Yet Another Sunset #7 Ch 32 Pg 33 (13th April' 13) - Page 21

Disclaimer: Unedited. Seriously, sleep deprived.

"Why didn't you call me sooner?" he said, his voice cracking and syllabus swallowed down his throat which made it impossible for Nikhil to comprehend anything more.

"I did, Sir. As soon as he was taken into surgery, I did," justified Nikhil, feeling misery for the man who was thoroughly at the verge of breaking down. "I really did, Sir, the soonest I could." He affirmed.

"I know," said Armaan, a nearly successful attempt at keeping a steady gaze at his subordinate. He knew Nikhil said the truth.

Only a half hour ago, he was sleeping peacefully in Ridhima's lap and then Nikhil's phone call came. The shooter had development some kind of medical complication and was rushed to the hospital. In the 15 minutes it took for Armaan to reach the hospital, he had died in surgery. Nikhil's long face had told him and his form had begun to weaken right from that moment. The shooter was his last straw. If there was anything that could point him in the right direction, it was the shooter. Unconscious, the doctor had said there would no chance of getting any information from him that night. The complication was unforeseen and the thought of having lost his one route to that rascal has now vaporized. It took a minute while he gathered himself in his mind, collecting his grief and helplessness and churning them out whilst pooling in the very last remnants of hope. He processed every kind of data in that one minute; her happy face, her erotically driving scent, the taste of her breath, the warmth in her lap, the cruelty that sailed through Bill's eyes, the anger that rushed through his own veins and that maddening protective instinct he had on her; everything blinked past and by the end of it, he was done feeling. There was absolutely no meaning to them unless he did something and quickly too. So he straightened up and before Nikhil's eyes, his voice came deeper, firmer and with a determination only hauntingly in love man would feel.

"Where were we on the scene sweet?"

"There was absolutely nothing, Sir. It was an empty flat and he had a fake key to it. The watchman had no idea how the original reached him. Anyways, there was no other item in that apartment apart for the weapon itself," replied Nikhil, grimly, almost ashamed at having to convey information that was of no vital importance.

"And the contents of his phone, pockets and the like?"

"All numbers in his phone was dead end. All SIMs seem to have been destroyed and disposed of. His pocket contained just a few crushed bits of paper. It had blood in it so I sent it to the lab to see if they can recover anything more."

"Then I think we should start there," said Armaan, picking up his car keys and after a few words with the doctor for final business, the two of them left.

"Armaan, are you okay? What's going on?" Ridhima's voice pierced through his cell.

After ignoring her call for the fourth time, he had finally picked it up only to be at the receiving end of her panic.

"Ridhima, take a breath, will you?" he said, as calmly as possible. "I am good. Something's developed in the case. Really, nothing to worry about," and how he wished he meant that.

"I think I am allowed my share of worry after I witnessed you run out of this house like a maniac. You sure you are all good, right?"

"Yes, I am sure. Now go back to sleep. Castle kept you all night, I believe."

"Nope, it didn't actually. Something else did. Bye. Get here soon. Naina Aunty will arrive in an hour or so," said Ridhima, cheerfully.

That left Armaan aching so loudly in his insides. The click on the other end felt too real.

"Sir?" Nikhil knocked on his window, invariably pushing him to get outside of the car as he had been talking in front of the forensic lab.

"I am afraid I don't have anything useful for you, Sir. My team and I worked on the shreds the whole night but whatever we have collected seems to make no sense," the scientist, Sachdev Iyer informed him.

It couldn't have come at a more inappropriate time.

"May I take a look?" requested Armaan.

"Of course, Sir." Sachdev showed him the pieces of paper beneath the microscope and lend him a pair of gloves.

Like Sachdev had said, nothing legible could be figured out. Apart from a couple of letters and numbers, everything else in those shreds was lost under traces of blood and excessive crushing. However, he stared at them for long in the fervent hope that something would strike him of being valuable.

"Nikhil, would you take a look at this?"

"An 'I' followed by an 'N' or that could be a 'M' too??" said Nikhil, unsure.

"That's what I thought too" he said, a world of weight fell upon him.

"Mean anything to you, Sir?"

Oh, that and so much more, he thought. Carrying her around came naturally to him so it wouldn't have taken him long to figure out her name even from the 2 letters.

He didn't reply and continued to stare at the rest of the notes, picking each bit carefully with the forceps.

He took his notepad and for the next 40 minutes, even while his back screamed hell, he stood and wrote down everything he could and put his intuition, faith, knowledge and experience in solving puzzles to use.

By the end he had a replica of the original note, at least of what he presumed it to be, minus the blood ridden bits which was a lot and the highly tampered bits. Now he had a string of a couple a letters and numbers randomly appearing of which only the 2 letters in what looked like the first row made sense to him. Ridhima. He gave it one more look and seeing that he couldn't make any more sense than what he has drawn, he thanked the scientist and left, while Nikhil followed close behind, bewildered. He just watched his senior standing still wordlessly for as long as 40 minutes and he walked away without so much of a stretch.

In the car, he handed over the paper to Nikhil.

"Make anything of it?"

Nikhil took a long look before he said, "The second row could be an address and the third could be some kind of phone number or something like that"

"Nothing more specific?"

"I am afraid no, Sir. I am sorry."

"Don't apologize for something you have no reason to," Armaan managed a smile.

Nikhil returned it.

"What's our next move?"

"I am going to call Renee and send her this. She might have something more to offer."

"The cryptologist?"

Armaan nodded. A once upon a time annoying woman who thought she was head over heels in love with him and now a fiercely incredible friend, Renee was someone who didn't need answers to help someone she cared about. She was among the few people he hung out with back in London. She could be trusted and she was quick in her results.

So he made the call when he reached the station.

"What a surprise, Armaan? I take it I have been suddenly missed," came her lively voice.

"No you are not. Your services are," said Armaan urgently.

"Damn you! I kid you not. Come back and I will skin you. The number of mails I sent you and god, the number you gave me doesn't even work. How's the mission coming?"

"This is about that only, Ren," he said seriously. He heard her sit up straight.

"What would you like me to do?"

"Check your mail now and tell me everything you can decipher on the image."

"Now?"

"Time isn't really in my favor at the moment."

Renee didn't miss the choke but she refrained from probing further. She, instead, opened the image and on a quick look, she concluded the same as Nikhil.

"Name, address and number. Give me a moment. Let me run it through the system."

"Anything?"

"It's still running. Lead towards him, I suppose."

"What else?"

"Don't worry. In another 30 seconds, this baby will tell you exactly where he is," Renee said, rubbing her CPU affectionately.

Her words triggered a memory. The calm voice of a woman replaying similar words came off and on and he begged his own self to retrieve it. The image came clearer as the voice of his mom finally livened at the back of his mind. He had hated the subject and his failing marks had made his mom realize that connecting stories was the only way her overly playful child would learn. So she framed stories with each of the Geography concept and he enjoyed them to death. And one of them was the story of an old man who loved only numbers and had wanted to hide all his wealth in a place where it would be unharmed by other humans. And when he had finally found one, he needed a way to remember it because he couldn't trust his memory of place. So he wrote them in a form only he knew and loved. The world grew on the idea and today they were called…

"Coordinates"

"Coordinates"

***

Chuck couple of days. I give you an update today itself. I oddly enjoyed writing this. The rush in writing this FF sometimes surprise me itself. Tell me what you think. I love you guys. And that story of the old man, its fiction. I cooked it up in the whim of the moment so please don't take the story and write it as under the 'Birth of Coordinates' Couple more chapters to go. Seriously, its high time I finished this. 2 years and more :O Which FF has run so long? Dear Lord. Forgive me, you guys, for all the hiatuses and writers blocks and what not.

HIT LIKE IF YOU WISH TO RECEIVE PMs ON UPDATING THE NEXT CHAPTER.

the part was awesome. I wonder dat does Armaan love Ridz or is he plain concerned for her cox she's his responsibility. Ridz is beginning to understand a lot of his unspoken thoughts too n mayb would fall for him but den she is married to an unknown guy., whose return she's awaiting. I think Armaan shud let her know da truth before she gets it out from anyone else. lets see wat the morning brings for these two wen Armaan wakes up to find himself in Ridz's lap.

cont soon. thanx a tonne for pm.

love,

Nimra.

this part was nice n confusing too. I wonder who's behind Ridz, n y/ is it becox dey've seen Armaan following her earlier n now to get an upper hand dey r trying to harm her. yaar plz clear dis confusion for me, coz i'm getting all tangled in dis.

did Ridz mean the same as I thought, wen she said dat sumthing else had kept her up or not?

okay now I guess we'll be blessed wid an update next week too. do pm yaar.

love,

Nimra.

that's sad