The Complete Adversary Cycle: The Keep, the Tomb, the Touch, Reborn, Reprisal, Nightworld (Adversary Cycle/Repairman Jack)

by F. Paul Wilson

  “Traditional ones. As you may or may not know, Kolabati and I are of the Brahmin caste. Do you know what that means?”

  “No.”

  “It is the highest caste. It is not fitting for her to consort with someone of a lower caste. “

  “That’s a little old fashioned, isn’t it?”

  “Nothing that is of such vital concern to one’s karma can be considered ’old fashioned.’ “

  “I don’t worry about karma,” Jack said. “I don’t believe in it.”

  Kusum allowed himself to smile. What ignorant children these Americans were.

  “Your believing or not believing in karma has no effect on its existence, nor on its consequences to you. Just as a refusal to believe in the ocean would not prevent you from drowning.”

  “And you say that because of your arguments about caste and karma, Kolabati was convinced that I am not good enough for her?”

  “I did not wish to state it so bluntly. May I just say that I prevailed upon her not to see or even speak to you ever again.” He felt a warm glow begin within him. “She belongs to India. India belongs to her. She is eternal, like India. In many ways, she is India.”

  “Yeah,” Jack said as he reached out with his left hand and placed the phone in his lap. “She’s a good kid.” Cradling the receiver between his jaw and his left shoulder, he dialed with his left hand. His right hand rested quietly on his thigh. Why wasn’t he using it?

  “Let’s call her and see what she says.”

  “Oh, she’s not there,” Kusum said quickly. “She has packed her things and started back to Washington.”

  Jack held the phone against his ear for a long time. Long enough for at least twenty rings. Finally, he replaced the receiver in its cradle with his left hand—

  —and suddenly there was a pistol in his right hand, the large bore of its barrel pointing directly between Kusum’s eyes.

  “Where is she?” Jack’s voice was a whisper. And in the eyes sighting down the barrel of that pistol Kusum saw his own death—the man holding the gun was quite willing and even anxious to pull the trigger.

  Kusum’s heart hammered in his throat. Not now! I can’t die now! I’ve too much still to do!

  11

  Jack saw the fear spring onto Kusum’s face. Good! Let the bastard squirm. Give him a tiny taste of what Grace and Nellie must have felt before they died.

  It was all Jack could do to keep from pulling the trigger. Practical considerations held him back. Not that anyone would hear the silenced shot; and the possibility that anyone knew Kusum had come here was remote. But disposing of the body would be a problem.

  And there was still Kolabati to worry about. What had happened to her? Kusum seemed to care too much for his sister to harm her, but any man who could lead a ceremony like the one Jack had seen on that hellship was capable of anything.

  “Where is she?” he repeated.

  “Out of harm’s way, I assure you,” Kusum said in measured tones. “And out of yours.” A muscle throbbed in his cheek, as if someone were tapping insistently against the inside of his face.

  “Where?”

  “Safe… as long as I am well and able to return to her.”

  Jack didn’t know how much of that to believe, and yet he dared not take it too lightly.

  Kusum stood up.

  Jack kept the pistol trained on his face. “Stay where you are!”

  “I have to go now.”

  Kusum turned his back and walked to the door. Jack had to admit the bastard had nerve. He paused there and faced Jack. “But I want to tell you one more thing: I spared your life tonight.”

  Incredulous, Jack rose to his feet. “What?” He was tempted to mention the rakoshi but remembered Kolabati’s plea to say nothing of them. Apparently she hadn’t told Kusum that Jack had been on the boat tonight.

  “I believe I spoke clearly. You are alive now only because of the service you performed for my family. I now consider that debt paid.”

  “There was no debt. It was fee-for-service. You paid the price, I rendered the service. We’ve always been even.”

  “That is not the way I choose to see it. However, I am informing you now that all debts are cancelled. And do not follow me. Someone might suffer for that.”

  “Where is she?” Jack said, leveling the pistol. “If you don’t tell me, I’m going to shoot you in the right knee. If you still won’t talk, I’ll shoot you in the left knee.”

  Jack was quite ready to do what he said, but Kusum made no move to escape. He continued facing him calmly.

  “You may begin,” he told Jack. “I have suffered pain before.”

  Jack glanced at Kusum’s empty left sleeve, then looked into his eyes and saw the unbreakable will of a fanatic. Kusum would die before uttering a word.

  After an interminable silence, Kusum smiled thinly, stepped into the hall, and closed the door behind him. Containing the urge to hurl the .357 against the door, Jack lined up the empty chamber and gently let the hammer down on it. Then he went over and locked the door—but not before giving it a good kick.

  Was Kolabati really in some kind of danger, or had Kusum been bluffing? He had a feeling he had been outplayed, but still did not feel he could have risked calling the bluff.

  The question was: Where was Kolabati? He would try to trace her tomorrow. Maybe she really was on her way back to Washington. He wished he could be sure.

  Jack kicked the door again. Harder.

  * * *

  chapter nine

  manhattan

  tuesday, august 7

  1

  For I am become death, destroyer of worlds.

  The Bhagavad Gita

  With a mixture of anger, annoyance, and concern, Jack slammed the phone back into its cradle. For the tenth time this morning he had called Kusum’s apartment and listened to an endless series of rings. He had alternated those calls with others to Washington, D.C. Information had found no listing for Kolabati in the District or in northern Virginia, but a call to Maryland information had turned up a number for a K. Bahkti in Chevy Chase, the fashionable Washington suburb.

  There had been no answer there all morning, either. It was only a four-hour drive from here to the Capitol. She had had plenty of time to make it—if she really had left New York. Jack didn’t accept that. Kolabati had struck him as far too independent to knuckle under to her brother.

  Visions of Kolabati bound and gagged in a closet somewhere plagued him. She was probably more comfortable than that, but he was sure she was Kusum’s prisoner. It was because of her relationship with Jack that her brother had taken action against her. He felt responsible.

  Kolabati… his feelings for her were confused at this point. He cared for her, but he couldn’t say he loved her. She seemed, rather, to be a kindred spirit, one who understood him and accepted—even admired—him for what he was. Augment that with an intense physical attraction and the result was a unique bond that was exhilarating at times. But it wasn’t love.

  He had to help her. So why had he spent most of the morning on the phone? Why hadn’t he gone over to the apartment and tried to find her?

  Because he had to get over to Sutton Square. Something within had been nudging him in that direction all morning. He wouldn’t fight it. He had learned through experience to obey those nudgings. It wasn’t prescience. Jack didn’t buy ESP or telepathy. The nudgings meant his subconscious mind had made correlations as yet inapparent to his conscious mind and was trying to let him know.

  Somewhere in his subconscious, two and two and two had added up to Sutton Place. He should go there today. This morning. Now.

  He pulled on some clothes and slipped the Semmerling into its ankle holster. Knowing he probably would need it later in the day, he stuffed his house-breaking kit—a set of lock picks and a thin plastic ruler—into a back pocket and headed for the door.

  It felt good to be doing something at last.

  2

  “Kusum?”

 
Kolabati heard a rattling down the hall. She pressed an ear against the upper panel of her cabin door. The noise definitely came from the door that led to the deck. Someone was unlocking it. It could only be Kusum.

  She prayed he had come to release her.

  It had been an endless night, quiet except for faint rustlings from within the depths of the ship. Kolabati knew she was safe, that she was sealed off from the rakoshi; and even if one or more did break free of the cargo areas, the necklace about her throat would protect her from detection. Yet her sleep had been fitful at best. She thought about the awful madness that had completely overtaken her brother; she worried about Jack’ and what Kusum might do to him. Even if her mind had been at peace, sleep would have been difficult. The air had grown thick through the night. The ventilation in the cabin was poor and with the rising of the sun the temperature had risen steadily. It was now like a sauna. She was thirsty. There was a sink in the tiny head attached to her cabin but the water that dribbled from the tap was brackish and musty-smelling.

  She twisted the handle on the cabin door as she had done a thousand times since Kusum had locked her in here. It turned but would not open no matter how hard she pulled on it. A close inspection had revealed that Kusum had merely reversed the handle and locking apparatus—the door that was supposed to have locked from the inside now locked from the outside.

  The steel door at the end of the hall clanged. Kolabati stepped back as her cabin door swung open. Kusum stood there with a flat box and a large brown paper sack cradled in his arm. His eyes held genuine compassion as he looked at her.

  “What have you done to Jack?” she blurted as she saw the look on his face.

  “Is that your first concern?” Kusum asked, his face darkening. “Does it matter that he was ready to kill me?”

  “I want you both alive!” she said, meaning it.

  Kusum seemed somewhat mollified. “We are that—both of us. And Jack will stay that way as long as he does not interfere with me.”

  Kolabati felt weak with relief. And in light of the knowledge that Jack had not been harmed, she felt free to concentrate on her own plight. She took a step toward her brother.

  “Please let me out of here, Kusum,” she said. She hated to beg but dreaded the thought of spending another night locked in this cabin.

  “I know you had an uncomfortable night,” he said, “and I’m sorry for that. But it won’t be long now. Tonight your door shall be unlocked.”

  “Tonight? Why not now?”

  He smiled. “Because we have not yet sailed.”

  Her heart sank. “We’re sailing tonight?”

  “The tide turns after midnight. I’ve made arrangements for apprehending the last Westphalen. As soon as she is in my hands, we will sail.”

  “Another old woman?”

  Kolabati saw a queasy look flicker across her brother’s face.

  “Age has no bearing. She is the last of the Westphalen line. That is all that matters.”

  Kusum set the bag on the fold-out table and began unpacking it. He pulled out two small jars of fruit juice, a square Tupperware container filled with some sort of salad, eating utensils, and paper cups. At the bottom of the bag was a small selection of newspapers and magazines, all in Hindi. He opened the container and released the scent of curried vegetables and rice into the room.

  “I’ve brought you something to eat.”

  Despite the cloud of depression and futility that enveloped her, Kolabati felt her mouth filling with saliva. But she willed her hunger and thirst to be still and glanced toward the open cabin door. If she got a few steps lead on Kusum she could perhaps lock him in here and escape.

  “I’m famished,” she said, approaching the table on an angle that would put her between Kusum and the door. “It smells delicious. Who made it?”

  “I bought it for you at a little Indian restaurant on Fifth Avenue in the Twenties. A Bengali couple run it. Good people.”

  “I’m sure they are.”

  Her heart began to pound as she edged closer to the door. What if she failed to get away? Would he hurt her? She glanced to her left. The door was only two steps away. She could make it but she was afraid to try.

  It had to be now!

  She leaped for the doorway, a tiny cry of terror escaping her as she grabbed the handle and pulled the door closed behind her. Kusum was at the door the instant it slammed shut. Kolabati fumbled with the catch and shouted with joy when it clicked into the locked position.

  “Bati, I command you to open this door immediately!” Kusum shouted from the other side, his voice heavy with anger.

  She ran for the outer door. She knew she wouldn’t feel truly free until there was a layer of steel between herself and her brother.

  A crash behind her made Kolabati glance over her shoulder. The wooden door was exploding outward. She saw Kusum’s foot flash through as the door dissolved into a shower of splintered wood. Kusum stepped into the hall and started after her.

  Terror spurred her on. Sunlight, fresh air, and freedom beckoned to her from beyond the steel hatch. Kolabati darted through and pushed it shut, but before she could lock it, Kusum threw all his weight against the other side, sending her flying onto her back.

  Without a word, he stepped out onto the deck and pulled her to her feet. With a vise-like grip that bruised her wrist, he dragged her back to her cabin. Once there, he spun her around and gripped the front of her blouse.

  “Don’t ever try that again!” he said, his eyes nearly bulging with rage. “It was idiotic! Even if you had managed to lock me up, you would have had no way to reach the dock—unless you know how to slide down a rope.”

  She felt herself jerked forward, heard the fabric of her blouse rip as buttons flew in all directions.

  “Kusum!”

  He was like a mad beast, his breathing harsh, his eyes wild.

  “And take—”

  He reached into the open front of her blouse, grabbed her bra between the cups, and tore the center piece, exposing her breasts…

  “—off—”

  … then pushed her down on the bed and yanked brutally at the waistband of her skirt, bursting the seams and pulling it from her…

  —these— ”

  … then tore her panties off…

  “—obscene—”

  … then tore away the remnants of her blouse and bra.

  “—rags!”

  He threw down the ruined clothes and ground them into the floor with his heel.

  Kolabati lay frozen in panic until he finally calmed himself. As his breathing and complexion returned to normal, he stared at her as she huddled naked before him, an arm across her breasts, a hand over the pubic area between her tightly clenched thighs.

  Kusum had seen her unclothed countless times before; she had often paraded nude before him to see his reaction, but at this moment she felt exposed and degraded, and tried to hide herself.

  His sudden smile was sardonic. “Modesty doesn’t become you, dear sister.” He reached for the flat box he had brought with him and tossed it to her. “Cover yourself.”

  Afraid to move, yet more afraid of disobeying him, Kolabati drew the box across her lap and awkwardly pulled it open. It contained a light blue sari with gold stitching. Fighting back tears of humiliation and impotent rage, she slipped the tight upper blouse over her head, then wrapped the silk fabric around herself in the traditional manner. She fought the hopelessness that threatened to engulf her. There had to be a way out.

  “Let me go!” she said when she felt she could trust her voice. “You have no right to keep me here!”

  “There will be no further discussion as to what I have a right to do. I am doing what I must do. Just as I must see my vow through to its fulfillment. Then I can go home and stand before those who believe in me, who are willing to lay down their lives to follow me in bringing Mother India back to the True Path. I will not deserve their trust, nor be worthy of leading them to Hindutvu, until I can stand before them wi
th a purified karma. “

  “But that’s your life!” she screamed. “Your karma!”

  Kusum shook his head slowly, sadly. “Our karmas are entwined, Bati. Inextricably. And what I must do, you must do.” He stepped through the ruined door and looked back at her. “Meanwhile, I am due at an emergency session of the Security Council. I shall return with your dinner this evening.”

  He turned, stepped through the remains of the shattered door, and was gone. Kolabati didn’t bother calling his name or looking after him. The outer door to the deck closed with a loud clang.

  More than fear, more than misery at being incarcerated on this ship, she felt a great sadness for her brother and the mad obsession that drove him. She went to the table and tried to eat but could not even bring herself to taste the food.

  Finally the tears came. She buried her face in her hands and wept.

  3

  For the first time since Gia had known him, Jack looked his age. There were dark rings under his eyes and a haunted look hovering within them. His dark brown hair needed combing and he had been careless shaving.

  “I didn’t expect you,” she said as he stepped into the foyer.

  It annoyed her that he could just show up like this without warning. On the other hand, she was glad to have him around. It had been a very long, fearful night. And a lonely one. She began to wonder if she would ever straighten out her feelings about Jack.

  Eunice closed the door and looked questioningly at Gia. “I’m about to fix lunch, mum. Shall I set an extra place?” The maid’s voice was lifeless. Gia knew she missed her mistresses. Eunice had kept busy, talking incessantly of Grace and Nellie’s imminent return. But even she seemed to be running out of hope.

  Gia turned to Jack. “Staying for lunch?”

  He shrugged. “Sure.”

  As Eunice bustled off, Gia said, “Shouldn’t you be out looking for Nellie?”

  “I wanted to be here,” he said. It was a simple statement.