In my excitement, I asked where we were going, and why the police hadn't already attempted to locate the escaped criminals. My brother replied that they had indeed tried — they had even hired a private detective — but it was impossible to trace the fugitives within such a short span of time.
As he said this, he held out his hand for my car keys. My car, an old 2004 model with the silhouette of a Skyline GTR, roared to life only after a few attempts. Before leaving, I brewed myself yet another cup of tea — as always — and asked him to wait. When I finally joined him, we set off, taking roughly thirty minutes to reach the first jail where the criminals had originally been kept before being transferred to the newly constructed facility.
We passed through the chambers and reached the cell where both offenders had previously been imprisoned. My brother questioned the security guard, "Did anything unusual occur here?"
The guard nodded nervously.
"Sir, four months ago the lights suddenly went out. I stepped outside with a torch — I was terrified — to inspect the circuit box. The two prisoners were still seated in their cell. Another constable who accompanied me told me to check the main switch. It took me nearly thirty minutes to return, and by then everything seemed normal. Later that evening, around 7 PM, we discovered that an electrician had accidentally pressed the wrong button while conducting a routine inspection. Each switch controls only a single chamber. It was an innocent mistake — nothing more."
My brother asked, "Do you still have the footage from that night?"
The guard bowed his head.
"No sir. Our system automatically deletes recordings after forty-eight hours."
"Then describe him to me."
"Yes sir. I checked the footage immediately after the power returned. The man was around five feet six, fair-skinned, with a few pimples on his face. He looked young — perhaps twenty-six — and he wore a high-visibility vest over a white shirt and blue trousers."
"Thank you," my brother said curtly, and we left.
We drove to the new prison — the one freshly constructed. I waited outside while he went in. After some time, he returned with two constables: one from the surveillance room and another from outside who was assigned to monitor the first constable to prevent any tampering.
The security in this facility was exceptionally strict. None of the guards knew each other, and every five days their posts were rotated — one guard from the cell chamber, and one from the camera room. This was done to prevent familiarity, bribery, or manipulation. These prisoners were not petty thieves; they were high-risk international offenders.
I assumed my brother had instructed them to leave because there was nothing left for them to check. He opened a chamber door leading to a deeper section of the prison. We descended a ladder; he possessed full authority granted directly by the Prime Minister. Once below, he handed me a bunch of keys.
"Inspect every cell," he ordered.
I obeyed, unlocking and checking each chamber. I couldn't fathom how the prisoners could have escaped: the locks were untouched, and the keys were impossible to duplicate — even high-ranking officers didn't have access.
He told me that the ceilings were constructed of small metal slabs, each about three to four feet wide. I tapped each one, hearing nothing unusual, and continued until the entire section had been examined. I had no idea what he was doing, but suddenly he exclaimed, "Yes! This is it!"
I sprinted toward him.
"Look at these marks," he said, pointing to two faint indentations on the wall. When I looked closely, he handed me a magnifying glass. "These marks appear all over the wall."
"What does that mean?" I asked.
"Nothing," he said dismissively, though I knew it meant everything.
He asked me to bring a chair. We were in the surveillance room. He climbed onto it, removed one of the security cameras, and handed it to me.
"That's enough. Keep it."
Then he requested the rest of his tools and continued taking meticulous measurements — the height, width, and depth of each chamber. I didn't understand any of it.
After a while he said simply, "Let's go."
We drove to a small shop that specialized in cameras and electronic chips. My brother pulled a photograph from his wallet and showed it to the shopkeeper.
"This man sent me here to buy a replacement camera," he said.
The shopkeeper frowned.
"Sir, we don't sell cameras anymore — nor chips."
"He told me he bought some here four months ago."
"Yes, he did. But we've stopped selling such equipment."
He shrugged. "Nevertheless, it's fine."
My brother told me to wait and borrowed the car keys. He disappeared for nearly two hours — despite his promise to return in ten minutes. When he finally returned, he said, "Let's go home."
We arrived around 7 PM. I told him I was exhausted and needed dinner. He nodded and left again, returning three or four hours later. I lay awake the whole night, my mind circling the mystery. He, on the other hand, slept peacefully — almost triumphantly — as if he already knew the conclusion.
We woke before dawn, at 4 AM. My brother immediately called the Deputy Commissioner.
"Bring four of your most reliable constables. You must come as well. I will show you the criminals' location."
We were all astonished. How could he possibly know?
The Deputy Commissioner promised to arrive in two hours. We had a light breakfast — bread with jam — and my brother spent the morning reading, completely absorbed in a book on quantum physics.
Finally, there was a knock. I opened the door and greeted the Deputy Commissioner. He refused tea.
"There is no time. This is a matter of international security."
He brought four hand-picked constables with him. Two of them were the same: one from the camera room and one who watched over him.
We left my house, my brother leading confidently. He drove us back to the same jail — the one we had already inspected countless times.
Then he said, "Bring me wood, charcoal, and petrol."
We were stunned. No one understood what he meant to do. Within thirty minutes the materials were ready. He arranged the wood and charcoal, poured petrol over it, and ordered us all to stand back.
He lit the fire.
For a good thirty minutes, the flames raged, cracking and roaring against the metal structure. Then, suddenly — a scream. A horrifying, agonized scream. Someone was burning alive.
The ceiling of the jail cell burst open, and a man — charred and defeated — plummeted down through the opening.
It was the first criminal.
He had been hiding in the ceiling the entire time.
We apprehended him immediately.
The Deputy Commissioner demanded, "Where is the second one?"
My brother replied, "Let's return to the police station first."
Then he made a phone call.
"Sir, accompany me to the station," he said respectfully.
I was shocked.
Who was this man my brother was addressing as Sir?