John heard a squeak and turned his head slowly to the right. A rat scurried down the gutter and stopped to stare at him through beady black eyes, its nose twitching as it smelled him. When it took a few steps closer, John reached for a pebble and with difficulty in the cramped space under the car, tossed it in the rat’s direction. He hated rats. He could bear most things, but rats gave him the creeps. The rat scampered away, and John shifted his body slightly to ease the pressure on his hips and chest.
Turning his wrist, he checked the time. It was almost midnight. He had been under the car for over three hours. He was tired and thirsty, but it hadn’t been safe to leave. Police vehicles had been patrolling the streets, and from the sounds and activity, it had appeared police had also been going door-to-door. For the last hour, the street had been silent, but still, John had waited. Having successfully escaped, he didn’t want to be captured, walking down the street.
Something was crawling down his neck, but he couldn’t reach it. He tried not to think about it as a cockroach ran across his hand. Actually, he hated cockroaches almost as much as rats. He shook it away and decided—time to get out of there. Dragging himself along the ground until he was out from under the car, he sat up. Looking around, he saw the street was clear, so he stood and stretched out the aches and kinks, then looked down at his new clothes, now covered in dirt, a hole torn in the right knee of his pants. John brushed himself down, then with another quick glance up and down the street, headed off.
Keeping to the shadows and the smaller streets, he put as much distance as he could between him and Patil’s house. He remembered reading somewhere, one shouldn’t flee in a straight line, one should put as many right angles between him and his pursuers as possible, so he took random turns, left, right, further and further until he didn’t know where he was.
After thirty minutes, he came to a larger road with a group of men gathered around a late-night chai stand. John needed a drink and some sugar. He paid for a chai and waited while the man filled a small paper cup from the steel urn lashed to the side of a battered motor scooter. The other customers talked quietly among themselves as they smoked and sipped their tea on the side of the road, occasionally throwing curious glances in John’s direction. Taking the tea, he took a sip. Just what he needed—hot and sweet… very sweet. He felt the rush of warmth revitalize him and knocked the tea back quickly before tossing the cup into the pile of used cups by the curb. Walking over to a man dozing in his rickshaw nearby, he shook him awake. Giving him a destination a block away from his car, he climbed in as his phone buzzed in his pocket. The rickshaw wallah pulled on the starter handle, and the rickshaw coughed and spluttered to life as John sat back in the seat, then glanced down at the caller I.D. on the phone.
Rajiv.
John dropped the phone on the seat beside him. He was in no mood to speak to him right now.
71
John watched the two girls on the floor. Geetanjali played with a rag doll, talking to it while she stroked its woolen hair. Saumya was lying on her stomach, writing lines of sums with a pencil in a dog-eared notebook. The small scene of domesticity made him feel a little more at peace as if he was living a normal life, even though the girls weren’t his, and he was hiding in a house in India, but he felt better than he had all day. The talk with Pournima earlier in the day had helped too.
John had risen early before the girls woke up, showered, and dressed in clean clothes, but after they left for school, he had rolled out his bedding and slept again, fully clothed. The stress of the previous night had drained him. He was depressed and had needed to recharge before he could face the day. He slept for another four hours and woke to find his clothes had been washed and were already dry after hanging in the strong midday sun. Pournima sat in one corner with a needle and thread, repairing the rip in the knee of his pants. She smiled as he sat up, rubbed his face, then looked at his watch.
“Oh, I’m sorry, Pournima.”
“It’s okay, Mr. John.” Her smile turned to a frown. “I heard you come back last night. It was late.”
“Yes.” John stood, rolled his bedding, and stowed it in the corner. Pulling out a plastic chair, he sat down and watched Pournima stitch the tear in his pants.
She tied off the thread, biting the excess off with her teeth, then turned the pants the right way out again. She inspected her work, then held them out to John. He took them and looked down at the nearly invisible repair.
“Thank you, Pournima.” He gave her a sad smile.
“What happened, Mr. John?”
John shrugged and looked back at the pants. “It’s nothing, I tripped.”
“I mean, what happened to you? You are unhappy today.”
John looked up in surprise, nodded thoughtfully, and sighed.
Pournima stood up. “Wait. I will make coffee. Then you tell me.”
John waited while Pournima busied herself in the kitchen. Last night had been horrible. He had almost blown it and was very lucky to have made his escape. If he had been caught, he would never have seen Adriana again, instead, spending the rest of his life in an Indian prison... if Patil didn’t have him disappeared.
Perhaps, he should just give up? Get out of India and get on a flight to Portugal and spend his life in peace with Adriana. He glanced up at the framed picture of Sanjay. A garland of fresh flowers hung from the frame, and someone had put a dot of sandalwood paste on the glass in the space between his eyes. At that moment, Pournima walked out with a tray, catching him staring at the photo.
“He loved working for you, Mr. John. He always used to tell me you are a good man.”
“I don’t think so, Pournima.” John grimaced. “I’ve done a lot of bad things.”
Pournima placed the tray on the table between them and passed John a stainless-steel tumbler of filter coffee.
“I don’t think so, Mr. John.” She took a sip of her drink. “When I was a young girl in my village, there was a wise man, Mr. Ramanathan. He was the schoolteacher. He was a great man, Mr. John. He had so many books. English books, Hindi books.” Pournima shook her head and smiled at the memory. “He knew so much and taught us so many things.”
John smiled and sipped his coffee quietly, wondering where she was headed.
“One thing he told me, Mr. John, I’ve never forgotten. It’s not the deed that is important. It’s the thought behind the deed that matters. Do you understand, Mr. John?”
“I think so.”
“So, Mr. John, those things you say you have done. Why did you do them? That makes it good or bad.”
“Thank you, Pournima.” John smiled and reached over to touch her arm with his fingers.
They sat in silence, sipping coffee, both looking at Sanjay’s photo. John placed his empty tumbler down on the table beside him.
“Pournima?”
She looked at him, waiting for the question to follow. John leaned forward, his forearms on his knees, staring at the floor, thinking of the words.
“Do you ever wish Sanjay had never worked for me? Had never got involved after they killed Charlotte?” he asked without looking up.
“Mr. John, he loved working for you and Ma’am. Those were the happiest times of his life. He was always talking about you. He would tell the girls stories about England Ma’am had told him.”
John nodded slowly.
“But after? When he shared the information about Sunil Patil?”
Pournima put her tumbler down and sat forward.
“Mr. John, it wasn’t your fault. Sanjay did what he felt was right, and I am proud of him. I miss him every day, but it was his duty to tell you what he knew.” She leaned even closer. “As it’s your duty to do what you have to, to make sure your loved one is safe.”
John leaned back and studied her face, and she looked away shyly, the confidence and forcefulness that showed in her voice disappearing as quickly as it had come. This simple, unworldly, widowed, single mother with barely a rupee to her name, in her modest home in one of B
angalore’s largest slums, was more astute than she appeared. He was already feeling better. It was a wonder how wisdom often appeared in the unlikeliest of forms but always at the right time.
“Thank you, Pournima.”
72
“Bom dia.”
John heard a chuckle on the other end of the line.
“You’ve started learning Portuguese?”
“Of course, I’ll need to communicate when I’m there.” John walked slowly away from Pournima’s house, up the track toward the main road.
“When are you coming?”
John paused and ran his fingers through his hair.
“Soon, my baby. Soon.” He smiled and looked up at the cloudless, deep blue sky.
“Good. I miss you.”
“Yeah, me too. It’s been too long.”
John’s eyes followed a pair of eagles as they circled freely high above him. No effort, just gliding around and around in circles, slowly getting higher and higher as they rode the updrafts. That sight and the sound of Adriana’s voice filled him with a renewed determination, one that had been lacking since the previous night.
“Adriana, baby, it won’t be long now. I have a good plan, and before you know it, I will be on a plane back to you.”
“What plan? Tell me about it? Is it dangerous?”
John chewed his lip and kicked at a stone with his hiking boot.
“I won’t tell you about the plan. I don’t want you to worry, but...” He glanced back toward Pournima’s little house. “I have people helping me.”
He spent the next five minutes telling Adriana about Pournima and the girls, about Sanjay and his death, and about the advice Pournima had given him.
“John, please thank her from me, too.”
“I will.”
“And John?”
“Yes?”
“When this is all over, can we do something for the girls?”
John smiled. “Of course. Pournima will be very happy.”
“Thank you.”
The phone went silent, and John glanced at his watch,
“Adriana, baby, I need to go now. I love you.”
“I love you too. Be careful.”
“I’m always careful,” John laughed. “I’ll call you soon. Bye.”
“Bye.”
John disconnected the call and stared thoughtfully up the track. He had lied to Adriana. He didn’t have a plan, but he was now more determined than ever to finish this and get back to her.
A loudspeaker sounded as the afternoon call to prayer carried across the slum from the mosque. John stared in the direction of the sound, the seed of an idea germinating deep in his subconscious, but he couldn’t grab it, couldn’t pull it to the surface. Shrugging it off, he slipped the phone back in his pocket and headed up to the main road. He had some thinking and planning to do, and he always did that better when he was moving.
73
“Shit!” John cursed. He tightened the focus on the binoculars and scanned the street.
The street was almost blocked, SUVs parked on both sides of the road, double the number that had been there before. Armed police guarded Patil’s gate while large men in white kurtas and jeans milled around under the streetlights. The security was double what it had been. There was no way he would get past that.
John cursed again and ducked back behind the wall at the corner of the street. He stared down at the small birdwatching binoculars he had picked up earlier in the day at a camping shop, realizing his hands were shaking. Closing his eyes, he breathed in. He couldn’t lose it now. Hearing a car engine, he opened his eyes. A car was approaching down the street. John ducked his head and started walking, keeping as much to the shadows as possible. The car passed, and John relaxed. He slipped the binoculars into the side pocket of his cargos and kept walking. What were his options? The house was out now. You couldn’t get in there without an army. John clenched his fists and screwed up his face, letting out a silent scream of anguish. Fuck, fuck, fuck! When was he going to catch a break?
He kept walking, putting distance between him and the house. He was left with the hotel. He had to concentrate all his efforts there. It was the only place he knew Patil let his guard down. As long as John didn’t stuff that up too.
Hearing the distinctive buzz of a rickshaw, he stepped off the curb and raised his hand.
Twenty minutes later, the rickshaw pulled up outside the Vijaya Palace Hotel. John paid and went through the metal detector. He had tossed the binoculars on the side of the road after getting into the rickshaw. He regretted getting rid of a useful piece of equipment but didn’t want to have to explain to the hotel security why he had a pair of binoculars in his pocket. The less attention, the better. Angling his face away from the reception desk, he headed for the toilets. He needed to make himself look a little more respectable. He had dressed for a stakeout, not a night in a five-star hotel.
74
John was sitting at the corner of the bar, staring at his drink when he felt her walk in, a presence that seemed to fill the room. The heads of the few men in the bar turned to watch her. It wasn’t just her looks. She was a beautiful woman for sure, but there was something about the way she carried herself, an aura that enchanted. John could see why she had been destined for the big screen.
But when you looked closer, past the glamor, the grooming, and the expensive saris, you could sense she was filled with sadness, a sadness she hid with her personality and the way she interacted with the staff. He watched her as she sat down at her usual seat at the bar and gave the barman, Ramesh, a smile. She hadn’t spotted John yet, and he was content to observe her. Placing a small clutch on the counter, she stared into the mirror behind the bar, her fingers drumming a gentle tattoo on the bartop while Ramesh fixed her drink.
Ramesh placed a martini in front of her, and she accepted it with another smile, stirred the olive around in the drink, then raised her glass. As she took a sip, she glanced along the bar, spotting John for the first time. John smiled and raised his glass in salute.
Maadhavi broke into a smile and raised her glass again. Looking over her shoulder, she gave a quick glance in Ramesh’s direction, then tapped on the bar beside her.
Understanding the unspoken message, John pushed back his chair, picked up his drink, and walked over to join her.
“William, how lovely to see you.” She gestured to the stool beside her. “Please, join me.”
John sat down beside her and, for the first time, noticed the slight discoloration on her cheek. Noticing the direction of his gaze, her hand went involuntarily to her face before she quickly removed it.
“How are you?” She glanced down at his hiking boots and cargos. “Have you been hiking?”
“I had a day off, Maadhavi.” John gave her a broad smile. “I didn’t expect to see you so soon,” he lied.
“Ha.” Maadhavi touched his forearm with her fingers and leaned closer. “Are you sure you weren’t waiting for me?” She winked.
John grinned. “You caught me. I’m a stalker.”
“Not my first, William, trust me.” Maadhavi turned away and took a sip of her drink. The smile had disappeared, and she stared morosely into her glass. John sat quietly beside her, waiting for her to say something. She looked up, hesitated, glanced over at Ramesh, who was polishing glasses at the end of the bar, then turned to John.
“Would you like to have dinner with me again, William? I enjoyed our chat last time, and... I need cheering up.”
“I would love to.”
Maadhavi nodded and glanced again toward Ramesh.
“Let’s eat in my suite. We’ll get room service.”
“Okay.”
“Don’t get any ideas. There’s a reason for it, which I will explain later.”
John frowned and nodded.
Maadhavi drained her glass and placed it back on the counter.
“Follow me after ten minutes. I’m in Room 2301.”
John frowned again, wondering about t
he reason for the subterfuge.
“Sure.”
Ramesh saw Maadhavi getting up and rushed over.
“Another drink, Ma’am?”
Maadhavi put on a dazzling smile. “No, thank you, Ramesh. I’ve got a bit of a headache tonight.”
“Okay, Ma’am.” Ramesh looked concerned. “Please get well soon.”
“Thank you, Ramesh.” Maadhavi reached over and touched his forearm, turning Ramesh’s face bright red. “You are always so good to me.”
John watched her leave in the bar mirror, then ordered another Botanist and tonic. He may as well. He had ten minutes to fill.
75
Ten minutes later, John exited the lift and walked along the corridor. It was easy to find the room, only four suites occupied the floor. He tapped on the door and waited. After a brief moment, the door opened, and Maadhavi stood there with a welcoming smile. She had changed out of the sari she had worn in the bar and was dressed in a long, flowing, silk blouse and wide-legged pants, her hair loose and tumbling over her shoulders. She seemed more relaxed, now that she was in her own space.
“Welcome.” She opened the door wide as John walked in, gesturing toward the sofa. “Make yourself comfortable, I’ll grab us some drinks.”
John walked over, but before he sat down, his eye went to the floor-to-ceiling windows. The door to the balcony was open, and a cool breeze blew gently through the suite.
“What an incredible view,” John said over his shoulder as he stepped onto the balcony. As far as he could see in every direction, the massive city spread out before him in a carpet of millions of lights, twinkling and sparkling in white, yellow, and orange. Stepping to the edge, he looked over the railing. Far below, he could make out the well-lit hotel forecourt and the street beyond. The street was still filled with movement, but the ever-present noise and dust were muted by the height of the building. Feeling Maadhavi join him, he turned as she held out a drink. He took it and grinned.
Reprisal Page 17
