John took a sip and went back to looking at his phone. He sensed her watching him in the mirror.
“You’re English?”
John looked up, pretending to be surprised, turning toward her.
“Yes.” He smiled and added, “You’re Indian?”
That got a chuckle.
“I’ve always been observant.” He gave her another smile, then turned back to his phone, hoping he wasn’t playing things too cool.
“Are you here for business?”
John turned back. “Of sorts, yes.”
“Staying in the hotel?”
“No, I’m staying nearby.” John tried to keep it vague without being evasive. “A serviced apartment.”
“Ah, okay.” Maadhavi nodded. “Is it your first time in Bangalore?”
“No, I’ve been here before.” Suddenly, he knew a way to get the conversation flowing—bring up a subject everyone spoke about. “But the traffic is so much worse since I came last”
Maadhavi nodded and again, gave a half smile.
“I know.” She sighed. “It’s got to the stage, I think twice about going anywhere.”
John nodded in sympathy. “The government needs to take some drastic action.”
“Ha!” Maadhavi shook her head and went back to staring at her glass.
Shit. He had to keep the conversation going. John half stood and held out his hand.
“My name is ...” It was on the tip of his tongue to say John, but he stopped himself in time. “William.”
Maadhavi turned, looked at his hand for a moment, then took it. “Maadhavi.” Her handshake was confident, not hard like a man’s, firm, yet still feminine.
“A pleasure to meet you, Maadhavi.” John sat down and picked up his drink. “Where are you from, Maadhavi?”
“From here, Bangalore.”
“Oh.”
Maadhavi raised an eyebrow.
“Ah, no, I assumed you were from another part of India, given we’re in a hotel,” John explained.
Maadhavi smiled. “Actually, I live in the hotel.”
“Really?” John took a sip of his drink, then put it down. “I’ve never met anyone who lives in a hotel. I thought it only happened in the movies.”
Maadhavi’s forehead creased in a slight frown, which quickly disappeared. She picked up her drink and toyed with the olive.
“If you don’t mind me asking, Maadhavi, what do you do?”
Maadhavi hesitated, still twirling the olive around in her drink. Picking up the glass, she took a sip, then turned to John.
“I’m an actress.”
John feigned surprise. “Really? Plays or films?”
John could see Maadhavi visibly relax.
“Mainly films.” She gave him a smile, a proper smile this time, one that included her eyes.
John leaned toward her conspiratorially and lowered his voice. “Are you... famous?”
Maadhavi chuckled, her eyes twinkling with amusement. “A little.”
John raised his glass. “To Maadhavi, the famous actress. May you always be successful... and happy.”
Maadhavi tilted her head to one side, watching him as he took a drink. “Thank you.” She then picked up her glass and took a long drink, half emptying the glass.
John pretended not to notice.
Maadhavi turned to look at him again, studying him while John looked at his drink, pretending to be unaware.
“William, have you eaten?”
John looked up. “No,” he lied, “in fact, I haven’t.”
“Then would you like to join me for dinner? It’s the least I can do, and I hate to dine alone.”
“I would be honored, Miss famous actress.”
Maadhavi giggled, drained the rest of her drink, then slipped off her stool.
“There’s a very good Indian restaurant upstairs. They do an excellent biryani. Have you tried biryani before, William?”
Again, John lied, “No, but if you say it’s good, I’ll be happy to try it.”
“Good, that’s settled then.” Maadhavi turned toward Ramesh, who had been eavesdropping with interest, pretending to polish glasses. She gave a slight nod, which Ramesh returned.
John reached for his wallet, and Maadhavi placed a hand on his arm.
“It’s taken care of, William.”
John raised his eyebrows. “No, that’s not right, I bought you a drink.”
“Don’t worry, someone else is paying for it, and that person can afford it.”
“Oh.” John pretended to look confused even as he realized Patil was footing the hotel bills. “Thank you.” Damn, he should have ordered a round for the whole bar.
“Come. I’m starving.”
59
The maitre d’ seated them in a quiet corner, away from inquisitive eyes, although when they entered the restaurant, a polite but excited buzz was clear from the Indian diners.
Maadhavi sat with her back to the room, which suited John, who preferred to see who was coming and going. He didn’t know what he would do if Patil walked in but guessed as Maadhavi was dining with him, she had made no plans with the man.
The staff fussed over her. Part of that could have been because she was a celebrity, but she treated them kindly and with respect, and it was obvious they all liked her. They ordered a bottle of red and agreed to share a mutton biryani between them.
Now that Maadhavi had let her guard down, she was easy to talk to—intelligent, witty, and well-informed. Not for the first time, John wondered what she was doing with a man like Patil. She asked John about his work and his background, but John avoided giving too much away while trying not to be evasive. He had heard somewhere, the best lies are based on the truth, so most of what he told her was based on fact—he just left out the controversial details. As far as Maadhavi was concerned, he was an expat in Bangalore to manage the back-office operations for a financial services company. She appeared satisfied with that.
The biryani was as good as promised—soft well-cooked mutton in moist, fragrant saffron-infused rice. It was delicious, and John needed it to soak up the alcohol. He thought he could handle his booze but was struggling to keep up with Maadhavi, who, despite her intake, remained lucid.
As John poured the rest of the second bottle of Argentinean Malbec into Maadhavi’s glass, she dabbed her lips with her napkin, looked down at the mark left by her lipstick and the biryani spices as if surprised, then smiled at John.
“I’ve really enjoyed talking to you, William. It’s rare I get to have normal conversations with normal people.”
“I saw the reaction when you walked in.” John gestured with his head toward the rest of the restaurant. “Then why live in a hotel?” He frowned. “Surely, that must affect your privacy?”
“It’s a long story, William,” Maadhavi replied and looked down at her plate. “Sometimes, you don’t get to choose how you live your life.” She looked up at John, suddenly, appearing very sad.
John raised an eyebrow. He agreed—his own life hadn’t turned out the way he would have chosen—but he wanted to find out more.
“What do you mean? You are a young, successful, intelligent, and if you don’t mind me saying, beautiful woman. The world is your oyster.”
“Huh.” She drained her glass and signaled for the waiter. Looking back at John, she asked, “A digestif?”
“Not yet, thank you.” His wine glass was still two-thirds full.
Maadhavi ordered a Yamazaki.
“Nice whisky.”
“Yes.” Maadhavi gave a half smile. “It is, but I order it because it’s expensive.”
John raised an eyebrow.
“Don’t worry.” Maadhavi waved a dismissive hand. “It’s a small revenge I take pleasure in.”
“Are you not happy, Maadhavi?” Keeping the puzzled expression on his face, he waved his hand in a gesture meant to encompass the whole hotel. “You have a lifestyle millions of people in this country, in fact, the world can only dream of.”
“Everything comes at a price,” she said in a low voice, so low, John had to sit forward to hear her over the buzz of the restaurant. She looked up, fixing her gaze on John.
Were those tears in her eyes?
“Sometimes, that price is too much to bear.” She picked up her glass and drained it in one go, banged the empty glass down on the table, and then stood. “I’m sorry, William, I have to go. It’s been a pleasure talking to you.”
John stood as well, his napkin in his hand, both eyebrows raised in surprise.
“Don’t worry about all this.” Maadhavi waved at the table. “It’s all covered.” Turning, she walked out the door as John sank slowly back into his chair, wondering what was going on in her life.
60
Rajiv drummed his fingers on the desk and stared at the phone amid the never-ending pile of paperwork.
He had tried to make inroads on the case files all morning but was having trouble concentrating. In fact, his mood had been off since he had paid the visit to Patil’s house and briefed Captain Sharma.
Had he condemned John to life in prison… or even death? Was the westerner he thought he had seen even John? He exhaled loudly and stood. Walking over to the window, he looked out. A pair of squirrels ran circles around the trunk of the Peepal tree, their tails bobbing up and down in excitement, but Rajiv paid them no attention, his mind still on John. Where are you, John? What are you doing? He looked back at the phone on his desk, then looked at his watch; eleven thirty in the morning. He did a quick calculation; ten a.m. in Dubai. Giving John the benefit of the doubt, if he was still in Dubai, it was a reasonable time to call. Rajiv walked back to the desk and picked up the phone. Scrolling through the call history, he found the Dubai number John had called from and dialed.
It rang for a while, but when no one answered, Rajiv sighed and cut the call. Sitting down in his chair, he rested his head against the back of the seat while he twirled the phone in his hand. What had John said when he phoned last? He had hinted he was coming, that he needed to seek justice for what Surya Patil had done in Oman, for sending two hired killers after him.
“I really hope you aren’t here yet,” he said to no one in particular. Dropping the phone back on the desk, he picked up a file as the phone buzzed. Rajiv looked at the caller ID.
“Speak of the devil.”
He picked up the phone but said nothing.
“You called?” said the familiar voice on the other end.
“I did. Where are you?”
“You called my number in Dubai.”
Rajiv leaned back in his chair, running his fingers through his hair with his left hand. “Well, I hope you are in Dubai.”
“I appreciate your concern.”
“Look.” Rajiv sighed. “I have a job to do. A duty I’ve sworn to perform...”
“I know.”
“I wouldn’t want any harm to come to you. You are a good man, but I can’t do nothing.”
“I understand, my friend. You are still a friend?”
What was he? What was the right thing to do?
“As much as a man in my position can be. It’s... difficult.”
“Yeah.” There was a pause for a moment. “You must do what you have to do. And I must do what I have to do.” Rajiv screwed up his face and rubbed his temple as John continued, “We are both men of honor.”
“That’s what worries me.” Rajiv exhaled loudly. “Be careful.”
“I’m always careful, but don’t worry about me. Whatever I do, I’ll try not to put you in a difficult position.”
Rajiv nodded as if John could see him.
“I get the feeling from what you’re saying, you aren’t really in Dubai. You’re already here.” He heard John chuckle on the other end.
“One shouldn’t always listen to one’s feelings.”
“No, but... I thought I saw you here in Bangalore, and a suspicious westerner with a stolen car disappeared from a hotel I investigated. So, putting two and two together...”
“You got five. That’s bad math and not very good police work. I think you are losing your touch.”
“I’m not so sure.”
“Well, I hope you catch him, whoever he is, whatever he has done. I have to go now. Good luck, my friend.”
The phone went dead, and Rajiv stared blankly at the wall in front of him. Unfortunately, he didn’t feel any better than before the call. In fact, his mood was worse.
61
Surya Patil glanced at the caller display, then answered the call.
“What has she done now?” he growled. He glanced at the gold Rolex on his wrist. He needed to be in U.B. City soon for dinner, and he wouldn’t get there if he was answering calls.
“Ah, S-S-Sir,” a hesitant voice stuttered.
“Get on with it. I haven’t got all day.” Surya pushed back from his study desk, preparing to leave his house.
“Yes, Sir, it’s just that last night, Madam had dinner with a man.”
“What?” Surya stopped in his tracks, his grip tightening on the phone. “Do we know him? Is he a director, an actor?”
“A foreigner, Sir.”
Surya felt a little knot of fear growing in the pit of his belly.
“Why did you wait until now to call me? I pay you to keep me informed.”
“Yes, Sir, sorry, Sir. I was unwell, Sir. I just came back to work now for the evening shift.”
“Idiot!” Surya shook his head. “I don’t suppose you got a name, a description?”
“Ah, yes, Sir.” The voice sounded happier. “Not a name, Sir, but my colleague described him.”
“Well, go on, hurry up.”
“Sir, he ah, had gray pants and a dark blue shirt—”
“Not his clothes, you bloody idiot, his face! What did he look like?”
“S-S-S-Sorry, Sir. Brown hair, a beard, taller than Ma’am.”
“Dark brown or light brown?”
“Sir?”
“His hair, you fool!”
“Oh, light brown, Sir.”
Surya frowned. That didn’t sound like John Hayes. Then who the hell was she wining and dining on his account? He would have to teach her another lesson, stupid...
“Sir?”
“What is it?”
“My ah... payment.”
Surya ended the call in disgust—the bloody idiots he had to deal with.
He stuffed the phone in his pocket, grabbed the door handle, wrenching it open, and stormed down the stairs.
“We go now,” he roared as he reached the entrance lobby. The resting policemen scrambled to their feet and filed out the door, running to the vehicles. Captain Sharma walked out of his room.
“Sir?”
“Are you deaf? I’m going out. Now, you idiot!”
The commando blinked, hesitated a moment, then jumped into action.
“Yes, Sir.”
Surya pushed his way out the door as his driver jumped up from his seat under the tree and ran to start the Mercedes. Behind him, Captain Sharma ran out, his MP-5 gripped in his left hand and began issuing commands to the men lined up beside the escort SUVs.
Surya strode across the driveway, spotting his two private guards standing under the tree.
“You two. Come with me,” he shouted,
The men looked at each other, then flicked their cigarettes away and walked over to the Mercedes.
“Not in my fucking car!” Surya pointed toward the SUVs. “Ride with them and hurry up, you useless buggers.”
Surya opened the rear door of the Mercedes and sat down, slamming the door behind him.
His driver turned back to look at him. “Where to, Sir?”
“Vijaya Palace.”
The driver bobbed his head. “Yes, Sir.”
The car started to move toward the gate when there was a tap on Surya’s window. He powered down the window an inch and glared through the gap at Captain Sharma.
“Sir, where
are we going?”
Surya turned to his driver and growled, “You tell him.”
62
John pulled over, turned off the engine, and stared out the windscreen, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel. He had been thinking all the while about staking out Patil’s house, but the more he thought about it, the more he realized it was too risky. Security was too tight, and if Rajiv had been to his old hotel, he might have given Patil’s guards his description. Even though he had changed the plates, if he, a westerner, was spotted on the same street, in a white Hyundai hatchback, it wouldn’t bode well for him. He sighed. So, he had to go with his second option, but he didn’t really like that one either. It was too soon, but he couldn’t sit around and do nothing. He was nearing the end of his second week away from Adriana and didn’t want the situation to drag out. The longer he was in Bangalore, the riskier it was, so he had to bring things to a head... safely.
He made his decision. He would go back to the hotel and see if he could see Maadhavi again. Hopefully, she wouldn’t think he was stalking her and perhaps, open up more, give him something he could use against Patil.
He locked the car, walked to the end of the street where it joined the main road, and waved down a rickshaw. He told the rickshaw wallah where to go, hiding his exasperation as he went through the painful rigmarole of agreeing on a price, despite the rickshaw having a meter, then sat back in the seat as the three-wheeler moved off. It took fifteen minutes to near the turn for the hotel. John was lost in thought until the rickshaw stopped. He looked up and saw the lanes blocked in front.
“What’s the matter?”
“Jam hogaya, Saar,” the rickshaw wallah stated the obvious. “Traffic jam.” He turned his head and grinned at John, exposing a row of rotten brown teeth. “Don’t worry, Saar! I can go around.” He bobbed his head, revved the engine, and pulled out onto the opposite lane into the oncoming traffic.
“Bloody hell,” John winced and closed his eyes, gripping the seat with both hands. The rickshaw accelerated past the line of stalled traffic, bumping and swerving around potholes and wider oncoming vehicles as the air filled with angry horns. Suddenly, John was thrown forward as the rickshaw braked heavily. He opened his eyes, expecting an imminent accident. Just at the turn for the hotel, a white Land Cruiser, headlights on full beam, red flashing lights on the roof, turned across in front of them and headed toward the hotel, followed by a white S Class Mercedes, its windows blacked out, and two more white SUVs with flashing red lights. John couldn’t see who was in the Mercedes, the window tint too dark, but he knew in his gut who it was.
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