The old pumping station was a skeleton of rusted iron and crumbling brick at the edge of the lake. It stood in the long, dark shadow of Mehrangarh Fort, which loomed above it like a silent judge. The first rays of sunrise were just beginning to paint the eastern sky, but here, in the shadow of the mountain, it was still cold and gray.
Neel was waiting inside, perched on a defunct generator. He had been there for an hour, watching the light change, the USB drive a cold weight in his pocket. He heard the sound of a single car approaching on the gravel road before he saw its headlights. It was Alok's police Maruti.
Inspector Alok Prakash entered the pumping station alone, his hand resting near the butt of his holstered service pistol. His face was grim, etched with sleeplessness and deep suspicion. He looked at Neel, then scanned the decaying interior of the building.
"This feels like an ambush, Neel," Alok said, his voice flat.
"It's a tomb," Neel replied, gesturing to their surroundings. "A fitting place to talk about a ghost."
He didn't waste any more time on words. He took out the portable media viewer and the USB drive. He powered it on and set it on a rusted oil drum between them.
"Ten years ago, I gave you a theory," Neel said, his voice low and steady. "You told me I was obsessed, that I was seeing monsters that weren't there. You weren't entirely wrong. I wasn't seeing a monster. I was seeing a man."
He pressed play on the final video file—the one where Abhijit Singh, his face calm and intelligent, outlined his philosophy and his plan for his final masterpiece at the palace.
Alok leaned forward, his eyes narrowed in disbelief as the face of one of India's most respected industrialists filled the small screen. He listened to the calm, articulate confession, the chilling lecture on the art of murder, the declaration of intent to kill again.
Neel watched his old partner's face. He saw the skepticism crumble, replaced by a dawning horror. He saw the cop's hardened mask dissolve, revealing the raw shock of a man staring into the face of pure, calculated evil. The digital ghost on the screen was more real and more monstrous than anything Alok had encountered in his thirty years on the force.
When the video ended, the only sound was the distant cry of a peacock from the fort above. Alok stared at the blank screen for a long time, his breathing shallow. He looked up at Neel, and for the first time in a decade, the anger and resentment were gone from his eyes, replaced by a shared, terrible understanding.
"My God, Neel," he whispered, his voice hoarse. "You were right. You were right about all of it."
The alliance was no longer a reluctant one. The doubt was gone. They were partners again, two men bound by a truth that no one else would believe. Alok straightened up, the tired, cynical inspector replaced by a man with a grim and sudden purpose.
"He's going to kill someone at that summit," Alok said, the statement a cold, hard fact. "The security will be immense. We can't go through official channels; he'll have them tied in knots until it's too late. We have thirty-six hours."
He looked Neel directly in the eye, the weight of their task settling upon them both.
"What's the plan?"