CHAPTER 47
KRISH
The private airstrip sits hidden between dense stretches of empty land and darkness. On any other night, it would appear abandoned. Tonight, it looks like a fortress. That’s exactly why we are here.
Inside a surveillance van parked on a ridge overlooking the airstrip, I study the numerous live feeds spread across the laptop screens in front of me, analysing every camera angle and every blind spot.
At the centre of the airstrip stands Samarjeet Vardhaan’s private jet.
His escape route. His final contingency.
The same aircraft that brought him here from Cape Town.
The one he plans to use to disappear tonight, if he happens to get out alive from RK Estate.
Which means that jet cannot leave this valley tonight.
Or ever. When Raghav laid out the operational plan before the war began, we had already prepared for every possibility.
Each one of us knew what we had to take care of.
Raghav would handle Samarjeet at RK Estate.
Ayaan would intercept Parag and Singhal on the southern route before they could reach the estate.
Trisha and I would take care of this situation here at the airstrip.
And Vishnu would handle the family’s security in Mumbai.
Our mission was simple. Neutralise every hostile guarding the aircraft and ensure the jet never takes off. In short, to destroy Samarjeet’s last escape route.
I glance at the thermal feeds again. There are thirty-eight armed hostiles in there, along with perimeter cameras, motion sensors, and two sniper positions.
Beside me, Trisha is getting ready. She slides a combat knife into the sheath hidden against her ankle before tightening her tactical boots.
Multiple sidearms disappear beneath her jacket, along with spare magazines, smoke grenades, and combat gloves.
Everything has a place. She looks less like a woman walking into a fight and more like the fight itself.
I switch frequencies. “All teams in position?” I ask.
A voice immediately confirms through my headset. “All teams ready.”
“Good. The perimeter feed is secured. Thermal surveillance is active,” I nod and begin working.
Unlike Raghav or Ayaan, my battlefield is made of signals, systems, and screens.
My fingers fly across the keyboard. A few more commands later, I pull up the jet’s systems. If Samarjeet somehow reaches this place tonight, I want that jet as useful as a paperweight.
I begin tracing the aircraft’s onboard systems, looking for anything that can be corrupted, disabled, or locked.
So, even if Samarjeet reaches the aircraft… it won’t be able to reach the sky.
I finally look up at Trisha, who is leaning against the van door, watching me work.
“I’m moving in,” she says.
I smirk, turning to her. “Watch my wife out there.”
Trisha pauses, then that familiar grin appears. “Always.”
She says it like she’s about to walk into a coffee shop instead of a battlefield. Typical Trisha.
Picking up her rifle, she checks the magazine, loads it, and then turns towards the exit. I watch her for a second longer than necessary, then force my attention back to the screens. Because once she steps out there, every second matters. And from that moment on, her eyes become mine.
The operation begins. Which means everyone at that airstrip is about to have a very bad night.
The moment Trisha moves out with fifteen GLEN operatives, my attention locks onto the surveillance feeds.
The first guard never sees her coming. One moment, he’s scanning the perimeter.
The next, Trisha appears out of the darkness behind him.
Her hand clamps over his mouth, the knife flashes, and his body drops without a sound.
“Good start,” I murmur into the comms.
Trisha’s voice crackles back instantly. “You’re welcome.”
I smirk. The operation continues. The GLEN agents move like shadows through the airstrip. One guard goes down. Then another. Then three more. The bodies are dragged away before anyone notices. For almost five minutes, it’s surgical. Then somebody spots a body, and all hell breaks loose.
Gunfire erupts across the airstrip. Sirens begin wailing. Hostiles scatter towards cover. I switch between camera angles rapidly, tracking every movement across the feeds.
“Trisha, two hostiles approaching from your ten o’clock.”
“I see them.”
A second later, she slides behind a cargo container and fires twice. Both men collapse.
I shake my head. Show-off.
The firefight intensifies. One of Samarjeet’s men rushes her from behind. The idiot barely gets close. Trisha spins, and her boot crashes directly into his ribs. The man literally flies backwards before slamming into a fuel drum.
I whistle. “Damn.”
“What?” she scowls.
“You shouldn’t have kicked him that hard. He’s not waking up for at least a week.”
The man groans again. Then, just to annoy me, Trisha kicks him once more. The groaning immediately stops.
I gape at the monitor. “You did not just do that.”
“I did.”
I laugh despite the bullets flying everywhere. Meanwhile, the GLEN agents systematically begin taking control of the airstrip. One sniper nest falls. Then another. The perimeter security collapses. Within minutes, most of Samarjeet’s backup force is either dead or unconscious.
The path to the aircraft is finally open.
“Jet is clear,” I tell her.
Without wasting a second, Trisha sprints towards it. The aircraft is already powered and on standby. Ready and waiting for Samarjeet.
Trisha climbs the stairs and immediately ducks as a shot explodes through the cabin.
“Contact inside!” she snaps.
I immediately switch to the aircraft’s internal cameras.
The stewardess is armed. She fires again.
Trisha drops behind a seat. The bullet tears through the cabin wall.
Two GLEN operatives rush in behind her, and this time, the woman barely lasts ten seconds.
By the time the shooting stops, she’s unconscious on the floor.
“Clear.”
“Not yet,” I say.
I can already see movement. “Forward cockpit. Two heat signatures.”
Samarjeet’s pilots aren’t ordinary pilots either.
The man doesn’t trust ordinary anything.
The co-pilot comes first. He bursts out of the cockpit holding a pistol.
Wrong decision. Trisha fires once and he crashes backwards into the control panel.
The other pilot is out too and is about get a shot off before Trisha closes the distance and slams the stock of her rifle into his face with full force.
His head snaps back from the impact, and he collapses to the floor.
One final shot from Trisha, and he’s finished.
The cockpit is finally secured. I exhale.
Now comes the important part. Making sure this jet never leaves the ground.
I scan the aircraft systems and frown. This isn’t the aircraft model I was expecting.
The configuration is completely different.
I quickly compare schematics. Different avionics and control systems. Damn it.
“Trisha.”
“What?”
“This isn’t the aircraft we prepared for.”
“That’s not reassuring, Krish.”
I continue typing furiously, trying to find an alternative to disable remotely. But every solution I come up with takes time.
“Give me ten minutes.”
“We don’t have ten minutes.”
She’s right. If Samarjeet reaches the airstrip before I find a solution, we’re doomed. Then I realise Trisha has gone completely quiet, which usually means she’s about to do something reckless or brilliant. Sometimes both.
I’m still trying to force my way through the aircraft’s systems when Trisha suddenly disappears from the cockpit cameras. A second later, I spot her on another feed. She’s sprinting across the airstrip, straight towards the storage area.
“What the hell are you doing?” I ask through the comms.
She ignores me, which is never a good sign.
Because every time Trisha ignores instructions, somebody else usually ends up regretting it.
I switch cameras and track her movements.
Then I see it. Several crates of military-grade ammunition and explosives are stacked inside.
And suddenly... I know exactly what’s going through her mind.
A grin slowly pulls at my lips. “No...” I mutter.
Trisha crouches beside the crates, checks the contents, and immediately starts dragging them towards the jet.
My grin widens. “Oh, you’re insane.”
Still no response. Trisha continues moving crate after crate into the aircraft. The remaining GLEN operatives quickly catch on to her plan and immediately start helping. Within minutes, the jet is packed with enough ammunition to turn it into a flying bomb.
I lean back in my seat, completely mesmerised. Because while I’ve been sitting here, trying to disable the aircraft, Trisha has simply decided to erase its existence. Absolutely classic.
It’s one of the reasons she and Raghav are besties. Neither of them believes in fixing a problem when they can eliminate it permanently. Both of them are absolute nightmares for people like me, who spend hours planning and plotting.
While people like Ayaan and me spend hours putting together a carefully constructed strategy, Raghav and Trisha will create an entirely new one in ten seconds and somehow make it work. Every damn time.
A few moments later, Trisha walks out of the aircraft, looking completely calm and casual, like she hasn’t just planned to turn the multimillion-dollar jet into a pile of ashes. The night wind blows through her hair as she reaches into her pocket and pulls out a small remote detonator.
I immediately start laughing. “You’re seriously doing this?”
Her voice crackles through my headset. “You have a better idea?”
Fair point.
She doesn’t even look back at the aircraft. She simply keeps walking away confidently, like an action-movie hero. And then, presses the button. The explosion tears through the night like a missile strike.
BOOM.