"I see." A lengthy pause, then, "I believe I will have to talk to Jack."
"Don't you harm him, Kusum!"
The thought of Jack falling victim to Kusum's wrath was more than she could bear. Jack was certainly capable of taking care of himself, but she was sure he had never run up against someone like Kusum...or a rakosh.
She heard the steel door clang shut.
"Kusum?"
No reply. Kusum had left her alone on the ship.
No...not alone.
The rakoshi were below.
9
“SAHNKchewedday! SAHNKchewedday!”
Jack had run out of James Whale films so he’d put on the 1939 version of The Hunchback of Notre Dame. Charles Laughton, playing the part of the ignorant, deformed Parisian, had just saved Maureen O'Hara and was shouting from the walls of the church in an upper class British accent. Ridiculous. But Jack loved the film and had watched it nearly a hundred times. It was like an old friend, and he needed an old friend here with him now. The apartment seemed especially empty tonight.
So with the six-foot projection TV providing a sort of visual musak, he sat and pondered his next move, Gia and Vicky were all right for the time being, so he didn't have to worry about them. He’d called the Sutton Square house as soon as he’d arrived home. It had been late and the phone obviously had awakened Gia. She’d grouchily told him that no word had been received from either Grace or Nellie and assured him that everyone was fine and had been sleeping peacefully until his call.
On that note, he’d let her go back to sleep. He wished he could do the same. But tired as he was, sleep was impossible.
Those things!
He could not drive the images out of his mind. Nor the possibility that if Kusum learned that he’d been on the ship and had seen what it held, he might send them after him.
With that thought, he rose and went to the old oak secretary. From behind the false panel in its lower section he removed his Glock .40. He loaded it with Magsafe Defenders, pre-fragmented hollowpoints that release a spray of birdshot upon entry, causing massive internal carnage. Devastating if he scored a hit, but safe for his neighbors if he missed. Because of the way they broke up on impact, he didn’t have to worry about hitting someone on the far side of a wall.
Kolabati had said the rakoshi were unstoppable except for fire. He'd like to see how they’d hold up after a couple of these in the chest shredded their lungs into rakoshi slaw. But the features that made the rounds so lethal on impact with a body made them relatively safe to use indoors—a miss lost all its killing power once it hit a wall or even a window.
As an extra precaution, Jack added a silencer—Kusum and the rakoshi were his problem. He didn't want to draw any of his neighbors into it if he could avoid it. Some of them would surely be hurt or killed.
He was just settling down in front of the TV again when he heard a knock on the door. Startled and puzzled, Jack flipped off the DVD and padded to the door, gun in hand. Another knock just as he reached it. He couldn’t imagine a rakosh knocking, but he was very uneasy about this night caller.
"Who is it?"
"Kusum Bahkti," said a voice on the other side.
Kusum! Muscles tightened across Jack's chest. Nellie's killer had come calling. Holding himself in check, he unlocked the door.
Kusum stood there alone. He appeared perfectly relaxed and unapologetic despite the hour. Jack felt his finger tighten on the trigger of the pistol he held behind his right leg. A bullet in Kusum's brain right now would solve a number of problems, but might be difficult to explain. Jack kept his pistol hidden. Be civil.
"What can I do for you?"
"I wish to discuss the matter of my sister."
10
Kusum watched Jack's face. His eyes had widened slightly at the mention of "my sister." Yes…something between these two. The thought filled. Kusum with pain. Kolabati was not for Jack, or any casteless westerner. She deserved a prince.
Jack stepped back and let the door swing open wider, keeping his right shoulder pressed against the edge of the door. Was he hiding a weapon?
As Kusum stepped into the room he was stuck by the claustrophobic clutter. Clashing colors, clashing styles, bric-a-brac and memorabilia filling every wall and niche and corner. He found it at once offensive and entertaining. He felt that if he could sift through everything in this room he might come to know to the man who lived here.
"Have a seat."
Kusum hadn't seen Jack move, yet now the door was closed and Jack was sitting in an overstuffed armchair, his hands clasped behind his head. He could kick him in the throat now and end it all. One kick and Kolabati would no longer be tempted. Quick, easier than using a rakosh. But Jack appeared to be on guard, ready to move. Kusum warned himself that he should not underestimate this man. He seated himself on a short sofa across from him.
"You live frugally," he said, continuing to inspect the room around him. "With the level of income I assume you to have, I would have expected to be more richly appointed."
"I'm content the way I live," Jack said. "Besides, conspicuous consumption is contrary to my best interests."
"Perhaps. Perhaps not. But at least you have resisted the temptation to join the big car, yacht, and country club set. A lifestyle too many of your fellow countrymen would find irresistible." He sighed. "A lifestyle too many of my own countrymen find irresistible as well, much to India's detriment."
Jack shrugged. "What's this got to do with Kolabati."
"Nothing, Jack," Kusum said.
He studied the American: a self-contained man, a rarity in this land. He does not need the adulation of his fellows to give him self-worth. He finds it within. I admire that. Kusum realized he was giving himself reasons why he should not make Jack a meal for the rakoshi.
"How'd you get my address?"
"Kolabati gave it to me." In a sense this was true. He’d found Jack's address on a slip of paper on her bureau the other day.
"Then let's get to the subject of Kolabati, shall we?"
He detected an undercurrent of hostility running through Jack. Perhaps he resented being disturbed at his hour. No...Kusum sensed it was more than that. Had Kolabati told him something she shouldn't have? That idea disturbed him. He would have to be wary of what he said.
"Certainly. I had a long talk with my sister tonight and have convinced her that you are not right for her."
"Interesting," Jack said. A little smile played about his lips. What did he know? "What arguments did you use?"
"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.
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 sa
id 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 a pistol appeared in his right, the bore of its silencer pointing directly between Kusum's eyes.
"Where is she?" Jack's voice was a whisper.
And in the eyes sighting down the barrel 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 bodies was always a problem.
And he still had 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 tonight 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.
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 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 canceled. 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 pistol against the door, Jack went over and locked it, 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’d been outplayed, but still did not see how he could have risked calling the bluff.
The question was: Where was Kolabati? He would try to trace her. Maybe she really was on her way back to Washington. He wished he could be sure.
Jack kicked the door again. Harder.
Chapter Nine
Tuesday
"For I am become death, destroyer of worlds."
Bhagavad Gita
1
With a mixture of anger, annoyance, and concern, Jack slammed the phone back into its cradle. For the tenth time this morning he’d called Kusum's apartment and listened to an endless series of rings. He’d alternated those calls with others to Washington, DC information. He’d 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.
No answer there all morning, either. Only a four-hour drive from here to the capital. She’d 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 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’d 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 not yet apparent 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 housebreaking 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 had come from the door that led to the deck. The clank of a lock. It had to be Kusum.
She prayed he’d come to release her.
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. With the poor ventilation in the cabin and the rising of the sun, the temperature had risen steadily. It was now like a sauna. She was thirsty. The water that dribbled from the tap in the tiny head attached to her cabin was brackish and musty-smelling.
She twisted the handle on the cabin door as she’d 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.
Kusum’s face darkened. "Is that your first concern? Does it matter that he was ready to kill me?"
"I want you both alive!" she said, meaning it.
Kolabati felt weak with relief. Now that she knew 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 hated to beg but dreaded the thought of spending another night locked in this cabin.
"I know you had an uncomfortable night, 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 foldout 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."
The Tomb (Repairman Jack) Page 29
