briefcase — gifted to him by Aaron — biometrically locked and placed under the front seat, accessible only to him from the rear seat he sat in. The briefcase wasn't an off-the-shelf one, the leather was only a veneer; it was made from a single piece of reinforced steel and the handle was an inherent part of the structure, not a bolt on. His little strolley-bag was in the boot of the car. Jogani asked Aaron's chauffeur to drop him at the Hilton at Place Charles Rogier. He tipped the driver, picked up his briefcase and placing it on top of his lugga
ge dragged it on wheels like a wayfarer. The insouciant driver in livery didn't even look back, but Jogani wasn't risking it. What if he did? He walked in and stood in the queue at reception, waited a few minutes till he saw Aaron's car roll away, then briskly walked out of the hotel without looking up or causing any suspicion. He walked about fifty metres and turned left on to Bolwerklaan. Another hundred metres and he was at his destination: Crowne Plaza. He checked-in at the reception, collected his key, whistled like a carefree soul and took the elevator up.

  Jogani looked around before inserting the key card in room 513 to check if he was being watched though he had no reason to be paranoid. No one knew he was here. No one knew about the diamonds. Nothing seemed odd, no one besides him in the corridor.

  ***

  What he missed was an eye keenly glued to the eyehole of the door directly opposite his. The occupant/s of room 514 had been informed that the target was on the way. Those in room 514 had been busy from noon, since they had checked into the hotel. They had accomplished finding, and then distracting the housekeeping service maid long enough to exchange their room key for the master key, got into room 513, installed four high sensitivity cameras in existing electrical fittings to capture images in low light, unbolted the standard hotel room safe and replaced it with the one they carried. If Jogani secured the diamonds in the hotel safe, irrespective of the code, they had the key. They had even chicaned the security cameras of the hotel. The digital security cameras had been frozen and were now replaying the live feed from exactly twenty-four hours prior. But unless someone compared them to the real scene outside, who was to know? The time stamp only showed the hours and minutes, not the date. When all was accomplished and the diamond heist worth circa five million reported they would have no one on camera to go after. Now, all that remained was to wait for the quarry to leave the room on his own for a drink or dinner or to ensure that he was somehow drawn out from the room for enough time for them to collect the diamonds, disconnect his room phone — they would also ensure the lifts wouldn't respond immediately — and exit the hotel before he could physically get down to the reception to raise the alarm. However, they had to wait for darkness to fall, and the traffic to wane for the escape plan to work.