Sagramanda

by Alan Dean Foster

  Closer and closer she drew to the tiger, which lay on its belly, alert and watchful. Nearer to death but also nearer to Nirvana, to the transformation that would make her invincible, unconquerable, indomitable. Soon nothing would be able to touch her, nothing would be able to harm her. Not ever, ever, again.

  Voices sounding, coming rapidly nearer. Urgent voices, cajoling but not convincing. She knew those voices. The were the voices of men, that had never done anything but deceive her. She was very close now. She could smell the rancid stink of the dead man's eviscerated torso. She fancied she could smell the bloody perfume of the tiger's breath.

  “Cher père,” she whispered softly as she bent forward. “Do you have my mother's finger?”

  “Nahi, no!” Keshu raised his pistol as he burst through the brush. So did Lieutenant Johar, and the half dozen officers who had closed in behind him.

  Uttering a thunderous roar, the tiger leaped from where it lay crouched beside the disemboweled corpse of the tracker Schneemann and slammed into the slim, pirouetting form of the human that had dared to decisively intrude on its personal space, stepping over the invisible, imperceptible line the feeding cat had defined for itself. For just an instant smacked out of her self-imposed dream state and back to harsh, unforgiving reality, Jena had a second or so to stare with unglazed eyes up at the monster. Then she thudded into the ground with the big cat on top of her, her head twisted and bent unnaturally backward as she struck the unyielding earth.

  Gunshots rang out. Intended to startle and not to kill, the multiple shots caught the tiger's attention immediately. Unsettled by the appearance of so many bipedal shapes and confused by the loud noise, it bounded away from the figure beneath its paws and raced off into the night, abandoning its latest prey and leaving behind only smells and shadows.

  Night-goggle-equipped junior officers fired off a few more shots and continued to pursue the fleeing cat. But not too energetically, and only to the edge of the clearing. The huge animal could be anywhere, and special starlight-magnifying goggles notwithstanding, night was its ally, not theirs. Keshu and Lieutenant Johar slowed to a stop near the supine figure of the suspect. Other than a quick, repulsed glance in the direction of the partly eaten carcass, neither showed any interest in the dead man.

  Attractive, Keshu thought as he stared down at her. More so than the computer-conjured composite suggested. The sword that lay in the dirt not far from her outstretched right arm was traditional in shape and style. It looked almost as if it had been modeled after a museum piece. That was hardly surprising, he reflected. The multiple murder victims whose killer he had been tracking had not had their heads and limbs cut to pieces with an épée.

  At first, he had trouble interpreting the expression on her face. Then it struck him. Ecstasy. That made no sense. In which case, it fit with everything else that had transpired recently. Opposite him, on the other side of the body, Johar was kneeling to examine the motionless form more closely.

  “No bite marks.” He paused, studying harder. “No claw gouges: not even a scratch.” Obviously confused, he looked up at his superior. “But she is dead. I do not need someone from Forensics to tell me that.”

  Kneeling on the other side of the corpse, Keshu slipped his left hand beneath hair and head and started to lift it. Though he applied very little pressure, it moved freely. Too freely.

  “Neck's broken. Must have hit awkwardly and then the cat fell on her. Too much weight for small bones.” In death, she looked quite peaceful. At ease. Now he would never know what had motivated her to commit all those killings, all those senseless murders. Because even without conclusive proof, based on everything he had seen this night he was confident that the department had found its serial killer. The stealthy stalking, the presence of the sword: everything pointed to not just a suspect, but to one who was as guilty as he and Subrata and all the others who had participated in the hunt for this woman believed.

  And while he might have preferred it to have turned out otherwise, at least he would be spared the need to produce irrefutable evidence at a trial.

  He straightened. Overhead, the first of two backup choppers was descending toward the water hole clearing on noise-cancelled blades. “Pack her up. Make sure Forensics handles the weapon carefully. There might be indicators present: blood, DNA, hair. Like sins, evidence is not easily washed away. Minute amounts can get caught between blade and hilt, or on the decorated handle.”

  “Yes, Chief Inspector.” Turning, Johar gestured in the direction of the two unknown dead men. “What about them?”

  Keshu was only mildly curious, but wholly professional. “Full body workup. Might be some kind of connection that can be established later. In a case like this, when you can't be sure quite what's going on, you don't want to overlook anything.”

  The lieutenant nodded. Pulling his spinner, he began establishing contact with the arriving teams. Walking slowly away from the increasingly busy site, Keshu halted at the place where the clearing gave way to dense undergrowth. The tiger had vanished within, swallowed up as if it had never been. A specter, a wraith, a phantom of the jungle. But one that had left behind all-too-graphic evidence of its presence.

  They would have to notify Wildlife and Game of the incident, he knew. He did not think he would have to remind Johar to do so. The lieutenant was very efficient. Standing there in darkness increasingly filled with the noise of men and their machines, an old rhyme came to him.

  Tyger, tyger, burning bright,

  In the forest of the night.

  Turning, he looked back to where specialists were now swarming around the broken body of the foreign woman. Was she truly, for certain, inarguably, the serial murderess? Or were the improbable events of this night no more than a fantastical sequence of misattuned coincidences, and the real mass murderer was still out there somewhere, stalking the depths of the city?

  Well, there was one way he would know for certain. If the killings stopped. In that event, he did not know whether to thank the tiger or condemn it. If the woman lying dead on the ground behind him was in truth the one responsible, then victims unknown and unnamed should give thanks to the big cat. If not…

  He decided he was confident. The circumstantial evidence might not be conclusive, but it was credible. There would be no court trial, no summoning of witnesses, no lengthy parade of long-winded authorities. The thing was done.

  Sometimes, he reflected somberly, in spite of what its tens of millions of fractious, exuberant, milling inhabitants might want, or even just one very weary police inspector, India went ahead and took matters into its own primordial, indomitable hands.

  Finding a restaurant that was open all night was not a problem. In a city the size of Sagramanda, there were hundreds of establishments of every variety that never closed their doors; not for Holi, not for Ramadan, not for Christmas. Finding one that offered privacy booths required a little more searching.

  Hesitant to head for any of the dining spots in the neighborhood where he lived in secret with Depahli lest they were being watched, Taneer led his fiancée and his middleman to another busy part of the surging metropolis where they were likely to find what they needed. The Uzbek fast-food eatery met their needs admirably. Furthermore, a restaurant was a good location in which to hold their final meeting, because in addition to being exhausted, fearful, and in a hurry, they were also all ravenously hungry.

  Over a meal of vegetables, potatoes, and Uzbek horseburgers, they discussed their final business behind the shimmering privacy screen the booth provided. Looking out through the light-distorting waveforms was like trying to see through melted glass. Not trusting even a restaurant he had never visited before, Taneer used his own portable instrumentation to check out the booth's security before settling down to business.

  “Will not that European gentleman and his associates come looking for you?” Sanjay asked him as he sipped his Kanacola.

  Taneer worked on the briefcase he had placed on the table between them. Benea
th the case, the tabletop displayed a constantly shifting panorama of scenes from Uzbek legends. The display could be tuned for adult, juvenile, or child consumption, but no one was paying any attention to the built-in diversion. All eyes were on the case.

  “Why should they?” Taneer ran through the specified sequence required to open, rather than explode, the case. “Our Mr. Karlovy got what he came for.” He smiled as a soft beep indicated that he had entered the unlocking sequence correctly. “And we got what we came for.”

  In an age often defined by its universal use of credit, it was a strange sensation to set eyes on so much actual money. Though little more than stamped-out rectangles of electronically embedded paper and plastic, it still had real presence. Cash still stood for something, which was why it remained in use.

  “Got your bag?” Taneer asked the man seated across the table. Next to him, eyes very wide, Depahli was clinging to his left arm with one hand while the delicate but strong fingers of the other were moving along his leg. Though it was difficult, at the moment he would not let anything distract him.

  Wordlessly Sanjay placed on the table the takeaway bag he had requested when they had entered the restaurant.

  “How would you like your fee?” the scientist inquired politely, his hands resting on the case's implausible contents.

  A captivated Sanjay hardly knew how to respond. Even after all the time and effort he had put into this piece of business, even after enduring and surviving all the very real risks, not to mention nearly being shot, and nearly being eaten, he had never really believed, deep down, that he would be faced with something as solid and real as the contents of the case that rested on the table before him. He felt like a character in one of the movies he had so loved as a child, the viewing of which had been such a special treat for himself and the dirt-poor family out of whose unrelenting poverty he had slowly managed to raise himself.

  “I…I suppose I will have it just as you wanted yours. A little of each.”

  Nodding amenably, Taneer began passing large wads of currency across the table, riffling briefly through each bound packet before surrendering it to his middleman. Dazed, Sanjay did not even bother to count the money. Three percent of the total agreed-upon price that Chhote Pandit had negotiated. In return for one standard-size molly-sphere and a small packet of material whose contents, Sanjay realized with a start, he had not even had a chance to see clearly for himself. But he could see the money plainly enough.

  When he had finished counting and distributing, Taneer carefully closed and relocked the case. “There you are, Mr. Ghosh. Three million in U.S. dollars, euros, and rupees. Three percent of the total payment due me. I thank you for a job well done and for assistance far beyond what was originally agreed upon.”

  Sanjay regarded the takeaway bag, with its colorful external designs promoting Uzbek fast food. His gaze shifted back to the case lying in front of the scientist. Without a word, he slipped his right hand inside his bogus hitman-style vest. Alarmed, it abruptly occurred to Taneer that in asking this shopkeeper to emulate a bodyguard, to render the illusion complete the shopkeeper might actually have brought a weapon with him. And neither he nor Depahli had one.

  Seeing the sudden shift in their expressions, the perceptive Sanjay divined the reason behind their reactions. He did not have a weapon on him—but they didn't know that. Already this night he had bluffed his way through a much more nerve-racking confrontation. What if he chose to take the whole case, and all the money? They were in a very public place. If they thought he had a gun, would they still try to stop him? Could he not walk out with the entire ten million?

  Licking his lips, his right hand still resting inside his vest, he let his gaze shift from scientist to siren. “I have a confession to make.” They both tensed. “I am, sometimes to my own detriment and regret, an honest man.” Withdrawing his hand, he revealed that it held nothing grasped in his fingers. He had only been scratching an itch.

  “I know what you are thinking,” he went on. “I can see it. I will not deny that the thought has occurred to me. But I am scrupulous even when I am dealing with such things as certain recreational pharmaceuticals that are frowned upon by society at large.” He sat a little straighter on his hard-backed bench seat. “A man may be poor, but he can still be honorable. I am no longer poor. If I were to try and cheat you, I could not look again into the eyes of my beloved wife Chakra and those of my children.” Somberness gave way to a wide, engaging grin.

  “Then there is the matter of how I would be reincarnated. Thieves and crooks do not, I believe, come back as handsome men or virtuous women, or tall trees or fine-looking animals. It is a measure of mankind's failure that there are so many whose karma causes them to be reincarnated as rats and roaches.” His right hand drew the stuffed takeaway bag closer to his side of the table. “Better to be able to live with three million and oneself than with ten million and a stranger.”

  Obviously and unabashedly relieved, Taneer exhaled sharply. For her part Depahli rose, put both hands on the table, and leaned across to reward the simple shopkeeper's honesty with a kiss. Though he suspected it would be a kiss the likes of which he could no more imagine than he could envision walking away from the restaurant with three million dollars in a takeaway bag, Sanjay drew back and turned his face slightly away from her.

  “Please, miss. When I said I was an honorable man, I meant truly in all things. I am well and surely married.”

  Pausing halfway across the table she smiled, nodded, and sat back down. Taneer eyed his middleman admiringly. “You are more than honorable, Sanjay Ghosh. You are steadfast.”

  “Perhaps, but I am also not made of clay.” With the table once more separating them, he felt safe in smiling at Depahli. “Please do not tempt me again, Miss De. I fear I would not be able to resist a second time.”

  She laughed amusedly. “Don't worry, Sanjay. You're safe with me.”

  Smile fading, he nodded, serious once more. “You must have considered many options for this moment, but I have only my shop and my home village. Do you think the police will now be looking for me?”

  Taneer shook his head. “I think not. Why should they? You've done nothing wrong. I am the one who skipped out on a company contract. If anyone should contact you, feel free to tell them the truth.” He grinned. “As much or as little of it as you see fit. Your involvement required you to expedite some small business for me, that's all.”

  “Yes.” Sanjay eyed the takeaway bag. “Some small business. I know nothing beyond that.”

  A smiling Taneer spread his hands. “See? You have nothing to worry about. No one even knows that I paid you. Or if they suspect, how much I paid you. Which does not matter, because the money came from outside the country. You are quite in the clear, my honorable friend.” He rose.

  “It's been a long as well as eventful night. I am sure you would like to deposit your money in an all-night security box or a bank or two.” He put an arm around Depahli and gazed affectionately into her eyes. “We also have much to do, and all of it should be done quickly.”

  Sanjay stood, making sure the heat-seal rim of his paper bag was locked tight. While on public transport, it would not do to have any of his takeaway spill out. One last time, his eyes met those of the scientist who had been instrumental in transforming the shopkeeper's life. “I suppose that we will never meet again.”

  Taneer steepled both palms together in front of his lower face and dipped his head. “With luck,” he agreed succinctly.

  They parted. Heading for transport that would take him to the section of the city where he lived and had his little shop, Sanjay reflected on everything that had befallen him. It all seemed a dream now. There was so much he would never forget. Not least of all the providential tiger, who might as well have been sent by the gods. As someone who had been raised to be logical as well as spiritual, he knew that was unlikely. The tiger had been motivated by hunger, not an intrinsic desire to save him and his employer. If it had chosen t
o steal up behind them instead of behind the tracker, it would have taken him or Taneer or the scientist's girlfriend. Nature was an opportunist, not a meddler.

  He slowed, frowning slightly. An autocab had come up alongside him to inquire courteously if the gentleman with the takeout food might be needing a ride. Heading for the nearest west-going public transport it occurred to Sanjay that it would not only be safer to take the cab, it would be faster and easier.

  Besides, he could afford it now.

  Depahli had never thought she might one day be part of the great Indian Diaspora. As an abused child and later as an exploited adolescent, the likelihood of traveling overseas had seemed as remote to her as voyaging to the moon.

  Now as she and Taneer stepped out of the transport and hurried along the street that led to their apartment building, all possibilities seemed open to her.

  “Where shall we go first, my love?”

  “Anywhere you want, Depa,” he told her softly. “Anyplace you've ever seen in the movies, or on the vit, or heard about. Anywhere you've ever dreamed of.” He looked back down the modest but neatly landscaped street. This late (or rather, this early) in the day few vehicles were about, and even fewer pedestrians. Off to the east, the sky was just beginning to lighten.

  “We'll need to establish a base of operations first, acquire a home. Maybe in the U.S. I hear the Indian community in Los Angeles is very accepting, and the weather is not too cold. Vancouver I think we would both find beautiful, but chilly. The same for the U.K. There is always Trinidad, or Fiji.” He slipped his left arm around her. “We'll find a place, a place where we will both be happy.” He squeezed her tightly against him, and she did not resist. “A place to raise our children.