It was the second of March. The climate of Mumbai was moderately hot with a high humidity, however, the coastal location ensured temperatures would not fluctuate much. The thermometer displayed on the clock of Bandra station read 27.2 degrees Celsius, while the other displays exhibited arrival and departure times. Travelling on the train is always boring unless you are a child, but words like boredom and irritation did not exist in the character of Agent Malik, the type of person that could spend a year inside a black prison on a mission.
Bandra was crowded, as usual, the screens flashed green as commuters rushed in and out of trains in pursuit of favourable seats. Agent Malik was in no hurry as the commotion around him ensured he sat back rested against the steel of the train, his mind’s eye focused squarely on the mission as his lungs filled with the smoke of his favourite brand exhaling rings of smoke.
His face was blank and unreadable exhibiting no emotion he enjoyed the view of the station.
Even the blaring whistle of Bandra Chandigarh express could not break his chain of thoughts, the train began to move which signalled him of the trip at hand.
He loosened his fingers over the cigarette and let it drop, he boarded on the S-5 compartment of the sleeper coach. He perched on his seat, slightly irked by the fact he couldn’t get a ticket to reach Chandigarh but only to reach a city en-route, Palanpur. Someone had booked an emergency ticket to Chandigarh denying him the full trip.
As the train began to gain speed, a man in a black T-shirt, which was overly large for the gentleman and a cotton trouser, exited the western styled toilet of the compartment, his face was that of a foreigner. His military haircut was not unnoticed by Agent Malik nor was the silver cross dangling around his neck on a silky white cord.
Agent Malik saw the man come towards him and as he expected the man took a seat in the same berth as him.
“Excuse me, Gentleman, can you speak English?” it was strange for a foreigner to speak they were not usually talkative in Maliks’ experience.
“Yes” was Agent Malik’s short answer, he was dressed in a black formal shirt and tailored trousers to feign the appearance of a teacher or a businessman.
“Myself Sam from Los Angeles.” Foreigner said, innocent smile on his face.
“Nice to meet you.” Malik said, “I’m Kishan.”
Malik never liked to talk with strangers but he talked with this one, perhaps he didn’t want to gain attention by being silent.
“I am going to Mount Abu.” Sam seemed more talkative than a stranger should be, “you know it was my dream to see India since childhood.”
“Enjoy the last tour, Simon” Malik looked at him and smiled, their eyes locked with each other and flashed as if metal clang to metal in dark night.
Malik’s hand reached for his pistol but before it, Simon's knife had caught his belly first, “sorry.” Simon smiled, “the last tour but for you Gentleman, not me.” He spoke through his teeth and pressured his knife, causing a cry of pain from Malik’s mouth.
Malik hadn’t missed momentum, as soon as he saw Simon’s knife he did two actions simultaneously, he reached for his pistol and addressed Simon as his real name, to distract and shock him, but he failed in both.
Who says the gun is the best weapon? In hands of a professional killer like Simon, a small knife can overpower a gun.
Now Malik had his gun in his hand but Simon caught his hand at the wrist, and as people saw the gun, commotion commenced in the compartment but they couldn’t escape, the train was on track, at full speed and people weren’t foolish enough to jump from the train. They chose the third option, all ran to the pantry car.
In a moment, the whole compartment was for Simon and Malik, to do whatever they wish and they wished nothing but fight. It was the favourite activity of both.
Malik pulled the trigger, only to waste a bullet. Until his hand was free off Simon’s grip, bullets weren’t much use.
And now the duel for that pistol, both were struggling hard, Simon’s free hand reached to Malik’s throat and started strangulating him. As his lungs called for more oxygen, Malik got a footing on lower berth and lifted himself up, freeing himself from Simon’s grip but his pistol dropped from his hand in the process.
Simon leapt for the gun, at the same time Malik reached for the overhead fan, his hand caught middle fan and he displaced it with a jerk.
Simon was about to reach the pistol when, his head met with the fan blades, the safety net of the fan shattered and pieces of the fan bent with a harsh sound, showing it was a fatal blow.
A fatal blow for anyone but not for a beast like Simon. His eyes noticed his knife in Malik’s belly, he pulled out it and again thrust it somewhere near an old wound in agent’s belly, splattering blood, and making him cry in pain. It was cruelty! Animality! A scene to make you shiver but it was their profession.
As pain burned in his belly, Malik understood he was losing energy with dripping blood and survival was hard. He unfastened the chain of upper berth and wound it around Simon’s neck, in a final die-hard attempt to survive.
Chock and knock! The masterstroke of the arena was in Simon’s neck, stopping his breath and making him weak but still, he wasn’t ready to give up. He jerked his legs backwards and fell to the ground along with the agent, freeing his neck from the chain.
Malik let go of the chain and rolled to his gun. As soon as he reached his gun, he aimed it at Simon but to his dismay, he saw Simon wasn’t empty-handed, he had a small point twenty-two calibres in his hand. Malik was sure it was made in Russia.
When Simon pulled the trigger, someone had pulled the chain from pantry car and the train halted, giving a strong jerk.
Simon lost his balance, still, his gun fired but his aim not as accurate as needed. It caught Malik’s shoulder instead of his heart.
Malik’s pistol also rang, releasing three shots, one after another, enough to kill a beast like Simon. Simon supported his blood-covered body to the bunk, trying to not give up until death.
Malik pulled the trigger but the gun deceived him, it was empty now. He had wasted three bullets while trying to free his hand from Simon’s grip and the remaining three were resting in Simon’s body. Now it was empty.
Malik had no time to reload it, he saw Simon’s hand with gun lifting up for the last time, Malik leapt through the open door out of the train. Now airborne, a bullet caught his back.
“go to hell.” Simon spat blood from his mouth and pulled the trigger again before his eyes closed forever.
The next bullet missed the aim as Malik fell down and it was lucky or unlucky for Malik was undecided as for when he leapt out train was on the bridge over a river and he hadn’t need to fall on the stony ground from hundreds of feet above instead he fell in water but unconscious.
***
To be continue...
