Drake nodded reluctantly. Allie, as usual, made perfect sense.
“I don’t have to like it.”
Allie glanced at him and her expression softened. “Why, Drake Ramsey, you’re jealous!”
“Not jealous. Concerned. I don’t want you to get into a situation you’ll regret.”
“You are too, aren’t you?”
“I’m going to go do some yoga or something.”
“Drake?” Allie asked as he spun and stepped away.
“What?” he snapped.
“You’re still number one in my book.”
He stopped, his expression unreadable, and then looked back at her with a half smile.
“Hold that thought, Allie.”
She returned the smile. “I mean it.”
“So do I.”
Chapter 38
India-governed Jammu and Kashmir
Nayan Mehta stood in front of the French doors that led out to the expansive gardens of his four-acre estate, one of the larger residential properties in New Delhi, with a value in the tens of millions of dollars. He was on the phone with Pradesh Suri, his second-in-command at the Kashmir mining camp he operated, who was waiting patiently on the line for instructions.
Mehta’s voice was agitated – always a dangerous situation, his temper as infamous as his vast fortune. Mehta was the third generation of industrialists who’d accumulated a substantial slice of the region’s riches, and had never known a day without entitlement.
“What is the delay?” Mehta demanded again. “I do not understand.”
“There was a problem transporting the material from the facility. Some sort of unannounced spot check.”
“I thought we bought everyone off. Was that not so?”
“This is a different branch of the regulatory agency. Nobody could have foreseen they would stage an inspection. As it was, no harm came of it, but it set our schedule back a day.”
“The customers are on their way with money. They are expected the day after tomorrow. They will panic if the material is not here for their inspection, and I wouldn’t blame them.”
“We could always just kill them,” Suri suggested. “What would their people really be able to do if we did?”
“That is not an option. I would be a marked man. These people are as dangerous as cobras, even if they are crazy. Don’t even suggest such a thing.”
“I was merely thinking out loud.”
“Then refrain from doing so.”
Suri quieted, chastened by Mehta’s warning. The powerful magnate was scheduled to travel from his headquarters in Delhi to meet the customers in person, and he was obviously in no mood for Suri’s suggestion. Mehta was on edge, and that put everyone around him in jeopardy, Suri knew from harsh experience.
“When is the shipment expected now?”
“Forty-eight hours, in the early evening.”
“That’s too late.”
“It is the best our people can do.”
“Why don’t they deliver it via helicopter?” Mehta asked.
“It would be picked up by the air defense force that monitors Kashmir. That, and it’s already in transit, somewhere on the road – we don’t know exactly where.”
“Then we will need a diversion to keep the customers occupied while we wait.”
“We can give them a tour of the camp.”
“One has already been there, at the start of our transaction, do you not recall? We can try, but they might not be interested in anything but the exchange.”
“Women?”
“They’re zealots. Their religion prevents them from partaking in the pleasures of the flesh.”
“We can drug them.”
Mehta was silent for several moments. “No. I have the perfect solution. We will simply count the currency by hand. That will take many hours if we don’t use the machines,” Mehta said. “Five million euros. We will count slowly.”
Suri exhaled with relief. “Perfect. I shall make the necessary arrangements.” He paused. “Do you think they will buy it?”
“It doesn’t matter what they think while we’re counting. Only that we don’t finish until the material arrives.”
Mehta ambled outside onto the veranda and sniffed the air, the blooms of his perfectly manicured grounds scenting the surroundings with floral perfection. He could hear a generator thrumming in the background on Suri’s end of the line, reminding him of the rural conditions at the camp.
The mine was now over fifty years old, invisible from the air, located in a hidden valley far from any roads, and his security was foolproof – the penalty for attempting to escape was death. It had been so for as long as he’d been alive, put in place by his grandfather after the war and continued by his father, until the mantle had been handed over to Mehta. The government left him alone, turning a blind eye to his methods as it had for eons, the appropriate parties were well paid to ignore the goings-on that directly benefited them, the camp’s production gladly taken by them since the mine had begun operating.
This transaction had been one he’d been reluctant to do, though, and he had only agreed to entertain it at the behest of his newest benefactors – the Americans, who had arranged through a cutout for an introduction to the customers’ group after swearing him to secrecy. The proposal from the Americans hadn’t surprised him in the least, even though the customer was supposedly their sworn enemy, and Mehta had been told to keep their involvement silent. It was well understood in certain circles that the Americans’ clandestine agendas were as Machiavellian and unknowable as those of a court mistress, and if their wishes made him richer, so much the better. Because there was no such thing as wealthy enough, he knew.
And in only two more days, it would all come to fruition.
He turned from the window and resumed his call. “I will arrive there in the late morning the day after tomorrow and will require entertainment that evening. Select suitable candidates for my approval after dinner.”
“The usual age?” Suri asked.
“Of course. And nobody sick.”
“Absolutely not. I shall put out the word.”
“Very well. Call me if there are any changes. If not, I will be at the camp by dusk.”
Suri hung up and looked around at the barren terrain. He checked the charge on his satellite phone and then marched toward the rent in the mountain that was the entry to the camp, the actual mine many stories below it. As he made his way to the caverns, he smiled to himself – he’d already chosen four young blossoms for Mehta’s pleasure, barely into their budding womanhood. His master would be pleased by his selections, he was sure.
He signaled to one of the guards standing just inside the cave, and the man whistled. A boy came running carrying an LED lantern, his bare chest pale as a ghost, his feet clad in sandals made from discarded tires pilfered from a distant dump. The boy and his kind had never seen the sun for more than a few hours at a time; the lion’s share of the population were confined below ground, with only a fortunate few allowed above to tend to the gardens that fed the rest.
Suri didn’t question the arrangement, nor his part in it. He was simply following his master’s orders and was well rewarded for his obedience.
As his father had done before him.
And as would his oldest son, eventually, he was sure, when Suri became too old for his responsibilities.
Exploiting his fellow human beings and dooming them to short lives of misery was just the way things worked, and he didn’t judge the morality of it any more than a crocodile hesitated before snapping its jaws tight on a fish. It had always been that way – the strong conquered the weak, and to hope for a different world was foolishness he didn’t engage in. Suri was a pragmatist and understood that if he wasn’t directing operations at the camp, someone else would be.
The boy waited motionless as Suri entered the cave, and then turned and led him along a path polished smooth by generations of feet,
deep into the earth, into a hell that was the only reality the child would ever know.
Chapter 39
Bhiwani, Haryana, India
Drake pushed his spoon around in his bowl and grimaced at the slop that was the main course for dinner.
“This smells like diarrhea,” he complained, making a face.
“It’s lentils with some sort of spice. It doesn’t taste that bad,” Allie said.
“I can’t believe you’re eating it.”
“A vegetarian diet is good for you.”
He took a morose look at the goop. “I don’t need to live that long. Besides, I eat cows, and they’re vegetarian, so I’m getting a concentrated vegetarian diet already.” He looked around the dining hall. “I wonder if they sell Snickers bars in the store?”
“Not unless they have Swami Baba Raja’s face on them.”
Drake laughed. “You see the toilets in our rooms? Mine’s a hole in the floor.”
“It’s a squat toilet.” She paused. “Do we have to discuss this at dinner?”
He raised his spoon and allowed a glob of lentils to drop back into the bowl. “Don’t know what reminded me about that.”
Allie put her spoon down. “You’re angry I’m doing this, aren’t you?”
“I understand why.”
“But you’re angry.”
“Not at you. At him.”
“It’s the perfect opportunity. I thought we might be here for days.”
“God, no. Does your room have toilet paper?”
“I thought we weren’t going to discuss that.”
“The only reason I ask is because I only bought three pairs of socks at the store, and they’re all in a locker right now.”
“I’m sure you can ask at the reception area. But they use water in most places, so don’t expect a lot.”
“Hope springs eternal.”
Allie checked the time and finished her bowl. “You ready for your errands tomorrow? I got working in the kitchen. Probably because I’m a woman. Not that the swami is sexist or anything.”
“Of course not. I got cleaning crew. Probably put me on the latrines. This is like a waking nightmare.”
She rolled her eyes and stood. “So much drama.”
“How will you contact me after your pillow party tonight?”
“There isn’t any security in the dorms, just guards at the gate and walking the grounds to ensure nobody jumps the fence and robs the place. So I’ll come by your room.”
“That won’t look suspicious?”
“You’re my brother. Plus, I don’t think there’s any rules about comingling. Nobody told me anything, at any rate. You?”
“No. Just that it’s lights out at ten.” Drake eyed Allie. “Which I hope doesn’t mean they actually cut the power. That would suck big time. Especially if I’m mid-squat, or rinse, or whatever.”
“We’ll soon find out. Gotta run. Will you take my bowl back to the kitchen when you’re done?”
“Sure.”
Drake watched Allie walk away with a sinking feeling, and it took every ounce of self-control he could muster not to tear after her and take her in his arms, never to let her go.
Allie slowed as she reached the elaborately carved doors of the swami’s residence, where two attendants waited with four other young women – two locals, the Portuguese girl from earlier, and an Asian-American who introduced herself as Patty from Connecticut. All had arrived within the last few days, and all were excited to have been invited to the special devotional meeting.
Jadhav swung the doors open and invited the women in with a small nod of his head, his expression unreadable.
“Welcome, welcome. This way. As you are aware, inclusion in the Holy One’s night meditation is a high honor. It takes place in his inner sanctum, and everything that occurs is to be treated as confidential, is that clear? He is protective of the higher forms of devotion, which have important symbolic and spiritual significance, and only bestows his attention on the worthy. He feels you are all ready to accept his gift and move to the next level of consciousness.”
“Yes, of course,” they all said, Allie nodding along with the rest.
They reached a marble-floored room with hundreds of candles flickering in wall sconces, two golden vessels resting on wooden tables next to towels reflecting the light. Jadhav offered a bow to the women and a small smile. “The swami will be out shortly. Please, sit, make yourselves comfortable. There is fresh fruit set out for you in those bowls, and nectar in the pitchers. Eat and drink your fill – it is part of the swami’s bounty, which he would like to share.”
Jadhav left and the women took the offered seats, hesitant to touch the fruit or the copper goblets before them. Allie settled into her cushion and was about to reach for an apple when the doors at the far end of the room opened and the swami stepped out, trailed by a cloud of pungent incense.
“Greetings, my special guests,” he said as he approached them. “It is wonderful to see you in this more private setting. Please – I have had my staff select the most perfect specimens of fruit, the sweetest juice, for you. Consider it my most humble offering. Pour yourselves a measure, and enjoy nature’s gift.”
He sat at the table and smiled warmly as one of the locals poured them each a cupful of crimson liquid before topping up her own cup. The swami toasted and everyone drank, except Allie, who noted that the swami only pretended to, before setting down his cup and rising. He moved to a stand and lit an incense cone, and then flipped a switch. Soft music filled the room. When he retook his seat, his eyes roved over the women before settling on Allie.
“This is a joyous time. We are on the earth, savoring each other’s company, brought together by Fate. You are each miraculous in your own way, a perfect creation of the universe, and there should be no shame or hesitation in recognizing such. Part of moving to a higher state of consciousness, of awareness, is a symbolic baptism, the anointing of the chosen with warm oil, which symbolizes rebirth in the spirit eye, closer to godhead.” His eyes drifted to Patty, who seemed entranced. “Please, drink more. The nectar is sweet, is it not?”
The women did as instructed, Allie again pretending to sip, and after five more minutes of blather, the other women’s eyes appeared glassy, their looks faraway. When the swami stood and touched each of their foreheads with cool fingers, Allie did her best to mimic the hypnotized stare and stoned expression.
The swami nodded and held out a hand, palm up. “I will return for the ceremony in a moment. In the meantime, meditate upon the divine bliss that is ours to enjoy as holy treasure – the universe’s reminder of our collective divinity, celebrated in joyous union. It is love energy we are imbued with, the highest form there is, and I will show you how to harness it to speed your enlightenment.” He raised his goblet and toasted them, and all but Allie and Baba Raja drained their cups. The swami carried his goblet with him and slipped through the doorway to his private chambers, leaving them alone.
Patty swayed sleepily to the polyrhythmic beat of the music, and one of the locals ran her fingers through her hair with a spellbound stare. Allie scanned the room for anything that looked like a statue of Kali, but didn’t see anything. Sensing the ceremony would be something she’d rather avoid, she stood and tiptoed to the swami’s doorway and peered past the half-open door into the room. There was a massive bed in an adjoining chamber, its headboard the size of a car, and she eyed the wood-paneled walls of the outer room before her gaze settled on a towering display case in the sleeping chamber, opposite the bed. She gasped when she saw the glowing statue of the dancing goddess, and took a step toward it when she was startled by a sound in the antechamber. A door on the far side of the room opened and the swami stepped out.
He was surprised to see Allie at the door and frowned before composing his face in the familiar, peaceful expression that adorned the countless images of him that filled the ashram. “What is it, my child?” he asked.
; “I…I’m sorry. I need to use the bathroom. I…I don’t feel well.”
“Of course. There is one off the ceremony room. Come, I will show you,” he said, and strode toward her.
“Thank you, Swami Baba Raja,” she intoned, doing her best to slur slightly, convinced that he’d drugged the juice to make the women more pliable.
He took her arm and led her out of the antechamber, taking care to close the door before showing Allie to a bathroom around the corner from where the women were sitting in a drugged fog.
Allie entered and noted that, unlike the dorms, this bathroom had the latest high-priced Japanese toilet, as well as gold faucets that poured into an onyx bowl sink. She used the facilities and inspected herself in the mirror, shuddering at the thought that it might be two-way glass, which would be perfectly in keeping with the swami’s tactics. When she returned to the ceremony area, Patti was shedding her top and the Portuguese girl was rubbing oil on her hands in preparation to anoint her, Allie presumed.
“I…I’m sorry, Swami, something’s wrong,” Allie said. “I think I might be having an allergic reaction to the juice. It can happen.”
Baba Raja looked more annoyed than concerned, but nodded in understanding. “Do you have medicine for this…affliction?”
“I carry it in my purse, but the front desk has everything…”
“Tell them it is an emergency,” the swami said, his stare now on Patty’s naked form, her smooth bronze skin shining with oil as the Portuguese girl went to work. “Do not tarry.”
Allie hurried to the main residence entrance, where Jadhav sat in a chair, reading. He looked up in surprise at Allie, who explained that she was having an adverse reaction and needed her medicine.
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