Major Vikram of the Madras Regimental Centre woke to pounding on his door at 5:30 AM. He had slept late after indulging with more brandy than necessary. The army commander had visited two days before. The work was strenuous, and so was the indulgence. The work exhausted him; the alcohol numbed him.
Jawan Kishore stood sweating in the doorway.
“Sir,” he stammered.
“What is it?” Vikram snapped.
“The helicopter crashed. The pilot and army commander could not be found…” He looked puzzled.
Vikram stared. “He left two days ago?”
“No, sir. He returned on a classified mission.”
“From Kumba village?”
“Yes, sir.”
Vikram dressed. Officers gathered, theorizing.
“He visited his mistress,” one suggested.
Vikram knew otherwise.
Within an hour, the officers dispersed. “Vikram, the crash site is quarantined. We don’t want this to get out.”
Vikram drove to the village alone. He entered a shack concealing a biochemical laboratory. The chief scientist met him and showed him what was missing.
“He stole NO5. This compound dissolves organic matter in minutes.”
“The missing bodies.”
The scientist nodded.
Vikram telephoned the defense minister.
“Produce a corpse. Close this file.”
“The laboratory, sir?”
“NO5… not stable… Terminate the research.”
Vikram returned to his office with a small black box.
“A souvenir of the research,” he thought.
Two days later, searchers found only the empty container.