THE HUNT FOR KOHINOOR BOOK 2 OF THE THRILLER SERIES FEATURING MEHRUNISA by Manreet Sodhi Someshwar

the Hindu Kush – which would have been bigger in summer because of the melted snow, Safdar helpfully pointed out – and braced Bad-e-Wakhan, the fierce wind that raged over the corridor. Initially, he reckoned he was doing okay, his Gore-Tex outerwear and sturdy mountain boots buffering him against the elements, until he began to be routinely overtaken by sheepherders in sandals. His ego could do with some hammering, Singh reasoned, as he exchanged a greeting with a passing Wakhi. This morning they were beginning the trek to Little Pamir. Safdar had organized a yak to help carry food and equipment over the mountain passes they’d cross.
    Singh was soaking in the wilderness when his phone rang. A secure phone that was used only for communication with his team back home. Arvind Pradhan, the screen flashed. His ex-boss, Commissioner of Police of Madhya Pradesh, was now working on Natgrid, the national grid for intelligence being set up at the behest of the Home Minister who wanted one database to hold all information, to help prevent future terror attacks. His brow furrowed, Singh listened.
    Where are you? Pradhan’s voice sounded grim.
    Never mind. What’s up?
    Listen, this is serious. How soon can you get to Lahore?
    La -hore? Singh’s antennae were buzzing. Tell me.
    What he heard next he couldn’t have concocted in his scariest nightmare. Pradhan divulged the intel he had stumbled upon: the woman Singh was in love with was being sent by RAW into Pakistan on a dangerous mission. Yes! Mehrunisa’s father, the legendary spy Snow Leopard, was alive but injured, Pradhan said as he updated him on the developments.
    Singh felt lightheaded, from the chilly wind or the phone call. Mehrunisa. Spy. Kohinoor. Lahore . The words pinged in his brain and he saw them spinning in the air around him. As he followed them the mountains spun too.
    Fool! Singh rasped. His voice rang out in the thin cold air. He shut his eyes tight and inhaled deeply. The rarefied air had made him giddy and Pradhan’s news had delivered the whopper. What he’d said was crazy but Singh trusted Pradhan enough to know it was the truth. Whatever RAW was gambling upon, Mehrunisa would certainly be in Lahore by evening.
    In which case, the enemy wouldn’t be far behind.
    In agony Singh closed his eyes: Mehrunisa’s grey-green eyes flashed in his mind. An art historian-cum-restorer had no credentials for hunting down terrorists – clearly she was a pawn in some elaborate game.
     
     

 
    Srinagar, India
    Monday 2 p.m.
    ‘Before you begin your mission I’d like you to get a basic grounding in the geopolitics of the region you are going to experience intimately over the next four days.’ Jag Mishra tipped his head at Raghav who immediately bounded for the door. He returned within a minute with a bespectacled boy who looked like he had walked right out of college to join them.
    ‘Mehrunisa, meet Sabyasachi,’ Jag Mishra indicated with a lift of his right arm.
    The manboy walked over and shook her hand. ‘Saby,’ he said. His grip was light and the hand cold and Mehrunisa wondered if he had really just stepped into the building from the crisp noon of Srinagar. ‘The name’s Sabyasachi Mukerji, but that’s a mouthful for most people,’ he grinned and added, ‘When I first moved out of Calcutta to study in Delhi, I figured shortening it made sense.’
    ‘And anglicizing our names is a national affliction.’ Jag Mishra was watching the interaction wearing his inscrutable expression. ‘Sabyasachi is a scientist from National Technical Research Organization, or NTRO. And he is here to brief you on how they are going to help you with your mission.’
    Saby wagged his head good-humouredly before turning his attention to the projector. The boyish-looking scientist wore thick-framed nerdy spectacles, though in red. He had a quick smile and eyes that blinked with rapidity. Finished with checking the projector, he turned to address Mehrunisa. ‘Mr Mishra