They tracked Okeke down to a bungalow in Mira Road. They had a warrant for his arrest. He wasn’t going to escape this time. At least that’s what they thought.
Commissioner Sharma was livid!
“How did he get away, Shinde?”
“Sir, he has taken asylum in his Embassy,” said a shame-faced Inspector Shinde.
“Get the Embassy on the phone! They can’t keep him!”
“Actually, Sir, they can. India doesn’t have any extradition treaty with them, so they are not under any obligation to release him to us. Their Consul General assured me that Okeke is on their most-wanted list of criminals, and that he will be tried and sentenced as soon as they take him back. Right now, they have him in protective custody.”
Commissioner Sharma snorted in disgust.
“Protective custody means he’s probably living it up, at the Embassy. After all, he funded the coup that brought their current dictator into power. We need to check his status. If they have upgraded him to diplomatic immunity, then we’re out of luck. We can’t touch him. If they haven’t, then he’s only protected as long as he’s within the Embassy walls. Outside, he’s fair game.”
“Sir, they haven’t upgraded his status, yet. I wonder why.”
“I guess their Esteemed President is not allowed to acknowledge him openly, unless they want the UN to come down harshly on their country. They are desperately trying to get foreign aid. Okeke is one of the world’s leading suppliers of blood diamonds, and he’s been blacklisted by the UN.”
Mumbai Police had been hunting Okeke for quite some time.
For the last three years, large amounts of very high-quality cocaine had been pouring into the Page-3 circuits. The cocaine that normally made the rounds of raves, colleges and parties was always adulterated. The high-quality stuff was very expensive, and difficult to obtain.
Then, Okeke, an African war-lord moved his base to India. Suddenly, the markets were flooded with unadulterated cocaine.
All the trails led to him, but, they couldn’t prove anything.
He had his fingers in many pies – weapons, blood diamonds, drugs. It took the cops three years to build a case against him. Now it looked like he was going to elude them again.
A frustrated Commissioner Sharma made a frantic phone call to his friend, Col. Baldev Singh.
“We have to lure him out of the Embassy, Bally, by hook or by crook. We have to get him out before he gets diplomatic immunity.”
Okeke was relaxing in his room at the Embassy, watching TV.
His papers would be here in a day or two. Diplomatic immunity!
He could leave this country safely. It was time to go back home.
There was a knock at the door.
“Who is it?”
“Room service”, came the reply.
His dinner had arrived.
The housekeeping staff was new. He had never seen this girl before. She was very young. She served him, and turned to leave.
“Wait! Taste the food,” he ordered.
The girl was surprised.
“I can’t, Sir,” she mumbled.
Okeke took out his gun, and pointed it at her head.
“Taste the food!”
He wasn’t taking any chances.
With trembling hands, she put a spoonful of each dish into her mouth. Next, she reached for the glass of red wine.
“It’s ok. You can go,” said Okeke before she could take a sip.
The poor girl rushed out of the room.
Okeke had just finished his meal, when the Consul General dropped in for a chat.
As they were talking, Okeke started feeling dizzy, and his speech started slurring.
“Call the doctor. My head is throbbing,” he said, just before he lost consciousness.
They called for an ambulance. The call was rerouted to the Blackbirds HeadQuarters.
An ambulance was already on stand-by near the Embassy, to rush him to the nearest hospital. The on-call doctor had been briefed about the poison that had been given to him, and had the antidote ready.
By the time the Consul General reached the hospital, and was allowed to see him, Okeke was stable and conscious.
There were cops sitting outside his door, warrant in hand, waiting to arrest him as soon as the doctor signed his discharge papers.
The Embassy filed an official complaint with the Ministry of Home Affairs, and gave many statements to the Press about police “high-handedness”, but, Mumbai Police finally got their man.
Commissioner Sharma and Col. Singh met at their club, for drinks, as usual.
“Thank you, Bally.”
Col. Singh waved away his thanks.
“Is the girl alright?”
“Oh yes, she is. The poison was in the wine, and Okeke stopped her before she tasted it. Don’t worry, Sharma. We were prepared for this eventuality, and she had a dose of the antidote in her pocket.”
“Still, it was a very brave thing to do, and Mumbai Police will always be grateful to your brave little Blackbird.”
I am taking part in The Write Tribe Problogger October 2017 Blogging Challenge