"I hate elevators," she declares, fiddling with her notebook.
"Why?" I feign interest.
"The silence. The stuffy air. Having nowhere to look but at a stranger's face. Trying to avoid eye-contact or conversation," she responds.
"You're making conversation right now," I point out.
This shuts her up—until we reach our floor.
"Have you ever wondered," she begins, "what rats might think of us?"
"Rats?"
"Yeah. Rats. Do they think we're an all-powerful force that keeps feeding them? Or do they hate us for killing so many of their kind?"
I sigh.
"Am I annoying you?" She's offended now.
I turn the keys to the apartment and drop the bags on the couch. I can't wait to crash.
I've got a splitting headache so I walk to my bedroom for a Crocin—Aaaaaaaaaa!
"What?" She comes running. "Oh."
There's a snake hanging from the mirror—dead. It's a sign.
I turn to her with dread. "They're coming for us," I whisper.
"We need to leave. Now." The urgency hangs in the air.
We pack only essentials. Money. Medicines. Water. Car keys. I run to empty out my bank account from the nearest ATM. Once that's done, I break the card and burn it. Leave no traces.
We deliberately leave the lights on in the apartment. Disappear without a trace.
She throws our bags into the back of the car and we screech out of the parking lot.
"You don't know where we're going." It's a statement, not a question. I nod.
"I've got a place," she says, "but it's far away. Hang tight." She accelerates and we're out of the city in ten minutes.
"There's no cell reception here, but let's not risk it. Don't turn your phone on. I won't either," she says.
We're in a cabin in the woods, surrounded by oak trees and creepers. The ground is slippery with ice. The sound of chirping insects is almost deafening. It would have been romantic under different circumstances.
The days go by. We survive on berries, squirrels, rabbits and the like. Occasionally, one of us catches a mountain goat or some fish. With no access to Odomos, we're forced to stay indoors when it's dark.
We got away this time, I think, but they'll find us eventually.
10 years ago.
"I'm Maria," an athletic woman in her twenties stretches her hand out to me.
"Yusuf," I respond.
"They tell me you're quiet," says Maria, nodding at a crowd behind her.
"I'd rather just focus on the training." My tone is curt.
"Well," she plops down next to me, uninvited, "Small talk helps us tolerate the training." She was right. On most days, our regime was brutal. We awoke at 4 AM and spent the next ten hours in Fitness. After that, it was Mind time—mental exercises that drained us.
The instructor blows the whistle and she stands up. We're forbidden from sitting down for more than five minutes at a time. This will help when we're in the field, they say. Except, it doesn't.
How did I know? I'd already been in the field for about two years. One day, however, I made a mistake—and disciplinary action was swift. I was stripped of my badge and ordered to go through training again.
Maria cuts into my train of thought. "Exams are next week. Are you prepared yet?"
"Uuuh—I—no."
"Great! Let's study together then!" Uninvited, again.
5 years ago.
It's been five years since Maria and I met. We've passed out of the Academy. We're both deployed at the same base. Chennai.
"Close the door!" Maria screams from downstairs.
"In a minute!" I scream back.
I gaze out at the sea. It's my favorite part of the day—sunrise. This city had the most beautiful sunrises.
The sun breaks out from behind the clouds, and the salty mist lifts. The sight makes me catch my breath.
"We're so lucky," I tell Maria as I descend the stairs.
She's having breakfast already. "Why?" She manages to ask between mouthfuls.
"This apartment. It's got a great balcony and it's right along the coast. When I was younger, this was all I ever wanted."
Trrrrrrrrrrrring.
Maria picks up. Her expression changes. "We gotta go," she mouths to me.
I run upstairs and pack our things.
Maria and I work for the Chennai branch of SPINU—the Special Investigations Unit. Our task is to observe suspects and known criminals, socialize with them, and find out who they're in contact with. Find out who's the boss.
She's the computer genius and I'm on field duty. A casual observer might think we're dysfunctional, but we work surprisingly well together.
In this mission, we're observing a fishing tycoon. He's built an army of goons who would go to any lengths to protect him. They're all skilled at sea and extremely loyal. That phone call was to inform us that Fity—his codename—had invited a Japanese billionaire to Marina beach, to talk a massive cocaine deal.
It's a high-security meeting. Chances are, our fake identities will be discovered and the goons will be after us. That's why we're vacating this beautiful house as soon as the mission's over.
I've placed microphones on some of Fity's henchmen. They're stupid enough to not know the difference between a pat on the back and a microphone being placed.
"We're good. Head back." Maria whispers into my headset.
As I make my way back to the truck, I hear Maria curse under her breath. Careful not to draw attention to myself, I quicken my pace. Her cursing intensifies. I can't risk responding to her and exposing my headset.
"What is it?" I finally reach the truck.
"It's not a cocaine deal," she looks at me, deadpan. "They're negotiating about bombs."
"Shit." I contact HQ immediately. "Put me through to Mani. Tell him it's Class A," I tell the receptionist.
"What's going on?" Mani, Cheif of SPINU, answers briskly.
"It's Yusuf. With Maria. We're in—" the line is dead. I realize that Maria has terminated the connection.
"What did you do that for?" I demand.
"Listen to the microphone feed. The Large Rabbit is involved in this."
"It can't be! They're talking about bombing the Madras High Court, Central Station, Annanagar Tower Park, and Parry's corner!" I stare at Maria.
"Just listen," she thrusts the headphone into my hands.
As I listen to the goons discuss the terms of the trade, my expression changes. I recognize one voice all too clearly—it's the same one that welcomed me into this city and took me out for dinner every night in the first month. It's the Large Rabbit, codename for the Governor of Chennai City.
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