The Colossus

by Ranjini Iyer

  Julian looked slighted. They walked a few steps further. “Look, I realize this might not be the best time to do this. To tell you this. But these past few days have changed me. I—” He looked away from her. “I have not been honest with you because I wanted so much to be part of this.” He stopped and held out an arm to stop her, too. He turned her toward him and took both her hands in his. “Here’s the awful truth. I was bored out of my mind when you came along with your story.”

  Max let out a low moan.

  Julian’s face and eyes showed naked, honest affection. “But now, I realize how much I’m starting to care for you.”

  “What are you trying to say, exactly?”

  He swallowed hard. “There’s someone in my life. Her name is Raquel.”

  Max pulled her hands away. “I knew it. I knew it!” She began walking away from him. “I should have known you were lying to me. I mean, why would anyone be attracted to me? It was this Indus pill business the whole time. Well, the adventure is over now, you can go home. Thank you for everything, Professor McIntosh!”

  Julian kept pace with her. “Today,” he went on calmly as if Max hadn’t even spoken, “I found out that Raquel wants to get married, and I just couldn’t—”

  “Mazel tov!” Max shouted, throwing her arms up.

  “Max,” Julian said softly. “Don’t you see? I couldn’t tell her, ‘Yes let’s get married.’ I just couldn’t.”

  Max stopped walking. “What do you want me to say? Thank you? I’m so grateful that you find yourself attracted to dumpy old me, after all. Is that what you want? Damn you.” Anger flared inside her with renewed vigor as a realization dawned. “That’s why you didn’t sleep with me, that’s why you’ve kept your hands off me. Not because you didn’t want our relationship to start this way. It was because of Raquel. You’ve been feeling guilty about cheating on her.” She slapped Julian hard across the face.

  Julian looked stunned.

  “I’m sorry, but you deserved that,” she said. “Look, it’s best if you go back to your girlfriend. The rest of this great adventure won’t be very pleasant for you, I’m afraid. I have a lot left to do.”

  Julian took her hands and kissed them. “You have done enough,” he said softly.

  He had chosen the absolute worst moment to reveal his lies. She was so mad she could hardly speak. And yet, she had fallen for him. Badly. “Tell you what,” she said as calmly as she could. “Why don’t you go home and get married? Forget all this ever happened.” Julian’s cheek had grown bright pink and still showed her finger marks. He rubbed his hand against it.

  Max felt herself thawing a little. Stop talking. Bite your tongue, she tried telling herself. Julian had been honest, at least. Better late than never, right? But her mouth was on a roll. All her frustration, her anger, her exhaustion, and her deep sense of betrayal were pouring out as harsh words, and she could not stop them. “Have a dozen children who will be as gorgeous as your wife and you. This Raquel must be gorgeous, no? Have a great life. Send me Christmas cards.”

  “What are you going to do now?” Julian said meekly. “Let me help.” He didn’t sound very enthusiastic.

  Max heard the doubt in his voice and responded to it. “You don’t really want to help anymore, buddy.”

  He moved closer to her. “It’s not that. I’m just…tired, I guess. It’s time to go home. To the people who love you.”

  Max looked at him. One step closer and she could kiss him. The tropical sun had tanned his skin to a peachy brown. His shirt was not fully tucked in. He looked like he had come here straight from bed. And he looked like he wanted to take her in his arms. His eyes were full of concern. He was so sweet, so achingly handsome. He had admitted that he loved her. Incredibly sideways, but he had. She took a step toward him.

  “You can’t change the past,” he said coolly. Too coolly.

  Max turned and walked away in a huff.

  CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

  Aaron folded his newspaper and got up. He had been seated in the tea shop next to Fardoon Chapar’s storefront for a while, polishing off cups of tea and pastries. His stomach was starting to feel a little queasy.

  He was getting tired of all this travel—London, Hyderabad, now Pakistan. The food in London was all right, but why did the locals in these parts like to set their tongues on fire at every meal? He rubbed his sleep-deprived eyes. They felt like they were on fire, too.

  Now Aaron watched the German leave the store holding a small bag. Blondie seemed to know where Maxine and her companions were at all times, just like his client did. Aaron wondered if his client and the German knew each other. Obviously they didn’t care for each other, since Blondie had been anything but friendly.

  It helped that Aaron wasn’t the curious sort. The German, the papers, their importance, the girl—none of it was of interest to him. They could be spy secrets, chemical formulas, or secret love letters from centuries ago, for all he cared. His eyes were on the sack of gold at the end of this tunnel.

  The blond took a taxi. Aaron followed it with one of his own and watched him enter his hotel and take the elevator. Aaron watched the elevator light. Fourth floor. He took the next elevator there. There were eight doors.

  Aaron called the front desk. “Hello,” he said, “I just got in from New York and was supposed to give a message from a friend to her boyfriend. She gave me his room number on the fourth floor, but I can’t for the life of me remember it!”

  “I cannot give out room numbers, sir,” was the polite reply.

  “Well, could you call him and tell him to expect a message in the lobby? I’ll be there in a few minutes.”

  “His name?”

  “This is the problem!” Aaron laughed. “My friend just started seeing him. German guy, heavy-set. She told me…it’s Peter or something. Gosh, I wish I hadn’t agreed to do this—”

  There was a long pause. Aaron figured the desk clerk was checking to see if a German was staying on the fourth floor. Despite being so vague, he was sure she would call him.

  “Please,” he said. “It’s just that my friend and this fellow had a big fight and he is traveling here on business, so when I told her I was going to be here, she begged me to—”

  The voice softened. “Give me a moment.”

  Aaron hung up and waited behind a pillar. Opposite was a mirror. He could see some of the doors reflected there. Aaron realized he had made a big mistake. Whatever Blondie had received from the old man, there was no way he would leave it unguarded in his room. Aaron cursed. His harebrained scheme had backfired.

  As he had suspected, the German quickly left his room with a plain black briefcase. Aaron took the stairs down. The blond was at the front desk.

  “Please hold this for me until I check out,” Blondie said.

  “Very well, Mr. Altgeld,” the receptionist said.

  A mobile phone rang. “Hans hier,” the German answered. He turned away and covered his mouth so his conversation was inaudible.

  Aaron grinned. All right, Hans Altgeld, he said to himself. It’s down to the last lap of this race.

  Aaron didn’t want to risk breaking into the hotel safe. The briefcase must contain what his client was seeking. Maybe his scheme hadn’t been quite so harebrained after all. But it might also be a red herring. There was no way to be sure. Aaron watched the fourth floor for several hours. Hans left, presumably for dinner, around 6:00 p.m.

  Aaron had to take the chance that whatever Hans had left with the desk clerk was important. He was sure the briefcase Hans had handed the clerk was the same one he had carried in London. He had a good eye for bags.

  Aaron found a luggage store nearby and looked for a briefcase similar to Hans’s. He didn’t have much time; Hans might leave at any moment now that his work was done. He found one close enough and returned to the hotel. He spent the next few hours nursing a drink in the lobby. Hans returned around midnight, checked out, collected his briefcase, and left. A taxi was waiting for him. Aaron was prepared
. His return ticket was an open one. He was ready to leave when Hans was.

  “Time to rock and roll,” Aaron whispered to himself.

  A rickshaw he had arranged for earlier picked him up, and as per his instructions, followed Hans’s taxi. Rickshaws were slow, but they had the maneuverability few other vehicles did. And he could stay hidden inside one. Not burdened with more luggage than his backpack, Aaron was all set to return home.

  Triumphant, with any luck.

  At the airport, Hans got off and briskly made his way to the Lufthansa check-in desk. Aaron checked in, too, and began following him through the airport.

  Aaron held his knife, the source of his livelihood for years, inside his pocket. And now, maybe, just maybe, it would help him start a new life.

  Hans stopped at a coffee shop close by. There was no one behind him. The briefcase was handcuffed to his wrist. Aaron made a wry face. Not that his knife could have cut through the thick handles anyway.

  He put on a baseball cap, keeping it low so his face was mostly covered. He waited for the coffee shop to get busy, but apparently not many people were craving caffeine. An attractive woman with a large bag walked by, speaking on a cell phone. Aaron approached her from behind and expertly made a long tear in her bag. Books, CDs, make-up, and more started to spill out. The woman gave a little cry and leapt to the floor. Aaron had hoped Hans would move to help her since she was only a few feet away from him, but he didn’t. He did, however, turn around to look. That was all the time Aaron needed. He got close to Hans for a second, and then walked quickly away.

  Aaron kept Hans in sight as he approached the security gate. Please God, let this go well. This one last time. He looked at the ceiling and crossed himself. He stayed behind Hans with his head covered, making sure there was always one person between them.

  Hans started to walk through the metal detector with his briefcase attached, but the security personnel asked him to un-cuff it and put it on the belt. He made a fuss, but they stood their ground. Aaron waited and let people pass until Hans had put his bag on the belt. Hans glanced around, and Aaron bent down to tie a shoelace. When Hans’s back was turned once more, Aaron stood up.

  Hans was about to pass through the metal detector. Aaron put his backpack and his newly bought briefcase filled with magazines and books on the belt. His bags were two bags away from Hans’s and about to enter the X-ray machine. The person in front of him had a large handbag and was rather slow getting it on the belt.

  Come on, Aaron prayed.

  Hans passed through the detector and it began to beep. An attendant asked him to step aside.

  Large handbag man was passing through the detector now. Aaron held his breath. It was his turn next.

  A muscular guard patted down Hans, and when he reached his buttocks, his placid expression changed. He straightened himself and calmly asked Hans to empty his back pocket.

  “There is nothing there,” Hans said.

  “Now, please,” the guard said.

  Hans put his hand on his back pocket. His face went into a frown. Aaron had passed through the detector with his face turned away. Hans’s briefcase was waiting to be picked up. Aaron pushed his own briefcase close to it. Not identical, but close enough.

  “I need to get my bag.” Hans moved towards the belt. He was several feet away from it. Aaron had collected his backpack and was pretending to have trouble with his shoes.

  “Please do not move, sir,” the guard said. Three other guards surrounded him.

  One of them pulled Aaron’s knife out of Hans’s pocket. “Sir, you cannot carry this on board,” he said politely.

  “That is not my knife. I need to get my bag now!” Hans made a dash for the belt, but was quickly restrained by the guards. For a brief moment, his face was turned away, and Aaron swooped down on Hans’s briefcase. He slipped it under his arm, swung his jacket around it to hide it, and began to calmly walk away. Behind him he could hear shouting. “My briefcase! Someone stole my briefcase!”

  “Sir, it is there on the belt. Please calm down.”

  Aaron turned to watch. Hans hesitated. He was staring at the briefcase Aaron had bought.

  Finally, he said, “I need to get it. I need to be sure.”

  “Sir your briefcase is safe.” The guard gestured to the X-ray security man, who set the briefcase aside.

  Aaron turned slightly to see a guard taking Hans to the briefcase. “Please open it,” the guard said.

  Yes! Aaron pumped his fist. He couldn’t resist. He peeled off his cap and tried to catch Hans’s eye.

  Hans looked at him.

  Aaron waved and gave a little bow.

  “That rat—he has my briefcase! Look!” He pointed in Aaron’s direction. A guard held him back from running towards Aaron.

  “Is this not your briefcase sir?”

  “Nein! He…he has my briefcase.” He pointed in Aaron’s direction. “That isn’t mine. Dum Kopf, fool!” He lashed out at the guard. Promptly, he was handcuffed and led away.

  Aaron was sure Hans would be detained for several hours, if not the whole day. At least that is what he had managed to glean from the desk clerk at his hotel. Pakistani security didn’t like people who carried knives. There had been a surge of terrorist types trying to pass through their airports ever since the 1998 bombings of the American embassies in Africa. Terror could come in all colors and shapes, Aaron supposed. The fact that Aaron had filled his briefcase with extremist literature wasn’t going to help Blondie’s case, either.

  Aaron rushed to his gate.

  He landed in Chicago and promptly handed over the briefcase to his partner Geoff, who that same day handed him a cashier’s check for $31,200.

  Aaron booked a one-way ticket to Rio de Janeiro.

  His new life was about to begin.

  CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

  Lufthansa’s First Class Lounge

  Schönefeld International Airport

  Berlin

  Max checked her watch. She had landed in Berlin three hours earlier and contacted Berliner. Chairman Peter Schultz had retired a while ago, they said. She asked them to call him and let him know that she was waiting for him at the airport. If he called, good. If not, well, at least she’d tried. Minutes later, she got a call asking her to wait for him here in the lounge.

  She had eaten every single offering on the refreshments table. She was tired, but a nap was out of the question. He would be here. Any second. She could feel her heart thumping against her chest as if waiting to jump out and fall by her feet, a ragged lump of angst-ridden flesh.

  Half an hour later, an elegant old man pushed open the lounge door and scanned the room. That suit, that hair, and those laser eyes. Max knew it had to be him—Peter Schultz.

  His eyes finally landed on her. His first steps faltered, but he steadied himself and walked toward her. By the time he reached her, he seemed to have composed himself fully.

  “Fräulein Rosen,” he said in a honey-smooth voice.

  He looked so elegant. His eyes were soft up close, but there was an uncanny alertness about them she had seldom seen even in younger people. He was groomed to perfection and smelled of cloves and vanilla. Max stood up.

  “Thank you for coming,” she said, but not politely. She cocked her chin at him. “You killed my father,” she said. “After all that my grandfather did for your company, how could you go and kill his only son when all he wanted to do was the right thing—reveal the truth?”

  Schultz looked unfazed, even a trifle disappointed. “Child, you are old enough to know that the truth can be a very dangerous thing.” He pointed to the sofa she had been sitting on. “Sit, please. Let us talk like civilized people.”

  Max sat on the edge of the sofa. “So you don’t deny it.”

  Schultz looked at her, his gaze unwavering. “Fräulein Rosen, we didn’t kill anyone.” Max started to speak again, but he held up his palm. “Do you know how many people work in our headquarters alone? Five hundred. In our factories—15,000
worldwide.” Max couldn’t help but notice how seductive his voice was. If she looked too deep into his eyes, he just might hypnotize her. “Our revenues are close to 900 million Euros a year. We make some of the leading drugs in the market today. Do you have any idea who we are?”

  Max bit her lip.

  A waitress stopped by. Schultz spoke to her in German. After she’d left, he continued. “Maxine,” he said. “May I call you Maxine? You are so like Samuel.”

  “I know,” Max said drily.

  Schultz smiled. “I used to call your grandfather Herr Doctor even though he was my friend, because I respected him so much. But Hiram’s work would have done us much harm had it come out in the open. “He shrugged. “Now the chips may fall as they may. Know this, however. I’ll use all my power to ride out the storm that is sure to come.” He leaned forward, his face earnest. “But I didn’t kill your father. Ahh, tea!”

  The waitress returned with a tray of tea. Schultz poured a cup for each of them. Seeing her suspicious expression, he said, “Oh, we watch the movies, do we? Very well. I will do what they do in the movies.” He exchanged cups. Seeing her head go askance, he laughed and exchanged cups one more time. He raised a finger as if asking her to watch his next trick. He moved the cups many times so it was hard to know which cup belonged to whom. He ended his little drama by raising a cup and, with a small wave, indicated that Max should drink her tea, too. “It’s from the Chengdu province. A special blend for me.”

  Max was disgusted. How could he be so flippant? He had ruined her grandfather’s life and later her father’s, and he was sitting there like a peacock, vain and detached, sipping his specially blended tea!

  “You cold bastard!” She leaped at Schultz. A few security guards materialized by her side and pulled her away.

  “Leave us alone,” Schultz said. “It’s fine.” When everyone had left, he said, “We are too big to go around finishing off people. Sit, please.” He resumed drinking his tea.