The Huntsman

by Rafael

  Daaruk sipped his tea for some moments. “What does the device do?”

  “There is much conjecture surrounding that question. No one will know for sure until the device is reassembled.”

  “Nonetheless, the CIA strives to locate it and has a strike team on standby when they do. An industrialist is also in pursuit and I am convinced is paying this woman to kill Janesh as an obstacle to his obtaining it. Help me rise, please.”

  Once steadied, he waved off Chatur and made his way to the door. “This woman has no official existence. The name she placed the reservation under, ‘Nisha Saha’, appears on no official rosters. In all likelihood it is not her real name. We traced her payment to an anonymous cash card one can purchase in any convenience store. Since she has no way of tracing the scientists, Narsimha is her only link to the device’s whereabouts. Narsimha is my link to her. Thank you for the tea, Chatur.”

  * * *

  “I’ll get it.” Narsimha’s mother called out. She reached the door before it rang again. Hands shook and her knees threatened to collapse. Accompanied by two uniformed constables, a man with a thick bandage around his head stood on her porch. Though standing still a pounding heart left her breathless. It had to be Narsimha. Something horrible had happened. She didn’t want to hear it but without air couldn’t call her husband.

  Daaruk stepped forward to show his badge but her eyes never left his mouth, waited for the words that would end her life. He looked over her shoulder then back again. “You seem alarmed, madam. Is everything in order?” Her lips quivered.

  “Is it my son? Has something horrible happened?”

  “Are you Shrimathi Parekh?”

  “Yes.” she managed weakly.

  “Your son is fine so far as I know.” Hope glimmered. “Has a woman come here inquiring after him?”

  “Yes.” she smiled brightly. A recruiter from Mumbai wanted to speak with him about a position with an engineering firm.”

  “May we come in, Shrimathi Parekh?”

  “Where are my manners? Of course, please come in.”

  Sounds from an adjoining room belonged to a television broadcast. A man’s voice called out. “Is everything alright, dear? Do you need me for anything?”

  “No it’s okay. I’ll call you if I do.” She smiled at Daaruk. “It’s some big cricket game between India and Pakistan. You understand don’t you?” Daaruk nodded.

  “I only regret I’m unable to watch it myself.”

  She invited him to sit but he shook his head. “We won’t be here that long. What I want to do is warn you this woman is a fraud, a charlatan. She seeks to exploit your son for her own personal gain. Can you describe what she looked like?”

  “She was tall, very beautiful, with a regal, aristocratic bearing although she never acted snobbish or elitist.”

  “Did she leave you anything to identify her?”

  “Yes. I left it right here by the phone in case Narsimha called.” Daaruk examined the card knowing it had to be fake.

  “Did you call this number, Shrimathi Parekh?”

  “Why, no. It didn’t occur to me.” Daaruk entered the number in his communicator then turned the display toward her. It rang twice before a ‘disconnected number’ message flashed. Disappointment raised a hand to her mouth. “And I told her Narsimha was in the Tadoba Tiger Reserve.” He handed her a card.

  “This is a real one. Please keep it handy. If she comes by again or wants to, call me immediately. If your son contacts you give him my number and ask him to call it. Warn him this woman is not whom she appears to be.”

  Daaruk saw no point in alarming a doting mother more than necessary. “We’ll be on our way, Shrimathi Parekh. If you recall something that might be useful, no matter how innocuous, do not hesitate to call me. Good day, Shrimathi Parekh.”

  CHAPTER 42 Tiger, Tiger

  Before her, dawn’s imminence began to frame individual trees within the gloomy mass. Surrounded by verdant forest, Nisha rested in a chair engineered for long-duration flights. She frowned at the dried snot a curious antelope’s nose had plastered on the Plexiglas bubble. Throughout the clearing, lightening sky revealed resting herbivores.

  Fitful dozes marked the past two hours. Need had compressed the previous 24 to pressure-packed haste. American and Indian intelligence didn’t know it but she raced both to locate the scientists and their campsite. CIA satellites had provided thermal imagery confirming no one occupied Camp G. Swift consensus concluded Camp J the most likely spot but thereafter progress fell into bureaucratic quicksand. Indian law prohibited aircraft from flying over the Reserve. The CIA appealed to the American Ambassador to intervene, the Indian Congress showed no inclination to cooperate. If Unit 4 wanted to conduct an operation into Tadoba they would do so without low-flying attack helicopters.

  The in-fighting provided a window for her, with the aid of aerial maps, to plot a route from Chandrapur to the Reserve. Though the tedious, painstaking computer entries allowed her to avoid radar and eyewitnesses, the tension of automated night flight just above the trees, where the slightest error might create a splattered ink spot, had left her drained by the time she landed.

  Nisha stroked the short-range sniper rifle lying across her lap. Like always, the phallic symbolism aroused her to anticipate post-assignment sex. Somewhere an unsuspecting man existed whom she would seduce. Charm and good looks had become unnecessary bonuses for these encounters as she’d grown skilled at identifying males whose quiet self-confidence and poise bespoke fierce endurance. She needed to be ravished and spent, left only with enough energy to bid them goodbye. A foolish few had returned to discover they had slept with a tigress not to be trifled with.

  Orange tinged the tree tops. Time to go, she thought. A three-mile trek to the campsite waited. She checked the battery remained on standby to allow a hasty retreat, patted the ignition key in a pocket, pulled the door twice, and donned a bush hat before setting off. Once in the trees darkness returned. She moved quickly through the undergrowth. A form-fitting camouflage suit prevented snags and its meshed construction kept her cool.

  Alert eyes darted about. Bellowing tigers had roamed the night. If one lurked in the shadows she’d have to scrub this attempt. Gunfire would alert the camp to her presence. Besides the rifle, an automatic hung from the hip its barrel strapped to her thigh. A knife sheathed to her boot completed the armory. She paused to pull out a direction finder without which she’d travel in circles. Nervousness spiked, brought on by the murky underbrush. The stick-figure trees spooked her, always had. Without forest experience she felt out of her element, uncertain of outcome.

  The sun had ended dawn by the time she reached the tree line where she bent on one knee. Ahead five huts formed a circle. Between two she saw men tinkering around some machinery. A few yards away a red-haired woman sat leafing through a book. On either side two huge dogs lazed. That had to be Miranda Logan. Others moved about but after ten minutes no sign of Janesh McKenzie appeared. A direct, open approach always served to put targets at ease. If she found McKenzie inside she would shoot him dead without preamble or warning. If not, patience served the assassin well. She rose and stepped from the trees.

  * * *

  Miranda stopped at a simple vegetable stew over rice she felt well within her culinary skills. She might have to modify the vegetable contents based on what they had in store but plenty of time remained before lunch.

  “Narsimha, did you fix the two burners on the stove?”

  “An hour ago, Kumārī Logan.”

  “Hmm, I might have to marry an engineer. You guys are so useful.”

  “Oh no, Kumārī Logan. I am unavailable.” Clara walking by caught the exchange and laughed. The two winked at one another leaving unexpressed the adorable Narsimha had proved himself a true engineer.

  Duncan and Ronan did a slow rise, ridge hairs bristling. Deep-throated growls rumbled from their chests. Muscles bulged and tensed, ready to charge. Clara stopped. The men turned around. Miranda fol
lowed their focused stares. From the trees a figure emerged, casually strolling toward them. Her contoured suit displayed a woman’s figure. Its revealing mesh construction with camouflage prints placed strategically contrasted the rifle slung over her shoulder and the pistol hanging from a utility belt around her narrow waist. What the well-dressed forest girl should be wearing, Miranda thought, mindful of her shapeless, rumpled khaki outfit.

  The dogs’ incessant barking grew ferocious. Miranda rose from her seat. “Hush, boys.” she frowned at them. “Sit.” Quiet descended over the clearing. Wordless, everyone watched the woman’s approach. She doffed her bush hat. Ebony hair bundled tight, even without makeup her arched eyebrows, sharp cheekbones, strong jaw line expressed undeniable beauty. Dazzling teeth shone behind full lips. “Hello, camp.”

  No one responded, unsure how to greet this woodland nymph, a queen sent by the forest. “Stay.” Miranda stepped before the group. “Welcome, stranger. My name is Miranda.”

  “Yes, welcome.” echoed the Russian. The woman closed the distance. Extended a hand to Miranda.

  “Good morning. My name is Nisha.” Nisha’s next words stabbed Miranda. “I’m looking for Janesh McKenzie. Is he here?” Miranda’s eyes narrowed. She prayed her face didn’t betray shock. It did scramble her thinking.

  “No, he’s not.” She could have kicked herself. The admission confirmed they knew him. “Is there anything we can help you with?” Nisha’s smile widened.

  “Do you know where he is?” Miranda’s temper ignited. She threw away any pretense at being warm and accommodating.

  “What exactly do you want with him, Nisha?” Clara stepped up alongside Miranda.

  “We’re expecting him but have no idea when he might arrive. Is there anything we can do?” Nisha stayed in character. Her shoulders slumped.

  “Not really. We’re old friends. I’m taking a wildlife survey on behalf of the Reserve and heard he might be in the area.”

  “You’re welcome to join us for lunch.” the Russian chimed in.

  Whatever this woman might be, Miranda thought, wildlife surveyor did not fit. Duncan and Ronan confirmed as much. And what exactly did “old friends” mean? Better to keep her close until she learned more.

  “Yes. Why don’t you join us for lunch?” Nisha gave her a deliberate look.

  “Thank you. I think I will.”

  The men took Nisha in tow but broke custom to set up the eating area a little farther away from the machinery. Clara joined Miranda in the cooking hut. “What do you think?” she whispered. Miranda shook her head.

  “Something doesn’t add up. A wildlife surveyor? She has no equipment, no charts, no data collector, no assistants. How did she get here? It’s like she just dropped out of the sky. She’s not even carrying a backpack.”

  “And did you see that outfit?” Clara added. ‘Who walks around in the wilderness half nude?” She began to giggle. “Maybe Janesh is the wildlife she wants to survey.” Miranda gave her a sharp look. “I’m sorry. That was uncalled for.”

  “No. You’re right. She has something else on her mind and it’s not surveying.”

  The two spooned and ladled everything into serving bowls. Miranda placed them on trays while Clara gathered plates and silverware. They stepped outside to find the men providing Nisha lively entertainment.

  “So, Dimitrov. What do you do?”

  “By day I’m a physicist.” the Russian replied. Nisha arched a curious eyebrow.

  “And by night?”

  “A physicist.” Hearty laughter rounded the group as Miranda and Clara arranged and served the table.

  “And you, Nisha? What do you do?” Her eyes twinkled.

  “By day I’m a naturalist.” Everyone’s grins widened.

  “And by night?”

  “Lonely.” Disbelieving guffaws erupted.

  Nisha proved herself a charming guest able to more than hold her own in witty banter and repartee. Lunch turned into an extended affair with Miranda often hiding smiles at her colleagues’ deft evasions of Nisha’s probes. Ariel explained their research into negative energy required a place free of any electronic interference which also explained why they had no communicators to call Janesh. Everyone maintained matter-of-fact expressions when he gave a five minute discourse on what amounted to quantum gobbledygook. Clara and Gary also declared themselves physicists to avoid explaining what role biologists had in a physics experiment.

  She swallowed hard when Nisha turned to her. “And you, Miranda? Are you the, cook?” Her tone could not disguise the jab. Miranda smiled sweetly.

  “Only occasionally. We have limited research funds. My role is to prevent our incurring additional fines by keeping the campsite clean.” Nisha looked around. Turned back with a smile as sweet.

  “You clean well. Your colleagues chose wisely.” Miranda returned the smile. Fought against making it a slap.

  “Will you be staying much longer?” Nisha ignored her and turned to the men.

  “If it’s not a terrible imposition, I’d like to stay until morning. After making this detour it would be such a shame if I left now and Janesh returned.”

  Oblivious as ever to the subtle undertones edging female interaction, the men agreed. Miranda did not press the issue. She still suspected undeclared motives behind Nisha’s presence and the extended stay might reveal them. A one-on-one conversation might prove interesting. And if Janesh returned, the reunion would prove equally interesting. While preparing supper Miranda enlisted Clara’s aid in asking the others to beg early bedtimes.

  If Nisha suspected Gary might not be a physicist, her probe backfired when it ignited another lively post-dinner conversation cum tea. “What is my most interesting quantum paradox? Hmm. Schrödinger’s Cat.”

  “Please elaborate.”

  “Well, inside a sealed box is a small amount of radioactive material, a detector, a vial of poisonous gas, and a cat. In any given hour a radioactive atom might decay or not. If one does, the detector will break the vial, and the gas will kill the cat. To the world outside the box, at any given moment, the cat might be alive or dead. The quantum world must allow for both possibilities. Within the sealed box the cat is both dead and alive. Only when the box is opened does the quantum world resolve the paradox, collapse into reality, and display either a dead or living cat.”

  “But surely, whether I open it or not, if an atom decayed, the cat is dead.”

  “Not in the quantum universe. An atom might not have decayed.”

  The debate paused only when Duncan and Ronan rose without warning, stared into the dark, and despite Miranda’s cries, disappeared. When the last man retired, the question, like all paradoxes, remained unresolved. Clara rose, gave Miranda a kiss, and bade both good night.

  Eyebrow raised, Nisha locked eyes with Miranda. “Is there something you wish to discuss?” She had to know McKenzie’s whereabouts. Goading her might reveal it. Miranda refused to concede the initiative. She let the silence grow.

  “How do you know Janesh?” Nisha smiled.

  “A safari to a Tiger Reserve had always intrigued me but I wanted something more physically challenging than the standard bus and camera tour. The Tadoba Reserve provided just such an option: a hike into its more remote, wilder areas. Pure chance placed me in a group the Mahān Śikārī guided. By day he provided us fascinating insights into the tiger’s natural habitat and behaviors.” The deceptive ingénue turned to gaze into the night. A wistful expression became a faraway look. “When we made camp for the night, he gave me many…passionate moments. When I heard he might be in Tadoba”, dark, probing eyes returned to Miranda, “I couldn’t resist.”

  Miranda burned. She rose slowly from her seat. “You’re a strong woman, Nisha. Good. It will serve you well. I very much doubt Janesh remembers every trollop who throws herself at him on safari. I expect you to be gone in the morning. Sleep well.”

  Miranda didn’t. In the dark her imagination wreaked havoc with sleep. She saw them in every position. H
eard her howl with pleasures she had never experienced. Why couldn’t it be true? Why would Janesh not enjoy a charming, engaging, intelligent woman, confident of her looks and a body she took no pains to hide? Exhaustion thrust her into restless sleep where erotic dreams continued.

  When she woke, the skies had lightened but the sun still dawdled. Duncan and Ronan did not raise their heads to greet her. Outside, the camp slumbered. She scanned the area and peered into Nisha’s hut. Empty. Near the tree line, wary of a last-minute hunter, she called their names. The forest remained mute.

  * * *

  Nisha’s neck hairs rose. She stopped. Maybe thirty yards to her right, something moved. She tried to hear over pounding eardrums. Leafy shadows hid their secret. She resumed her advance. With a start, she froze. A twig snapped. Leaves crackled. Something moved on the left. She moved, they moved. She stopped they stopped.

  Her finger sprayed a waist-high staccato gun burst left then right. Leaves and dust floated on the few sunbeams penetrating the overhang. She stepped forward. Gentle rustlings paced her flanks. Head swiveling left and right, she pressed forward. Anything moving closer than thirty yards would have to reveal itself to bullets. She just had to continue. They would soon run out of forest. Once in the clearing she outranged anything. She wanted only to be airborne.

  Eyes shifting left to right then back again, she pulled out the direction finder. From the branch above a hand emerged. Momentary confusion jumbled reflexes as weightless feet air-walked and tree leaves moved downward. By the hair, the hand lifted her higher. Another clamped vise-like around her neck. Air trapped above swelled her face, turned it red. Restarted reflexes struggled to move the rifle past obstructing branches. Panic squeezed the trigger before it targeted. The first hand yanked it away hard enough to break the finger inside the trigger guard. It did the same with the automatic, then the knife jutting from her boot. Lack of air weakened Nisha.