“Another one, please, Ramesh.”
“Of course, Ma’am.”
Maadhavi Rao checked the slim, rose gold Cartier on her wrist and ground her teeth together—not long now. She needed that drink. Ramesh placed a fresh martini in front of her, and she gave him a smile that didn’t reach her eyes before picking up the glass. She took a sip and nodded with satisfaction. Ramesh fixed a good martini. It was her second of the evening, and she was starting to feel the buzz she craved—the buzz she would need to help her get through the night. She glanced around the bar. Apart from her, it was pretty quiet, being midweek and early evening. A table of foreign tourists sipped on their chilled pints of beer and discussed their day’s shopping, and over in a corner, an Indian businessman huddled over a pile of papers with his Japanese clients.
Maadhavi reached for her glass again and thought back to how she had ended up in her gilded cage. It had started well but, as with so many things in life, didn’t end up as planned. Her parents had wanted her to get a degree, and she had, but her heart had been in acting. After honoring her parents’ wishes for higher education, she had, much to her parents’ dismay, taken acting classes, finally landing a small role in a Kannada film. She had loved it, and when she saw herself on the big screen, she knew she had found her calling. More roles followed, and her fame grew. She bought her parents a new car and moved them into a bigger house, and grudgingly over time, they had accepted her career. As her popularity grew, she was invited to appear at boutique openings and events, where she mixed with the high society and Who’s Who of Bangalore.
It was at one of these events she had met Surya Patil.
The thought of him made her tense. She reached for her glass again, taking another big sip, then waved it in the air to get Ramesh’s attention. He might as well prepare the next one. She would need it.
Surya had been all charm and graciousness at first—at least as much as he could. He wasn’t a refined man, all his wealth and power not masking his village origins, but as a young actress, she had been excited to be in the presence of one of the most powerful politicians in the state. He had told her he was a big fan, had seen all her movies. He showered her with gifts, introducing her to other powerful people. Opportunities that had been closed to her before miraculously opened, and she was grateful. And he wanted nothing in return. She was happy and riding the crest of the wave.
Until that night...
Maadhavi drained her glass and took the fresh one from Ramesh. She took a sip, then breathed deeply. Her heart was beginning to race, canceling out the buzz from the martinis, and she needed to try to relax. Taking another sip, she placed the glass down on the bartop, and stared into the mirror at the back of the bar, almost not recognizing the woman looking back at her.
She still looked the same—had her looks, her hair beautifully coiffed, her makeup understated and elegant—but the woman looking back at her was not the young woman filled with dreams, excited about the future, and happy to be working in a career she had thought about since she was a young girl. There was sorrow in the eyes, the dark circles underneath them requiring more makeup as time went on. Her face looked drawn, the angles in her cheekbones becoming more pronounced. She didn’t eat much these days, and of course, the drinking wasn’t helping. She couldn’t get through the days—the nights—without drinking. She took another sip of her martini. Each day it took more and more of the stuff to get the buzz she craved. She would need a few more before the night was over. A sparkle of light caught her eye, and she reached absentmindedly for the emerald earring dangling from her ear. He had bought it for her on that trip to Dubai—the trip where it all went wrong.
It was supposed to be one of the defining moments of her career—the main guest at the Sudarshan Film Awards. It was her first award, and she had been so eager to accept it and receive validation for the choices she had made. Her parents were so proud, inviting all their neighbors and friends to the house to watch the ceremony on television. She could never tell them what had happened afterward. She could never tell anyone.
25
The phone buzzed on the dashboard, and Rajiv reached forward, glancing at the screen. Frowning, he signaled to his driver to pull over.
“Manju, go for a walk.”
The constable nodded and stepped out of the vehicle. Rajiv waited until the door closed, then answered the call.
“Hello.”
“How are you, Rajiv?”
Rajiv couldn’t help but smile at the familiar voice.
“I’m well.”
“You read the article?”
Rajiv kept his eyes on the constable standing in front of the Bolero.
“I did.” Rajiv remembered what he had read, how a foreign tourist had been kidnapped in a desert camp in Oman. “Your name wasn’t mentioned, but I assume the woman means something to you; otherwise, you wouldn’t have sent it.”
“That’s right. I was there. I saved her.”
Rajiv chewed on his lip as he watched the constable attempt to kick a passing stray dog. “You were lucky... but then you always have been.”
“I don’t consider what happened to Charlotte in Bangalore to be lucky,” came the stern reply.
“Yes, of course.” Rajiv shook his head and cursed himself for his mistake. He wouldn’t wish the brutal gang rape and murder of John’s wife on anyone. “I’m sorry... what I meant was...”
“I know.”
Neither man spoke as they both dealt with their memories. The constable had wandered further up the road and was standing beside a handcart. The street vendor was frying something, but in the poor light of the streetlamps, Rajiv couldn’t make out what it was.
John broke the silence first. “Can you guess who sent the men to kill me?”
Rajiv nodded slowly. “I’ve put two and two together. There’s a man here in Bangalore who has recently increased his security.”
“Really? Hmmm.”
“Look.” Rajiv glanced around the vehicle, then toward his driver again. “I shouldn’t be having this conversation, but if you are planning to come here, my advice is don’t. It’s dangerous, there’s a huge amount of security. There are alerts at the airport and the railway stations, and besides... I still have to do my job.”
There was silence for a while, and Rajiv thought the line had disconnected.
“J...” he stopped himself from saying the name. “Are you there?”
“That bastard’s son raped and killed my wife... and you guys did nothing.”
Rajiv grimaced. He thought about protesting but knew John was right.
“And now, the bastard himself sent not one but two assassins after me.” John paused, and Rajiv could hear him breathing down the phone.
“I’ve found someone, Rajiv. I love her. I have a real chance of happiness again.” John’s voice rose, and Rajiv held the phone away from his ear a little. “But that bastard had her kidnapped and held hostage.”
Rajiv heard John exhale. When he continued, his voice was quieter, much quieter, and Rajiv’s brow furrowed as he strained to listen.
“I can never relax, knowing it could happen again. I have to deal with it.”
Rajiv nodded slowly, forgetting John couldn’t see him and gazed out the window. The street vendor was passing a bag of food to the constable.
“Are you there?”
“Yes, I’m here.”
Rajiv sighed. “I’m happy you’ve found someone. You deserve to be happy.”
There was silence for a moment.
“Thank you.”
Rajiv rubbed his face with his left hand and took a deep breath.
“Be careful.”
“I’m always careful.”
“Yes, but...”
“Goodnight, Rajiv.” The phone line went dead.
Rajiv stared out through the windscreen, turning the phone over and over in his hand, his mind conflicted. Tossing the phone onto the dashboard, he wound down the window and signaled to his driver to return. He
watched the constable approach, a bag made of recycled newspaper in one hand, a half-eaten samosa in the other. The constable opened the driver’s door.
“Go back and pay for it.”
“But, Sir...”
“Pay for it,” Rajiv growled and clenched his fists. It was a dirty world, but wherever possible, he wouldn’t be a part of it.
26
The lead vehicle in the convoy of cars flashed its lights and barely slowed as the entrance barrier raised just in time for the convoy of vehicles to stream through and pull up outside the front entrance of the Vijaya Palace Hotel.
Three white SUVs, brimming with aerials, flanked the S Class Mercedes, and as the convoy stopped, the doors of the SUVs opened, and men poured out, most in police uniforms, all of them armed.
From inside the Mercedes, Surya Patil waited impatiently, his fingers drumming in irritation on his thigh as the men encircled the car. A commando dressed entirely in black, his face masked, a Heckler and Koch MP-5 cradled in one arm, tapped on the window, and gave him the thumbs up. Surya Patil stared at him, aware the man couldn’t see inside through the black tint of the window. He waited for a moment longer than necessary—his little victory, his show of power, letting the men know who was the boss—then opened the door.
It hadn’t taken long for the novelty to wear off. At first, it had been a great boost to his ego. Wherever he went, armed men surrounded him, his car followed by SUVs with flashing lights and sirens. It did wonders for clearing Bangalore’s notorious traffic, but that was the only benefit. The constant presence of the men was wearing thin, and Surya found himself yearning for more privacy. He ground his teeth together as he stepped out of the car and straightened the jacket of his safari suit. The sooner that English bastard Hayes was dealt with, the better!
Surya strode toward the entrance of the hotel, leaving the commando to close the door of the Mercedes and follow after him. He waved away the hotel security, ignoring their gestures to enter through the metal detector. They should know who he was by now. Metal detectors and standard security measures were for the public, not for a man of his stature. The uniformed hotel doorman swung the entrance door wide open for Surya and his security, but Surya stopped and turned, eyeing the men surrounding him.
“Wait with the cars,” he growled
“But, Sir, I’m supposed to accompany you at all times.” The commando captain stepped forward. “How will we protect you?”
Surya raised his hand and glared at the man behind the black balaclava.
“I said, wait outside!”
“Sir...”
Surya stepped toward the Commando, their faces inches apart.
“I can have you transferred immediately,” he threatened, and turned back toward the door, leaving the men standing in a semicircle outside.
Surya strode across the highly polished marble of the lobby, ignoring the general manager and his staff lined up in front of the reception desk to welcome him, and headed straight for the bar. Alone at last! He needed a drink and a couple of hours with Maadhavi.
27
It was after ten before a bone-weary Rajiv arrived home. He stepped inside, closing the front door quietly, and bent down to unlace his shoes, slipping them off, then padded across to the living room in his socks. The television was on, Aarthi asleep on the couch. Bending down, he placed a gentle kiss on her forehead. She woke with a start, blinked her eyes open, and smiled.
“Hi, jaanu.”
“What time is it?” she asked.
“Late, why don’t you go to bed?”
Aarthi stood up and shook her head.
“Have you eaten? Come.”
She bustled into the kitchen, wiping the sleep from her eyes. Rajiv sat down at the small wooden table and leaned back against the wall, closing his eyes as familiar sounds carried from the kitchen—the cooking gas being lit, pots and pans moving around, plates being readied.
The events of the day passed before his eyes in fast forward until he reached the call from John. He frowned as he recalled the conversation. John Hayes was a good man, and although deep down, Rajiv knew John had taken the law into his own hands and taken revenge against his wife’s killers, Rajiv respected him. He had broken the law, that was wrong, but in reality, Rajiv knew it hadn’t been that simple. Rajiv hadn’t been able to do his duty, his hands tied because of pressure from Surya Patil, and Surya’s son and friends had got away scot free. Rajiv opened his eyes as Aarthi walked out and placed a plate of rice and sambar in front of him. He reached forward for her hand and smiled.
“Thank you.”
Aarthi playfully pushed his hand away. “What thank you?”
“No, I mean it. You do so much for me, yet I’m never home.” Rajiv stopped, his brow creased, and looked down at the plate.
Aarthi tilted her head to one side and looked at him quizzically. She pulled out a chair and sat down opposite Rajiv.
“What’s the matter? A bad day?”
Rajiv looked up and smiled. Reaching for her hand again, he gave it a squeeze and sighed.
“Not really, just that...”
“You know you can tell me anything, Raju,” Aarthi said, using the diminutive version of his name she used when they were alone together.
“I know.” Rajiv smiled again, but his eyes were sad. “I won’t trouble you. It’s okay, really. I just need to make some tough decisions in the next few days, and right now, I don’t know which direction to take.” He slipped his hand free and rolled up his sleeves. “Anyway, it’s not your problem. This smells delicious.”
“Do you want some chutney?” Aarthi stood and moved toward the kitchen, stopping in the doorway to look back at Rajiv. “Never forget Raju, I’m always here for you. You can always talk to me... and...”
Rajiv looked up.
“Wash your hands before you eat!”
Rajiv laughed, the worries of the day melting away. He pushed back his chair to wash his hands. Everything would be okay as long as he came home to Aarthi at the end of each day.
28
John woke early. He hadn’t really slept, the bed hard, and the room full of blood thirsty mosquitos that feasted on him all night. If that hadn’t been bad enough, the rush hour started early in Siliguri, and the noise from the traffic in the street outside ensured there was little chance of a lie in.
John lay on the bed for a while, mentally planning his steps for the next few days. The first thing he needed to sort out was transport. Bangalore was at the opposite end of the country, almost two thousand five hundred kilometers away. He couldn’t fly, security too high at the airports, so he had two options, the train or by car. The more he thought about it, the more he was leaning toward getting a car. He would need good mobility once he reached Bangalore and wouldn’t be able to move around by taxi or Uber for fear of being remembered. He would need his own vehicle. That opened up a fresh can of worms. John rubbed his face and pinched the bridge of his nose. He had cash but not enough to buy a car from a dealer, and besides, the last thing he wanted was his name on any registration documentation. He could steal one, but how would he do that? He had no idea how to hot-wire a car and had heard somewhere, you couldn’t do that to a modern car because of the electronics.
Frustrated, he clenched his fists, banging them against the mattress, sending a cloud of dust into the air. His nostrils twitched and about to sneeze, he swung his legs off the bed and stood up, moving away from the dust motes floating above the bed. This whole thing was a stupid idea. Grinding his teeth, he walked over to the window, yanking aside the flimsy curtain that was doing a poor job of keeping the light and the noise out. He scowled at the endless stream of honking traffic flowing past the hostel as people began their day, staring unseeingly at the traffic, negative thoughts flowing through his head.
He should have planned things better. There was no way he would succeed. He would end up in an Indian prison or worse, dead. John gripped the window frame, his knuckles turning white. He clenched his jaw, th
en closed his eyes and took a deep breath, forcing the dark thoughts back where he had buried them. Exhaling, he relaxed his jaw, loosening his grip on the window frame. He could do it. He inhaled deeply again, feeling the tension leave his body.
Blinking his eyes open, he allowed his vision to roam across the cityscape, scanning the skyline. On the roof of the next building, a lady in a sari was pinning wet clothes to a wire strung across the roof. Further afield on one of the rooftops, two young boys attempted to launch a kite, but it appeared there wasn’t enough wind, and they struggled to keep it in the air. Life was going on, and John needed to ensure his did too. His stomach growled. Perhaps if he ate something, his mood would improve. Just as he turned away from the window, something in the middle distance caught his eye, triggering a memory. He smiled slowly, an idea germinating. It might just be possible... but first, breakfast.
29
Breakfast improved his mood. After a plate of soft bread and spicy masala omelets, he felt better able to tackle the day. John stepped out of the hostel and found his bearings. Looking up at the building, he worked out where the window of his room was, then calculated where he needed to go. Ten minutes, a few wrong turns, and a couple of near misses with murderous drivers later, he stood in front of a pair of large, rusty, sheet-metal gates, secured by a chain. He peered between the gap in the gates into a yard filled with cars in various states of disassembly. The sound of hammering and grinding carried to him, and blue and white sparks from a welding machine flew into the air. This was the place he had spotted from his room.
John had remembered reading an article somewhere about the thriving trade in the North East of India in stolen vehicles. Vehicles were stripped down for parts, then smuggled across the borders into Myanmar and Nepal. He wondered if this was a place like that. There was only one way to find out.
He pushed one side of the gate, the slack in the chain, allowing just enough space for him to squeeze through sideways and step inside. A thin Alsatian, ribs showing through its fur, went berserk, barking and lunging on its chain. John stepped to one side to ensure he was out of reach. The sparks from the welding machine stopped, and a man squatting on the ground, a pair of dark plastic sunglasses his only eye protection, turned to see what had disturbed the dog. Slipping the sunglasses onto the top of his head, he shouted at the Alsatian and regarded John with a mixture of suspicion and puzzlement. John assumed few foreigners visited the workshop, so he smiled and holding both hands up to appear less threatening, walked toward the man who slowly got to his feet.
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