Meeting Max

by Richard Brumer

  “Well, it’s a long story. You’ve told me some interesting things. Do you know the names of any of these small studios?”

  “No, but many groups who have worked for the very upscale Firangi Paani nightclub in Bombay is making CDs that use audio recorders with a company called the name of a cat. I can’t think of the full name, but there is the word ‘cat’ in it. They may not be in business anymore. Most probably. Many artists cannot afford them if they were.”

  “A cat, I see. Are you are no longer working as a musician? Do you just work as a driver?”

  “No, sir. My uncle owns this limo business, but he has been taken sick and my auntie is running it until he gets better, so I am helping them.”

  “You’re a good man, Manu.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  ***

  They finally got to RC Niwas at about nine in the morning. Rick walked through a wrought iron gate and down a corridor, into a large central area where a few people sat around tables in wicker chairs, having breakfast. There was no ceiling. Everything was open to the sky. It was a vibrant setting, full of colorful accents. There was a birdcage on the side of the bar holding four live black birds with bright orange breasts taking short flights to different parts of the cage. Large potted plants were everywhere, giving this eating area a tropical atmosphere. It was a bright morning, too bright for Rick after staying up all night in the darkness, but he liked this place.

  It wasn’t a true homestay, but it had a homestay feel about it. The guests, many of whom were backpackers, were busy eating, reading newspapers, and studying guidebooks.

  Rick paid four hundred rupees, about eight US dollars, for a larger room called the Maharajah room, which had a huge bed covered with a well-worn, red woolen blanket. There was a painting over the bed that showed a dark skinned woman in an orange dress carrying a water pot on her head. The plumbing was old and rusty, as evidenced by deep rust stains running along a faucet to the floor in the bathroom shower.

  He left his backpack in the room, locked the door with the padlock they gave him, and went to have some Masala tea and toast.

  There were real travelers here, not tourists, and it appeared to be a place where adventure could be found. The RC Niwas was India personified, and it drew an eclectic crowd. Places like this weren’t listed in Rick’s guidebook, although it was mentioned in others. Despite his tiredness, Rick ventured out.

  The city of Jodhpur was a marvel. There was movement everywhere, and crowded markets with wooden carts overflowed with colorful food and flowers. Vendors sold anything you could think of, from bright children’s clothing, to spices and the most fashionable jewelry. With raucous sounds, powerful smells, blaring horns, auto rickshaws and motorcycles darting in and out of traffic, and bored cows who stood as still as statues, Jodhpur was just as alive as the other big cities. All this activity surrounded a tall clock tower that loomed above the huge archways leading to the open market.

  Street food was everywhere, hot, delicious, and all freshly made. Rick always looked forward to mealtime and usually bought his food from the street vendors. He chose places where hungry crowds gathered in front of a food stall, anxiously waiting for the hot samosas to finish frying in a large black pot of spattering oil. The cooks couldn’t make them fast enough. The crowds pushed their way forward, held their money in outstretched arms, and waited for the moment when the hot fried food, wrapped in newspaper, would finally be in their hands.

  Rick walked away with a pakora, small Indian vegetable fritters made with chickpea flour, vegetables, and hot chili peppers. The flavor of cumin flowed over his tongue as he sat on the sidewalk in the shade of a tree to eat. He had to empty his mind in order to concentrate on the flavors of the delicious meal.

  It started to get dark. Rick heard some live music coming from one of the clubs and went to listen. There was a group of five men on a small stage with a sign in front of them that read Rutakeshin Band.

  There were two electric guitars, a keyboard with the name Roland X6 on the front, a miniature xylophone, and a drummer. The sounds of their music ranged from upbeat to mellow, and all of the musicians sang as they played.

  During their break, Rick asked one of them if the group made CDs and if they knew a sound engineer named Eric.

  “Yes, sir. Eric worked with us only one time. He was the best sound recorder I ever met. That is why I remember him. Music was in his soul. He was a tall American with a beard. He mixed very well indeed.”

  “Was his full name Eric Anderson?”

  “Oh, I don’t know. I have a CD for sale. It would be very nice to give to your wife. What is your good name?”

  “Oh, Rick, Rick Newman.”

  “I am Amar. From which place do you come?”

  “United States.”

  “Achchaa. India and the United States very good friends. Let me get you a CD. For you, only six hundred rupees.”

  Rick paid him for the CD and looked at the list of names on the back of the album. It listed a sound recorder as Ehrik Weber. Amar had spoken the truth. Rick was disappointed that the first name was spelled differently and the last name was ‘Weber’ and not ‘Anderson.’ He made note of the recording company, which was Black Cat Audio, Bombay.

  He wondered if there was a connection. He immediately called the Black Cat Audio studio from a public phone and received a recorded message saying they were on holiday and would return in ten days. Maybe it was a slim lead, but it was something.

  He took an auto rickshaw back to RC Niwas. The driver seemed to consider the roadways as a challenge and somewhat of an obstacle course. The three-wheeled motorized vehicles, which ran on motorcycle engines, provided an exciting ride, similar to the excitement of a roller coaster. Only in India could foreign passengers be scared to death several times a day at no extra cost to get where they were going.

  The next day, Rick called Black Cat Audio in Bombay on the chance someone would be there so he could ask about Eric. A man answered and told him in rather poor English that they knew of him, but asked him to call back in a week, when the owner would return from his Goa vacation. Rick was disappointed. He believed this was a good lead, but now he had to wait.

  He took the Jodhpur overnight express train across the desert to Jaisalmer, near the Pakistan border.

  Chapter 16

  Sudar drove Elena from the airport through the noisy, horn honking hordes of cars and trucks that polluted the night air. They passed under a splendid canopy of trees, where Elena caught a glimpse of the twinkling stars peeking through their leaves. It gave her a peaceful feeling, an opportunity to escape her thoughts and what she knew was yet to come.

  They drove past the Lodi Gardens onto the upscale Prithviraj road and stopped at a stately mansion.

  Sudar escorted Elena through a wrought iron gate, along a travertine pathway to the oversized dark wooden door of Kamran Chopra’s house. Elena’s face turned serious and she heaved a deep sigh as Sudar rang the bell.

  They were greeted by a female servant and entered a massive foyer. A luminous crystal chandelier floated down from the high ceiling on a single, almost invisible wire, reflecting colors of red, green, blue, and gold in faint hues.

  Ahead was a spacious, smartly decorated living room, with an even larger crystal chandelier casting its sparkle throughout the room, highlighting colorful batik paintings of the God Shiva in varying positions of repose. Rooms with closed doors were to the left, as was a winding marble staircase. The house was pure opulence.

  A short passage revealed a formal dining room on the right and a well-stocked bar on the left. The curved black marble bar was surrounded by six bamboo stools covered with plush, Italian leather seats. A balmy floral-scented evening breeze wafted in through the open service window behind the bar. An archway further along led to a spacious kitchen with gleaming stainless steel appliances, a wheel of hanging copper cookware above the central workspace, and an adjacent family room with a theater-size TV screen

  The servant
guided them through French doors to a flagstone patio amid a jungle-like atmosphere with low mushroom lights lining the pathway. A freeform swimming pool dominated the center of the patio, its inner sides covered with sparkling blue and white glazed chips which made the pool glow with a soft luminescence in the moonlight.

  The figure of a mermaid in small chips of ceramic tiles swept along the bottom of the pool. It showed her long, flowing black hair, golden hoop earrings, tan skin, and deep chocolate eyes, which stared upward, as if observing all that was going on around her. The lower half of her torso was morphed into the body of a lime green fish with a huge split tail consisting of bright yellow dots scattered on deep green.

  Elena and Sudar followed the servant along a crushed stone path lined with exotic tropical plants. Along the way, they passed tennis courts, playful statues, and children’s swing sets until they reached a lush garden steeped in orchid trees, jasmine, frangipani, and palms. A stand of tall, Hawaiian, red stripe bamboo stood next to a candlelit patio table where Kamran sat. He was a stocky, muscled man, about fifty, with a jet-black mustache. He stood and folded his hands in front him.

  “Namaste, my friends. It is good to see you.”

  They acknowledged the greeting, but soon Sudar excused himself, saying that his wife was waiting for him. Kamran thanked him for his services and turned to Elena.

  “Elena, Ap kaisee hain, how are you? It is good to see you,” Kamran said as he embraced her. “Come, come, please sit. You must be exhausted from your trip. Were you able to get any sleep?”

  “Not very much,” Elena said weakly, drained from the flight and her apprehension.

  “We will talk about important things tomorrow. For now, eat and then have a nice long sleep. You need a rest from your journey.”

  A brief call to the kitchen staff brought three servants who carried bowls of fresh fruit, hot mini-samosas, warm Roti, and pots of tea and coffee.

  “I am sorry you were not able to sleep on the plane,” Kamran said sympathetically.

  “I slept some. It’s nice to be in India. I would love to live here. It definitely speaks to me.” Elena couldn’t help being awed by these surroundings, despite her weariness and the trepidation that lurked beneath her reassuring smile to Kamran.

  “I am aware of your love for India. There are many good people here, but the cruelty of their politics spoils it all. Pakistan, too, is a beautiful land. Its politics are reasonable and well-meaning, but there are times when India intrudes on our values, and we have to fight for what is right.”

  “Will Jassu be here?” Elena asked. “I talked to him on the plane, but didn’t see him when I got off.”

  “He will be here in the morning, with the others.”

  Elena ate a vegetable samosa as they talked, but soon found herself nodding off. She sipped some hot tea and excused herself. One of the female servants showed her to her room in a private wing of the mansion. She helped sort her clothes and put them away. Elena sat at the edge of a chaise lounge as the servant massaged her neck and shoulders, prepared her bath, and left.

  Elena luxuriated in the hot water and felt it relieve her aching muscles. After a long while, she patted herself dry, then slipped into a fluffy, oversized white cotton robe and sat on the bed, wondering how she had gotten herself into a position from which there was no escape.

  She thought of her history as a radical and questioned the reasons for her activism. It came from her parents, she thought, convinced it was related to their actions as Hungarian revolutionaries fighting the Soviets.

  Elena felt believing that something was unjust was not enough and speaking out against injustice was not always enough either. Sometimes it was necessary to take more dramatic action, physical action, especially if the cause was compelling. She had fought for gay’s rights to marry and women’s rights to free choice. She protested the invasion of Iraq in front of the White House and took some jail time. Her friends cheered her on into the police wagon.

  This time it was different. What was about to happen was extreme. She had never been part of a scheme where others could be killed, where she could lose her life. This was Kamran’s cause, not hers, but she was now part of it, and there was no escape.

  Elena thought about Rick’s words.

  Just because you believe something doesn’t mean it’s true.

  She no longer believed in Kamran’s cause. At first, it did ring true for her as a good cause to fight for, but Kamran never mentioned anything about all the killing that would take place. He just glossed over it. Her knowledge of the basics of the plan kept her imprisoned in the scheme and she could not back out without extreme consequences. She took off her robe and slid under a thick, white down comforter, but couldn’t sleep.

  She reflected on her flight to Delhi and her conversation with Rick. He was smart, funny, and more innocent than he realized. Maybe that’s what attracted her. He was a thinking person and passionate about his beliefs. She felt close to him emotionally, but that was crazy. She hardly knew him.

  During her earlier trips to India, each day had been an adventure, and she had loved every minute of it. Bombay and the contrast of its slums and high fashion malls, the holy places of Varanasi, the houseboats of Kerala, the Jewish synagogue in Cochin, the mountains of Munnar, the Gandhi museum in Madurai, and the luxurious hotels kept her spellbound. It was all so different now.

  Elena first met Kamran at a wine tasting event in Key West. He encouraged her to visit India again, even though she had been there many times. She did, and they met later that year at the Leela Palace Hotel in Bangalore, where she was captivated by his ideas and his willingness to fight against injustice.

  Then she thought of Rick again. Something always drew her to him.

  What must he be thinking? He was so sure we would meet again, but I knew I couldn’t do it. It would put him in danger. If he only knew why I had to go to India. He was so gentle, so nice. I could live with him forever. I liked him when he first spoke. It seems so silly.

  Elena’s mind was not peaceful. She felt powerless. Her hands sometimes trembled and her eyes ached. Her thoughts were too heavy, but meeting Rick had helped her escape her present dilemma for the moment. They didn’t really know each other, but she felt a connection.

  Elena heaved a deep sigh and focused her eyes on one particular fan blade as it went ‘round and ‘round until she became dizzy and fell into a deep sleep.

  ***

  Morning came. A servant knocked on the door and offered tea and dosas, but Elena opted to have breakfast on the patio. She showered, dressed, and walked down a circular staircase. Then she walked through the double doors to the patio. She sat alone, sipped her tea, and read the Hindustan Times. A few minutes later, Kamran appeared.

  “So, how was your sleep?” he asked in his usual gentle voice.

  “Fine. I was up at three in the morning for about an hour and then fell back asleep.”

  “Ah, it takes a few days. That’s the way jet lag is. Before I forget, let me return your Glock 19 that you left with me last time we met. You do want it, don’t you?” Kamran said, passing the pistol to her.

  “Yes, absolutely. Thank you.” She tucked it in her bag.

  “I know you are very good with it. I have never known anyone who could shoot with such accuracy. It must be a gift. I also know you have much work to do. You perform many charities, and that is a good thing, yet you still make time for our cause. Thank you for that.

  “We will be ready to go in two weeks. The information we have is confirmed. The defense minister will arrive at the Jaisalmer airport Friday, October twenty-eight to visit his grandmother. We have already planted our substantial bribes in the right places.

  “I cannot thank you enough for your help. Without you, it would be impossible. Being an American, you were trusted, and you convinced the minister and others that you were sympathetic to their cause.” Kamran smiled.

  “It’s my honor. I would like to go over my part again.”


  “I will discuss the entire plan and will answer questions when the others arrive. Then we can walk in the Lodi Gardens for awhile and feel its peace.”

  “That would be nice. I love the Lodi,” Elena replied, certain that she would prefer not to be there with him.

  Jassu and Tariq arrived. Elena only knew Jassu. Another man, Emir, known only as a close friend and devoted servant of Kamran, was also present. After the servant cleared to the patio table and left, Kamran spoke in a low tone.

  “The others already have the knowledge of our plan.” He took some papers out of a black leather briefcase and put them on the table. “But those of you who are here today have been out of the country, and it is for me to update you about the details of what we must do.” Kamran breathed a deep sigh, sat back on his swivel chair, and put his hands behind his head.

  “The plan is simple, but it contains many details. We will kidnap the defense minister of India and hold him hostage for the release of Pakistani prisoners who are unjustly held in Indian jails. In the event of any unexpected happenings, we have alternate scenarios in place for each segment of the mission. Our attack force will consist of fifteen men. Elena will not be part of this group, but she will have one special objective on the night of the attack. Does anyone have a question?”

  “Are the date and time still firm, as we discussed?” Jassu asked.

  “Yes, they are. On twenty-eight October, Defense Minister Shiv Mishra is scheduled to arrive at the Jaisalmer airport at 6:30 a.m. by a private government plane. It is the custom of the minister to pay regular visits to his grandmother, who lives in town. The dates and times are kept secret. However, Elena has been helpful in securing this information, and we thank her.” Kamran looked toward Elena and nodded appreciatively.

  “I will be in charge of the special ops, and Ali, who will be here later, will be my first officer and second in command.”

  Elena lowered her eyes as Kamran spoke. Her face was solemn. Her heart was beating erratically and perspiration dripped from her forehead. Kamran continued.