Good Girl Bad Girl

by Ann Girdharry

  “Get to the car, Boris. Now!” Scott shouted.

  The guard’s breathing was laboured. Kal rolled off him and got behind, jamming her arm across his windpipe. He got to his feet and lifted her bodily, swinging her in the air like a marionette. As the guard smashed her against the wall he caught the side of her head, making her see dark spots and dancing lights. The lounge door opened and Boris stampeded out. The guard smashed Kal against the wall again, then one more time and she held on, squeezing her grip to starve him of oxygen until she felt his strength ebbing.

  She kept the lock on the guard until he staggered and fell to his knees. It only took a few more seconds before he fell forward, crumpling on to his face. Letting go, she checked his heart. Still going.

  Taking a jagged breath, Kal raced for the spy cubicle. Scott had pulled the panel to. She rolled it back and bent to the cable. Scott had reacted quickly. The end hung empty, still swaying slightly from being pulled out of a socket. Scott might have heard a muffled sound of the gun going off. He would certainly have witnessed Boris' alarm and he’d still had the presence of mind to close down the recording operation.

  She clutched the side of her chest. One rib might be cracked, maybe two. Then her whole body flashed cold, as if she’d been doused with icy water. A high-pitched wail escaped her lips as she stared out at the children in the room.

  One boy and one girl, both in blue, sat side by side on the Persian rug.

  Panic threatened to close her down. Kal slammed herself against the wall to bring back the adrenalin. She flew from the suite and down the corridor. Pounded away from the office and out across the dirt. Past the hospital. Heading straight for the parking area. In the distance, she heard the starting of a car motor. Head flung back, she raced harder, legs working overdrive, chest burning, ignoring the scream of her ribs. The parking area came into sight. One of the floodlights had been inexplicably left on and the sedan's reversing lights came briefly towards her as it executed one part of a three-point turn. She was too far away. The car manoeuvred for the second section of the turn. She'd never make it. Now it straightened out in line with the exit road. Kal gave all she had for a desperate, last spurt and as the car pulled away, her arm lifted from her side, aiming with precision at the driver’s side. Kal tracked the vehicle, her finger squeezing against the trigger. Only a red flash of silk in the rear window brought her to her senses. Her shot wouldn’t hit Amita but the child could be killed in the ensuing crash. Her arm fell, and with a roar, the sedan took off into the night.

  Chapter Thirty-three

  It was a long walk back to the centre of town.

  Kal started out in darkness, turning her back on ScottBioTec with the stars her only company. Her legs moved automatically, everything numb. Gradually, the sky lightened from black to blue to palest mauve and the sun rose above the horizon. Though daylight didn’t bring the slightest comfort.

  She had no recall of picking up the gun - hadn’t realised she had it in her hand until she’d taken aim. Once the sedan was out of sight, she’d coldly removed the bullets and thrown the gun into the ditch beyond the compound. But its taint remained on her skin, imprinted in her pores. Unwashable. Hadn’t she always denied what David Khan trained her to be?

  A dense fog clung to the streets but its heaviness was nothing compared to the weight dragging her down. Dewdrops formed on Kal’s clothing as she trudged along. When she reached the shanty-town districts, little by little the sun burned away the mist and people stirred. Families who lived on the streets always awoke early to take their morning ablutions at the stand-pipes, and every small child reminded her of the one she’d failed to keep safe.

  She’d returned to the office and found the blanket discarded outside the building. Boris must have bundled Amita up and carried her from the lounge. How could she have missed that? She’d made a promise to keep the children safe and she’d failed. She tore at herself in rage. And anguish.

  As Kal drew nearer to the centre of the city, the morning call to prayer rang out from a mosque minaret. The high ul-ulations of the lone male voice soared above the streets, stirring the inhabitants from their beds and a while later, people took to their bicycles or opened up roadside stalls selling breakfast chapattis and sweet pastries. Kal watched it all through dulled eyes. The City of Joy, she thought, where people fought to keep themselves alive. Even when they had nothing, they always had hope. That thought circulated for a while until she became aware of people staring at her as she walked by. Probably she still had blood caked in her hair. She became aware of her own feet and the fact they ached. Finally, she stopped and took a drink at one of the stand pipes and doused her head under the full flow. The cold deluge shocked her into the present. Wallowing in despair and recrimination wouldn’t save Amita. If she did nothing else, she must do everything to find the child.

  The sun dried her hair and by the time Kal reached the centre of town she had only one aim - to get back to London as fast as possible. She must gamble they'd take the jet and head there with Amita.

  From her downtown hotel room, one phone call to the airline confirmed the next Heathrow flight didn't leave until early evening. Not bothering to take a shower, she left the hotel to find a juice bar, where she took a seat outside. The juice bar lay on the corner of a large intersection and by now the noise of city life filled the air – revving cars, puttering buses, bicycles ringing their bells. Freshly pressed orange juice always had a special flavour in Kolkata. Not this morning. It was tasteless and she downed it in one and sat watching the metropolis. Smartly dressed men and women hurried in all directions. This was a fashionable district containing several international banks. Right in front of Kal, a woman scuttled to cross the road just as the clasp on her bulging briefcase gave way, spilling a sheaf of papers onto the road. The woman scooped up the white sheets. She wore expensive, black shoes, teamed with sombre attire and something about her caught Kal’s curiosity. When the woman re-latched her bag, the logo of the Indian Government showed plainly on the leather case. She wasn’t a banker, she was a lawyer.

  Kal slammed her palm down on the table, causing the server, who’d long since given up trying to flirt with her, to almost jump out of his skin. She tracked the back of the receding lawyer as the woman disappeared around a corner.

  Kal beckoned over the young waiter. He gave her an uneasy look.

  “I’m wondering if the Kolkata High Court is far from here?” she asked.

  “It’s some way away,” said the server, “you can’t miss it, it's a huge, red building, just go straight and head towards Eden Gardens and the Howra river.”

  She put some money down on the table, then hurried back to the hotel. Now she showered with urgency and renewed energy, allowing the hot jets to revive her spirits. After, she pulled on smart clothes and, grabbing her camera bag, headed in the direction of the Kolkata High Court.

  ***

  At the High Court entrance, the security personnel were overloaded. Plenty of visitors were anxious to enter for hearings and Kal found a bunch of people trying to get in all at one time, clamouring and gesticulating and pushing Indian-style, waving their papers to try to get through the narrow entrance - not an orderly queue such as she'd find in London. All she needed to do was await her moment. When both harassed guards were occupied dealing with a man whom they didn’t want to let through, Kal walked ahead holding up her camera.

  “Let me through. Let the Press through.”

  The melee parted. The guards, swamped under the masses, glanced in her direction and didn't stop her, as she waved an old press pass she kept in her pocket for emergencies and kept going.

  The vaulted ceiling of the High Court soared overhead. A check on the internet had shown the High Court dated from the 1800s and its odd, neo-gothic design was based on a Flemish, historical building. Stone pillars ascended to the heights. The smart suits and flowing black gowns of court personnel rushed past her. Incumbent judges held offices in the building and Kal located the one f
or Honourable Justice Chatrawalia without difficulty. Chatrawalia had heard the case against WainChemicals and passed it up to the Supreme Court and she had some questions to ask about that decision. If the case had been decided in Kolkata it would never have been delayed, WainChemicals would have born the cost of the clean-up and the high incidence of deformities would have been declining by now.

  In Chatrawalia’s chambers, a male secretary sat in the outer room, tapping at a keyboard.

  “I'd like to see the Honourable Justice Chatrawalia, please.”

  “Do you have an appointment?” the secretary asked.

  “Not exactly.”

  “The Honourable Justice Chatrawalia only sees clients who have an appointment. His next available slot is in eleven weeks time, would you like me to book you in?”

  “I need to see him much sooner than that.”

  “I’m sorry but that will be impossible.”

  Kal eyed the door to the inner sanctum, letting the secretary see that she contemplated simply barging in.

  The secretary shook his head. “The Honourable Justice Chatrawalia is in session all day. Not even his assistant will have access to him until recess at eleven o'clock.”

  “I understand, thank you very much.”

  It didn’t take long to find a printed list of the day’s proceedings in the foyer. The list ran to several pages and she spent some minutes scanning for Chatrawalia’s name. Then came the much longer wait sitting on an uncomfortable, wooden bench outside the appropriate court room. The hour-and-a-half crawled by and the night’s terrible events re-ran relentlessly. What frightened her most was the possibility Boris might take Amita to Russia. What chance would she have of finding Amita there?

  At eleven o'clock, Kal heard the scraping of chairs inside the Court and soon after, the heavy doors swung open. The first out was the wigged and robed Judge. At first, Chatrawalia had his head averted to speak to someone scuttling at his side. Then as Chatrawalia turned in Kal’s direction, all the accusations she had about WainChemicals fell away. Chatrawalia had classical Indian good looks, with his hair gelled back and he'd spotted her waiting on the bench and now marched straight past and she had no need to ask any questions because Chatrawalia was the final person on Alesha's list.

  Perhaps it was the trace of a smirk at the corner of his mouth that did it. That and the fact her self-control was worn right through. The smirk wasn't meant for her, she knew that, it was the judge’s characteristic expression except it snapped something inside her. All the night’s desperation, the torment, came exploding out and she let her self-restraint slip, launching herself straight at Chatrawalia.

  “Filthy, sick pervert! Evil bastard - I'm bringing you down! You, and your disgusting paedophile friends.”

  The Judge took rapid steps back, tripping over his own feet. She stopped within inches of his face. As Kal closed in, two security officers appeared and grabbed her from behind. One of them twisted her arm so viciously, she felt it might break. She let herself go limp. No. Now was not the time to reduce him to pulp.

  With backup at hand, Chatrawalia recovered himself enough to give her a look of disdain. “How dare you come in here and accuse me, screaming vulgarities. I advise you to clear out of my sight.”

  Kal didn’t resist the guards but she shouted again. “Filthy paedophile!”

  “Escort her from the building.” Chatrawalia spoke as if she were a cockroach.

  The guards deposited her on the steps outside, throwing her bodily onto the ground and tossing her bag after her.

  One of them tried to peer up her skirt. “Try that again and you'll be arrested. I’m surprised the honourable Judge didn’t order you detained on the spot.”

  She was surprised by that too. Her behaviour hadn’t been wise. She’d cracked. Kal stayed quiet and it wasn't until the security personnel left that she began picking up her scattered belongings. Interesting how passers-by paid no attention. Here, no one wanted to be on the wrong side of the wrong person.

  Dusting herself off, she walked slowly down the main road in the direction of her hotel, rubbing her sore shoulder. Alerting Chatrawalia meant he’d inform his contacts in the paedophile syndicate, though Scott was already alerted, so no difference, she hadn’t lost anything. Nor given too much away. Kal took a few deep breaths - her head had cleared and she felt her calm returning. Who said giving vent to emotions didn’t make you feel much better? They’d pay. For Amita. For all the children. She swore she’d bring them to their knees.

  Around her, the city traffic flowed in full force. A four lane highway of taxis and motorised rickshaws ran down the central thoroughfare, the lot interspersed with the ever-present haphazard, melee of bicycles and the fumes were already beginning to pile up. On the opposite side of the road, two men were gently shooing a cow down the side streets away from the cars. Cows wandered free here, protected by their sacred place in the Hindu religion. The sight of the cow helped bring back some of Kal’s natural optimism. She'd take another juice at the bar before heading for the airport and once in London, she must use Scott to lead her to Amita.

  At an intersection, the traffic lights were on green. Kal waited, pressed with a bunch of pedestrians, being lightly jostled by those close to her. The smell of sweat and spices from hot bodies was on the rise, as the heat of the day mounted. The oncoming flow of traffic came to a stop and the crowd began to move.

  She sensed danger when she was halfway across. There came a screech of tyres. More than one car horn blared, and she kick-started into a sprint before even glancing over her shoulder. One look back was enough - a small, black car was heading straight in their direction.

  A man shouted a warning and several people screamed. The group crossing the road panicked, and scattered in all directions. Kal went full speed for the pavement ahead. A cloud of dust obscured her view, kicked up by the fleeing crowd. She knew the car was gaining. Could hear the sound of its tyres coming nearer, gaining on her by the second. It would hit her in the back.

  Her own heartbeat drummed in her ears. The pavement appeared as if down the end of a long tunnel - unreachable. Could she jump from the ground at the precise moment of impact to lessen the damage? Yes. She must try. Focus. Let your instincts tell you when. A woman shrieked, high and shrill and never-ending, and somewhere in the middle of the scream, Kal forced her muscles to leap and catapult her body to the side. As her feet left the ground, she heard the car’s engine rev into a high-pitched overdrive. Mid-twist, she caught a glimpse of the shattering windshield as the car swerved violently to the right and collided with the curb. The bonnet struck her trailing leg. With a crunch of twisting metal, the car’s momentum carried it on into a lamp post. Kal landed hard on the road.

  Even as she flew through the air, she understood what she’d glimpsed. The car revved and swerved violently because the driver lost control and he lost control because a tiny black hole appeared in the centre of his forehead. He’d been shot.

  Kal landed on her back, so badly she couldn’t roll. She smashed into the tarmac and pain coursed up her spine. Pungent petrol fumes came up from the road. Her eyelids fluttered and she looked up to see a hazy circle of brown faces peering down. Everything happened very slowly, as, from the circle of faces, a man detached himself and came closer, kneeling to check the pulse in her neck. She could hear her own breathing - shallow and rapid. A lock of black hair fell over the man’s forehead and as he bent, a chain slipped from his open shirt, the silver bright against his dark skin. Inches from Kal’s face, a medallion swung on the end of the chain - the insignia unmistakable - a crescent moon in a sky studded with stars. She tried to speak except her tongue wouldn’t move. Her ears filled with a rushing sound and the glint of the familiar insignia was the last thing she saw before everything went black.

  Chapter Thirty-four

  “You took a nasty jolt to your vertebral column. There’s no permanent damage, though you’re lucky you don't have a fractured skull because your head took part of th
e impact. We'll need to keep you in for observation overnight.” The doctor took a biro in one hand and her chart in another. The pen scritch-scratched across the paper.

  “I have to get back to London.”

  “Serious repercussions can ensue from a head injury. Airline flight is out of the question.”

  Whatever sentence the doctor etched on her notes he now finished with a final and definite full stop. The doctor held the pen poised in mid-air and surveyed her over his glasses.

  “I hope you're not going to be a problem patient?”

  “Of course not, doctor.”

  “Good. Now, your knee scans show extensive soft tissue injury, which requires plenty of rest and it may require attention when you return home. Bear that in mind and see your doctor at any sign of continuing pain. We’ll transfer you to a ward as soon as we can and meanwhile, you rest here.”