Reprisal

by Mark David Abbott

Removing the paper map Tamang had provided from his pack, he unfolded it, running his finger over it until he found Jaubari. He traced the route he would need to take the next morning, committing it to memory before folding it and putting it back in the pack. The route was straightforward, and judging by the lodge owner’s lack of interest in his documentation, it should be easy to cross over into India. However, the thought didn’t stop the pellet of nervousness from growing in his belly. He lay back on the bed and closed his eyes, but couldn’t relax, thoughts racing through his head. After a few minutes, he gave up and sat upright, slipping his feet back into his boots, lacing them loosely, and stood. If his mind wouldn’t rest, he may as well eat something.

  John stepped outside, climbed the steps onto the street, and shivered. The temperature was dropping fast, and he debated returning to his room to add another layer, but hunger got the better of him. Pushing open the door to the lodge dining hall-cum-reception, he walked inside. It was busier than when he left, and John nodded at a group of trekkers occupying one of the tables. He glanced over at the other table and stiffened when he saw four men in the black uniforms of the Nepalese police, playing cards, but they paid him no attention. In front of each of them was a large bamboo mug, and judging by the glow on their faces and their laughter, the contents were alcoholic.

  “William, the room is okay?”

  John almost looked around to see who Tej was speaking to but caught himself in time.

  “Very good, thank you, Tej. Can I get something to eat?”

  “Of course. Fried noodles, rice?”

  “Rice, please, and...”—John nodded toward the cops’ table—“what’s that?”

  Tej’s face widened in a grin. “Tomba! You will love it.”

  John looked around for a space as far from the cops as possible and sat down. He unzipped his fleece—the room warmed by the cooking fire—looking around. The trekkers ignored him, too involved in their own conversation, and the cops remained engrossed in their card game.

  Tej reappeared and placed a bamboo mug in front of him. It was filled to the brim with some sort of grain, a thick, steel straw standing in the middle of it.

  “You have to wait.”

  “Wait?” John asked.

  “Yes, wait for at least ten minutes before drinking, and don’t stir it.”

  John frowned, “What is it made of?”

  “Don’t worry, William.” Tej smiled. “It’s good for you. It is fermented...” He searched for the word in English. “Millet. It will make you feel warm inside.”

  “Okay.” John nodded. “It’s alcoholic?”

  Tej grinned and slapped John on the shoulder. “You’ll see.” He walked back to the kitchen and said something to the men sitting in front of the fire. They all looked toward John and laughed.

  John pulled the mug closer and noticed one of the policemen watching him. His breath caught until the policeman raised his own mug in acknowledgment and smiled. John nodded, exhaled, and smiled back. Reaching for an old copy of National Geographic, he pulled the rechargeable solar lamp closer and leafed through the magazine while he waited for his drink to be ready.

  By the time John had finished reading about the Okavango Delta, Tej had placed a plate of fried rice in front of him together with a jar of round red chilis.

  “Be careful with these, William. They are very spicy.” He pointed toward the drink. “Have you tried it yet?”

  John shook his head.

  “Try it now. It’s ready.”

  John leaned forward and took a sip through the straw as Tej looked on in eager anticipation. It was slightly sour and warm, and immediately, John felt a warmth spread through his body. He looked up.

  “It’s good, thank you.”

  “I told you. Let me know when you finish, and I will refill it with hot water.”

  “Thank you.” John took another sip, then made a start on the fried rice, ignoring the jar of chilis. Ten minutes later, his plate was empty, and he was feeling a definite buzz from the Tomba. Tej walked over with a flask and poured hot water into the mug of grains.

  “Wait another five minutes before drinking again.”

  John nodded and smiled, one eye on the policemen who had finished their card game and were standing. They looked fit and slightly menacing in their black para-military uniforms. Three of them walked toward the door while the fourth walked over to John’s table.

  John tensed, avoiding direct eye contact. He had a genuine visa and was legally allowed in Nepal, but he wanted to avoid attention wherever possible. He reluctantly looked up when the policeman was standing directly in front of him.

  The cop smiled. “Welcome to our town. I hope you are enjoying the Tomba?”

  “Yes, thank you.”

  “Very good. If you need anything, please come and ask us. Our station is just up the street.” He held out his hand.

  John reached forward and shook it. “Thank you.”

  The cop let go of his hand and turned unsteadily toward the door, stopped, and looked back. John clenched his teeth. The cop raised a hand.

  “Goodnight.”

  “Goodnight,” John nodded and forced a smile as he watched the cop make his way out the door. He breathed a sigh of relief, reached for his drink, and took a long draw of the hot sour liquid. Ten minutes later, confident the police were back in the station, he left a handful of rupees on the table and stood. The room tilted, then righted itself, and John blinked his eyes rapidly. The drink was deceptively strong. He raised a hand in Tej’s direction, then headed toward the door.

  Stepping outside, he took a few deep breaths of the crisp cold air, zipped up his fleece, and looked up at the sky. A blanket of stars filled the dark space above him, and just above the horizon was the beginning of a new moon. The stars remained clear for a second, then started moving around. John shook his head. He had better get to bed before he fell over.

  20

  John woke early, the rays from the dawn sun streaming through the flimsy curtain onto the bed, bringing the promise of warmth after the cold night. John rubbed his face and peeled off the heavy blanket, sitting up. He felt surprisingly fresh with no trace of a hangover after the evening drinking Tomba. That stuff was great.

  There was a light tap on the door. He slipped his feet into his unlaced boots and walked over to the door. Unbolting it, he looked out into the corridor, but there was no one there, just a red plastic bucket filled with hot water, the steam spiraling up into the cold air. John grinned and brought the bucket inside. Perfect timing.

  Washed and dressed, he looked around the room one last time to make sure he had left nothing behind, then shouldered the backpack and left the room. He climbed the steps up to the road, the air still crisp, the vapor from his mouth visible with every breath, then entered the dining hall.

  Tej was already busy over by the kitchen, acknowledging John with a raised hand. Two other trekkers nodded a greeting, then went back to staring into their mugs of tea. John dumped his pack by the door and found a table by himself.

  “Good morning, William.” Tej appeared by his side and placed a flask on the table.

  “Good morning.” John nodded at the flask. “Coffee?”

  “Tea.”

  “Oh...” John failed to hide his disappointment. “Ah... Can I get something to eat?”

  “Of course, eggs? Omelet?”

  “Thank you. An omelet will be perfect, Tej.”

  Tej smiled and returned to the kitchen area as John reached for the flask and poured some into a mug. Blowing on the top to cool it, he took a sip. He pulled a face and put the mug back on the table and pushed it away. He had never been a fan of tea, especially milky and sweet. John stood up, walked over to his backpack, and removed the map, then sat back down and spread it on the table. He had already committed the route to memory, he just wanted to make sure. The route was simple, most of the trekking route comprising a rough road which ran through thick rhododendron forest along the border between India and Ne
pal. Most trekkers started in India in the small town of Maneybhanjang and followed the road through a series of small settlements until they reached the peak of Sandakphu in Nepal. John would be walking in the opposite direction and hoped he wouldn’t attract too much attention.

  John looked up as Tej walked over with a plate of omelets and pushed the map to one side to make space.

  “Going to Sandakphu today?” Tej asked. “It’s a good day for it.”

  “Yes,” John lied. “Will I reach it by evening?”

  “Easily, William.” Tej glanced over at the other trekkers then lowered his voice. “You look fit. It will be easy for you. Some of the other people who come here...” Tej shrugged.

  John smiled and slid the plate closer.

  “Do you have somewhere to stay in Sandakphu?” Tej continued.

  “No, I haven’t booked anything yet. Will it be a problem?”

  “Then you stay at my friend’s place, Everest Lodge. Ask for Batsa, tell him I sent you.”

  “Thank you, I will.” John cut into the omelet and took a bite. “Mmmm, this is good.”

  Tej looked toward the door as another group of trekkers walked in, chatting noisily. He glanced back at John and smiled.

  “Enjoy.”

  Twenty minutes later, breakfast finished, bill paid, and farewells given, John stepped out onto the road and looked up and down the street. The dirty white dog from the day before stretched and yawned, then lazily crossed the road, looking for the nearest patch of sun. High in the sky above, an eagle circled slowly as it climbed the updrafts. The street was quiet, the air still cool, but the cloudless sky above heralded the heat later in the day.

  John adjusted the straps on his backpack, then pulled up a mental picture of his route. Left led up the trekking route toward Sandakphu Peak. He needed to go right into India. He took a step forward and stopped. Shit! From the doorway of another homestay further up the street stepped out a man in the now familiar black uniform of the Nepalese police, looking in John’s direction. It was the friendly policeman from last night. John cursed under his breath, fixed a smile on his face, and raised his hand in greeting. He thought fast, then slipped off his pack and got down on one knee as if adjusting the laces on his boot. He didn’t want the policeman to see him heading in the wrong direction. From the corner of his eye, he watched the policeman head up the street before disappearing between two buildings. John breathed out a sigh of relief, stood up, slipped the backpack back on, and headed toward the Indian border.

  21

  The route took John along a partially sealed road as it wound its way along the contours of the ridgeline. Sheep and yaks heavily grazed this area, and the grass was cropped short and burned brown by the sun. Further from the road, the slopes descended into a thick, green rhododendron jungle, the beginnings of the glorious blooms of red just starting to make their presence shown. In another month, the slopes would be blanketed in a canopy of red flowers. It felt good to be outside, breathing fresh, clean air. Still a little too early for trekkers to have reached his part of the route, he was alone in his thoughts, just the sound of birdsong from the grasslands and the occasional call of a bird of prey from its perch in the jungle. John crested a small rise and paused for breath, soaking in the beauty.

  Across a series of valleys, he could see the Indian town of Darjeeling, famous for its teas, and beyond it, the peaks of Bhutan emerging from the clouds. He turned to his left and gazed at the sacred mountain of Kanchenjunga, far off in the Himalayan range, its series of five peaks glistening in the morning sun. Further behind it, he caught his first glimpse of Everest, just visible between wisps of clouds and blinked to make sure he wasn’t imagining it. John moved to the edge of the track, slipped off his backpack, and sat down, content to drink in the glory of nature spread out before him. He was alone, with only the backpack and its contents, but at that moment, he needed nothing, all thoughts of the grim past and his uncertain future forgotten. He felt truly happy.

  After a while, thoughts crept back into his head, and he remembered why he was there. Standing, he brushed off his pants, picked up his pack, and continued on his way.

  Just under an hour later, still not seeing another human, a small wooden signpost in front of a cluster of untidy buildings announced he had reached the village of Tumling.

  He was in India.

  22

  Rajiv stepped out of the police Bolero and walked across the road toward the line of white SUVs parked outside the palatial Shivnagar home of Surya Patil.

  A group of uniformed policemen, perhaps eight or nine of them, filled the footpath, and two fit men in black combat uniforms stood separately to one side of the gate. At the sight of their boss approaching, Rajiv’s two constables jumped up from the plastic chairs they had been lounging on and snapped to attention. Rajiv nodded and approached the two men in black.

  “Detective Inspector Rajiv Sampath. Who’s in charge here?”

  One of the men stepped forward, smiled, and held out his hand. “Captain Ankit Sharma, Special Ranger Group Twelve.”

  “From Hyderabad?”

  “That’s right.”

  His handshake was strong, his forearm corded with muscles and tendons.

  “This is my second-in-command, Subedar Rahul Ahuja.”

  “I’m happy to see you, Captain.” Rajiv returned his smile as he shook the hand of the other commando. He gestured toward his two nervous constables. “My men don’t have the experience to deal with something like this.”

  Captain Sharma followed the direction of his gesture and nodded. “Don’t worry, we’ll take it from here. My men are very capable. You can relax.”

  “Yes, I’ve worked with you guys before. I have every confidence in you.” Rajiv turned to his constables. “Go back to the station, freshen up, and report to my office in half an hour.”

  “Sir.” The two men visibly relaxed and rushed off before Rajiv could change his mind.

  Turning back to the commando captain, he asked, “How many men do you have?”

  “There are eleven of us. Three vehicles. A normal Y Class detail.” Ankit paused and studied Rajiv’s face. “How serious is the threat?”

  “It’s vague.” Rajiv sighed and glanced down the street. “Mr. Patil claims his life is in danger. I’ll send you the file, but we have little to work on...” Rajiv shrugged and looked back at the captain. “You know how it is. We can’t ignore the requests of certain people.”

  “Say no more. It’s not the first time for us. I’m sure it will all die down soon, and we’ll be sent back home.” He glanced toward the house. “What’s he like to work with?”

  Rajiv followed the direction of his gaze and thought carefully about his answer.

  “Let’s just say he’s used to getting what he wants.”

  “The usual then.” Ankit turned back to Rajiv, smiled, and held out his hand again. “Don’t worry, Rajiv. We’ll take it from here.”

  “Good luck.” Rajiv shook his hand, smiled at the other commando, then walked back to his vehicle. Climbing in, he nodded to his driver and leaned his head back against his seat as the vehicle pulled away from the curb. He felt relieved—one less thing to worry about. Now, he and his men could go back to what they were trained for—solving crime instead of indulging the whims of powerful men... at least for a while.

  23

  A little over five hours later, John slipped off his pack, kicked off his boots, and breathed a sigh of relief. He was tired, dusty, and thirsty. From Tumling, he had hitched a ride down into Maneybhanjang with a local guide in his battered Series 1 Land Rover. The road followed the line of the Nepalese border, and it wasn’t until John sat down on a local bus heading away from the border town of Maneybhanjang to Siliguri, he felt he could finally relax.

  Tamang’s plan had been a good one, no one paying John any attention, all assuming he was a regular trekker with all the necessary permits and visas. Despite that, the tension of the day’s travel was draining, and he was lo
oking forward to a hot bath and a good meal. In Siliguri, John had found a cheap hostel, shabby and run down, but they didn’t ask questions, and when John had slipped the owner an extra five hundred rupees, he had forgotten the need to ask for identification.

  Moving to the window, he moved the curtain aside and opened the latch. The sound of traffic honking poured in, and John screwed up his nose at the smell of diesel and dust. He quickly closed it and thought back to that moment on the hillside, breathing the pure air while gazing across at Kanchenjunga and the rest of the beautiful Himalayan range. He sighed. There would be plenty of time to relax when the job was done and Adriana safe.

  He looked around the room at the peeling plaster on the walls, the spread of black mold on the ceiling, and the worn and tattered bedding on the narrow single bed. He felt a wave of self-pity rising up and pushed it down. There was no point in feeling sorry for himself. He had a beautiful woman waiting for him, a woman he could look forward to spending the rest of his life with. It wouldn’t happen if he felt sorry for himself and failed to deal with the ever-present threat of Surya Patil.

  If Patil could hunt him down and send paid assassins after him in Oman, there was no knowing where or when he could do it again. John didn’t want to spend the rest of his life looking over his shoulder, always wondering if someone was coming. He had been in worse situations before. A night alone in a shitty hostel was nothing compared to what he had already experienced.

  Looking at his G-Shock, he did a quick mental calculation. He knew what would raise his spirits. Rummaging through his backpack, he retrieved the phone and powered it on. He needed to hear Adriana’s voice and tell her he had made it safely across the border.

  24

  The elegant woman in the emerald sari sighed and pushed her empty glass across the bar, nodding at the barman.