Desi Train

Chapter One : Time is an illusion… so is money

[warning: this idea has taken many different colors in my head in the last few weeks. Some colors shot down, some praised. So besides a two line story, I have nothing else. No plan, no path, no idea what will happen next. I'll be as clueless as you will be dear reader. Perhaps the story will turn out to be a mess, perhaps not. So lets begin with chapter one where I expand on the two line idea and have the characters enter the scene]

The third fluorescent ceiling light from the right was flickering. Each flicker momentarily darkening the right side of his face as he looked in the mirror. The water in the basin was on hot, and flowing. Drops of the impact on the white basin’s surface leaped out and formed a carpet of tiny droplets all around the dry platform.

He kept looking at himself in the mirror, momentarily having lost consciousness that he was in a men’s restroom at LAX. Los Angeles International Airport.

The face showed signs of wear and tear. The dark circles under his eyes would tell anyone with an eye for such detail, that he hadn’t slept in the last two days.

When did I get old?

His eyes traversed the grey in his stubble. The cigarette lines running down on either side of his nose were now deeper. His teeth bore the stains of his years of nicotine intake.

His knees pained, and he bent forward to support his weight on his palms resting on the black granite platform. Age was catching up.

Sigh… if only I had continued my Yoga…

A flush and a creaking sound of the cubicle door opening caused him to gather himself, and run through the act of washing his hands.

The man stepping out of the cubicle was overweight by about a hundred pounds. He quickly eyed the man washing his hands. He walked ahead and stood next to him, turning the faucet on.

“How are you Hack69?” - the fat guy asked without looking up. His blue tooth earpiece was for a reason. The picture of the man emailed to him was still lying on his desk at home. He had forgotten to bring it. But he had brains. So he had asked this question thrice since coming to the airport. Each time he got a puzzled look from those he thought was his guy, he would quickly point to his earpiece mouth silently

“Sorry… not you… I’m on the phone”

He hoped this was the Hack69, he was supposed to meet.

“Fine. Do you have my tickets?”

Holy God, thank you

The fat man looked at Hack69 to confirm the features of the man standing in front of him matched those in his faintly memorized picture of the man that was sent to him by email. It looked like him… no… it was him.

His hands reached to the inside pocket of his sports jacket and he took out the yellow enveloped and placed in next to Hack.

“Your flight leaves in 2 hours. Bye”

Making sure the envelope was touched by his target, the fat man sped out of the rest room.

Hack opened the envelope. The Singapore airlines ticket was crisp.

He looked in the mirror. The question popped one last time

Should I do this?

He had spent the last five years of his life under complete seclusion. Short of sending him to jail, his defense lawyers had hammered out a deal with Musco Corp, who had lost close to half a billion dollars because of him. He had not touched a computer in five years. He couldn’t or he would be arrested immediately.

Hack69 washed his face and looked in the mirror. Did he have it in him? The zing, the zest… the passion?

Twenty seconds later, one of the world’s top five hackers as identified by the FBI, picked up his backpack and walked towards the check-in counter of Singapore Airlines.

Hack69’s destination was Bombay, India.

*************************************************************

“How much time does he have doctor?”

“Not much… I’m sorry… it would be a miracle if he sees next week”, he had done this too many times in his life, that now it was a recital completely memorized and delivered without any emotion.

But the old man kept his poise.

“Thank you doctor”

He slowly walked toward the other guy sitting by the bedside of the patient.

“He doesn’t have much time”

“How much time?”

“Doctor says he may not live until next week”

“Next WEEK?”

“Next Week”

“Shit”

“Hey…”

“Sorry… He wanted to see Hawaii before he died”

“Destiny… who can fight destiny”

“Should we call his wife?”

“Nah… she won’t come. Atleast not from America for a man she left years ago”

“Oh they werent’ divorced”

“No, I think not”

“Wow… so what will happen now”

“Just wait and pray”

“Sigh…”

“Sigh…”

*************************************************************

Vijay Pal sitting behind the immigration counter checked the flashing on his computer screen. The passport number had a criminal record. A computer criminal. It was an Interpol warning sign but which also mentioned he was in the clear having served for his crimes. Still the alert code was on yellow. It simply mean the ex-con had not had much time passed between completing his sentence and flashing his passport at an international airport in a foreign country. He quickly turned the pages back to the page where the Indian visa was stamped. It was genuine.

“What is the purpose of visiting India?” he asked again.

“Pleasure. I’m going to Goa”

“How long?”

“Two weeks”

“Where are you staying?”

Hack69 pushed in Hotel Reservation printouts to Pal along with his travel schedule.

“Please come across the yellow line and walk to the officer standing there” Pal pointed, “You will need to answer a few more questions”

As Hack crossed the yellow line, the waiting officer was joined by a few more hawaldars ready to escort him to the interrogation room at Sahar Airport, Bombay.

Hack let out a tiny smile.

It was all working out as per the plan

*************************************************************

Tere mere beech mein, kaise hain yeh bandhan…. ANJAAAAANAAAAAA

Click

“Hellooo”

“Aray I forgot to mention, can you buy some potatoes on your way back? I forgot”

“Ok”

“So what time are you coming?”

Same old questions. Same old shit. Same old life. Same old routine… same old fucking potatoes

“Ufff, I’m not sure… now can you let me work”

“Ok baba, why do you have to get irritated”

Click

The seven year itch, was creeping in Baba Kadam’s life and he didn’t know how to get rid of it. The more he scratched the more it itched.

“Sir, Sir is calling you”

“Ok”

Baba stood up and walked to meet his immediate boss, DCP Anand Shelkar, CID Crime Branch, Mumbai Police.

“Sir”

“Baba, we have a foreign national with a computer criminal record at Sahar. Interpol has messaged us to keep a watch on him… FBI has just sent in a similar request. They think something is on in India”

Petty criminals. Small criminals. Is this why I gave up my software job? To keep an eye of bloody firangis who are two dollar cons in their country but are given so much importance here. The itch started again…

“Ok Sir… who’s he?”

Shelkar looked up and as usual was his nature grabbed the situation to test his officers

“Ever heard of Hack69?”

Bing. Alarm Bells started ringing in Baba Kadam’s head. This was no ordinary criminal.

The itch stopped.

Fifteen minutes into giving the entire resume of Hack69, Shelkar stopped Kadam… “Ok ok… I’m giving this to you. Follow him. Tap all his communication and stick with him until his stay. Lets see if, as per what FBI says, he is here to do some shit or what… and since I don’t know computers you handle this.”

“Ok sir… where is he now?”

“At Regency Hotel… he’s catching the flight to Goa day after. Bug his room and all that”

“Will do”

Kadam exited with a salute.

Patil, his assistant was about to enter his cabin…

“What happened Sir…”

“Assignement. Tag and Follow”

“Who?”

“Hack69″

Pause and the gulp. Patil’s half chewn beetlenut sunk down his throat. The newly formed Internet and Technology Crime Investigation Unit at CID quarters in Bombay were more in awe upon coming to know that one of the world’s greatest hackers was in their territory. The news excited them.

Hack69 was about to make it more exciting for them.

*************************************************************

The blue colored briefcase was delivered to his room via room service. The waiter left the food on the table and discreetly placed the blue bag on his bed, took his signatures and left the room.

Hack, moved closer to the briefcase. His heartbeats almost making a sound to his naked ears. The first tremble and then slowly his hands started shaking a little. He moved closer to the bag. His body now shaking. In fear. In excitement.

The shaking grew. The trembling reaching a pitch. He thumped his palms on the bag and clicked it open.

A silver colored laptop lay shining inside the bag.

There was a note taped to the laptop.

Hack picked the note up.

It simply read…

“Welcome Back”

This entry was posted on Monday, November 12th, 2007 at 5:19 pm
Filed under Eagle Cash, Fiction
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