The first rays of sunlight now pierced the grime on the pumping station's high windows, striping the dusty air with gold. The rising sun marked the start of their first day, and possibly their last.
"What's the plan?" Alok repeated, the question hanging in the cavernous space.
Neel didn't hesitate. He had been dissecting the problem all night, seeing it not as a police action, but as a siege.
"We can't stop him with force," Neel began, his voice a low, analytical hum. "The palace is his fortress, and he is its king. We can't arrest him beforehand; his lawyers would have him out in an hour and we would be in a cell. Our only weapon is his own arrogance."
He paced slowly in front of the rusted generator, his mind laying out the battlefield.
"Singh thinks he's a god, delivering judgment. He's a performer, and his final act needs an audience. He won't just kill his target; he'll explain why. He'll deliver a final, philosophical monologue. That's our trap. We need to record that confession, live, as it happens. It's the only proof that will be strong enough to burn through his influence."
Alok nodded grimly, following the logic. "But we don't know who the target is."
"No," Neel agreed. "But we know his pattern. He targets people he sees as symbols of hypocrisy. Men who pretend to be pillars of society while being corrupt beneath. His 'masterpiece' will be his most symbolic kill yet."
He turned to Alok, the plan taking shape. "You need to get me the final guest list for the private dinner he is hosting in his wing tomorrow night. That's where it will happen. Once we have the list, we analyze it through his eyes. Who is the biggest hypocrite, the grandest symbol, in that room?"
"I can get the list," Alok confirmed. "What about you? How do you get close enough to record anything?"
"I go back in," Neel said simply. "As a waiter. It's the only way. While you identify the probable target, I'll need you to get me the detailed blueprints for the Maharani Suite and the adjoining private terrace. Singh will want a dramatic, isolated stage for his final act. We need to know where that stage is."
The final, most dangerous part of the plan settled between them.
"Once we have a likely target and a probable location," Neel continued, "your job will be to create a diversion on the other side of the palace right before it happens. A fire alarm, a security threat, anything to pull the bulk of Singh's private security away for a crucial ten-minute window. That's when I move in. I'll plant a micro-camera and a listening device. We won't stop the meeting between Singh and his victim. We'll just be the silent audience to the executioner's final sermon."
It was an insane plan, a tightrope walk over a canyon with no safety net. It relied on psychological profiling, split-second timing, and an immense amount of luck.
Alok looked at the small, powerful USB drive, then back at Neel. For ten years, he had been a good, cautious cop. Now, he was being asked to be a conspirator in a two-man war.
"Get me the guest list and the blueprints," Neel finished. "I'll study the devil's diary and find out what kind of soul he's planning to collect."
Alok gave a single, sharp nod. "Sunrise, tomorrow morning. Same place."
They parted ways without another word. The clock was ticking. The war had begun.