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“I know,” Krish replies, scanning the message and scrolling through the pictures of the tampered black car. He is equally taken aback.
We click on the contact number, and what shocks me the most is the sender’s profile picture, which shows the outspread bat wings logo that I’ve seen previously. It’s the same emblem on the jackets of the men who tried to kidnap me in Austria and the sniper who killed Meher’s kidnapper.
“F*ck,” I snap.
The pieces of the puzzle start to fall into place in my mind, forming a dark and sinister picture. Who are these men? What is their motive? And most of all, why are they keeping a tab on the accidents and abductions happening in our lives?
“We need to go to the mentioned location and see this car for ourselves,” Krish announces, drawing out his phone. “I’ll send my men there asap.”
“Your men will not be going there, Krish. We will. After Raj ditched us, I cannot trust anyone else in this hunt.”
This is a big clue. The tampered car of Pratap Walia is significant evidence in Dad’s accident case.
“But Ayaan, going to this place with only two of us is risky. What if it’s a trap.”
“Then we get out of that trap,” I mutter.
Krish takes a moment to analyse the situation and determine the best course of action to avoid getting caught if this is indeed a setup. After careful consideration, he ultimately agrees to proceed with the plan.
“Alright, let’s go.”
Saying that, Krish leaves my room. Time is of the essence, and we can’t afford to make any more mistakes. The hunt for the truth had begun long back, and now that the evidence is so close, I won’t rest until I have my answers. The stakes have been raised, and the game just got deadlier.
******************
It’s a small village almost 50 km south of Mahabalipur. We arrive at the location sent to us. An old hut is nestled among the fields. The hut appears weathered and worn. An enclosed shed catches our attention in the distance, tucked away at the edge of the fields. There lies the hidden car, concealed and shielded from prying eyes. I cautiously approach the shed and pull away the dusty cover to reveal the black Audi SUV, Pratap Walia’s alleged car that he had filed a missing complaint of. The one which I suspect had caused Dad’s accident. The shed itself is modest in size, its worn wooden walls providing the perfect camouflage for a car that shouldn’t be discovered. While I examine the vehicle from the outside, Krish enters the hut to find its owner. The front bonnet of the car bears the marks of a collision, confirming its connection to the accident involving Dad. This is a crucial piece of evidence that could lead us closer to the truth.
In a few minutes, Krish returns with a young boy, around seventeen years old. The boy’s eyes flicker with both curiosity and fear, knowing he’s caught up in something beyond his understanding.
“It’s the same car,” I say to Krish, who nods and explains the boy’s involvement.
“This boy was paid to keep the car hidden in this secluded location. The shed and the fields belong to his grandfather, who is bedridden. The boy knows nothing about whose car it is and why it’s hidden here. He just got some money to keep it hidden here.”
I look at the boy. There is innocence in his eyes. If Krish is sure the boy has no other involvement besides keeping his mouth shut about a car hidden in his shed, I believe him.
“Did you show him the pictures?” I ask Krish.
“I did. And he doesn’t recognise any of them. Neither Pratap Walia nor Aksh Walia.”
“If it wasn’t Pratap Walia or Aksh, then maybe it was an accomplice from Walia’s side, someone who executed the accident and hid the car here,” I mutter, my thoughts spinning with innumerable possibilities. “We must uncover that person’s identity,” I declare with a sense of urgency.
“We will. I’ll bring a sketch artist to capture the boy’s description of the man who hid the car here.”
He is right. We can’t afford to overlook any potential leads.
“And just in case someone is watching us, I don’t want them to hurt this boy. Make sure you have someone looking after him,” I tell Krish, who agrees on it.
Every detail matters, especially now, as we inch closer to unravelling the truth.
“Most importantly, Krish, the news that we have traced Pratap Walia’s car should not reach the media or even the police until your team thoroughly examines the car and gives us a detailed report confirming that this car was indeed involved in Dad’s accident. If the Walias get a whiff of this, they will try to tamper with the evidence, which we cannot afford.”
Krish gives me a thumbs up and calls his team, instructing them to take over from here. Suddenly, my phone rings, displaying Bhaskar uncle’s name on the screen. He is with Dad at the hospital. Why is he calling me? Usually, uncle messages me for every update and calls only when it’s urgent. Is Dad okay? Panic fills my mind, and I hastily answer the call.
“Hello,” I say, my voice filled with anxiety and anticipation.
“Ayaan,” Bhaskar uncle’s voice trembles. “Come to the hospital immediately. Kailash is... Kailash has regained consciousness.”
My heart skips a beat, relief surging through every fibre of my being. Dad is awake! Goodness! My lips curl into a wide grin. It’s the best news I have heard since days. I am overwhelmed with joy and pure happiness, and I feel an urgent desire to rush to him. I silently thank God for this miracle. He has heard my prayers and granted my wish, bringing Dad out of his indefinite coma. Amidst the uncertainty that has engulfed my life since Dad’s accident, the knowledge that he is finally conscious makes me believe that I’ve got my anchor back. I don’t waste a moment, already heading towards the car as Bhaskar uncle continues to update me on how this happened.
