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fisted repeatedly, till it sounded like continuous trill and not staccato tings, to beckon the receptionist who had awakened him and roused him out of his bed just minutes ago, and had now appeared to have gone missing from his post.
    'How may I help you sir?' The receptionist yawned and sounded sleepy.
    'I'm Ron Jogani — you just called me in room 513 and told me there was someone down here to see me.'
    The receptionist looked perplexed. 'Sorry sir… I called you? I didn't call anyone.' He glanced around to see if someone was around who might have used the unattended phone at the desk. No one. The hotel's main entrance was locked. Anyone arriving this late needed to buzz to gain entry.
    'Then who called me?' Jogani gave a once over. 'Who else has been manning this desk?'
    'I don't know sir. I'm the only one on duty and I made no calls.'
    'The call was from reception, I saw the display...' Jogani realised mid-sentence that he had been deked. He had made a huge mistake by falling for — what now sounded like — some kind of a trap. The rage morphed into nervous energy as he turned around and ran to the elevators making his second mistake of the day, which he didn't realise, and it was a mistake he would never get time to regret.
    He didn't think about the odds that someone who had deked him out of his room at midnight to burgle diamonds was unarmed? None. But his mind wasn't thinking how deleterious his next move could be. He could only feel cold tiny rivulets running down his back. Cold sweat.
    He hurried out of the elevator car and darted to his room, swiped the key, opened the door and shut it behind him immediately.
    ***
    But it was too late. The invader in room 514 had already been informed about Jogani's truncated visit to the reception.
    Even when it is most meticulously planned there are so many things that can go wrong in a burglary. Like in this case they hadn't planned to kill but there was no other way to jettison Jogani now. There was no other way if they were to finish their job. There hadn't been a plan B. There was no plan to eliminate Jogani, but the bald truth was that Ron Jogani was at the wrong place at the wrong time. Only this time it was fatal. The coda was as dramatic as it is meant to be — sepulchral sound of two bullets muffled by a silencer.
    Hadn't Don McLean warned about fire being the Devil's only friend”?
    ***
    The police would later discover that two bullets had been fired. One into the chest of Ron Jogani from close range — close enough to singe his T-shirt and skin, and the other one on a handcuff behind the commode.

Three Months Later

G OA , I NDIA .
    T here are, in living memory, two distinct periods in history: pre 9/11 and post 9/11. The rights enjoyed by individuals in any country could no longer be enjoyed if the world — in the words of Darwin — did not adapt to the new world order. 9/11 changed the world. Not all changes precipitated by it were bad — though no one in their right mind should even argue that what happened on that day was evil, sinister even — some changes were essential, and had these been in place before that dark day in human history, perhaps the disaster could have been controlled, if not completely avoided.
    Then the November bombings in Mumbai in 2008 roused even the sleepiest of governments. And now, DCP Rita Ferreira mused, despite being a senior police officer she wasn't permitted to carry her service revolver on a commercial airliner. OK, the airport officials were polite enough not to pat-search her, considering she had been in the news all over the country after having chased down a serial killer only a few months earlier. Not to mention that the two uniformed policemen who had escorted her to the security gate provided instant recognition. She was waved in with deference.
    The flight took off on time. Rita reclined into the seat. Fortunately, as there was no one else in her row she parked her handbag on the middle seat and contemplated the