The Secrets We Live In: A Novel

by Fazle Chowdhury

  “I'm going to go look for her and bring her back. And once you see her, you'll know how right I am."

  He watched Blakensoff walk off to find his wife. Zain wondered what really made this time so different.

  “Another one, Sir?” asked the bartender.

  “No, get me some cranberry juice. I need to see what comes next with my eyes wide open, and hopefully, my bladder will keep me awake,” joked Zain.

  But Zain did notice a certain new spring in Blakensoff’s step. From where Zain was standing, he saw Blakensoff across the garden speaking to a woman. Zain watched as he put his arm around her and headed in his direction. He rid himself of all judgment. But as Blakensoff walked closer, Zain noticed that something was amiss.

  "Ah...there you are," Blakensoff said.

  "I thought you got tired of waiting for me and walked off. She'll be here in a second. She ran into a friend she hadn't seen for a while."

  "Sure," Zain laughed.

  "Ok, I can’t find her,” Blakensoff admitted.

  He looked around, turning his head from one direction to another. “You know, Zain, my wife can work a room.”

  “And what’s her name?” Zain asked.

  “Brianna,” replied Blakensoff.

  Zain signaled to the security.

  “Edward, I can get this guy to track her down. The question is do you want me to?” Zain asked.

  Blakensoff looked worried.

  “I don’t know, Zain, think I’ll just wait,” he said.

  Zain whispered to the security. The man clearly got his instructions, but Blakensoff did not know what they were.

  “So married for six years, huh?”

  “Look, I know you don’t believe me, but it’s true. Once you see her, talk to her, you’ll know,” said Blakensoff.

  “And how long did you date before?”

  “Only a month.” Blakensoff shrugged.

  “Missed the married life that much?”

  Both men burst into laughter.

  “Look, Zain, I know what you're going to say. That I look like a crazy old guy for marrying a woman almost two decades younger than me, I get it.”

  “I don’t think you do,” joked Zain, shaking his head.

  “When I look at my other marriages, the long engagement periods killed me, and then when I finally got married, the marriage failed.”

  “They failed because you cheated on them.”

  “Well, that’s what happens when you’re engaged for too long. So this time, I was spontaneous.”

  “Let me guess—you eloped,” said Zain.

  “Hell, yeah.”

  "Whatever you say,"

  Zain waved his hand to a few people he knew. He also understood what Blakensoff was trying to do. He wanted to prove to Zain marriage was worth it.

  "Brianna, there you are, darling.” Blakensoff waved.

  “Come over here."

  He walked over and grabbed his wife’s hand. Zain approached them, maneuvering around the crowd as he did so.

  "This is the man of the hour. Brianna, meet Zain Auzaar, and Zain, meet the love of my life," said Blakensoff.

  At that moment, one of the lights that had been flashing in his eyes went out, and Zain could not clearly see Blakensoff or his wife. But now, the air-cooled his insides and felt as though it left icicles in its wake. He squinted, and he couldn't believe what he saw.

  Blakensoff’s wife Brianna was Zain’s past love, Aylin.

  Is this the liquor talking? Zain asked himself. He flexed his fingers to test if this was, in fact, reality, to see if he was drunker than he thought.

  “You will have to forgive me, Mrs. Blakensoff…the lights, the air, the music…they were a little too distracting for me to welcome you properly.”

  “Didn’t I tell you how kind and chivalrous he is, darling?” said Blakensoff.

  “Your name is Zain?” she asked.

  “Yes…”

  “It’s such a beautiful name,” she said.

  “Thank you. I used to know someone a long time ago who said the same thing.”

  “Really, must be charming?”

  She laughed with the most angelic glee that emphasized her dimples.

  “I honestly wouldn’t know,” replied Zain.

  Blakensoff had joined another conversation, and a group of women hurried by, accidentally knocking Brianna over. She would have fallen, but Zain caught her by her hip, keeping her upright.

  “Thank you,” she said, looking into his eyes.

  “It’s no trouble, Mrs. Blakensoff.”

  Despite the intimate moment, Brianna maintained her composure. “What’s this, Mrs. Blakensoff? Call me Brianna.”

  Blakensoff interrupted.

  “Darling, I’ve been meaning to introduce you to this gentleman right here…”

  The moment was eerily reminiscent of something Zain had experienced before. The feeling, the sentiment, felt exactly like what he had experienced in his past. Zain felt he was seeing people who weren’t there. He saw Brianna, who looked identical to Aylin, but that could not be possible. His mind and heart were playing a ruthless and reckless game with him, or so he thought.

  He walked away, using all of his strength not to look back. After a few steps, he gave in. He had thought that by now, the identical image of the woman from his past would've disappeared, but she was still standing there. It was impossible. He was imagining this. Something wasn’t right.

  Brianna resembled Aylin Akhundov, and there was no mistake. This was her staring back into his eyes. Part of him was hoping she was merely acting like she didn't recognize him for the sake of her husband. She was seventeen the last time they saw each other, after all. Zain shook his head in disbelief. The love of his life was with another man.

  His curiosities remained mutinous of why the different name. Why was she acting as if she didn’t know him? But how was he going to go about finding the answers without letting Blakensoff know?

  Salima tapped him on the shoulder.

  "There you are, Sir! I've been looking for you.”

  “What is it, Salima?” Zain asked.

  "Jack Evans is here and is requesting to see you.”

  Zain groaned. What is it with these ambassadors choosing the night of his party to call for meetings?

  "Did he tell you what this meeting is about?" Zain asked.

  “Just seemed urgent. You know him—he likes to have one on ones,” said Salima.

  She noticed Zain looking over at Blakensoff’s wife, but she wasn't going to say anything while they were amid the party guests. "The Ambassador is waiting in the Khyber Room."

  "Tell him he can keep waiting," Zain said.

  "This is a party. He should be out there enjoying himself. Whatever he wants to talk about, it can wait."

  Salima gave a look of urgency.

  "I don't think he can.”

  "Salima, really?”

  “I know you don’t want to deal with him, Sir, but it may prove worthwhile.”

  Evans had been a classmate of Zains at Oxford. Contemporaries from day one and on opposite sides since the beginning. Before becoming ambassador, he had worked in Hong Kong for his father’s investment firm, creating his own hedge fund management business. During the last few years, he had become a key donor to the party in power at Westminster. The Prime Minister appointed him ambassador in Paris to show his gratitude. He was a man of upper-class mannerisms and conservative attitudes and had a total disregard for ambassadors to countries with non-advanced economies.

  “You know, I used to throw parties to get away from my professors, then from my parents, then from all the people I despised. I feel as though over time, my options are dwindling.”

  “I sympathize, Sir, but…”

  “No, no, Salima…I’m coming,” relented Zain.

  "Salima, I hope he isn't touching any of my stuff in there. You know I leave a lot of artifacts on display and given his family’s contributions to the Imperial Museum…you know what I mean.
”

  “Sir, we have security cameras and half a dozen agents around. I’m sure he’ll think twice before he steals. We have to go now—it's going to take us some time to get through this crowd."

  "All right, fine."

  Zain gave up and allowed Salima to drag him through the crowd. It looked as if the number of guests had grown since he first stepped out into the garden. He dreaded seeing Evans.

  ╔ ——————————————— ╗

  CHAPTER

  NINE

  ╚ ——————————————— ╝

  “Salima, can’t we give that wretched troglodyte some filth from the Seine to have him leave the premises? Make it a diplomatic incident…he loves publicity.”

  Zain knew why Salima was walking him to the room—she didn't trust that he would go on his own. Zain had to admit that he would've skipped out on the meeting and left Evans waiting if he was alone right now.

  "Hey, Salima, what do you call Jack when he forgets to ask," Zain asked.

  “No, Sir, what?” she asked without much interest.

  “A Jackass!” laughed Zain.

  Salima was not amused.

  "Sir, don't start again. You know I wouldn't insist on your meeting, but in this delicate time, we need all the friends we can get.”

  “Salima, let me tell you something about Jack…he’s an ass and an asshole in one,” said Zain.

  “You know how he blows things out of proportion. I bet it's not even worth discussing. By the way, don’t go too far; I need you as an excuse if I can’t stand him after a few minutes."

  “I’ll be outside, Sir,” she said sarcastically.

  “Besides, I would never miss an opportunity to hear what Ambassador Evans has to say to you," she laughed.

  "Thanks a lot," Zain chuckled.

  Evans had a reputation of pushing Zain's buttons, and Salima knew that all too well.

  "Well," he looked at her and took a deep breath.

  "Here goes..."

  Zain opened the door to find Evans sitting on his modular sectional. Zain shook his head, thinking that it’s bad enough that, for centuries, men like Evans had been chosen by their respective governments that imprisoned and shamed people of old civilizations, but now Evans propped his feet up, desecrating a room that held artifacts from four centuries of Mughal history.

  "Zain!" Evans looked up.

  "Jack," Zain's voice turned cold.

  He remained aloof, looking at this troglodyte, making himself at home—his home, taking it over, invading it as his government did to other countries for centuries.

  "Zain, you old fart, fantastic couch. Didn’t think your government could afford even the polish for leather like this.”

  Zain sent Salima a despairing glance.

  “I’ll wait outside, Sir,” said Salima.

  Evans winked.

  “She’s a looker.”

  Zain ignored him and situated himself opposite Evans.

  “So why am I here, Jack, talking to you and not enjoying my party?”

  Zain wanted to say more but stopped himself before saying anything he would later regret. Evans was used to getting his way.

  "Zain, my Prime Minister is not so happy that your government decided to go behind our backs and test a ballistic missile, especially when he had an understanding that we would funnel in millions of pounds in return for no military exercises.

  “I represent my government’s interests specific to the Republique government. I wasn’t aware testing ballistic missiles violated the terms of military exercises,” said Zain.

  Evans leaned forward.

  “They were testing them openly at this place, what is it called, this place A-s-k-e-e-r-a-n”

  “You mean Askan” said Zain.

  "Zain, you listen to me. I don't like anything being done behind my back. Look—a year ago, I single-handedly carved out a £300 million aid package for your government. Do you remember that?”

  “Jack, that was something you hashed out with my predecessor. Why are you mentioning this with me?”

  “Because, now after this international incident, I can easily have it shredded in a second,” threatened Evans.

  Zain thought about it for a moment.

  “Are you listening to me, Zain? You have forty-eight hours to get your government to halt these exercises," Evans coldly demanded.

  "Now, Jack, you know better than to threaten me of all people."

  Zain smiled.

  “I’ll leave that option to you, Zain. See this as a threat or not—your choice—but understand your options. Do I make myself clear?"

  Zain had always found it hard talking to Evans, but the ambassador had huge sway in foreign capitals. But Zain would not be talked down to in this manner, certainly not in his prized Khyber Room where the paintings of old Mughal emperors that hung on the walls seemed to judge Zain for him to being soft over this descendent of a colonialist. Evans's threat was real, but Zain had an answer.

  “The problem with you, Jack, is that you always focus on demands. It’s your way or no way but understand this—” Zain smirked—

  “before I take this to my Prime Minister, I will highlight the fact of your tone.”

  Evans saw that Zain was not deterred, and an alarm rose on his face.

  "Zain…maybe I’ve been a little hasty, and we should probably talk this over a little more. My government just doesn’t want these exercises to continue. We want some order in place as we assist on your nuclear deal,” Evans explained.

  Seeing that Evans was shifting his tone, Zain cared little. As he looked at the nearest shelf, he saw the hidden camera in the tiny corner of the room. Realizing his security was in full view of the conversation he was having. A plan clicked into place. Zain wanted Evans to gravel and pay, get down on his knees, but he knew that was impossible, at least right now.

  “And it’s not that we won’t help you with this nuclear deal, but if you don’t play ball, we can certainly make sure of aid or no aid; you and your government will be in no shape to keep your state together,” said Evans as he slowly pumped up the volume on his threat.

  "I'm done talking, Zain, but I want to start seeing some progress on this. So, how soon can I expect that to happen?"

  Zain drummed up his fingers on the chair and thought. He wasn’t just going to screw Evans. It was border-line coming close to having one of his men conduct a bullet hit right on his forehead.

  "Jack, you shouldn't be burdening yourself with this.” Zain got up from his chair and moved closer to the other furniture, never breaking eye contact.

  "You want action, you’ll see action. But it might look a little different from what you have, shall we say, proposed.”

  “What do you mean?” asked Evans, raising an eyebrow.

  “Well, when I speak to my Prime Minister, his chief of army staff and the head of his intelligence agencies will, of course, be present. And as much as I would like this to be for his ears only, I know that will not be the case.”

  “What are you getting at?”

  “I’m just saying, your words might be perceived differently by others listening in.”

  Evans looked perplexed.

  “On another note,” said Zain,

  “remember the golf game at Relais De Margaux?”

  “What about it?” asked Evans.

  “The four barons that we teamed up with had some pending concerns over their business in Sierra Leone…thought maybe you can help them out.”

  "How so?" Evans's inquiring eyes opened wide.

  “I think their subsidiaries are having some minor issues and, well, with your expertise, maybe they can help you get a seat on their board.”

  Evans understood now that Zain possibly had private information related to his businesses. The Evans Group was an energy, commodities, and services company based in Leeds. With energy prices on the rise, the company was faring poorly but stayed afloat to provide the perception in the global markets that
all was well. It had safeguarded against its high stock price where not even the market was suspicious of its operations. But even Evans knew the true financial condition of his company that was marred by ongoing innovative accounting fraud. Evans feared that perhaps Zain knew, and one thing he was eager to protect was avoiding the dissolution of his three-hundred-year-old family business.

  Through his networks, Zain knew that the Evans group was secretly holding meetings with a host of barristers to represent them if and when that doomsday scenario actually played out. Evans feared Zain’s influence; though small, it was crucial enough to cause harm.

  “What do you want, Zain?”

  “Oh, I don’t want anything, Jack. I’m just a messenger. Whether you want my help or not is up to you but understand I have options too.”

  Now Zain had Evans’ attention. Evans wanted a seat in a powerful conglomerate to influence and open markets for his businesses and as a sweet retirement after his tenure in Paris in less than a year. As much as Evans hated to admit it, he needed Zain's help.

  "Really, Zain. What do you really want out of this?"

  Zain smirked and rubbed the back of his head.

  "We have our differences, but in the end, we're all in the same position when it comes to doing whatever we can to take care of our families, right?”

  Zain was piling on the lies. Little did Evans know that Zain had no plans to speak to those barons and would use them for something else to get back at Evans. Now a conciliatory, Evans became considerably interested in Zain’s words.

  "Let’s talk some more, but my office can set that up sooner rather than later, you old fart," Evans joked.

  He smiled to not give the impression that he knew Zain couldn't be trusted. He straightened Zain’s tie playfully.

  "We can't have you going back to the party looking disheveled, now, can we?" said Evans.

  A knock sounded on the door, and Salima slowly entered.

  As Evans began to exit, Zain spoke out gently.

  “Stop Bagratuni from purchasing arms.”

  Evans spun around.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “I said stop Bagratuni from buying arms.”

  Evans pasted on a smile, and it occurred to him that Zain knew more than he let on.