The Brightest Fell

by Nupur Chowdhury

“What’re you getting at?”

  “Back when we first got to know about Jehan, the first iterations of the Amven drug we saw…all it did was lower the urge for aggression, heighten empathy. Or at least that’s what it was meant to do. It was very weak, barely effective at all. Slightly heady, but not addictive.”

  “And how does that change what I saw with my own eyes at the La Fantome?”

  “It doesn’t. You’re right about the fact that Jehan was testing the drug on himself. He’d basically developed the formula in his own backyard; with no proper lab, no facilities. And apparently, he hadn’t wanted to test a new, potentially unstable compound on animals.”

  “Yes, he told me that.” Abhijat frowned. “So you’re saying, that’s why he’s so sensitive to aggression? The effects of the drug?”

  “Of long-term exposure to Amven, yes. It made him hyper-sensitive to violence, averse to aggression in any form. Not that I can believe he was ever much of a fighter to begin with, but prolonged exposure to the early prototypes of the drug further compromised his ability to deal with aggression or violence of any kind.

  “He doesn’t recoil from you because he’s scared of you on a rational level, not because he really thinks you’d attack him. That reaction is instinctive. That’s what Amven does to you, over a period of time. And why it can never be used for violent purposes – to start a war, for example.”

  “But…that doesn’t make sense. Those children at the La Fantome…they weren’t just averse to violence. They were…”

  “Obliging? Compliant?” She looked him in the eyes. “Submissive?”

  “Y-yes,” he stammered, trying to remember the dreary hours they’d spent at that godforsaken club. “Something like that.”

  She sighed. “That’s because, as we learned over the years, manufacturing benevolence and empathy through pharmaceutical means is easier said than done. The closest we could come…the closest we’ve come in the last ten years…is a kind of passive obedience.

  “From the very beginning, the Amven project showed immense promise. Your father believed in it, he believed in Jehan. We all did. I mean, can you imagine the implications of a drug that could enhance empathy and lower aggression across the population? We’d wipe out violent crime in a matter of months.

  “But it wasn’t just about what Amven could do for us if it was successful. It was also about what it could do if it fell into the hands of our enemies. Imagine a vaporous version of the drug – something like tear gas – dropped into the midst of a military camp.”

  “It’d render the soldiers useless,” Abhijat murmured. “Unable to fight.”

  “Exactly. Something like that, once discovered…” she shook her head. “There was no going back, no getting rid of it now. Amven…it was miracle drug. And it could either work for us, or against us.

  “Jehan was inducted into the QRI, given world class facilities to work with. The best minds in the field were transferred to work on the Amven project.”

  “So how did this ‘miracle drug’ mutate into this,” he grimaced. “This twisted thing that can rob people of their free will.”

  “Because we needed results. We were spending millions on this project annually. And the taxpayers wanted to know what the fuck they were paying for. The media hounded us for tangible results; the opposition smelt blood and spared no opportunity to bring up the matter of the Amven project during campaign speeches and televised debates.”

  “And so, you pressured the researchers to deliver results.” Abhijat pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes. This was all too much for one day.

  Ruqaiya nodded. “Results that could be used to justify the expenditure; to prove to the media that the money was being invested wisely, for the benefit of the nation as a whole.

  “And if we didn’t yet have the miracle drug that could wipe out violent crime, we could at least have a drug that could be used to effectively interrogate captured criminals and terrorists. That would compel them to cooperate with the authorities and reveal the whereabouts of their accomplices and associates.”

  “A drug that enforced passive obedience, encouraged aversion to conflict,” finished Abhijat, comprehension dawning in his mind.

  His companion nodded, her lips pressed into a thin line. “Jehan wasn’t happy about it; almost left the QRI. Would have, I’m pretty sure, if it weren’t for your father.” She sighed, shaking her head. “But it was only supposed to be temporary, a placeholder until the drug could be perfected, Fasih’s original vision realized. We never meant to…it was never even supposed to be used–”

  “Until the metro attacks changed all that.”

  She smiled bitterly. “Yes. That’s what forced our hand. The nation was in uproar. Everyone wanted someone to blame for what had happened. People wanted revenge.

  “We couldn’t be seen sitting on our hands, doing nothing. Justice by any means necessary, the press demanded. Well, what better means could there be than the Amven drug we’d been crowing about all these years? Even members of our own party campaigned for its use on the captured suspects. We didn’t have a choice.”

  “Fasih was thrilled about that, I’m sure,” Abhijat snorted. “Tell me, was Badal one of the people who favored the use of the drug?”

  “One of the most vocal of them, yes. Why do you ask?”

  He shrugged. “That boy, Laihan…”

  “Your sister’s friend?”

  “Yes, him. He said the La Fantome was owned by Badal’s daughter and son-in-law, through some offshore subsidiaries.”

  She frowned. “We can have that checked out. Shouldn’t be hard to confirm, if it’s true.”

  “It’s not just that, though. Vyas called me this morning about that electrician–”

  “You said he wasn’t talking.”

  “He wasn’t, last time I spoke to him. I guess he finally caved under the NIA’s more…sophisticated interrogation techniques.”

  “And?”

  “He’s confessed to tampering with the electrical wiring in the balcony of the prime minister’s office. Back when he was working as an independent contractor with Dixit’s company.”

  “But, I don’t understand. The last time any electrical maintenance work happened around here…”

  “My father was in office,” Abhijat said grimly, meeting her eyes.

  “But that was ages ago. How–”

  “I don’t know all the details yet. I’m meeting Vyas tomorrow, so hopefully I’ll know more then. But from what I understand, the exact timing of the fire was ensured by a plumbing trick. The pipes were being cleaned that day, remember? Somehow, it affected the wiring, which in turn started the fire. And it gave Sajal enough time to leave the city and hope that his involvement wasn’t suspected.”

  Ruqaiya frowned. “Was the plumbing crew involved?”

  “I don’t know. I’ll ask Vyas when I see him. They don’t hire independent contractors, but one of the employees could’ve been bought off. If so, he wouldn’t be hard to catch. My men have been keeping tabs on that company ever since the day of the fire. Small fish, Qia. They aren’t the ones we need to worry about.”

  She tilted her head to one side, her eyes curious. “Did he name any names? Your electrician, I mean.”

  “Not in so many words. Not to me, anyway. But the house he was staying at in Weritlan? Beautiful property, three bedrooms, huge bath, far beyond anything he should’ve been able to afford.” He pulled up a photo of the place on his phone and handed it to Ruqaiya. “Located inside a quaint little gated community developed by a real estate company owned by Badal’s second cousin.”

  Ruqaiya groaned, flicking through the photographs. “God, if this is true, it’s worse than anything I expected. If this thing was set up before Rajat resigned…”

  “Call it what it is, Qia,” Abhijat snapped. “An assassination attempt.”

  “Meant for whom? If your father was the target, why not call the whole thing off after he resigned? And if the target was Jehan, well,
how could Badal possibly have known that he would become prime minister months before the metro attacks? You think they planned this little power grab together?” she sounded skeptical.

  “Nope. Because if they’d been in on it together, Badal would’ve had no reason to try and kill Fasih back then. He hadn’t yet lost the position of deputy prime minister or his seat in the Cabinet.”

  “I never trusted Badal, but I’d never have pegged him for a killer. Didn’t think he had the balls,” Ruqaiya shook her head. “Why would he want to kill Rajat anyway? Becoming PM a couple of years early hardly seems worth the risk. Besides, he was right there when Rajat resigned. Why not change the plan?”

  “Maybe because he couldn’t. I mean, he lost access to that office almost at the same time Papa did. And with Sajal living it up in Weritlan, maybe there was no one left to undo what had already been done. Or maybe he figured one dead prime minister’s as good as another.”

  Ruqaiya nodded, looking thoughtful. “You know, if what you say is true, there is something we can do about it.”

  “And what is that?”

  “The Maralanese New Year is coming up next month. Luminaries from around the world will be attending that gala. Celebrities and politicians from every major country will be there. And you know who’s invited?”

  Abhijat raised a questioning eyebrow, ignoring her dramatic tone.

  “Badal and his family. They received a personal invitation from none other than Maganti himself. Or at least that’s what I’ve heard through the political grapevine.”

  “But why? He was expelled from the Cabinet. He’s not even a minister anymore.”

  “Good question.” She smirked. “That’s precisely what I’ve been wondering. But that’s not the point. The point, my naïve young friend, is that the Gods themselves couldn’t have presented you with a better opportunity for reconnaissance.

  “Fasih will be there too, of course, as our new PM. And you’ll have them all in the same room – Badal, Maganti, Rinisa, and Fasih. You can go as part of Jehan’s delegation, nothing unnatural about that. Once there, you can maybe find out what Badal’s been up to, follow him around and see where he leads you. At the very least, you’ll learn more than you would here in Qayit.”

  “I’ll think about it. Although I don’t know how happy Fasih will be about me tagging along with him to Maralana.”

  “Trouble in paradise?”

  He scowled. “If hanging out with that scheming, devious little shit is your idea of paradise, Qia, I’m worried about you.”

  She shrugged. “Well, you have to admit it’s interesting. How does he fit into all this? What’s his angle here? What’s the endgame for this elaborate set-up he’s been weaving these past few months?”

  “Believe me, I’d give an arm and a leg to know just what Fasih’s motives are.”

  Chapter 10

  Another day, another pointless argument with Priya Parekh. Rito sighed, stepping out of the classroom and into the third-floor terrace. It was a nice day, but she’d been feeling antsy all morning. The confrontation with Priya over last week’s test hadn’t helped her mood any. That girl was going to be the death of her.

  She leaned against the parapet and tipped her head back, soaking in the soothing winter sunlight. She pulled out her phone, which had been buzzing in her pocket for a few seconds now.

  The name on the screen made her lips quirk in a smile. “Laihan,” she said, pressing the device to her ear. “How are you? How’s Afreen?”

  “Rito, I’m so sorry.”

  Well, that was unexpected. She frowned. “What for? What’s the matter?”

  A few seconds passed in silence. When he finally spoke, his voice was strained. “Rinisa called. She wanted your number.”

  “What? Rinisa as in...the deputy chief minister of Eraon? That Rinisa?”

  Laihan grunted, managing to somehow convey hostility even through that monosyllabic sound.

  “Huh. Guess I’m more popular than I thought. She wanted my number, you said? What for? And why did she contact you anyway? She could’ve just emailed me if she wanted to talk.”

  He sighed. “God Rito, I’m so sorry. I should never have...I’d never sell you out on purpose, you know that right?”

  “Sell me out? Lai, what’re you talking about? Seriously man, you’re scaring me now. Is Afreen okay? What about the children?”

  The day before Rito left Weritlan, Laihan and Afreen had got engaged. The two of them had been working together to rehabilitate the children rescued from the La Fantome club, many of whom didn’t really have homes to return to.

  It was strenuous work, physically as well as emotionally draining; and Afreen was yet to recover completely from her own ordeal at the club. Still, at least they now had each other. Rito was glad of that.

  The strain in her friend’s voice sent a chill down her spine.

  “They’re fine, for now. But listen to me, Rito. You have to be careful. Rinisa called us yesterday; said she needed to contact you, personally. Guess she just didn’t want to leave a paper trail by emailing you. We refused, of course. But she wouldn’t take no for an answer.”

  “Lai, what did you do?”

  “She threatened to block the rehabilitation drive if we didn’t cooperate. Said she wouldn’t allow any of the remaining kids to enter Eraon. You know we couldn’t let that happen. After everything they’ve been through–”

  “Of course not. Lai, you did the right thing. I’ll deal with this, okay? What I don’t understand, is what she could possibly want from me that’s so important.”

  At the other end of the line, Laihan deflated, his voice losing some of its tightness. “I don’t know. Information, possibly. Your brother is the PM’s chief of security. And after what happened at the La Fantome, I wouldn’t be surprised if she wanted some kind of revenge on behalf of her brother and sister-in-law. Whatever this is about, you’ve got to be careful. That woman’s dangerous.”

  “And utterly psychotic. I get it, Lai. I’ll take care of it. I’d have ignored her completely if it weren’t for the kids. But don’t worry. Whatever she wants, I’ll string her along and try to keep her happy until all of them are back home. How much longer do you think it’ll take?”

  “A couple of weeks, at most. Listen, if she tells you to do anything...anything dangerous...just tell me, okay? We’ll find another way.”

  “Hey, stop worrying about me, will you? You’ve got enough on your plate already. I’ll handle this. And Lai?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Take care of Afreen. I love you guys. And I’ll see you soon.”

  The door to the balcony clicked open. “Dessert will be ready in a few minutes,” Lyani said. Smiling, she reached out and tucked a stray strand of hair behind Rito’s ear. “Don’t keep us waiting, okay?”

  “I won’t,” she nodded as her mother withdrew. The sounds of laughter and cheering floated in from the dining room.

  Her family’s obsession with cricket had annoyed Rito for as long as she could remember. It was the only thing that drew their attention away from her. And Rito had never dealt well with not being the center of attention.

  But in that moment, she couldn’t think of a sweeter sound in the universe.

  Papa was…well, it wouldn’t be accurate to say he was just like before. This wasn’t before. This was now. And he was getting better. He was laughing again, arguing with Abhi, cheering for some random team in some random cricket match.

  The doctors said he was sleeping better too. The shadows under his eyes had begun to fade. And if she was completely honest with herself she’d have to admit that, even before his resignation, she didn’t remember the last time she’d seen her father so relaxed, so carefree.

  Her fingers itched for a cigarette. She sighed. One of the drawbacks of living at home – no smoking.

  In the drawing room, Rajat whistled. This was followed by a groan from Abhijat and a laugh from Lyani. The game was over, and from the looks of it, her brother had
lost his bet with their father.

  Reaching into her pocket, she wrapped her fingers around her phone. She tipped her head back and drank in the cool winter air. No more procrastinating. It was time.

  Four missed calls. Four missed calls from the soon-to-be chief minister of Eraon. She closed her eyes, half hoping it would all disappear when she opened them once again.

  No such luck. Still four missed calls, flashing on her screen in angry red. Sucking in a deep breath, Rito pressed ‘return call’.

  “You know, for a moment there, I almost thought you were ignoring me,” Rinisa’s saccharine voice cooed over the line. Rito forced herself not to throw the phone out of the balcony. No point in making herself poorer just to spite the psychotic bitch.

  “What do you want from me?” she snapped instead.

  “You’ve got a temper, I see. Runs in the family, doesn’t it? Still, there’s no need for such...hostility. I just need you to do me one little favor.”

  “Yeah? Blackmailing my friends, threatening innocent kids…that your idea of asking for a favor?”

  Rinisa sighed theatrically; Rito’s hands itched to punch her. “There there, you shouldn’t hold grudges, my dear Miss Shian. It’s not good for the skin.”

  “Creepy and psychotic. The list just keeps growing, doesn’t it?”

  “Why you fucking–” Rinisa hissed. Then, that saccharine tone was back. “I can understand, of course, why you would be upset. It’s very natural. But here’s the thing, Miss Shian – can I call you Rito? I gather that’s what your friends call you. And I really do hope we can be friends.”

  Rito let out a mirthless laugh, but said nothing.

  Rinisa ignored her silence. “The thing is, you see, I have absolutely nothing against you. Or your family, for that matter.” A pregnant pause, then she continued. “No, I deeply regret having to drag you into this. It wasn’t my intention to cause you any trouble, I swear.”

  “Yeah? You arm-twisted my friends to get my number so you could invite me to a sleepover?”

  “Delightful as that sounds,” she giggled. “No. I called you because Jehan Fasih stole something from me. And I’d really appreciate it if you could steal it back.”