“I haven’t forgotten, my friend. I’ll be in touch.”
John ended the call and stared out over the city. Once Maadhavi was on the plane, he wouldn’t have to worry about her. Steve was a good man. He’d had John’s back in Oman, had done more than anyone could ask. John owed him much more than a beer. John turned around and caught Maadhavi watching him.
It was time for her to put on her acting shoes.
79
Maadhavi stared at the man outside on the balcony. Who was he, this man with strange blue eyes and hair that didn’t match the color of his beard? None of it seemed to match, the parts put together without thought to aesthetics. Despite that, she found him incredibly attractive. He was tall and lean, had a deep tan, and carried himself with quiet confidence as if he could handle whatever the world threw at him. He had a power, an inner steeliness she found very sexy. But she sensed a deep sorrow too. It was there when he thought she wasn’t looking, as if he had seen and done things that had removed his innocence. She could relate to that, her life had been the same. Perhaps that’s why she found him attractive.
She watched as he ended the call and turned to face her. She sighed. Perhaps if things had been different... but she was damaged goods. No man would be interested in her, at least not long term, not a relationship. Most men were the same, only interested in one thing. She needed to find someone like William or whatever his real name was. A man who loved so intensely, he thought nothing of traveling to the ends of the earth to seek revenge on the man who had wronged him and his lover.
Breaking eye contact, she looked down at her laptop as he slid the door open and stepped back inside.
“It’s all sorted. Someone will be watching you. He’s a good man. He’ll make sure you are safe, but you won’t know he’s there. He’s very discreet.”
Maadhavi looked up and nodded. “Thank you.” She looked down at her laptop again. “I’ve made the bookings. Hotel and flights.”
“Good. Show me.”
Maadhavi swiveled the laptop around and watched as he took photos of the bookings with his phone, then looked at his watch.
“It’s after ten. Is it too late to phone him?”
“Who?”
“Patil.”
“Oh... no, it’s not, but...” She could feel her heartbeat increasing, just thinking about it. “He said he doesn’t want to hear from me again. He said I have to leave this suite.”
John moved over and squatted in front of her, so his head was at the same level.
“Maadhavi, I know it’s difficult, but I need you to do this. I need you to call him, say you’re sorry, that you want to make amends. Say anything, but convince him to come over tomorrow night. Can you do that?”
“I… I...” She looked away, suddenly nervous, unsure of herself.
“Maadhavi, look at me.”
She raised her eyes and looked into his, once again thinking about the unusual color. He fixed her in his gaze as if he was looking right into her.
“Think of it as a movie role. You are playing the role of a lifetime.” He grinned, the white of his teeth glinting amid his dark beard. “I’ve Googled you. I know you can do it.”
Despite herself, she blushed. “So, you were stalking me.”
“Guilty as charged,” he admitted, grinning.
She liked it when he looked happy.
She took a deep breath, held it for a second, then exhaled.
“Okay. I’ll do it.”
“Good. I know you can.” He stood. “I’ll leave you alone. I’ll be in the next room.”
Leaning forward, she picked up her phone from the coffee table. Despite his assurances, her heart was racing. She stared at the phone, composing herself.
“Break a leg,” he said from the bedroom door.
Maadhavi turned around to look at him, but he was already gone, the bedroom door closed behind him.
80
Surya sat alone, slumped in the leather armchair in his study, a half empty bottle of Black Label on the table beside him. There were rumors the young guns in the party were pushing for his replacement. He’d spent the day wheeling and dealing, making promises, alliances, and threats, all the things necessary for the alpha male to keep control of his pack. In times past, he had reveled in it, taken pleasure in the cut-throat world of party politics, but now, it drained him, weakened him. Was he losing his touch? He had been sitting there for two hours, wallowing in a pit of self-pity. The drinking was doing nothing to cheer him up.
His house was empty… empty apart from all the men downstairs. He couldn’t go out alone, couldn’t even roam his own house freely. His wife had gone, and he had no idea where. The only sign she still existed was the letter from a lawyer, initiating divorce proceedings. He had fought with his mistress. There was no one left in his personal life, and he had lost his freedom because of some mother-fucking Englishman. Draining the glass, he slid it onto the table, pushing it away from the edge with his fingertips. He thought back to the fight with Maadhavi. Perhaps he shouldn’t have been so harsh. She was bound to meet people. He couldn’t watch her all the time. His life was better with her in it. She was his lucky charm.
Leaning forward, he poured himself another three fingers of whisky. As he picked up the glass, the phone vibrated and shifted across the table. He glanced at the screen—speak of the devil. Canceling the call, he picked up his glass and sat back in his chair. Hmmm. Should he give her a second chance? He started to feel a little better. He still had his power. He smiled when the phone rang again. Sooner or later, everyone came running back to Surya Patil. He was still the King of the Jungle. He picked up the phone and took the call.
81
John kept his ear to the door. He had told her he would give her space, but he wanted to hear what she said, didn’t want any surprises. The conversation started slowly, hesitantly. John could only guess at half the conversation, but as Maadhavi got into a flow, found her role, he had to admit, she was very good. It was an Oscar-winning performance. If John hadn’t known better, he would have truly believed Surya Patil was her long-lost love, and she couldn’t live without him. She balanced it perfectly—a submissive pleading with enough subtle flattery to boost his ego. If Patil didn’t fall for it, no one would.
The conversation ended, and John moved away from the door and sat on the bed, not moving until there was a gentle knock on the bedroom door. He opened it to see Maadhavi looking drained and fragile, the confident shell she surrounded herself with in public nowhere to be seen.
“It’s done.” Turning, she walked over to the bar, grabbed a fresh glass and the whisky bottle, and poured herself a shot of whisky. She tossed it back in one, the drink restoring some of her vigor. “He’ll be here at eight tomorrow night.”
“Well done.” Smiling, he walked over to her and put a comforting hand on her upper arm. “I knew you could do it.”
“He sounded... happy.” She reached for his hand. “Am I doing the right thing, William?”
“Maadhavi, he’s happy because he thinks you have gone running back to him. It’s not love or affection. It’s power.” John reached up and touched her cheek. “No man has the right to do that. No man has the right to do what he did to you… has continued to do to you. Remember that.”
Maadhavi studied John’s face for a moment, then nodded. “Yes, you’re right. What do I do now?”
John smiled. “You’d better pack.”
82
John checked his watch—three thirty p.m. She should have landed by now. He pulled out his phone and dialed.
“Gidday,” Steve’s laconic voice came on the line.
“Hi, Steve. Did you find her?”
“Yeah, mate. Easy peasy. She’s clear. Couldn’t see anyone following her.”
“Good.” John breathed a sigh of relief. He could move on to the next phase.
“I’m just following her to the hotel.” He heard a honk and a curse. “Bloody camel jockeys.”
“Try not to crash,
Steve. I need you for a few more days.”
“No worries, mate. It will be my pleasure. She’s easy on the eyes. Not like some of the ugly mugs I’ve had to follow.”
“I bet, but avoid temptation, my friend. I want you to be discreet, stay in the background.”
“Got it.”
“Thanks, Steve. Oh, hey, one more thing.”
“Yeah?”
“If you do have to speak to her, my name is William.”
“William? Like the prince?”
“Yes, Steve, like the prince.”
“Okay, your highness, keep me posted.”
John chuckled and ended the call.
He looked down at the items laid out on Pournima’s plastic dining table. He had made the purchases earlier but was still waiting for two more items only Pournima could get for him. It was time for him to get ready. He wanted to be back in the hotel in plenty of time before Patil arrived.
Picking up the latex surgical gloves, he put them in the side pocket of his cargos, along with a packet of cable ties and a car polishing cloth. He wanted a weapon, just in case, but there had been little time, and he had no contacts who could provide him with anything. If everything went to plan, he wouldn’t need one. Still, it was a niggling doubt that wouldn’t go away. A handgun of some sort would give him so much more confidence.
He heard the door open behind him and turned as Pournima returned.
“Did you get them?”
“Yes,” Pournima replied, a little out of breath.
John pulled out a chair for her and went to the kitchen to fetch her a glass of water. He came back and passed it to Pournima, who took a couple of sips, then placed it back on the table and dabbed the perspiration from her forehead with the end of her duppata.
She handed a small cardboard box to John, the lid held shut with a rubber band.
“You didn’t need a prescription?”
Pournima shook her head, her mouth full of water as she drank from the glass. “No, I paid a little extra. You know how it works, Mr. John.”
“Yes, but I’m still surprised.”
John slipped the box into his other pocket, then took the larger bag from Pournima and looked inside.
“Great, but I might need your help to wear it.”
Pournima giggled.
John pulled the black cloth out of the bag and shook it out. There were, in fact, two items. Taking the larger of the two, he found the opening and pulled it over his head, then slipped his arms through the sleeves.
Pournima covered her mouth with her hand, but there was no mistaking the amusement in her eyes. Standing, she adjusted the fit until it covered John properly, then stood back.
“This is the large size?” John asked as he swung his arms around and twisted his body.
“Yes.”
“Hmmm, okay” It was a little tight under his arms, but it would have to do. He reached for the other piece of black cloth but was at a loss as to what to do with it. Pournima saved him. Taking it, she unfolded it, then reached up to place it over John’s head. John ducked his head down to make it easier. She secured it under his neck, pulling the cloth over his head, so he was completely covered.
“Okay, Mr. John, it’s done.”
John straightened up and adjusted his gaze, so he could see her through the narrow mesh slit.
“What do you think?”
Pournima giggled again. “You look like a begum now. A very tall begum!”
“Good.” John lifted the veil back over his head until it was hanging behind him. “It’s so hot under this. How do they do it?”
Pournima shrugged, still highly amused at the sight of John dressed in a full burqa.
“Do you think it will work, Pournima? Will I pass as a Muslim woman?”
“Yes, Mr. John.” Pournima bobbed her head in agreement. “No one can see who you are. They might think you are very big, but no one will pay you too much attention.”
John nodded and looked down at the black dress that reached the floor. The idea for the disguise had come when he’d heard the call to prayer from the mosque in the slum. Just as he’d wanted Maadhavi to have a watertight alibi, he wanted no trace of him on the CCTV camera footage for tonight.
“Can you cut a slit in the side?” he showed her where. “I want to reach my pocket without taking this off.”
“Yes, Mr. John. I’ll get my scissors.”
“Oh, and one more thing. Can you write the hotel name and address for me in Kannada? I don’t want the rickshaw wallah to hear my voice.”
83
The rickshaw ride had gone without a hitch, the driver glancing curiously at the large Muslim woman climbing into his rickshaw, but as soon as John handed him the address, he was all business and headed to the hotel without a second thought.
After paying him, John stepped out in front of the hotel, stooping a little to hide his height, and moved to the entrance in as ladylike a fashion as he could, given he was wearing a long black cloak and his field of vision was severely limited by the head covering. Sweltering under the extra layer, he blinked away the sweat running down his forehead into his eyes. He could smell his breath as he breathed in and out, the air trapped under the cloth. Looking left to right, he scanned his surroundings as much as he could to see if anyone had seen through his disguise, but the doorman and a security guard barely paid him any attention as John shuffled over to the metal detector and stepped through the detector without setting off any alarms—he had made sure he had nothing metallic in his possession. The doorman held open the door, making no eye contact. The simple act of donning a burqa had made John invisible.
Walking inside, he felt more confident with every step. He turned his head slightly to look toward the reception counter. A staff member glanced briefly in his direction but paid little notice, returning their attention to whatever work they were doing behind the counter. The other two staff members ignored him completely. Shuffling over to the lifts, he took little steps to ensure the floor length burqa didn’t ride up and expose his trekking boots. He pressed the button for the twenty-third floor and waited. Three men walked over and joined him by the lift. John tensed, waiting for them to say something. When the lift to the left of him chimed its arrival, John stepped inside. He looked at the men, but they hadn’t moved. He waited for them to join him, but one smiled and said, “It’s okay Madam, you go first.”
John nodded and allowed the doors to close. Under the cloth, he allowed himself to smile, relieved he was inside safely and amused that donning a piece of clothing could change drastically how one was perceived.
On the twenty-third floor, John stepped out and looked up and down the empty corridor. Walking down to the door to Maadhavi’s suite, he reached through the slit Pournima had cut in the burqa to retrieve the spare key card Maadhavi had given him. Swiping it on the lock, then covering his fingers with his sleeve, he pushed down on the handle and entered the suite, the door clicking shut behind him. Lifting the veil from his face, he flipped it over his head, took a deep breath of fresh air, then reached up and used the ends of the veil to wipe the sweat from his face.
The suite was immaculate, housekeeping having visited earlier in the day. John checked his watch. He still had three hours before he expected Patil to arrive for his meeting with Maadhavi. Reaching into his pocket, he removed the latex gloves, pulled them on, flexed his fingers, then removed the polishing cloth from his other pocket. Housekeeping had been through the suite, but he wanted to make sure there would be no trace of his visit the previous evening. He set to wiping down anything he might have touched—door handles, furniture, the glasses and bottles on the bar counter. He was thorough; he had plenty of time. As he wiped, he mentally rehearsed everything he had planned, considering other options, alternative scenarios. By the time he had finished, thirty minutes later, he was confident whatever happened, he would have it covered.
The only thing missing was a weapon, something that had been nagging at him for days. There were
a couple of knives in the kitchenette, but John was reluctant to use them. They would be okay as a threat, but a threat was only effective if he was prepared to carry through with it, and he wasn’t with what he had planned. He stood, his hands on his hips and looked around the suite once more, making sure he hadn’t missed anything. His eyes fell on a bowl on an occasional table beside the door, holding keys and a pile of loose change. It held his attention for a moment, but he couldn’t think why until a light bulb went off in his brain. Turning, he walked back to Maadhavi’s bedroom, then into the dressing room. He looked around, spotted a set of drawers to one side, and slid them open. Rifling through the lingerie and underwear, he felt a little guilty but couldn’t find what he needed. Damn. He straightened and chewed his lip, his mind whirring away. Sighing, he walked back into the living room and sat down.
Unlacing his boot, he removed it, then pulled off his sock before replacing his boot. He stood, walked over to the door, and tipped the bowl of loose change into the sock, shook the sock until all the coins were at the bottom, then tied a knot around the change to hold it in place. Satisfied, he hefted the sock in his hand, holding it at the top, the end with the coins swinging like a pendulum. He swung it behind him, then over his head, bringing his hand down in a striking action. The coin weighted sock flew down in an arc, striking an imaginary foe in front of him—perfect. The sock gave him an extra thirty centimeters of reach, and the centrifugal force of the coins made it a very effective club. Good. John checked his watch—nothing to do now but wait.
84
Surya Patil checked his reflection in the mirror again. Pouring a drop of coconut oil into his palm from a small plastic bottle on the vanity top, he rubbed his hands together before smoothing the stray strands of hair on the side of his head. Picking up a bottle of Old Spice he hesitated, then put it back and picked up the fancy foreign cologne he had bought in Dubai Duty Free, liberally splashing it on both cheeks before standing back.
Reprisal Page 19
