Golden Biker

by Alexander Von Eisenhart Rothe

  At the house of the head of the Delhi tuc-tuc driver’s union, for Sunil the most embarrassing thing that had ever happened to him came to pass. As he was entering the spacious inner courtyard, a small crowd, who solemnly greeted him ceremoniously with folded hands, already expected him. As soon as he had stepped out of his tuc-tuc, a nervous very heavily built man approached him. Some woman was fussing with his ill-fitting polyester suit, in which the fat man obviously felt very uncomfortable.

  “My name is Singaram, and I welcome you to my abode! It is a great honour!” he said his gaze wandering hectically between his wife and Sunil. It was plain to see that he was extremely nervous.

  “Ehm, hi there!” Sunil answered insecurely, followed by a respectful murmur from the crowd.

  The woman offered her husband a bowl of water, which he held between his two hands and proceeded to kneel down.

  “Allow me to refresh you!” he said and began to wash Sunil’s feet.

  Sunil was taken aback. What was going on? “Excuse me!” he interrupted the fat man. “But there must be a misunderstanding. I am from Goa and my name is...”

  “SUNIL!!!” The crowd shouted in unison.

  Sunil just stood there, mouth agape. His head was spinning. Had they really been shouting his name just now? How come they knew him? What did they want from him???

  “We know everything about your journey” the fat man said and continued to wash Sunil’s feet, still absolutely perplexed. “We know that you are looking for a white man to give him back the money that you overcharged him!”

  A murmur of approval came from the crowd.

  “Yes indeed, your tale has preceded you. Never before has a tuc-tuc driver given back any money. Not even for the good of his soul. You are a Guru, you that you undertake such a journey to accomplish something that has never been done before!”

  “Guru, Guruji, Saadhu!” Everybody cried out ecstatically and started to incant brief mantras.

  “But I am no Guru or something, really I’m not!” Sunil desperately protested.

  “There you go!” a man called out from the crowd, “only a true Guru would deny his true self. Give us your blessing!!!”

  By now the whole thing had become a bit scary for Sunil.

  “Dammit! I am no...”

  At this moment the union leader’s two beautiful daughters stepped out of the house holding fragrant jasmine garlands in their hands.

  “Welcome to our house!” one of them chirped sliding a garland over his head.

  The other one followed and said: “Welcome Guruji, you must be tired from your journey. Let us attend to your wishes!”

  ‘Well, in that case the misunderstanding could wait a little longer, no need to rush things...’

  2. Ca. 30 miles before Delhi

  “How can you knock yourself a black eye by playing the trumpet?” Ashok, the leader of the gang of gypsies marvelled.

  Rajnesh, whose eye, after having received a severe beating from Number One, was exhibiting a formidable violet hue, shrugged his shoulders. “I just could not wait to play and I must have put it to my eye instead of my mouth a bit too hectic. Things like that do happen—it’s a well known fact!”

  “Is that so?” Ashok responded not really convinced.

  They were sitting on boxes and suitcases belonging to the gypsy caravan, perched high up on the loading space of the brightly painted truck that was supposed to bring them to Delhi.

  Since those cursed foreigners had nipped the car from Rajnesh their only chance to get to Delhi had been to accept the offer from the travelling gypsies and ride with the truck that was transporting the luggage. There was, however a second smaller truck, painted in the same fashion, but there was only room left for Number One and Two. Ashok showing some signs of solidarity was joining Rajesh on top of the dangerously swaying mountain of luggage. At two hours most, the small convoy would reach Delhi, but so far Rajnesh had not yet come up with an intelligent excuse that he could be put in front of Shaki explaining the missing SUV.

  A gangster whose car had been nicked seemed to be the most ridiculous thing one could imagine.

  As if on cue Rajnesh’s mobile was ringing in his pants pocket. He glanced quickly at the display, recognised the number and put the phone back.

  “Don’t you want to answer it?” Ashok wondered.

  Rajnesh shook his head. “Nope, I’d rather not. I will meet my uncle soon enough.”

  3. Delhi

  Swearing aloud Shaki threw his mobile phone away (albeit on the pillow-covered sofa, he was not that stupid).

  “This incompetent little bastard!” he cursed, “Thinks, I don’t have a clue, burying his head in the sand!” Angrily he ran up and down. Ever since he had heard about the car being stolen from Báaba’s spies, he was restless. This agonising wait got on his nerves.

  Báaba smiled deviously, twirling his impressive moustache every once in a while sipping from his cup of strong sweet coffee.

  “You have to show just a little bit of patience. We all have to. As soon as we get those three foreigners, you will get your car back!”

  With an annoyed growl Shaki threw himself onto the divan, grabbed some sweet pastry and vociferously airing his grievances, nibbled at them.

  He was sick and tired of waiting any longer. For three days now he had been sitting here, together with the two professional killers from Bombay, Babu and Willie in Báaba’s picture perfect villa at the heart of Delhi. Time passed excruciatingly slow, whereas they were condemned to do nothing. Although, it had to be said, this sitting around was quite agreeable.

  They were offered a continuous supply of tea, coffee and tasty snacks plus three expansive meals per day.

  Báaba had, not without pride, explained his plan to them. In Delhi countless policemen, taxi drivers, simple shopkeepers and even beggars were on his pay roll. The city was covered with a net of surveillance: Thousands of eyes enabling Báaba to watch any one person around the clock. Why bother with chasing them down? All they had to do was to stay put like a spider in its web, waiting for their victims to turn up all by themselves. Just to be on the safe side, Báaba had ordered one of his best men to stick to the heels of the Germans and the girl, and he was reporting every one of their steps back to him. Thus Báaba had been informed, that the girl was no longer with the foreigners but had apparently hooked up with a militaristic geriatric called Hermann. But that was of no importance. All four, the foreigners and Sherie would be within reach of the city limits within the next two hours, and then the trap would snap shut. Once in Delhi there could be no escape. That was why the group of people gathered in the swanky villa had nothing else to do but wait... and wait... and wait...

  Bored out of his mind Babu was picking his teeth. “What are we actually going to do with them, when they get here?” he wanted to know, making an effort to suppress a yawn.

  With a small clanking sound Báaba put his coffee cup on the saucer. “Then everyone will snatch up who they want. Shaki gets this Bear fellow and his friend. You two clowns will get Gerd Lauterbach—yoùre welcome to shoot him through the head, with best regards—and I will get the girl. Sherie that little slut!”

  He laughed maliciously, so that even Babu felt a cold shiver running down his spine.

  “36.000 Dollar???” Ephraim said amazed when he saw the bill that the helicopter pilot had presented to them. Solomon shrugged his shoulders. “It’s all put on expenses... come on now!” He crossed the small patch of green where the helicopter had put them down and he went over to a small nondescript delivery van. Ephraim and Moshe slouched behind him in their own good time. Admittedly the flight in the smart helicopter had been rather cool, a welcome change after having been pushed aside in the desert. But this observation business started to become a bit stressful. Solomon was generating a hectic vibe that was totally uncalled for. He
was always on the phone devising stratagems, interrupted only by his regular prayers, whilst Ephraim and Moshe always had to pretend they were engaged in as well.

  Somehow this old geezer seemed to be constantly on the move and if you were about to lie down for a short nap just giving your eyes a rest, you could be sure he was staring at you reproachfully, the embodiment of disapproval.

  Moshe and Ephraim had had to cut down on their grass consumption drastically, which resulted in their permanent nervousness and foul mood.

  “36.000 Dollars!” Ephraim whispered to Moshe, as they were following the grumpy Solomon. “Man, I’m just thinking how long one could have a really good time in Goa with that sort of doe. Can you imagine?”

  “Goa...” Moshe sighed, “the beaches, the dope, the broads! Really dude, what for fuck’s sake are we doing here?”

  “You are helping your country to apprehend a dubious Nazi!” Solomon declared, who apparently had not only eyes in his back but also very good hearing. He opened the sliding door of the van. “Hurry up, we’re pressed for time!”

  Moshe climbed into the van with laboured effort. “What’s the rush? Did I miss something?”

  Solomon shook his head in disapproval. “Yes, obviously years of attending Talmud school.

  We have quite a lot to do today. Orders from headquarters, they are fed up with tapping around in the dark. We will now grab the girl! And the German businessman as well!”

  Ephraim pulled a face: “We’re supposed to kidnap them? That could be dangerous! Why not do some more observing?”

  Solomon looked at him severely: “You would like that, wouldn’t you? We are Mossad for heaven’s sake, we do that all the time, that is our job!”

  Moshe was picking his nose quite unperturbed. “Be that as it may, but until now we have only been observing the girl. We have no idea where this business guy might be!”

  “Our wonderful department of reconnaissance took care of that. They have identified his home address in Taitschland and have bugged his phone. When he makes a call we are able to locate him immediately. An esteemed businessman like him is going to call his wife eventually, don’t you think?”

  With a deep sigh Ephraim fell back into the sofa. “Fine, than we might as well smoke a number, while we wait!”

  Solomon got behind the wheel and started the car. “We must not lose any minute, if we want to get this thing done by nightfall!”

  “Why by nightfall? After sunset the vampires will come out, or what?”

  “You really are a disgrace to your country. Just think about what day of the week it is today!”

  Solomon stepped on the gas and drove down the hill.

  “Grand Opening, Friday. That’s today!” Arthur shouted delighted, pointing at the numerous banners that were spanning across the wide street they had taken into town. They were quite used to the chaotic traffic by now, but the music festival starting tonight had drawn so many people from all parts of the country, that all major roads leading into Delhi were hopelessly blocked. The prevailing noise of honking and beeping was infernal. It was quite obvious the Indians were using their horns more out of child like joy instead out of any cogent necessity.

  Bear, Gerd and Arthur and the Jain had finally reached Delhi after hours of driving and were now moving at a snail’s pace towards the inner city. Nevertheless it was not so easy to hold the group together, consisting of three motorbikes and a SUV. At the first opportunity, Bear who was naturally leading the group turned off into a smaller side street and stopped.

  “Well then, we made it!” he said eventually after all had arrived, “I think we should think about what will be our next moves!”

  The Jain bowed down politely. “Gentlemen, I shall take my leave. It was a great honour travelling with you!”

  Arthur was excitedly jumping from one leg to the other. “I want to go to the concert tonight. Also there will be an elephant polo match. I’ve never seen one of those!”

  “And me” Gerd said thoughtfully, “I ought to make some more phone calls!”

  Bear nodded reflecting this. “Okay, let me suggest that you Gerd, go make your calls and after the concert we meet again at the bikes—wherever we will have parked them by then. There’s a famous band playing tonight, me too, I would like to see them.”

  “And what are we going to do with the car?” Gerd wanted to know.

  Bear shrugged his shoulders. “No idea. Just leave it here!”

  “Excuse me,” the Jain came forward, “I do have a driving license as well, I could relieve you of the SUV...”

  Gerd tossed the car keys in his direction. “There you go. It’s all yours!”

  “Thank you!” the Jain exclaimed, “Do enjoy your concert tonight! Hope you meet nice people!” He jumped into the Jeep, gave hell for leather, and he was off.

  Apu Bindi, two-fisted special agent, admirer of beautiful women and India’s most dangerous secret weapon with two shapely legs, stopped in his tracks and looked around. Nobody had followed him. The muffled noise of the hectic city was carried over by the wind, but right here, on the site of the ruins of the former fort of Tughlaqabad there prevailed an almost eerie silence. Since the sun had already climbed high up in the sky, the heat was scintillating on the massive rock stones of this ancient compound. Apu let his gaze wander over the smog-infested city down below for a while. From up here on the hill the view was spectacular. He thought about his last assignment, which he had to admit, he had botched up. The four outer pillars that for the last hundreds of years had been framing the Taj Mahal, had been blown to smithereens—and he had quite simply forgotten to prevent it. His once unblemished reputation, namely to be India’s top agent had suffered a serious blow. Bindi, Apu Bindi, was no longer considered to be infallible. He knew very well, if he was not to end up as one of the rank and file of the police force, he better not screw up his next assignment.

  Dressed with casual elegance as usual, he was moving, cat like, amongst the ruins. He turned around again. No, not even any tourists had strayed up here today. He was all by himself. He went straight to the foundations of a collapsed tower, knelt down, counted four rows of bricks upwards and then pushed a darker coloured stone inward.

  Silently a hidden door swung aside and closed behind him again without any sound. A cold neon light flickered and he was standing inside an elevator. There was an embedded number panel on the inside wall. Apu entered a secret number code and vibrating gently the elevator moved downwards. Muffled muzak was accompanying Apu on his way deep down into the Indian ground.

  With a piercing ‘Ping’ the elevator door opened and Apu entered the secret underground command centre of the Indian secret service.

  OM, his direct superior, was sitting in a huge leather armchair at a likewise huge desk in front of a huge backlighted map of India which covered one whole wall and which also served as the only light source in the otherwise mysteriously sombre room.

  Apu, although he had seen a quite a lot, was duly impressed, against his will.

  “Take a seat, Mr Bindi” OM addressed him from the semi-darkness pointing to a chair, so small, that Apu’s knees were touching his ears as he sat down.

  “We are everything but pleased with the outcome of your engagement at the Taj Mahal, Mr Bindi. Voices have been raised to even suggest your removal from the service!”

  Apu remained cool. “In my time of service I have saved so many politician’s arses, saved so many cities from certain annihilation plus twice, I have prevented a bunch of lunatics from taking over the world. Why fuss about some old pillars, don’t you agree?”

  Om raised himself. Because of the illuminated map behind his back only his silhouette was discernible. “Be quiet! Your arrogance is slowly getting on my nerves, Bindi!”

  At this moment an unmistakable ‘Ping!’ announced that the elevator had brought a ne
w visitor to the underground office. Apu jerked around.

  “Namaste” said a little man, leaning a long ladder, which he had carried under his arm against the wall. “Apuram, the janitor. I am supposed to change a couple of light bulbs!”

  OM drew a silent breath. “Now? Is that really necessary? I am in conference.”

  The little man shrugged his shoulders and grabbing his ladder again, said: “No problem. But I will have to bill you for coming here. And I can only give you the next date in six weeks at the earliest. I have to go scrubbing all of Parliament building, that is taking time...”

  “Okay, okay, in Shiva’s name change the cursed light bulbs then, can’t see a thing in here.”

  The janitor snuffled audibly and went to work.

  “Okay then” OM continued turning back to Apu, “back to you. Considering your less then commendable achievement at the Taj Mahal, you are back to grunt work. No more super villains for you! Your next appointment will be very simple: There are three foreigners and one prostitute from Bombay on their way up north and they are attracting an ever-increasing rat’s tail of undesirable elements behind them. Half of India’s underworld wants to get hold of them, and for some reason some old Nazi with his private army as well. We have to admit...”

  “You want the 40 or the 60 Watts light bulbs?” interrupted the janitor.

  “I really don’t care. We are in a serious discussion here!” OM riled back at him.

  The janitor remained totally unmoved. “Maybe now you don’t care. But when I’ve put the 60 Watts light bulbs in, someone comes running afterwards, complaining about the electricity bill!”