The Accountant With The Wrong Papers

It is frustrating to not know what is going on, especially when one implies you very much do. Add handcuffs on your wrist placed by two men in grey suits by your side, and the scenario becomes more disturbing than enigmatic.

“Enjoy the sun,” one of them said. They had come in my way out of the blue, one block away from my office. Before soon, they had also read me my rights and put the cuffs on my hands. “It might be the last time you see it as a free man.”

At first, I had smiled, for I thought that they had apprehended the wrong man. Now, I was less sure.

“I think I’m not the one you’re looking for.”

The second man spoke for the first time. Till now, his demeanour had been more reserved. He neither the smirked like his partner, nor did he wear sunglasses. “You are … Ravish Kumar, right?” he asked.

He had also pulled out a black document from his pocket, one small enough to fit into it in the first place. He held it up like agents are known to show their identification for a split second before interrogating a suspect. But now, he held it up long enough to give me a good look at the photograph in it.

I bent my back to look at it for a second longer. It was unmistakably me. The hairstyle which I preferred was not a common one, and the chances of my doppelgänger having the same one was too unlikely. There even was a scar running through the man’s right eyebrow, just as I had one.

“Could I see some ID please?” I asked. Both the men lifted up their suits just enough to show their badges with enough fluency to indicate they had performed this routine too many times before. They were officers of the law in some capacity, even though I could not place their appearance or badge into any public service I had ever encountered before.

I opened my mouth to protest, but then I looked around.A woman was looking at me with a suspicion she had no reason for having. She held a melting bar of ice cream in her hands. Even the vendor was looking at me, instead of looking for change for the note the woman had given her.

I got the feeling there would be no use protesting, not on these streets at least — the street of no recognition. The men and women used them only for their own work or luxury. The ruckus they were witnessing now would only be an amusing anecdote at the end of the day, one they would never find worthy enough to become involved in themselves.

One of the men pocketed the keys of my handcuff, and led me by my arm to the other end of the street. By intuition, I knew which vehicle they would eventually make me enter. It was a dark Sedan parked in an isolated corner of the street, with windows blackened enough for no onlooker to be able to look at what was going on inside.

A few steps after I had made my conclusion, we did stop in front of the vehicle. The man without the smile or the glasses took out another key from his pocket. I looked down at it. There was no bulge on the surface of the cloth, but it seemed to house anything the two partners would ever need while out on the streets. but it distracted me enough for me to not be able to brace for the impact when they held my head and shoved me into the back-seat of the car.

They closed the door, opened the ones on the front, then proceeded to sit on either side of the vehicle. There was the barricade between the back and the front of the car. I felt an ache in my neck, exemplified by the unexpected nature of the entire procedure. For the first time since these men in the grey suits had come across me, I thought of how I wasn’t supposed to be here. There would be people waiting for me back in the office, even if not many. And then, I remembered that there would be my wife waiting for me, back home.

We had been married for just over a year, but I had fallen in love with her long ago. Due to her job, she was able to move into my house only a few months ago. But since then, we had seen success in each of our lives. I was an accountant with a local firm which was making a name for itself in the state. She was a reporter herself, a fancy one at that. She was the kind who wrote features and broke the occasional sensational story. Oh yes, how I loved her.

“My colleagues will notice I’m missing,” I said.

The man who was not driving turned around to look at me. “I am sure they will. As it stands to be, however, things will be handled.”

“What do you mean things will be handled?”

“I thought you were fairly good in English yourself.”

It had indeed been my favourite subject back in school, before circumstances of my life had led my career down an entirely different path. "How do you know that?”

The drives smiled. The man I was speaking to, on the other hand, did not respond.

“My wife will know something is wrong if I don’t return by evening.”

This time, the second man smiled too. But even now, neither responded.

I wanted to protest, but the barricade between us made me realise it would be futile to try anything. While I was talking to them, I had also seen a bugle on the side of both their trousers too. It was too similar to the make a gun. As a result, protesting could even turn out to be foolish. I leaned back in my seat, sighed, and closed my eyes.

I had given up on trying to keep an account of where we were heading, because the fear that I would be put in the trunk or be made to wear a head scarf had dissipated by now. My earlier behaviour might have contributed to this soft approach. I hoped this would not go against me when I pleaded to be innocent of whatever they had booked me for. After all, I was not aware of what they thought I was guilty of – surely that meant I had not done anything?

After a while, I resigned to leaning back against the leather of the seat. The men with their grey suits refused to engage with me, or for that matter, among themselves. The route we were taking was obscure enough for me to not have travelled before, but the sights on the roads were familiar enough to indicate we were still in the city, amidst people. I touched my briefcase which sat on my lap. Touching its cold flap was somehow the only thing which distracted me from what was happening.

A good half hour had passed  on my watch since I had been arrested, if one could call the procedure that. The weight my hands needed to bear because of the handcuffs was starting to make me feel uncomfortable. A few more turns were made to exit the main street, and enter the smaller roads. But even here, there was a proper hustle of the population. Before I could feel nervous about the situation, the car stopped. The driver looked at me, then nodded at his partner.

They got out of the car, and a second later, they had taken me out too, with my handcuffs still intact. They held me by my arm once more. But before  I started walking, the one with the sunglasses (I wondered if he would wear them indoors too) asked me to take my briefcase along with me too. I was confused, but did as I was asked.

I looked around once more as they took me across the street. It was not as crowded as it had seemed to be from within the car. And for some reason, the few people who were out on the streets did not look up at me when I walked in with them.

The building we walked into did not stand apart from the rest in the block. It was of similar height, and its outside was rusty enough to not look too good. I walked into the building along with them. As soon as I had entered, another atmosphere took over. It couldn’t have been more in contrast to what I had seen outside.

It was not luxurious by any stretch of the imagination, but neither was it an ordinary building. The flooring was too good for a residential complex, and the crowd which moved around the room made it seem like an office. They took me to a corner of the floor. There seemed to be what could be the closest thing to a reception in a nondescript building like this. It indeed was an office.

“We’re here to take him to Agent Libra,” one of them said.

“Agent Libra,” the woman said to herself. She looked down at her desk to go through a few papers and remind herself what the entire thing was about. Once she had remembered, she said, “Yes, she’s been waiting. She’ll be in her office.”

Once more, I felt the urge to ask the lady at the desk what all of them were going on about. But she had returned to sorting her cabinet, while the men started to pull me away. I realised this woman they  had been referring to would let me know soon enough.

With my briefcase awkwardly dangling in front of me, we went towards the lift. The man pressed the button, then withdrew to his previous posture – he had been trained to be attentive.

When the lift’s door opened, an old man wearing a suit walked out. He nodded at the men on either side of me before vacating the lift for us – everyone here knew them, it seemed. We entered the elevator. A few moments later, we were at the second floor, and the door opened again.

We walked into a corridor with similar life from either end. A few more people – all in formal clothing – nodded at the two men who carried me to the last room. Once they had, they stopped in front of the door. All it bore was a plaque – “Agent Libra. Field Agent.”

I was too engrossed in deciphering the letters on it which had just began to fade, to notice that a key had been taken out from the enigmatic man’s enigmatic pocket. He inserted it into my handcuffs. A second later, they were unlocked. I lifted my arms from the briefcase and stretched them once at a time. My arms felt much lighter.

“Go straight through the door. She is on the other side,” the other man said. He stepped forward to hold it open for me. I walked through it. As soon as I had done so, I heard the door close behind me. The last thought I had was that the man did wear his sunglasses indoors as well.

In front of me was a woman in familiar clothing. I could not see her face because she was busy writing down a report. But when she heard the door close behind me louder than when it had been opened, she looked up.

She was my wife.

“Ah Ravish, I’ve been expecting you.”.

“Wait... Raayna?”

“Yes, of course!” she said, with a smile on her face. When I did not reciprocate it, the smile disappeared. A furrowed set of brows replaced her features instead. “You must be confused.”

I nodded, and she continued – “First, you must hand me your briefcase.”

She got up from her place. I handed the briefcase to her. She took it, turned back, walked up to her desk, and placed it there. Her back was towards me, but I could see her unlock it. She held up an unfamiliar file after going through  pile of papers which must have been in there. “Ah, just the most damned luck.”

Now, she turned around and continued to address me with the file still in her hand. “I had been careless enough to keep a confidential file out in the open in the living room. You must have mistaken it for something of yours when you were getting ready for the office today and put it in your briefcase. I figured the same.”

I stood where I was. For the moment, I could not conjure up any words to say.

“Sorry for the handcuffs my men must have put on you. It was a necessary precaution, you see – many people react violently to being arrested out of the blue.”

“Who... are you?” I could barely muster enough courage to ask her this.

“I’m your wife, of course.” Then, she must have realised it wasn’t the answer I was looking for. After a moment, she added – “I’m also a secret agent.”

She walked over to a corner of the room, and took out a section of her filing cabinet, inside which she placed the document in her hand. “I hope you didn’t read any of its contents in your rush to go to the office?”

I shook my head to answer in the negative.

“Good. It’s one of the most confidential files existing in the country, you see. Could’ve landed me in a great bit of trouble if matters spilled over.”

“I see,” I said, even though I did not. All I could think of was how interesting dinner would be tonight.