Sherlock – The Perfect Two Billion Dollar Robbery

My story will give you both the chills of multiple orgasms & the shivers of getting shot in the ass. 

The hero of this story is really a villain or is he?

2 billion dollars (15,000 crores) were stolen from The Royal Bank, Park Street, Kolkata, on August 17th, 2015. 

A 31-year-old man walked in - held 19 people hostage. He told them all, the police & the world who he is. He withdrew the billions & disappeared in 23 minutes.

47 days had passed & no one knew where he or the money is or how he entered or disappeared from the bank.

Of course, I do. I’m Sherlock.

And unlike the fictional character of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, I’m as real as racism. And I’m a girl. And I’ve my Watson too. His name is Harvey Oxlade. I call him Ox. He isn’t a doctor; he’s a pothead philosopher. Seven years ago, he landed in India from London, England. What a shit place London is - he had told me the day I met him in Manali. He fell in love with the land of missing sewer caps & cheap hash and stayed here forever.

Everyone hates me at The Bureau; even the cop-dog gives me the stink eye. About a week ago I got a call from The Bureau & I got on-board. I got the call because no matter how much everyone hates my guts, I’m the smartest girl - correct that - smartest person alive in this country. They knew I’m the only one who can save their sorry asses.

Here’s how the story unfolded on that rainy morning of 17th August 2015. As narrated to me by The Nineteen hostages.

A tall, attractive, big-bosomed girl walks into the biggest bank in the country. The Royal Bank requires a minimum balance of one million dollars. It’s 7:07am, Monday – the bank had opened seven minutes ago. This is the first day the bank has opened after the Independence Day weekend. She’s wearing a tailored dark-colored suit & her breasts look fairly large for her size. She looks calm & stops in the middle of the grand lobby. There are 19 people in the bank, including her & excluding the man who’s about to re-write history.

The Nineteen

Four black-commando security personnel: They are stationed [one on each corner] on the four corners of the palatial lobby. Their names remain undisclosed.

Three investment bank managers. Virat Sharma, Frank Knight, and Balwinder Singh Thind.

Three pretty under-30 associates. Meher Bhatia, Hina Choudhary, and Rhea Johar.

Two suited office boys. Kamlesh Kumar and Amir Khan

The Big Six:

Three directors of The Royal Bank. Avinash Thakur, Bobby Talvar, and Mohanto Banerjee

And three CEOs of the other three bigshot banks that make ‘The Famous Four Banks’ of India: George D’Souza, Sanket Naik, and Farooq Ahmed

They have a meeting scheduled for 7:15am. No one ever comes late for this traditional annual meeting that takes place, always after Independence Day, to make the big decisions. This meeting always finishes within 15 minutes. The decisions taken last the entire year & run into billions of dollars.

The big-bosomed girl standing in the middle of the lobby is a lawyer, Mira Bhatt. This is her first day in the bank. She’s late. 

There’s a reason. 

“There’s only one Kizersozé.” a voice calm as death tore through the room & froze every soul. The voice oozed out of the emergency speakers. The voice belonged to Vikram Pratap Rana. The genius who had rejected Harvard & done triple degrees in one year from Hindu College, Delhi. 

“The girl standing in the dead center is my blood sister. I love her to death. I’ve strapped her with TZM Hellfire time bomb.” The voice continued. “Show them.” Mira undid the buttons of her suit jacket. The secret of her buxom lay bare. The bomb was pre-scheduled to explode at 7:30am. “I don’t have any intentions of blowing up this Taj Mahal. Don’t make me.

“Cameras are manipulated. Explosives & metal detectors have been tampered. All the gun cartridges are replaced with blanks. The panic button is deactivated.” Panic engulfed all 19 hearts. “I’ve been living in this palace for the past four days, but no one noticed. Truth really is wackier than fiction.

“I hate wasting time. And we don’t have much of it.” He paused for the briefest time. “Mira, shoot that bloody cripple in the good leg.” Mr. Thind had a paralyzed leg. He walked with a cane. Mira pulled out a sleek gun & took aim. She looked horrified but she did as told. She shot Mr. Thind. “Now shoot him again, in the hand, just in case someone still thinks any of this is a joke.” She complied. Thind fell to the floor smothered in his own blood. Rana asked Mira to drag Thind to the Green Room - where Rana was - so he could meet Thind. She did. A volcano was erupting in each heart. But no one dared to move.

“Hello, Balwinder Singh Thind.” Rana’s voice boomed out of the speakers. “I don’t know who you are & I don’t have the time to know. All I want to say is this isn’t personal. And I’m doing this because people aren’t scared of blood anymore. They want to see dead bodies.” Rana didn’t say goodbye. Thind’s scream was cut-short by the sound of a bullet. 

The silence of death followed. Everybody knew Thind was dead.

Rana emerged from the Green Room with Mira. He was wearing a mask, but his dark brown eyes were naked. He was athletic and dressed in all black. 

“I don’t want to blow up this palace or kill any more people. But, if I’ve to, I bloody will.” No one dared to doubt anything he said anymore.

“I’m gonna take some of your money.” He gazed at the Big Six. “2 billion dollars. That’s all.” He pulled out the bomb’s remote. “Let’s do this before this place blows up.”

To make any transfer of more than $10 million, physical authorization was required of the primary account holder. Anything more than $50 million, the transaction can only be done from The One laptop in the bank. Rana planned to steal $333.33 million from each of the Big Six. “Because I’m fair.”

How rich are these bankers? It really made me think.

It was one hell of a process. The physical presence of the account holder, check. The One laptop, check. The retina verification, check. The fingerprint, check. The password with voice verification, check. The three-part password to be entered at the exact intervals of 15 seconds – no failed attempts allowed, check. The final hurdle is a question The One laptop asks. “Are you sure, Mr. Avinash Thakur?” the answer is specific to each individual. In Mr. Avinash Thakur’s case, it was “Damn, right. I’m.” He said it without a fumble. 

The fear of death & cockiness that they’ll nail this bastard down & get their money back made the Big Six do exactly as told.

Thind wasn’t dead. Rana never shot him to death. He wasn’t a murderer, he was a genius. Thind crawled to the edge of the Green Room, left ajar by Rana. “Catch me if you can,” Rana said & started to walk away. Thind narrated to me “I observed him carefully as he walked to the door. I knew that time was running out but suppressed the urge to check my watch. I took a deep breath and started counting in reverse under my breath. "Ten, nine, eight, seven..."

A blast followed. The place filled with smoke & everyone lost consciousness. When they got back to life, it was 8am. Cops & paramedics had taken over the place.

Thind was taken to the emergency room of the fanciest hospital in Delhi. He had bled profusely, but he survived. The bank offered him 1 crore in compensation & indefinite leaves.

Thind resumed his duties 2 days after he was discharged from the hospital. He said “If I don’t come back to work, it will mean the terrorist won. And I can’t allow that to happen.” Thind was a brave man for his frail stature.

---

Ox & I were lying face up in the dead center of the palace. It was midnight. The Turkish Chandelier above us shone ecstatically. Ox was smoking a joint made out of the finest hash in town. 47 hours had passed since I got the case & I hadn’t a damn clue. This had never happened before. Ox, the pothead philosopher, came to my rescue. 

“Our eyes see it the way it is, but it isn’t always the way it is,” like magic he smoked out those indelible words. For the next 57 seconds, I stared at the place Mira was standing & the place Mr. Thind was standing when she shot him. And then I jumped to my feet in Eureka. Even a genius like me needs a miracle worker like Ox. What a shame we never made love.

I ran from there without saying goodbye. We don’t do that kind of stuff. It’s boring. 

I don’t like phoning people. I like meeting them. I like seeing their eyes.

I woke the damn doctor at almost 1am. He knew me so he knew I’m an incurable asshole. He got down to getting me the samples of the two people. That was easy. Then I asked him to find the exact time Thind got shot. He said. “This will take time.”

“You know I never have the damn time, Doc,” I said & left.

I stormed into The Bureau. I love that place. I got what I needed. I erased the history & left. No wonder they hate my guts.

I taxied to the airport & flew to Ahmedabad. I knew I won’t find who I’m looking for. I knew I will find something on how to find him. It took me 17 hours to that something. I met the biggest fake passport agent. He said, “I don’t trust you”. I told him he is right but if he doesn’t tell me what I’m asking then I will have his balls chopped & stuffed in his face. I think he trusted me alright after that. 23 hours later, I found my man in Liguria village in Northern Italy.

The man I found & the man I had been searching for looked different. He was meant to look different. The moment he saw me staring at him in the Bistro, he knew I knew. I asked him one question & I promised if he answered I’ll never bother him again or let anyone touch him.

He answered.

I took the next flight to India.

———

Here’s how Rana pulled off the greatest heist since Saddam Hussein stole a billion from the Central Bank of Iraq in broad daylight.

{P.S. My insincere apologies. I cannot reveal the plot due to bloody copyrights issue, but mainly because I don't want to. Hey, no one is stopping you from guessing. If you can, I will buy you beers for the rest of your life & anyone you've met or wish to :)