Bheema raised a crowbar. “Smash the laptop. We run blind.”

As they worked, Kanna deleted the download log. No trace. But in a Kolkata tea stall, a man with wire-rimmed glasses smiled. The Dacoity Mouse had just phoned home—and delivered him the location of every hidden cache Kanna had ever buried.

Bheema grinned. “So the mouse works.”

The world fell silent. No radio static, no phone buzz, no siren. The police convoy’s lights went dark as their onboard systems froze.

The ghost always gets his share.

In the moonless dark of the Eastern Ghats, a wiry man named Kanna balanced on a boulder, tapping furiously at a cracked laptop. The battery was at 12%. Below, in the ravine, six men in black waited beside a derailed goods truck. Their plan was flawless—except for one detail.