The convoy slowed, and John hung back as the train of vehicles pulled into the entrance of what looked like a large, expensive hotel. John waited until the vehicles were all inside, then cruised slowly past. He glanced across at the sign, “Vijaya Palace Hotel.” It was new, not there when he was last in Bangalore and looked fancy. John continued on to the end of the street, then pulled over and parked, angling his rearview mirror so he could have a clear view of the hotel forecourt. Powering down the windows, he switched off the engine and watched.
The doors of the vehicles were open, and armed police milled around. John spotted the black uniform of the commando he had seen the day before, and there was another one with him, both with automatic weapons in their arms. Through the cordon of security, John glimpsed the figure of Surya Patil climb out of the Mercedes and head toward the front entrance, the men forming a ring around him, the commando leading the way. John chewed his lip. It wouldn’t be easy to get to Patil with all these men around him. John continued watching as the group stopped at the front entrance, the commando having a discussion with Patil. Judging by Patil’s body language, he wasn’t happy. Serves him right. Patil pushed past the commando and disappeared inside, leaving the men standing around, looking at each other. What was going on?
After a discussion between the two commandos, John watched as the one who seemed in charge climbed into one of the SUVs. Most of the men followed him, the lights of two of the vehicles switched on and started moving toward the exit. John slid down in his seat, making himself invisible as the two white vehicles drove past. Slowly raising himself up, he watched them turn the corner, then looked back in the mirror at the hotel. One SUV remained with Patil’s Mercedes, the other commando and two policemen standing beside it.
Another vehicle pulled up outside the entrance, and when its lights switched off, John could make out the yellow number plate indicating a taxi. Two Asian men in suits climbed out and walked inside the hotel. Surya’s security paid them little attention as the taxi started up and pulled out.
John had an idea.
43
Ankit pinched the bridge of his nose and exhaled slowly as his Landcruiser pulled out of the hotel. He hated dealing with VIPs. They were full of themselves and treated him and his men like shit. They forgot Ankit and his team were there to protect them, to save their lives, ordering them around like they were second-rate citizens. At least this time, he got Surya Patil to commit that he would be in the hotel all night, so his men could rest. Ankit would come back and relieve Rahul in four hours.
Now that he had commandeered two of the ground-floor rooms in Mr. Patil’s house, his men could roll out mattresses and get some sleep, instead of sleeping in the vehicles. It wasn’t ideal, and Mr. Patil hadn’t been happy at first, but a team that hadn’t rested was no good at protecting anyone.
His thoughts wandered back to Mr. Patil as the two vehicles headed back to his house, the going slower without using the red lights to force their way through traffic. The rumors must be true that he had a mistress in the hotel. Ankit could think of no other explanation why he would spend the night there instead of in his own house. These powerful men were all the same, never content with a wife at home. Nearly all the men like him, who Ankit had protected over the years, had something going on in the background. Ankit sighed—because of them, he couldn’t see his own wife and kids.
The convoy pulled up at a traffic light, and a girl of around ten years old tapped on the window. She had a bunch of flowers in her hand and smiled at him, hoping he would buy them from her. Underneath her matted hair and grimy, dirt stained face, she was pretty with bright, light-colored eyes and prominent cheekbones. If circumstances were different, she might have grown up to have her photos gracing the pages of fashion magazines. Instead, she was barefoot at the traffic lights and sleeping with her family under the flyover. Life was definitely unfair.
The signal changed, and his vehicle pulled forward, leaving the girl behind, the memory of her face imprinted on his mind.
44
John started the car, drove around the corner, and parked two hundred meters up the road. Getting out, he flagged down a rickshaw.
“Vijaya Palace Hotel.”
The rickshaw wallah turned around and shook his head. “Sir, it’s too close. I won’t take you.”
John reached into his pocket and removed a hundred rupee note. “I’ll give you this.”
The rickshaw wallah grinned, bobbed his head from side to side, and pulled out into the traffic. Two minutes later, John stepped out of the rickshaw and handed over the money.
“Thank you, Sir, thank you.”
John glanced over at Patil’s security, still standing outside, but they paid no interest to a guest arriving by rickshaw.
John placed his keys and wallet in the X-ray machine, walked through the metal detector, and smiled at the guard who returned his keys and wallet.
“Welcome to Vijaya Palace, Sir.”
“Thank you.”
Stepping through the open door, he walked into the lobby where an ornate flower arrangement towered above him, filling the lobby with a sweet fragrance. To the right, the concierge busied himself with some bags, and on the left, a marble reception counter took up the whole left side. John walked over and gave his best smile to the young female receptionist.
“Good evening, I want to get something to eat. Where are your restaurants?”
“Good evening Sir.” The young lady beamed back. “Welcome to Vijaya Palace. We have a coffee shop downstairs, and on the tenth floor, we have two restaurants. Giovanni’s is the Italian Restaurant, and we have an Indian Restaurant called Nawabi.”
“Thank you, I will take a look.”
“Sir, I recommend you try Nawabi. The biryani is delicious.”
“Thank you for the tip.” John winked at the girl, making her blush. “Tenth floor, you said?”
“Yes, Sir. Would you like me to show you?”
“It’s okay, I’ll find my way. Thank you, again.”
“My pleasure, Sir.”
John turned and made his way around the flower arrangement to the bank of lifts. He didn’t think Patil would have come to the hotel to go to the coffee shop, so that left the Italian or the Indian. John didn’t know what he would do once he found him, only that he had sent his security home, and it was too good an opportunity to pass up.
John pressed the button for the tenth floor and rode the lift up. On the tenth floor, the lift opened onto another lobby at the end of which stood two hotel staff behind a small counter. John approached with a smile.
“Good evening.” He glanced to the left and spotted the entrance to the Italian restaurant. One of the staff, a young lady, peeled away from the desk.
“Do you have a reservation, Sir?”
John kept walking toward the door but slowed enough for her to catch up. He smiled at her and explained, “No, I don’t. Can I look at the menu?”
“Of course, Sir.” The young lady rushed ahead of him and held open the door.
John walked in and looked around, seeing one-half of the restaurant. A third of the tables were occupied, and he scanned them all but couldn’t see Patil. The young lady passed him a menu, and he made a show of looking through it but scanned the tables again, then looked back at the young lady.
“What’s on that side?” he gestured to the part of the restaurant he couldn’t see.
“More of the restaurant, Sir.”
John nodded and stepped forward, so he could look around the corner. Again, only some tables were filled, none of them occupied by Patil. He pretended again to look at the menu before closing it and handing it back to the waiting staff.
“Perhaps, I’ll have Indian food instead.”
“Of course, Sir, please follow me.”
John followed the young lady out of the restaurant, across the lobby, and into the Indian restaurant. A tall man with a waxed mustache, dressed in a long tunic and a turban, held the door open for him. John n
odded a thank you before stepping past him. This time, he could see the whole restaurant floor. It was noisy, and the smell of spices hung heavy in the air. Most of the tables were full, and the waiting staff bustled between them, ferrying plates of food from the kitchen to the tables. John felt a movement beside him and looked down to see a menu being held out by the young lady. He took it and leafed through it as he studied the diners at each table.
“Do you see anything you like?” asked a man’s voice.
John turned with a start. “I’m sorry?”
The man in the turban was standing beside him. “Is there anything you would like to eat, Sir?” He gestured toward the menu in John’s hand.
“Ah, no,” John breathed out. “I mean not yet. I hear the biryani is good here.”
“Yes, Sir. It’s delicious.”
John nodded, still scanning the restaurant. He couldn’t see Patil anywhere.
“I think maybe I’ll come tomorrow. I want to have something light tonight.”
The turbaned man smiled. “Of course, Sir. Would you like me to make a reservation for you?”
“Ah, thank you, but I’ll call once I know what time I’m coming. Thank you.”
John returned the menu and turned to walk out of the restaurant. No sign of Patil in the restaurants. Where could he be? Surely, he wasn’t staying in a room? That wouldn’t make sense. He had a house nearby. John smiled again at the staff, manning the reception counter.
“I’ll come tomorrow. Goodnight.”
“Goodnight, Sir.”
John stopped. “Oh, where are the toilets?”
One of the ladies gestured toward John’s left. “Just to your left there, Sir.”
“Thank you.”
John walked over, hesitated a moment, then taking a deep breath, pushed open the door, and slowly walked in. Patil wasn’t at the urinals. John breathed out. He was sure he could handle Patil if it came to a physical confrontation, but that didn’t make him any less nervous. John walked over to the three cubicles and pushed open the doors one by one—all empty. Damn.
John rode the lift down to the lobby, then took the flight of stairs down to the coffee shop on the lower mezzanine. An open kitchen took up the center of the room with a row of bain-maries and serving dishes laid out on the buffet counter. Walking around as if examining the buffet, he studied all the guests. He wasn’t here either. John looked around for the toilets.
He wasn’t in there either.
John slowly walked up the stairs. Where the hell could he be? Reaching the lobby, John paused and thought about his next move. He couldn’t hang around the hotel indefinitely, and if Surya was in a room, there was no knowing when he would come out. A movement to John’s right caught his eye. Two Japanese businessmen, both a little worse for wear, stumbled out of what appeared to be the hotel bar.
Aha!
45
Surya Patil stood at the window, looking out across the city lights, a glass of whisky in his hand. From the twenty-third floor, he could see across Bangalore, lights of all colors spread out before him as far as he could see. It was a view at its most beautiful at night, the traffic-clogged streets transformed into ribbons of white, red, and yellow lights. A city he exerted a lot of power over, a city he would truly control once he achieved his ultimate goal—Chief Minister of the State. Then the whole city would be his. It was no longer about the money; he had plenty. It was the power he would wield, the ability to bend men to his every whim and fancy. He nodded with satisfaction. It wouldn’t be long now.
Taking a sip of his whisky, he held the amber liquid in his mouth for a time, then allowed it to slide sensuously down his throat and switched his attention to the interior of the suite reflected in the window. Through the open door of the bedroom, he could see Maadhavi in a yellow and gold sari, her back and one shoulder bare. Her long dark brown hair cascaded over the open back of her sari blouse as she sat at the mirror, brushing it slowly. She was a beautiful woman, and despite his anger with her, he felt arousal stirring in his body. She held a power over him, he would never admit to, and even though he had temporarily cut off her funds, it was only to teach her a lesson. He could never let her go.
He loved his wife, and it broke his heart she had walked out on him, but this was different. This was an obsession, one he had felt since he had first laid eyes on her years ago. Even then, he had desired her with his whole being and had made sure she would belong to him. It was expensive, providing her with a generous allowance and covering her credit card bills but nothing he couldn’t handle. To have a woman like her—a woman half the country desired and swooned over whenever she appeared on the silver screen, a woman twenty years younger, with a body that made him weak at the knees—was worth every rupee he spent on her. But of course, he would never tell her that.
He took another long swallow of his whisky, then turned from the window and walked into the bedroom. Sitting on the edge of the bed, he watched her brush her hair. Meeting his eyes in the mirror, she placed the brush down on the vanity table, turning to face him.
His heart did a little jump as she looked at him, those big brown eyes, the full lips. Again, he felt a stirring in his groin. Shifting a little on the bed, he glared at her.
“Surya baby, I’m sorry we fought last time. I was tired, I had a long day.” She formed her lips in a pout and batted her eyelids. “You know how it is, my jaan. Sometimes, the crowds are just too much.”
Surya couldn’t help it. He could feel his anger waning. It wasn’t even anger. He could never be truly angry with her. It was more irritation, a need to show her he was the boss. A need to show her and indeed everyone else that he, Surya Patil, was still the King of the Jungle.
He drained the rest of the whisky and placed the empty glass on the bed as he watched her stand and walk toward him. His throat caught as she knelt down in front of him and rested her arms and her head on his lap.
“I’m sorry, my baby,” she murmured.
Surya’s heart melted, and he ran his fingers through her thick mane of hair. All was forgiven.
46
John stopped in the doorway and scanned the room. The bar was decorated like an English gentleman’s club, all leather chairs and wood-paneled walls. It was empty apart from a young couple, whispering sweet nothings to each other in the corner and a lone middle-aged man sitting at the end of the bar, staring into his drink. A young barman in a white shirt and black waistcoat nodded a greeting to him from the bar, and John made his way over. If he couldn’t find Surya, he may as well have a drink. He needed one and hadn’t had a decent drink since the lounge in Dubai airport.
“Good evening, Sir.”
John pulled out a stool. “Good evening.”
“What can I get you, Sir?”
John’s eyes ran over the lines of bottles behind the barman until he saw what he wanted. “I’ll have a Botanist and tonic. Lots of ice, and a slice of orange, please.”
“Yes, Sir.”
The barman slid a silver bowl of peanuts in front of John, then reached for a glass.
“Ah, I don’t want one of those...”
“Sir? We always serve in a highball.”
“Yes, I’m sure, it’s just that I prefer a copa.” John smiled.
The barman looked puzzled.
“Do you have a burgundy glass?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Then please serve me in that. It stays cooler longer.”
The bartender nodded and prepared the drink.
John popped some peanuts into his mouth and glanced at his watch, almost eleven.
“What time do you close?”
“Whenever the last person leaves, Sir,” came the reply as he set John’s gin and tonic down in front of him.
John took the glass, stirred it twice before removing the plastic cocktail stick, then took a sip, licking his lips as the barman looked on expectantly.
“Delicious, thank you.” He needed it. It had been a tough week.
The barman
smiled with relief and picked up a cloth and started polishing a glass.
“What’s your name?”
“Ramesh, Sir.”
“Ramesh, you make a very good gin and tonic.”
“Thank you, Sir.”
“What’s with all the security guards outside the hotel?”
Ramesh glanced toward the door. “It’s for one of the guests, Sir.”
John pursed his lips and nodded slowly.
“Must be an important guest with all that security.”
Ramesh gave a half smile and looked down at the glass he was polishing.
John sipped his drink and pretended to study the glass, swirling the ice cubes around. He took another large drink, then set the glass down.
“I’ll have another, Ramesh. It’s been a long day.”
“Yes, Sir.”
“And fix one for yourself, Ramesh.”
“Thank you, Sir.”
John watched him fix the drink and thought about his next question. He drained the contents of his glass and pushed it away as Ramesh slid the fresh drink toward him.
“Does he stay in the hotel?”
“Who, Sir?”
“The man with the security.”
“No, Sir, he...” Ramesh’s eyes flicked toward the door, and he clammed up, picking up his polishing cloth and another glass.
John looked in the mirror. He could see no one in the reflection.
“Come on, Ramesh, you can tell me.” John winked conspiratorially.
Reprisal Page 10
