“You will stay here,” the shaggy-haired man said, drawing a snub-nosed pistol out of his pocket. “One of us will be outside.”
Marina found her voice. “Why? How long?”
The man didn’t answer. He and his companion left them, and she heard the key turn in the lock.
36
They were in a small room, its one window shuttered. The few wedges of molten glare that seeped around the edges of the shutters provided the only illumination. The room was empty of furniture. The heat was intense.
“Nagarajan is going to kill us,” Marina said. They had waited too long. He had outwitted them. She should have known. She should have known.
Vijay went to the window and pounded on the shutters with his fists. He yelled in Marathi, his voice hoarse. Marina beat on the door, crying “Help!” as loud as she could. Her throat felt scalded.
Nobody came. They could hear from outside the faint sounds of Halapur going about its business. Her brain felt torpid with hopelessness. Pulling the hot, dusty air into her lungs seemed like insane effort. She sat on the floor by the wall, and Vijay came to sit beside her. He leaned his head back against the wall.
“What happened to the driver?” she said, finally. She had meant to speak normally, but her voice was a faint rasp.
“They have tricked him, or paid him, or killed him.” Vijay’s words seemed to come from far away, or from underwater. Water. She tried to ignore the dryness in her throat. At the Taj last night she had ordered a fresh lime soda from room service— a tall glass half-filled with crushed ice and lime juice, and a bottle of soda water to mix with it. She had left, she remembered distinctly, half an inch of diluted liquid in the bottom of the glass. What would I do for that half-inch now, what money would I give, what acts would I perform. Only a short distance from here people are buying cool bottles of beer for a few rupees. The thought brought her close to tears.
After ten minutes or so she heard something— a chair?— being dragged down the corridor outside. There were voices, the voices of their captors. “Can you understand what they’re saying?”
Vijay closed his eyes as he listened. “Something about nightfall.”
Marina sat up straighter. It was late afternoon already.
The dull, blank feeling of shock and its attendant despair had started to wear off. She was an engineer, a failure analyst, a problem-solver. She had to get them out of here.
She surveyed the room. The window was the only possibility. She stood up and crossed to it. The rusty hasp and ring that secured the shutters were fastened with a new-looking steel padlock. Running her fingers over the shutters and their rusting hinges, she thought about the kit she had put together back in California, the tools that had lain ever since in the bottom of her canvas handbag.
Scrabbling through her bag, pushing aside camera, wallet, the parcel from the Laxmi Emporium, she whispered hoarsely, “Let’s look at the window again. I’ve got something—” She found the knife, dug deeper for the screwdriver, and pulled them out to show Vijay.
He looked stunned. “My God,” he whispered. “It would never occur to them that a woman would carry such things.”
The shutters were held in the window frame with corroded hinges. If one side could be loosened, they could open the window. If they couldn’t get to the ground once the window was open, at least they could call for help.
There were three hinges on each side of the shutters. She wedged the knife under the head of one hinge pin and tried gently to pry it up. It didn’t move, and showed no sign of looseness. She pushed harder but the pin, corroded in place, didn’t give.
She chipped at the rust around the hinge, trying to clear the obstruction. After a few minutes Vijay took the screwdriver and went to work on another hinge. For a long time, she alternated chipping and prying without success. Her skirt and T-shirt were covered with flecks of rust, her hands orange-stained with it.
Eventually, when she pried on the pin, she felt the slightest movement. “It’s started,” she whispered. Biting her bottom lip, she gently eased the pin up. It was turning, it was loose. Leaving it half loosened, she went on to the next.
The remaining ones seemed easier, either because Marina and Vijay were elated by success or because the hinges were less rusty. Soon all were loosened.
Now to remove the pins and open the window. Carefully supporting the shutters, they removed the first two pins. At the critical instant when Marina, her fingers trembling, extracted the third, the shutter, without warning, shifted its weight with a metallic groan.
They had time to do no more than exchange an agonized look before the key turned in the lock and the shaggy-haired man entered, his gun pointed at them. When he saw what they had done, he smirked. “Now you see the bars on the other side,” he said.
It was true. The windows were barred. The whole effort had been for nothing, for worse than nothing. Their captor took the knife and screwdriver and slid them into his pocket. Then he picked up Marina’s bag and glanced through it, his eyes lighting up when he saw her camera. He slipped the camera in his pocket, looking very pleased. He dropped Marina’s bag and motioned them toward the door. His companion, evidently standing out in the corridor, called out what sounded like a question, and the shaggy-haired man answered. Then Vijay entered the conversation. He seemed to be making a protestation of some sort.
The second captor appeared in the doorway, and an animated discussion ensued. Vijay gestured toward the shaggy-haired man, appealing to his stocky companion. Then the two men shouted at one another. Marina took the opportunity to retrieve her bag, wondering if she’d be allowed to keep it. At last, a resolution seemed to be reached. The shaggy-haired man motioned to them to precede him down the corridor, where they stopped in front of another door. When he opened it, Marina saw that it opened into some sort of supply closet. There was a strong, harsh smell of disinfectant. Their captor motioned them inside and closed the door, and once again they heard a key turn.
The heat in the closet was even worse than in the previous room. Marina felt dizzy and nauseous. She sat down on a drum containing, no doubt, some noxious substance, and Vijay sat on a neighboring container. Mops and brooms leaned against the wall. Could they fashion some sort of weapon? Was there anything here that could deflect a bullet?
“What was all the talking about?” she asked Vijay.
“Negotiation,” Vijay murmured. “I have told the man in the hall that his friend has stolen your camera. I have said that if they let us go we will buy him a very good camera, so he can have one, too. He is now annoyed that his friend took your camera and was going to keep it and not tell him.”
“So what did they say?”
“They were hired, probably by Raki, to take us to Raki’s boss. I am not sure they know the boss’s name, and in any case they will not say, but you and I believe it to be Nagarajan. They fear Raki and the boss, and they are afraid of the consequences of letting us go. But I pointed out that the consequences of killing us, or harming us, would be far worse. I have told them that I work for the Embassy, and that you are a famous person in America. They are merely hired thugs, and not very intelligent. I don’t think the money they were paid to kidnap us was as much as we would pay for a camera.”
Marina shook her head. “But Vijay— am I missing something? If they want a camera, or money, or whatever we have, they just have to take it. Isn’t that right?”
“They are afraid to do that. They think the boss will be angry if he knows they took our money. They think their boss wants our money.”
“So what’s going to happen? Why are we being kept in here?”
“They have to decide between them how they want to proceed. I am hoping very much that we must buy a camera.”
Marina’s eyes adjusted to the darkness and she could make out a rag hanging on a nail, light around the cracks where the door closed, Vijay’s profile. She said, “I’m sorry, Vijay.”
Vijay said nothing. She felt him move slightly, felt
his hand take hers and give it a faint squeeze. His palm was hot and dry.
Marina felt feverish. Bright, vivid images bloomed in her head. She thought she saw Patrick, dressed in his white tie and tails, ready to conduct a concert. She had something to say to him, but she couldn’t remember what it was, couldn’t get her lips to move, couldn’t speak because her throat had been burned in a fire. She tried to think of coolness. Quench and revive the very one you have burnt up. Quench and revive. Quench and revive. Patrick would never believe this. But he would. He had always believed her before. He believed her even when she told him she didn’t love him, could never love him. Patrick was dressed in his white tie and tails, and he was holding a glass of water. She reached for it, but he and the water were gone.
37
It was an hour or more before the closet door opened again. Their two captors displayed their guns, and then spoke with Vijay, who nodded in what seemed to be agreement. They motioned the two of them out into the corridor again, and led them to a filthy bathroom which they were allowed to use in turn. There was a faucet with a trickle of water dribbling out, and Marina rinsed her hands as best she could and drank as much water as she could catch. Then they were led down the stairs and out to the streets of Halapur. Dusk had fallen, and the square was lit by mercury lamps. Smoke and the smell of cooking filled the air, and a loudspeaker blared swirling music.
The men had replaced the guns in their pockets, but there was no chance of breaking away as they led Marina and Vijay along the main road. Marina looked at Vijay, and thought he gave her a tiny, reassuring nod. Vijay’s once-crisp white shirt was rumpled and smudged, his pants dust-streaked. Surely he and the car and driver would be missed in Bombay. Mr. Curtis would be worried. Vijay’s parents would be concerned, too.
Mr. Curtis might not be worried yet, though. Since Vijay’s involvement with her was strictly unofficial, Mr. Curtis might not want to know exactly what was going on. Also, Vijay had come on this trip in a defiant mood, with a trumped-up letter to mislead the police. Chances were he hadn’t told anyone his plans. The consulate might assume, too, that the car and driver were with Vijay, wherever he was.
As for his parents— Vijay was twenty-five years old. It was possible that he stayed out all night from time to time with no questions asked. Even supposing everyone was worried, and everyone knew Marina and Vijay were in Halapur, well— Halapur was a fair-sized place. Searching for the two of them would take time.
They turned a corner and walked down a street almost as busy as the first. Then one of the men spoke, and they stopped in front of a brightly-lighted shop, open to the street. A man in a white shirt and black slacks stood behind a counter. All around him, in glass cases and on shelves, sat rows of cameras.
Buying the camera was an arduous and argumentative process. First, Marina’s camera was produced, and a duplicate demanded. As Marina could have told them, it was not available, since it was a specialized model. However, using Vijay as translator, she did her best to convince her captors that one of the cameras in the inventory of Halapur Cameras Ltd. was just as good, or even better. They examined a number of models, and at last settled on one that seemed satisfactory. Vijay paid the bill, and they turned away.
It was obvious, however, from the manner of their captors that Marina and Vijay were not to be released on the streets of Halapur, if they were released at all. They were close-marched around a corner from the camera shop to a van pulled up on the sidewalk, and hustled into the back. The doors were slammed shut and locked, and in minutes the van was picking up speed.
They sat on the floor, jolted with every movement of the van. “Now what?” Marina asked Vijay. “We bought the camera. Why haven’t they let us go?”
“I still believe they will do it. They have to be sure we can’t get to a police station and demand that they be arrested.”
“What’s to stop them from killing us? Or taking us to the boss, like they were hired to do in the first place?”
“Nothing. But I do not believe they’re killers. I have impressed them with our importance, and how much trouble our disappearance or deaths would cause. They both have cameras now. We shall have to wait and see.” After a pause he said, “If I’m mistaken, whatever happens is my fault. No one’s but mine.”
Fault. Blame. Marina was silent, sitting on the floor of the van as they bounced through the night. That’s what my life has been for the last ten years— a long process of finding fault and placing blame. Placing blame is my life’s work, and why? So I can make sure no blame falls on me.
I believed that if I studied disasters long enough, and reduced them to numbers, and got to the principles behind them, I could prove conclusively that it wasn’t my fault that Catherine died, that Agit More was killed. I still haven’t proved it. I’ll never be able to prove it.
The van slowed, then turned to the right. The new road was rougher, and the van was moving more slowly. It veered, went over another bump, and came to a stop. In a few moments the doors opened. They scrambled out. No words were exchanged.
Marina and Vijay crossed the road running. Marina heard the van doors slam, the motor race. They could still come after us. The moon had risen, indistinctly illuminating a landscape littered with boulders and scrub, without trees or shelter or signs of habitation. When at last they stopped to look back, the van’s taillights were tiny dots, moving away. The only sound was the rustle of scrub stirring under a hot breeze. They went forward through the darkness.
38
They continued a long time without stopping, through prickly undergrowth that tore at Marina’s bare legs, over rocks that bruised her sandaled feet. Her body was swept by chills unrelated to the temperature of the night.
A rock-strewn hillside bulked in front of them. In the faint moonlight Marina saw at the top a tumbledown structure. “A hill fort,” Vijay said. “We can rest there, perhaps.”
“Yes.” Marina did not think she could possibly continue. She stumbled up the hillside behind Vijay. What might threaten her now? Dacoits? Snakes? jackals? She didn’t care about any of them. She cared about stopping, lying down. That was all.
The entrance to the fort was partly blocked by fallen stones. Beyond them the opening looked totally black. “You will stay here for a moment,” said Vijay.
“Wait.” She searched through her bag, found her flashlight, and held it out to him.
He took it with a dry laugh. “This bag you carry is full of miracles.” She watched as, moonlight reflecting from his shirt, he climbed through the entrance and disappeared. At her last sight of him she wanted to cry out, to beg him not to leave her. She looked around, her scalp prickling.
There was a scrabbling sound, and several small animals darted over the pile of rocks at the entrance and disappeared into the undergrowth. Vijay appeared in the doorway and called softly, “You may come in now. It was rats only.” Shuddering, she climbed over the pile of stones and into the ruined fortress.
It was not as dark as it had looked from the outside. Moonlight came in through holes in the roof. The room was solid and square, the walls thick, the floor uneven. Marina and Vijay sat down by the wall.
They had been released, but without sustenance, in the middle of nowhere. And there was no guarantee that their captors wouldn’t come back to find them tomorrow, when they were even weaker than they were now. Why couldn’t she stop shivering? Marina moved closer to Vijay and leaned against his shoulder.
Vijay’s voice nibbled at her consciousness. “This is a good place. We are hidden. We must have water and food, but while it is dark we may pass by water and food and not know it. Tomorrow we will continue.”
“They might find us, when it’s light.”
“Possibly. Possibly not.”
Everything was silent. Marina said, “Vijay?”
“Yes.”
“I shouldn’t have gotten you into this. You didn’t deserve to have this situation pushed on you.”
He took a deep breath. “You t
ell me you’re sorry, but I am not at all sorry. And if you think back you will see that I was eager to participate. I was not pushed. You must not ever imagine that.”
She thought back. “There were times you seemed upset with me. Unhappy.”
He made a restless movement. “That’s true. I did not like to hear that you had— been with this Nagarajan. It made me angry. With him and with you. Yet with myself, too, because what was it to do with me? I felt a great, tearing anger.”
“It’s all right now? Because if we die, I don’t want to die thinking—”
His lips brushed her forehead. “It is all right. Do not think, anyway, that we shall die. We are warriors worthy of Shivaji himself.”
Marina closed her eyes. After a while, she fell into a restless sleep.
She awoke toward dawn, drenched with perspiration and racked with chills. Vijay’s face swam above her. “You are ill, Marina?”
She nodded. He put a hand on her burning face and gave a hiss of concern. “I can walk,” she said.
“I will come back in a moment,” said Vijay, and before she could reply he was climbing through the doorway. She huddled against the wall, shaking uncontrollably. I am a warrior worthy of Shivaji himself, she thought in counterpoint to the list of diseases running through her mind: malaria, cholera, typhus, typhoid. Could she really walk? She pulled herself to her feet and took a few wavering steps. She could. Her skin was so sensitive that her hair brushing her neck, the sleeves of her T-shirt against her arms, felt as rough as sandpaper. She peered out the door.
The rising sun bathed the countryside in pink light, starkly picking out the rocky hills. No air stirred. Vijay stood a few yards away, shading his eyes. He turned and saw her and said, “I think I see what we must do.” He pointed to a dark patch on the horizon. “There are trees. There will be water also, perhaps a farm or a village. If you can walk so far, we will go there.”
The Complete Mystery Collection Page 54