“My God!” Indi touched Oliver’s arm. “This is brilliant, Oliver, I can’t believe you’ve thought of all this.”
“So, what you think,” Ashok said, “is that the wealth is hidden around the house, somewhere up there?”
Oliver shook his head. “No, that’s just it. Again I’m assuming, guessing here almost, but I think that is what Ramesh Rai meant to do, bury or hide the maharajah’s wealth up there in Jane’s house and then send him the book. He would know by then that Ramesh had gone, almost certainly with Jane, perhaps Bodi Yadav was to come back to Baijur with a message. But something went wrong. I think the fear in the poem means something and I think that whoever killed Phillip maybe came after Jane as well. Maybe they meant to kill Jane but got the mistress instead, maybe Jane witnessed the murder, it said in the reports that her hand prints were all over the wall, she might have struggled perhaps, known more than was safe.” Oliver stopped. He rubbed his hands over his face, suddenly exhausted from talking so much. He took a deep breath and looked at Indi. “What do you think?”
She was silent for a while, then she said, “I don’t know. I think what you’ve said makes more sense than anything else but where does it leave us? If it’s not at the house, then where is it?”
Oliver folded his pieces of paper up and tucked them inside the book. He saw the cutting, the photograph of Jane and Phillip Mills with the maharajah and Ramesh Rai. “I don’t know where it is,” he said, looking at the picture, “but one thing I am certain of is that your father was a very clever man, Indi. His poetry, his philosophy in this book are concerned with love, with goodness, with religion. I think that he only did what he did because he had to.”
Ashok stood. “We must go back to the house,” he said, “we will find something there to lead us, I am sure of it.”
Oliver glanced at Indi. “Yes,” she said, “he is right, we should go back up to Jane’s house.”
He nodded. He didn’t want to waste time, it made him edgy, but if it meant something to both Indi and Ashok, then he supposed it wouldn’t do any harm, providing they were quick about it. “Right,” he said, handing the book back to Indi. He stood. “Do you know the way, Ashok, or shall I map-read?”
“Please to map-read again for me, Oliver,” Ashok said. And leading the way, he walked silently back to the jeep.
An hour later, John pulled into the dusty square in Ghanerao and stopped. His guide nodded and jumped out. “I will not be long, sir,” he said, glancing over to the small shop selling drinks, “I will buy water and ask the keeper for you.”
“Thank you.” John put the battered old Land Rover into reverse and swung it around. He watched the scene in the rearview mirror and kept the engine running. He was hot, damp with sweat and exhausted; it had been a hell of a drive and he needed a rest but he didn’t want to risk it. Oliver’s note had been short and tense. John wasn’t going to waste time.
“They have been here,” the guide said a few minutes later, as he climbed back into the jeep. “Earlier, about an hour before. There have been four strangers in the village today.”
John jerked around. “Four?”
“That is what man said. Two Indians, two Europeans.”
“Damn!” The eyes of the Indian John had collided with flashed momentarily into his mind. “Where were they headed?”
“To house in hills, sir.”
“You know the way?”
The guide nodded. He had a map and a compass but John had seen him use only the compass so far. He was bloody skilled for a guide. “Please, drive on,” he said.
John shifted gears and accelerated off. Two Indians, he thought, putting his foot down, Ashok and who else? A fresh sweat broke out on his forehead and ran down the side of his face. “Jesus Christ,” he murmured, his hand gripping the gear lever. It was a hell of a long time since he’d felt fear like this.
Khan lay in the thicket on the hillside, the smell of the ground close to his nostrils, his face on the dry, cracked earth. He listened to the voices above him on the verandah of the house.
He waited.
He had his instructions, he knew what to do but the urge to move now was so strong it made him hard, continually and painfully hard. The thought of the kill was so erotic that his erection pressed into the scorched rock as he lay on his stomach, and the blood throbbed. He wanted it over, he wanted relief.
Suddenly, he heard a noise. He glanced up.
The girl had clambered halfway down the slope, out of view, and sat in the shade of the house’s overhang. She looked out at the hills and took off her shirt. Her underwear was soaked with sweat. Stretching her arms behind her back, she unfastened her bra and peeled it off, taking a cloth from her bag. She wiped her chest, around her throat, her breasts, blotting the tiny droplets of perspiration from her torso.
Khan held his breath.
She sat still for a few moments and he reached down to his waist for his knife. He dug the razor-sharp steel against the palm of his hand and continued to watch her. She lifted her skirt and ran the cloth the length of her bare legs, up to her thighs, then to the flat of her stomach. She put the cloth back in her bag and reached for her bra again.
Khan moved. He closed his eyes for a split second and saw her beautiful body streaked with blood, her legs open, her eyes wild with fear and he flinched. He knocked a stone with his foot and sent it rattling down the hillside. The girl jumped up.
“Oliver?” she shouted. “Oliver?”
“You all right, Indi?”
“Yes…” She looked up and saw the figure of the young man.
Khan watched as she pulled on the rest of her clothes and ran back up the hillside, losing her footing a few times, stumbling twice. He smiled.
Stupid, stupid girl. Didn’t think to look where the stone came from, didn’t think to say what she’d seen. He let go of the knife and brought his hand back up to his face. He wiped the sweat from his eyes. He was looking forward to finishing the job, he thought with relish, it was beginning to look as if this one could well be worth all the aggravation.
Oliver pulled Indi up to level ground. “Are you OK?” he asked. “You looked a bit spooked.”
She laughed nervously. “I’m fine, really.” They walked over to the jeep. “Where to?” She dropped her bag on the back seat.
Oliver shrugged. “Ashok’s just looking at the map for ideas, temples etc., something that might have provided inspiration.” He was getting impatient; it made him nervous, all this waiting. He couldn’t help feeling they were pushing their luck.
Indi sat down on the ground and looked up at Ashok as he came around to her side. She shielded her eyes from the sun. “Come up with anything?”
He shook his head. “Would you like to have a look, Oliver?”
Oli took the map. “Don’t know what good it’ll do.” He ran his finger across it. “Hey, Ashok? What’s this cross here?”
Ashok peered in. “It was a hospital and a leper colony, I think. I remember my mother talking about it and I am thinking it was quite well-known. It had an English doctor, I believe.”
Oliver looked up, his face a mixture of shock and excitement.
“The sick rose!” he cried, ‘“O Rose thou art sick, the invisible worm…’” He put his hands up to his face and shook his head in disbelief. “The sick rose is the leper! The colony, that’s where he went, that’s where it is!”
Indi pulled herself up. “I don’t believe it! Are you sure?”
“No! Of course I’m not sure but it’s worth a try.” He took the bag off the seat and pulled out the book. He looked at the poem. “It’s here, the sick rose, the last clue.” Holding it in his hand, he opened the driver’s door of the jeep. “Come on,” he called, “let’s get going.” Ashok walked around to the passenger side and climbed in.
“Indi?”
Indi took one last look at the house. It gave her an eerie feeling and she shivered despite the intensity of the heat. “Right,” she said, climbing into the back. �
�Let’s go.” And, glancing behind her as a shadow passed behind the house, she put it down to her imagination and looked forward again as the jeep moved off.
John and his guide drove off the main road and took the track that led to the house. They saw the tire marks of another vehicle and pulling over. John switched off the engine while the guide jumped down to examine them.
“I think it is Land Rover, sir,” he called, running his fingers along the marks. He stood and walked across to the edge of the track, looking across the hillside. He stood like that for several minutes.
“Are you all right?” John had climbed down and walked over to him.
The guide looked at his compass, then listened again. He turned to John. “There is another vehicle,” he said, “perhaps fifteen, twenty miles from here. It was here, at house.”
“What sort of vehicle?”
The guide got down on his hands and knees and leaned over the hillside. He found the tire tracks. “A motorbike. Two wheels. Something for the country, it is thick tire here, look.”
John knelt and followed the guide’s hand. “Some kind of motor-cross bike?” He got to his feet again. “What now? They’ve gone, have they? With this bike following?”
The guide stood as well. He took the map from his belt and unfolded it, checking his compass, then the map. He located the paper mill and the hospital, the only other landmarks on the map, then he looked across the hills again with his compass. “Come,” he said, “we will go across the land. They are on the road, going to here.” He pointed his finger at the map and John nodded. They got into the jeep.
John glanced sidelong at the man. He was beginning to feel suspicious, this man was good, too good. “How do you know all this?” John asked, reversing down the track.
“I was with Indian army,” the guide said, “special forces, but I had injury, here.” He pointed to his knees. “I was given pension but,” he shrugged, “it is not enough.”
John stopped and looked at him. “In the bag,” he said, “in the back.”
The man reached over and brought the bag on to the front seat as John started off again. He took out a nine millimeter Browning and John watched him out of the corner of his eye. “You know how to use it?” he asked.
The man nodded. He fingered the pistol. “Yes,” he answered, slipping it into his belt. “I know.”
It took three hours of hard driving to make it to the colony. The land had been carved up by the new road to the paper mill and the hospital with its small colony of lepers had been pushed farther back into the hills, away from the factory workers. There was no danger in it now, it was treatable, drugs were available, the Red Cross provided help but old superstitions the hard. It was still a leper colony, avoided, disregarded.
Oliver drove along the dirt track up to the hospital and stopped, switching off the engine, the three of them sitting in the sudden quiet after the noise and rattle of the jeep. Indi looked at the dilapidated building, recently half-repaired, then climbed out. She went up to the doors and pulled one open, walking inside.
Ashok started to get out but Oliver stopped him. “Leave her on her own a while,” he said. Ashok looked at the hospital, then shrugged. They could both see Indi through the glass doors in the reception talking to a European doctor and they watched on in silence. Minutes later, she dropped her head down onto her chest and covered her face with her hands. The doctor, a man in his fifties, put his arm around her and hugged her. Oliver turned away.
“I think she’s found it,” he said quietly.
Ashok started. “What…?”
“The truth,” Oliver finished. Then he climbed out of the jeep and walked away.
“Oliver?” He looked around. He had been standing on the hillside looking at the river down below and saw Indi in the distance. She waved at him and he started toward her.
“You were right,” she said when he reached her. “Now come and meet Dr. Hayes. He has something he wants to show us.” Oliver waited for her to make some sort of move, to hold his hand or touch him in some way, but she didn’t. She walked off, expecting him to follow, and he did exactly as she wanted.
“It’s over here,” Dr. Hayes said to the three of them when they reached the caves that were set into the rocky slope. It had taken about twenty minutes of walking from the colony and he was out of breath, trying to explain. “At least I think it is. I’ve never been in here; I didn’t want to sully the feeling of sanctity.” He stopped and stood to get his breath. “I’ll let you go in alone,” he said. “It’s your business after all.” He looked at Indi and squeezed her arm. “Good luck, I hope you find what you’re searching for.”
She looked ahead. ‘Thank you,” she said, “I hope so too.” She walked forward into the cave as Hayes started down the slope back toward the colony then she stopped and turned. “This is yours as well,” she said to Ashok. “Are you coming?” He glanced quickly at Oliver, then nodded. He followed her into the cave and the two of them left Oliver behind.
Oliver sat down on a rock and dug his hands in his pockets. “Oh well,” he quipped glibly to himself, covering the hurt, “it was nice while it lasted.”
The next thing he knew he was flat on the ground. Indi stood in the darkness and shone her torch around the cave. It was still and airless, deathly quiet. She saw the stacks of security boxes, three, four, five she counted, six boxes piled on top of each other in each stack. She walked forward to the last stack and flashed the light, catching sight of a small package on the top, wrapped in cloth and some sort of plastic cover. She moved forward, picked it up and unwrapped it. She saw at once it was her mother’s diary and closed her eyes for a moment in relief. This was what she had been looking for. She flicked through the pages. This was it, the whole story, the truth.
“Ashok,” she whispered behind her, “it’s all here, it’s…” Suddenly she heard the thump. It echoed off the walls and she spun around. “Ashok?” She flashed the light up and down. “Ashok?” She saw his face. “Oh my God!”
Dropping the torch, she staggered back, groping behind her. She was breathing fast and hard, the darkness engulfed her and she lost her footing. Clutching at the wet, slimy rock, she managed to right herself, clawing forward.
A hand grabbed her arm. She screamed and it covered her face. An arm went around her neck.
“Not here…” a voice said, “not now, not yet.” She felt the cold tip of a knife on her breast through the thin fabric of her shirt and she jerked with fright. It grazed the skin, drawing blood, making her flinch.
“Stupid!” he hissed. “Stupid girl!”
He yanked her head back, wrenching her neck and walking her backward. She started to cry. “I want to see you before I kill you,” he whispered, his hot breath on her throat “In the light.”
She struggled to breathe, to stop the uncontrollable sobbing. She could hardly walk and he had to drag her along the rock, hauling her up every time her legs gave way, twisting her whole body, tearing her skin on the filthy, bat-infested walls. “I want you to feel the pain,” he hissed, “the fear.” Then he laughed, a high-pitched, manic laughter that rebounded off the rock and sent the bats swooping overhead.
John ran along the edge of the slope and motioned to Mulraj above the cave. He dropped to his knees, felt the sharp pain of arthritis and swore under his breath. He crawled along the ground to the cover of the rocks and saw the figure at the edge of the cave. He watched, then swung his arm up over his head in a split-second movement to give Mulraj the signal. The man staggered out, dragging Indi in a neck lock, and Mulraj aimed the pistol. A shot rang out, Indi screamed and fell to the ground. John ran forward.
Before he saw it a machete flew through the air and hit him in the shoulder. He fell, rolling over, digging the blade deep into the flesh. Mulraj was down and over the body of the assassin when he stumbled on them. He clutched his arm, his face ashen, the blood seeping through his fingers.
“Indi? Jesus! Indi?” He knelt down and lifted her head up, cra
dling it in his lap. She was bleeding where she’d hit her face on the rock but she opened her eyes, dazed, shocked. “Gramps? What the…?” She lifted her head around, saw his arm and scrambled to her feet. “My God, Gramps!” She bent forward and inspected the wound. “You’re too bloody old to be playing soldiers!” she suddenly snapped. Then leaning forward and touching his forehead with her own, she said, “But Christ am I glad that you did.” And she burst into floods of tears.
Two hours later, Oliver stood by the jeep and waited for the guide, Mulraj. He had a nasty lump on the back of his head but he was all right, fit enough to travel, and he was leaving. He had said his goodbyes.
He smiled as Ashok came toward him, nursing a sling over his right arm and a bandaged head.
“You are off, Oliver!”
“Yes, in a few minutes.”
Ashok held out his good hand, the left, and they shook hands warmly.
“What will you do?” He meant about Indi and Oliver knew that but he didn’t know what to say. She didn’t need him, not at the moment, not with so much going on in her head. Perhaps not at all. It hurt, the pain was far worse than any crack on the head but what could he do? “Return to Delhi,” he said, “hand in my notice and go back to the army.” He glanced in the direction of the hospital. At least one good thing had happened to him: he’d finally made up his mind about the army. John Bennet had convinced him; if he ended up even half the soldier the brigadier was then he’d be happy.
“They will find out the truth now,” Ashok said, following Oliver’s gaze.
“Yes, I’m glad.” He turned to the Indian. “What about you? What will you do, Ashok?”
“Once the truth is known and the wealth is uncovered I will restore my family’s honor and I hope I will be getting married.”
Oliver grinned. “Congratulations!”
Ashok bowed. He took out his photograph and handed it across. It was an honor only befitting a friend. Oliver looked, then handed it back. “You must be very proud,” he said. They were the same words Indi had used.
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