A similar contrast existed between his expressionless face and his mind getting restless to do the job. A Beretta 92FS handgun was lodged in the small of his back, covered thinly by the leather jacket he was wearing. Three magazines loaded with 9mm Luger rounds were bulging up the pockets of his jacket. His mobile phone started ringing. The call was from the same man who had supplied him his kit at the hotel. Tilak picked it up and let him speak first. “I think they’ve got wind of the attack,” the man whispered. He sounded a bit unnerved. “None of them came down for dinner. They were huddled up in Room 704 till now. I’ve a hunch that they have got some protection from outside.” “We’ve discussed that possibility already,” Tilak said, his eyes tracing a cyclist carrying his cycle in his hands to get out of the traffic. “If there’s anyone from Mossad, we’ll soon know.” “There is no ‘we’ now.
