Chapter 9: The First Secret
The Target
The mission was simple: Watch Constable Reddy.
The execution was dangerous: Constable Reddy liked to hit people.
Reddy was a large man, his uniform straining against a stomach built on bribes and biryani. He controlled the West Wing, where the cleaning supplies were kept. He had a heavy hand and a temper that flared like a matchstick.
Arjun spent two days just being invisible.
He volunteered for the worst jobs. Cleaning the latrines. Sweeping the admin corridor. hauling trash to the burning pit.
These jobs made him smell terrible, but they gave him access. They allowed him to move around the facility while everyone else was locked in the yard.
Arjun swept the dust near the guard station, his head down, his eyes sharp.
He watched Reddy.
The Pattern
7:00 AM: Reddy arrives. Mood: Irritable. Eyes: Red.
10:00 AM: Reddy beats a boy for walking too slowly.
12:30 PM: Lunch break.
4:00 PM: Shift ends.
The smuggling had to happen during the shift.
But Reddy never left his post. No visitors came to see him.
Arjun was confused.
How does he get it?
On the third day, Arjun noticed the itch.
Around 10:30 AM, Reddy would start tapping his foot. He would wipe sweat from his forehead. He would yell louder.
Withdrawal.
Then, at 11:00 AM exactly, the main gate would open for the daily deliveries.
The Milk Van.
It was a battered blue Tata 407. It came every morning to deliver crates of milk packets for the kitchen.
The driver was a lanky man with a red towel wrapped around his head.
Arjun swept closer to the loading bay. The dust swirled around his broom.
"Hey! You! Move back!" a kitchen guard shouted.
Arjun stepped back but kept sweeping, his eyes locked on the van.
The Exchange
The driver hopped out. "Morning, Saab!" he shouted cheerfully.
Reddy walked over, twirling his baton. "Late again, Babu? The milk is souring in this heat."
It was a scripted conversation. They said the same thing every day.
Arjun watched their hands.
The driver, Babu, unloaded the blue plastic crates.
Reddy stood by the rear tire, ostensibly checking the invoice.
Watch the hands, Arjun told himself. Velu said watch the hands.
Babu pulled out a pack of cigarettes from his pocket to light one. He dropped the matchbox.
"Oops," Babu muttered.
He bent down to pick it up.
At the same time, Reddy dropped his pen.
Both men bent down behind the cover of the van's rear door.
They were hidden from the CCTV camera for exactly three seconds.
When they stood up:
Babu had his matchbox.
Reddy had his pen.
But Reddy's left hand—the one that had been empty—was now shoved deep into his pocket.
And Reddy wasn't tapping his foot anymore. He looked relaxed.
Arjun exhaled.
Got you.
The Confirmation
Arjun needed to be sure. He needed to know what it was.
Later that afternoon, while emptying the trash bins from the guard room, Arjun found it.
Buried under tea cups and crumpled papers was a small, torn wrapper.
Manikchand Gutka.
But wrapped inside the foil was something else—a small slip of paper with numbers written on it. Gambling debts.
Reddy wasn't just buying tobacco. He was running numbers for an outside lottery. The milk driver was his bookie.
The Report
Yard time.
The sun was setting, casting long, orange shadows across the dirt.
Arjun walked to the dead neem tree.
The invisible circle was still there. Rakesh and his gang stayed away.
Velu was reading a newspaper that was three days old. He didn't look up.
"You're still walking," Velu noted. "That means Reddy didn't catch you."
"I have the name," Arjun said, sitting on the edge of the bench.
Velu turned a page. "Tell me."
"It's not a visitor. It's the milk van driver. His name is Babu. He drives for Vijaya Dairy."
Velu stopped reading. He looked at Arjun over the rim of his glasses. "How?"
"The drop happens at 11:00 AM behind the van. Babu drops a matchbox. Reddy drops a pen. They switch. Reddy gets Gutka packets and lottery slips."
Velu's eyebrows raised slightly. "Lottery slips?"
"I found a wrapper in his trash. Reddy is gambling. That's why he's so angry in the mornings. He's losing money."
Velu stared at Arjun. For the first time, there was no mockery in his eyes. There was respect.
"You didn't just find the supplier," Velu said softly. "You found the weakness."
"Is that enough?" Arjun asked.
Velu folded the newspaper neatly.
"More than enough."
The First Lesson
Velu took off his glasses and cleaned them on his shirt.
"Lesson one, Prince. Information is not power. Leverage is power."
"What's the difference?"
"If you tell the Warden that Reddy is smuggling, what happens?" Velu asked.
Arjun thought. "Reddy gets fired? Or suspended?"
"No," Velu shook his head. "Reddy tells the Warden that you are lying. The Warden believes his guard. You get beaten. You lose."
Arjun frowned. "So it's useless?"
"No," Velu smiled. It was a cold, terrifying smile. "You don't tell the Warden. You tell Reddy."
Arjun blinked. "Tell him? He'll kill me."
"He won't," Velu explained. "You approach him quietly. You tell him you saw Babu drop the packet. You mention the lottery slips. You tell him that if the Warden finds out, Reddy loses his pension. He loses his job."
Velu leaned closer.
"You don't threaten to scream. You threaten to whisper. Men like Reddy aren't afraid of fights. They are afraid of losing their comfort."
"And what do I ask for?" Arjun asked.
"What do you want?"
Arjun looked across the yard. He saw the food line. He saw the boys shivering at night without blankets. He saw the guards hitting people for sport.
"I want him to leave me alone. And I want access."
"Access to what?"
"To the library," Arjun said. "The real one. In the admin block. Where the law books are."
Velu chuckled. "Law books? You want to be a lawyer?"
"No," Arjun's eyes darkened. "I want to know the rules so I can break them properly."
Velu nodded approvingly.
"Go do it. Tomorrow morning. Before the milk van comes. That is when he is most desperate."
The Confrontation
The next morning, Arjun was sweeping near the West Wing again.
Reddy was pacing, tapping his foot. It was 10:45 AM. The itch was bad.
Arjun stopped sweeping. He walked up to the guard station.
"Hey!" Reddy barked. "Get back to work, 1179!"
Arjun didn't flinch. He walked right up to the desk.
"Constable Sir," Arjun said, his voice low and steady. "Babu is going to be late today."
Reddy froze. His hand went to his baton. "What did you say?"
"Babu," Arjun repeated. "The milk driver. The one who drops the matchbox behind the rear tire. The one who takes your lottery slips."
The silence in the guard station was deafening.
Reddy's face went purple. He stepped forward, raising the baton high. "I will break your skull, you little rat—"
Arjun didn't back down. He looked straight up at the massive man.
"If you hit me," Arjun said quickly, "I scream. The Warden comes. And I tell him to check your left pocket right now. I tell him to check the trash bin where I left the lottery slip yesterday."
The baton hovered in the air.
Reddy's eyes darted to the door. Then to his pocket. Then to Arjun.
Fear.
It flickered behind the rage.
Slowly, very slowly, Reddy lowered the baton.
"What do you want?" he hissed.
Arjun felt a rush of electricity shoot down his spine.
It wasn't adrenaline. It was control.
For the first time since his parents died, he wasn't the victim. He was the one holding the knife.
"I want a key," Arjun said. "To the library cabinet. And from now on... you don't see me. I don't exist to you."
Reddy stared at the boy. This scrawny, shaved-headed fourteen-year-old had him by the throat.
Reddy grunted. He reached into his drawer and threw a small brass key on the desk.
"Get out. Before I change my mind."
Arjun took the key.
"Thank you, Sir."
He walked out of the guard station.
He didn't run. He walked.
He felt the weight of the key in his pocket. It felt heavier than a stone.
He looked across the yard toward the neem tree.
Velu was watching.
The Ghost nodded once.
Arjun nodded back.
The lesson was learned.
Fear is a currency.
And Arjun had just made his first deposit.