Thirty officers. Three entry points. Medical teams on standby. Ambulances. Negotiators in case of a hostage situation.
And one terrifying variable: the three women who would be abducted between now and Friday. Shalini was number sixteen — she'd be taken last, closest to Friday. Numbers fourteen and fifteen were out there, already on their seventh or eighth calls, and Aarav didn't know who they were.
He couldn't protect them without tipping off the Saxenas. He could only plan to rescue them on Friday with everyone else.
Day Five — Wednesday.
The seventh call came. 11:47 PM. Aarav answered.
Nine taps. Then Shalini's disguised voice — she'd been using the same distortion software throughout, maintaining her cover as an anonymous tipster even though Aarav now knew who she was.
"Number fourteen was taken tonight. I saw the white van on Sohna Road. She's a woman from my building. Apartment 304. Her name is Deepika."
Aarav closed his eyes. A woman from the same building as Shalini. The Saxenas weren't just stalking — they were consolidating. Taking victims from the same location to minimize logistics.
"And fifteen?" he asked.
"I don't know yet. But my ninth call will come tomorrow. And then they'll come for me."
"We'll be ready."
"Inspector?"
"Yes?"
"If this doesn't work — if they take me and you can't get us out — don't stop. Promise me you won't stop."
"I promise."
He meant it the way he'd meant it when he'd promised Simran he'd be at Rhea's school play. With the full weight of his intention and the haunting possibility that the world wouldn't cooperate.
Day Six — Thursday.
The eighth call. Aarav's eighth. Two calls ahead of his expected timeline — the caller was accelerating for him. Why?
Nine taps. No voice this time. Just the tapping, and then silence, and then the click of disconnection.
He was at eight of nine. One more call and — what? Would they come for him too? Was he on the list? A male target, breaking the pattern?
Or was the ninth call something else entirely? Not a prelude to abduction, but a final message?
He wouldn't find out until Friday.
The pieces were set. The board was ready. Thirty officers briefed. Medical teams positioned. Kavita coordinating from a mobile command post. Pankaj managing communications. Sahil on standby at a hospital, ready to assess the victims' psychological state.
And Aarav, alone in his apartment on Thursday night, looking at a photograph of Rhea on his phone. Eight years old, dressed as a tree, looking at the audience for a father who wasn't there.
"I'm going to make this right," he said to the photograph.
The photograph, naturally, didn't respond.
But the phone did. One more buzz. A message from Shalini:
"My ninth call just came. They're coming for me at dawn. God help us all."
Friday was twelve hours away.
