The Brightest Fell

by Nupur Chowdhury

  Taking a sheet of paper from one of the manila folders, he dialed the first number on it, leaned back into his seat, and waited.

  It was noon by the time he was done with the phone calls. Stuffing the folders into his backpack, he turned the key in the ignition and drove out of the parking lot.

  The Vardhan brothers, Fayed and Faheen, were still in the city, doing contract work for various electrical firms. Two of the other independent contractors Mr. Dixit had hired for the rewiring work at Parliament House were working together at a shopping mall downtown. Abhijat made a mental note to pay a visit to all four of them early the next day.

  That just left Sajal, the fifth and final electrician outside of the company’s payroll who, according to Dixit, had had access to the PM’s office over six months ago. The man whom the green-haired boy had suspected of siphoning funds from the company’s coffers, because of the expensive jewelry he wore to work.

  And yet, according to the manager, nothing was amiss and all their finances were in order when Sajal’s contract finally came to an end.

  Furthermore, the phone number Sajal had given Mr. Dixit had been deactivated.

  After some digging, Abhijat managed to track down the contact details of his landlord. When he called the number, an annoyed old man informed him that Sajal Mairik had only rented the flat for two months, almost half a year ago. Apparently, it’d been months since he had left the city.

  That was all the old man knew, or was willing to tell. He swore he didn’t know where his former tenant had gone, or even if he was still alive. When Abhijat asked if he had the phone numbers of any of Sajal’s friends or family members, the old man grunted and disconnected the line.

  He’d send someone to search the house Sajal had rented during his stay in Qayit, Abhijat decided. More to tick the task off his to-do list than because he expected to find anything useful there. Still, it had to be done. So far, this man was the closest thing he had to a lead.

  After a few more minutes of driving, the silhouette of the NIA headquarters finally came into view. It was time to touch base with Mr. Vyas and his team.

  Going through the folders Abhijat had brought, Mr. Vyas smiled thinly and pushed his spectacles up his nose. “Not bad for half a day’s work.”

  “No, but I still don’t know who this Sajal guy is. He seems to have vanished into thin air after completing his contract at the company.”

  “Ah, I think we can help you there, Captain...I mean, Mr. Shian.”

  Abhijat gritted his teeth, his hackles rising. He said nothing, however. If Vyas was trying to get a rise out of him, he wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.

  Not waiting for a response, the NIA agent rose to his feet and signaled for Abhijat to follow him down the corridor. “We’ve had our eyes on Sajal Mairik for some months now,” he said, as they walked down the corridor towards his office. “That’s one of the names he’s used over the years. There are others. Anyway, he’s been involved in some...what you might call ‘unsavory activities’ in Weritlan. Nothing major, at least not until now. Still, his name keeps coming up in many of our investigations in and around Ishfana.”

  Abhijat frowned. “You’re saying he’s holed up in Weritlan? So, what’s his deal? Dissident? Separatist?”

  Vyas laughed. “Nothing as...ideologically motivated as that. He’s a mercenary, plain and simple. Does odd – and oftentimes unpleasant – jobs for the highest bidder. Up until now, he’s only been a minor headache for local law enforcement; nothing the NIA needed to get involved in.”

  “Well, it needs to get involved now.”

  They came up to a large wooden door, which Abhijat assumed led to Vyas’s office. The other man retrieved a card from his breast pocket and held it up to a tiny black device mounted on the wall next to the doorway. There was a click. Vyas pocketed the card, reached out, turned the knob, and stepped through the door. Abhijat followed suit.

  The office was well-appointed but not ostentatious. Vyas slid behind his desk and dropped into his chair, inviting Abhijat to sit across from him. “Way ahead of you, Mr. Shian,” he said with a patronizing smile. Bending slightly, he slid open a drawer in his desk and retrieved a sleek, gray tablet.

  The device came to life under his fingers, and he pulled up a grainy photograph of a greasy-haired man coming out of what looked like a club. The lighting was poor and the picture quality wasn’t great, but Abhijat recognized the man whose photo the green-haired receptionist had shown him earlier that day. Sajal Mairik.

  Vyas flicked his fingers, pulling up more photos of Sajal on the device. All of them were taken in the same locality, it seemed, in and around the same club. Surveillance photos, Abhijat realized belatedly. “You’re having him watched?”

  Vyas nodded. “We’d have been more proactive about it if we’d known he’s involved in such a high-profile case.” He shrugged. “Still, it’s no use crying over spilt milk. According to our intelligence, he’s bought a house in quite a posh neighborhood of Weritlan. A neighborhood that should’ve been well beyond his means, according to his reported income.”

  “And this...” Abhijat pointed at the tablet screen. “Nightclub? Dance bar? Whatever this place is, seems to be quite a favorite of his.”

  Vyas grinned. “You’re a perceptive man, Mr. Shian. The La Fantome Club…that’s what first got him on our radar. It’s apparently a highly exclusive club which opened recently in downtown Weritlan. Very fashionable. Very secretive. Very selective of their clientele.”

  Abhijat would have sensed the hostility rolling off Vyas if he’d been standing a mile off. “You think there’s something going on at this club?”

  “We have reliable information from multiple sources about suspicious activities taking place at the La Fantome. We’ve tried time and again to get our agents into the club, but to no avail. Their vetting process would put most government agencies to shame. You don’t invest that kind of money on security unless you’ve got something you’re desperate to hide.”

  Abhijat raised a brow. “So, what do you think it is? Smugglers? Terrorists?”

  Vyas took off his glasses to rub tiredly at the bridge of his nose. “If I knew the answer to that question, we wouldn’t be having this conversation, would we? But I can tell you this. La Fantome is not a nightclub any more than I’m a potato farmer. And the easiest way to find out what it really is…well, for now, your boy Sajal is our best bet.”

  Abhijat pulled the tablet to him and flipped through the pictures, this time focusing more on the buildings in the background than on Sajal himself. “You know,” he said, after a few moments of silence. “I don’t have a background in the intelligence services. Hell, it’s been years since I lived in the capital and I’ve never worked in law enforcement. I served in the military, yes, but that’s not unusual for the children of politicians.”

  “It’s unusual for them to stay on active service for longer than a few months.”

  “Be that as it may, there’s nothing in my background to suggest I might be an undercover agent working with the NIA. I think I might have better luck securing entry into this club than your people have had so far.

  “And as far as ‘exclusive clientele’ is concerned,” he smirked, stretching his legs out under him. “Not to brag or anything, but having Shian for a surname is pretty much as exclusive as you can get in this country.”

  Vyas grinned. “Why, I wouldn’t have taken you for a snob, Mr. Shian.”

  “I wouldn’t have taken me for one either,” Abhijat smiled ruefully, rising to his feet. “But you know what they say about desperate times.”

  Jehan stirred the translucent liquid in one of the cups and handed it to Sinya with a smile. He then dropped another sugar cube into his own cup and folded himself into the moth-eaten sofa next to the stained kitchen counter.

  He didn’t have much of a sweet-tooth, but there was something about being in this house that always made him crave the sweet ginger tea Anuja gave them whenever they had a cold.


  The kitchen was dim, paint peeling off the walls, and cobwebs peeked out of the corners. Jehan hadn’t felt so comfortable in weeks. Breathing in the spicy aroma of the tea, he sighed. “God, I’ve missed this.”

  “And you’ve got no one to blame for it but yourself,” Sinya informed him, taking an appreciative sip of her tea. “Maa taught you well. It’s just like hers.”

  Jehan grinned, tipping his head back to stare up at the mold-stained ceiling. “Pretty much the story of my life summed up in a sentence, isn’t it? ‘No one to blame but myself.’”

  On the dilapidated old couch beside him, Sinya stiffened. “Damn it, Jehan. That’s not what I–”

  “Drink your tea. It’ll get cold. I’ll let you know when I’m in need of a cuddle.”

  Sinya rolled her eyes and threw a cracker at him. “You’re incorrigible.”

  “And you’re the pot to my kettle,” he said cheerfully, popping the cracker into his mouth.

  “I’m serious, Jehan.” Sinya frowned, gazing worriedly at him. “You could’ve been killed. And we couldn’t even come to visit you. Damnit, do you have any idea how scared we were? How fucking terrified I was!”

  Almost imperceptibly, Jehan curled in on himself, trying to calm his racing pulse. He bit his tongue, swallowing back the useless apology that rose automatically to his lips. He was sorry, but it wouldn’t change anything. And neither of them had ever been big on inane platitudes.

  Beside him, Sinya sighed and rubbed a hand tiredly over her face. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you. I just...worry about you.”

  Jehan ignored her, looking around the room. “We’ll need to repair this place sooner or later. It’s falling apart.” He was desperate to change the subject, and wasn’t doing much to hide it. No point, anyway. Sinya had always been able to see right through him. She was probably the only person on earth who could.

  Sometimes, he hated her for it. Just a little bit.

  Sinya huffed and sipped her tea. She wasn’t going to dignify such an obvious evasion with a response.

  Neither of them had any real desire to have the house repaired. They had talked about it. There was even a time when they’d thought of selling it.

  But nothing had ever come of it, and the ramshackle old house still stood precariously at the edge of the city, one strong wind away from catastrophe. Just as it had, almost fifteen years ago, when they’d first moved into it – penniless refugees fleeing their past into an uncertain future in an unknown city.

  Besides, Jehan was sure that Anuja’s ghost would haunt him for the rest of eternity if he dared to mess with her kitchen. He was not a superstitious man, but he didn’t doubt for a moment that if Sinya’s mother wanted to box his ears from the afterlife, she would find a way to do just that.

  “So, did you find out what caused the fire?” Sinya asked at length, carrying her cup to the sink. “Or should I say…who caused it.”

  “It could’ve been an accident.”

  She snorted. “Sure. Just like you becoming the goddamn prime minister was an accident. You knew this would happen, didn’t you?”

  “Define ‘this’.”

  “Don’t play dumb with me, Jehan. You told Dileep somebody was gunning for Rajat Shian. It isn’t that much of a stretch to imagine they might’ve shifted targets, considering recent events.”

  Jehan shrugged, moving to the counter to retrieve the jar of cookies from the lower cabinet. They hadn’t lived in this house in years, but the kitchen was always stocked with Jehan’s favorite tea and Sinya’s favorite cookies. Just like it had been when Anuja was alive. It was tradition.

  He took a cookie and passed the jar to Sinya, who took two. “I don’t think they’re targeting me, if that’s what you’re asking. They’d have no reason to. They’d only try to kill me if they thought I couldn’t be bought.”

  “And they don’t think so?” Sinya’s gaze turned curious. “Maganti’s made an offer?”

  “Not him personally, of course. And not in so many words. But there’ve been…hints. Overtures. Very generous trade agreement terms, for one. Manufacturing revenue will grow by leaps and bounds in the coming years, that’s for sure. The markets will be delighted.”

  Sinya sighed. “It’s a dangerous game you’re playing, Jehan. Not that anything I say is gonna make you see sense. At least tell me you’re investigating it. The fire, I mean.”

  “Sure I am. Or at least Abhijat Shian is. The man’s more useful than I’d expected him to be.”

  Sinya threw her head back, her shoulders shaking with laughter. Bits of cookie flew in all directions. “Oh dear lord, Abhijat Shian! To be saved by the son of the man you dethroned in your nefarious bid for power. Man, that’s gotta sting.”

  “You’re juvenile.” Biting back a smile, Jehan rolled his eyes. “He is my bodyguard. Keeping me from harm’s way is literally his job description.”

  “Yes indeed. Your choice of employees is simply stellar.”

  “Well, you’re the one who gave his sister a job,” Jehan pointed out, biting into his cookie. “Seems like we all need a bit of Shian in our lives. How’re you two getting along? Has she filled the void left by Jhilik…or whatever the last one’s name was?”

  “And then some. She’s spectacular. I told you I wouldn’t hire her if she didn’t live up to my standards. Which reminds me. Jhilik called yesterday.” She frowned, her voice turning grave. “Something’s going on in Weritlan.”

  “Something’s always going on in Weritlan. But what’s that got to do with your ex-TA?”

  Sinya said nothing for a few seconds, her fingers drumming the arm-rest of the threadbare couch. Then, she reached for her handbag and retrieved her cellphone from its overstuffed depths. Her fingers flew over the screen until she’d found what she was looking for. Then, she handed the device over to Jehan and sat back.

  A good-looking young woman with jet-black hair and big, brown eyes smiled back at him from the screen. “Who is this?” Jehan asked, glancing up from the screen. “Am I supposed to know her?”

  “That’s Afreen Firoz. One of my old students. Jhilik’s classmate. For the last few years, she’s been working with Pragati in Weritlan.”

  “Pragati?” Jehan frowned. “You mean the anti-human trafficking organization?”

  “Yep. That’s the one. Afreen always was interested in social work. Was involved with many nonprofits here in Qayit while she was studying at the university. Anyway, after Jhilik moved to Weritlan with her husband, she started working at Pragati with her friend.

  “About a week ago, Afreen went with a colleague to some club they’d been told was being used to hold trafficked children from Eraon. The colleague returned the next day, injured, disoriented, and alone. Unable to remember much of anything that’d happened after they’d entered the club. Afreen hasn’t been heard from since.”

  Jehan’s eyes widened. “What? Have they filed a report? Who’s investigating this?”

  “They have. And that’s the thing. Jhilik and her colleagues believe the police aren’t taking the matter seriously, ‘cause apparently this club’s frequented by the who’s who of Ishfana. Politicians, businessmen, actors, that sort of thing. Very high-profile clientele, which makes the local law enforcement reluctant to step in.

  “Jhilik told me there’s been a recent spike in trafficking from Eraon, and even from the rural parts of Ishfana, to Weritlan. Interstate trafficking has always been a problem in those parts, of course, so it’s not something they haven’t dealt with before. But from what I gather, there’s something…different, this time.”

  Jehan leaned forward, his eyes boring into Sinya. His skin prickled with unease. “Like what?”

  She sighed. “You’re not going to like this. As usual, most of the abducted kids are the children of poor villagers or city laborers. There’s nothing unusual about the police not giving a fuck about them.

  “But this time, Jhilik says something else is going on. The police say the children weren’t kidna
pped at all. That they left willingly, of their own volition.

  “What’s more, eyewitness accounts corroborate these claims. Neighbors and friends saw these kids get into the cars willingly and drive off…no protests, no struggling. As if they were going for a drive with an old friend.

  “And it’s not just the younger children, either. A six-year-old might’ve been tricked by a stranger offering sweets, but a sixteen-year-old? Not likely, is it? Rural Eraon is no stranger to trafficking.

  “And since they weren’t taken by force, the police are refusing to even consider the possibility that they might’ve been abducted. Even the families of the missing children don’t know what to think.

  “Pragati had been working for months to locate these missing kids. And apparently, many of them were spotted by locals around this club in Weritlan, which was what kindled their interest in it. And after what happened with Afreen–”

  Jehan interjected impatiently, “You said this colleague of hers had returned disoriented and confused, without any recollection of what had happened inside the club. That right?”

  Sinya nodded.

  Jehan bit his lip thoughtfully, blood thrumming in his veins. “Can you ask Jhilik if he happened to have any puncture wounds on his arms? Or on any other part of his body, for that matter.”

  Sinya’s eyes widened, but she typed out a message on her phone and said nothing. Jehan rose to his feet and walked over to the counter, setting the water to boil for another pot of tea. His hands were shaking.

  He heard the phone beep behind him, but forced himself to focus on the tea brewing on the ancient stove. He needed a clear head, and getting anxious and overwrought wouldn’t solve anything anyway. He poured the tea into cups – spilling some onto the counter – and walked back to the sofa.

  Sinya accepted her cup and handed him her phone. On the screen was the picture of a man’s forearm. His hand was fisted, making the veins stand out against his fair skin.

  There were three puncture marks above the wrist, the skin surrounding each slightly bruised, like the wound from a badly administered injection.