Is there no end to his greed?
The article ended by mentioning the name of the hotel.
‘Sir, I think you should see this,’ Dawa said.
Zhanna joined her father by the window of the suite.
The street outside the hotel was filled with an angry mob. There were already hundreds out there, with more flooding in with every passing moment. Some had placards bearing slogans, the paint still wet.
Zhanna flinched as a stone rattled against the window. A feathery crack splintered the glass.
There was a knock on the door. The hotel manager came in.
‘Don’t worry. We’re packing our things,’ Anatoly told him. ‘We’re getting out of here as fast as we can.’
‘I’m not so sure, sir …’ the manager said. He took out a handkerchief, wiping sweat from his brow. ‘Come and take a look out the back.’
Zhanna’s Story: The protest begins
Zhanna gasped as she saw the crowd climbing over the wall, flooding in to the hotel garden. Word that Kuzkin was in town seemed to have spread like wildfire.
‘They’ve sealed the hotel up,’ the manager said. ‘No one’s going anywhere. I’ve got our security men guarding the doors.’
‘Where are the police?’ Anatoly asked. ‘Why aren’t they doing something?’
The manager reddened. ‘I don’t know, sir.’
Zhanna reached a quick conclusion: the police wouldn’t be showing up – they agreed with the mob. They were as angry with Anatoly as the people were.
‘They’ll get bored in a while,’ Anatoly predicted. ‘They’ll disperse as soon as it gets dark.’
But the crowd did not disperse. At sunset they lit small fires. The numbers continued to swell; students, farmers, off-duty soldiers. The chanting got louder, more aggressive. There were calls for Kuzkin to come out and answer questions.
Inside the luxury suite they could hear every yell.
‘What if they storm the building?’ Anisa whispered to Zhanna. The crowd had not attempted to enter the hotel as yet but the situation felt perilously insecure.
‘I don’t know,’ Zhanna replied. The thought of the mob rampaging through the corridors was a truly terrifying one.
Anatoly grabbed his mobile, trying to get hold of the Russian ambassador to Nepal. But the embassy had been closed down for weeks.
‘Maybe we could get a helicopter to come in and pick us up from the roof?’ Dawa suggested.
The manager soon pointed out the flaw in that plan: radio masts on the top of the building meant there was nowhere for a helicopter to land.
Zhanna found it impossible to sleep, passing long hours playing chess with Anisa and Dawa. The only release she could get from the massed anger of the people was listening to music with her headphones on, but somehow even that did not block out the cries from outside.
Looking at the pictures of the jungle trek cheered her up a little, but even that was spoiled when Anatoly came in and caught sight of the screen of her laptop.
‘What are those?’ he demanded.
‘Ah …’ For a brief moment Zhanna was tempted to lie, tell him the shots were from a school trip. But her conscience wouldn’t let her. ‘Dawa and Anisa took me to see the wildlife,’ she told him.
Anatoly’s eyebrows twitched.
‘Without my permission?’
‘Yes, but it was my fault,’ Zhanna said quickly. ‘I was …’
‘They will be punished for this,’ Anatoly hissed.
The door slammed as he left the room.
The crowd did thin out a bit in the darkest hours of that first night, but plenty of the protestors seemed happy to pitch up their canvas shelters and sleep there.
An impromptu shanty town was growing up. About a thousand people were squatting in the grounds of the hotel.
At daybreak, the manager negotiated with the leaders of the crowd. The other hotel guests were permitted to leave, but not Kuzkin’s group. Journalists from foreign countries began to ring the room, looking for interviews with Anatoly. The stand-off was beginning to make the news all over the world.
Anatoly came up with a new strategy – trying to find a local security company who would send armed men in to protect them. His efforts came to nothing; the people of Nepal seemed to have united against him and no one wanted to help, even when money was on the table.
During the afternoon Zhanna and Anatoly were looking down on the crowd when they saw a minibus pull up. Five foreigners climbed out and Zhanna heard her father give a sharp intake of breath.
‘What’s wrong?’ Zhanna asked.
Anatoly pressed against the window, his eyes widening.
A woman had climbed out of the vehicle, a figure that stood out head and shoulders above the crowd. Dressed in combat gear, her platinum-blonde hair marked her out in the crowd of dark-haired Nepali protestors.
The new arrivals pulled rucksacks out of the minibus. Zhanna could see the distinctive white tags of airline baggage labels on the handles. It looked like they had just flown in to Kathmandu. The tall woman appeared to be in charge of the group; she definitely seemed to be bossing the others around.
They began to erect some tents.
‘Who is she?’ Zhanna asked.
The woman looked up, her eyes seeming to lock directly on to Anatoly. Zhanna shrunk back into the shadows. Slowly, the woman raised her hand in a pistol shape, aiming at Anatoly, miming a shot, and then blowing on her fingers with a thin smile.
‘She …’ Anatoly seemed about to say something. Then his expression changed and he clamped his mouth shut.
‘What?’ Zhanna asked. ‘Do you know her?’
Anatoly abruptly drew the curtains.
‘Go to your bedroom,’ he said, ‘and don’t come out until I tell you to.’
Zhanna did as she was told, sheer exhaustion enabling her to snatch some restless, unconscious hours.
In her darkened dreams the blonde-haired woman had a starring role. Tormentor. Interrogator. Leader of the pack.
Who is she? Zhanna wondered. Why had she come? And why had her father reacted the way he did?
Zhanna’s Story: Traitors and trauma
The siege entered the third day. The tall blonde woman was still there and the crowd was as vocal as ever. A pile of car tyres had been set alight, sending a noxious cloud of thick black smoke towards the hotel. The smell of burning rubber made Zhanna feel sick.
Anatoly was red-eyed from lack of sleep. His efforts to enlist help had drawn a frustrating blank.
‘My “friends” seem to be reluctant to get involved,’ he bemoaned.
The manager came up to see them several times a day, but his visits only soured Anatoly’s mood even further. A local newspaper had printed a photograph of the interior of the suite on the second day and Anatoly got it into his head that one of the hotel staff must have sold it to the paper.
‘Your people can’t be trusted,’ he told the manager.
An impromptu kitchen had opened up in the corner of the hotel garden. The presence of free curry and rice was drawing in a seemingly endless stream of protestors.
Dawa was spending long periods of time on his mobile, a habit that seemed to provoke Anatoly.
‘Who the hell are you talking to?’ he barked. ‘Is it you that’s talking to the press? Sending photos to them?’
‘No, sir,’ Dawa replied. ‘I’m talking to my cousin.’
‘Why? Can he help us?’
‘Maybe, sir. He’s out there in the crowd.’
The room fell quiet. Anatoly went rigid. Zhanna saw the veins stand out at his temple.
She realised straight away that Dawa had made a big mistake.
‘Your cousin is out there?’ Anatoly repeated.
Dawa blushed deep red. A thin sheen of perspiration broke out on his brow.
‘Yes, sir.’
‘And you are in contact with him?’
Dawa nodded his head, licking his lips nervously, his eyes flicking rapidly from Zhanna to
Anatoly.
‘So, you are a traitor,’ Anatoly continued, his tone menacingly quiet. ‘Colluding with the enemy, giving them information?’
‘No, sir …’ Dawa blustered. ‘I thought if we got a dialogue going with some of the protestors, maybe we could …’
‘Anisa! Get in here now!’
The servant hurried in, white in the face, her normally calm expression creased with worry lines.
‘Have you taken Zhanna on an excursion without my permission?’
Anisa gasped.
‘Also, what is your relationship with Dawa?’
‘Sir, if I could just …’ Dawa began.
‘I’ve seen the two of you holding hands on the security cameras back in Singapore,’ Anatoly continued. ‘Such a relationship is forbidden under the terms of your contract. And in the light of what I now know about Dawa, that makes you both a liability.’
‘Sir, I promise …’ Anisa stammered.
‘You are both fired,’ he said.
‘No!’ Zhanna put her arm around Anisa’s shoulder. The maid was trembling with shock.
‘Dawa, you can pack your things right away and take your chances with the crowd outside. No doubt your cousin will welcome you with open arms. Anisa, you will fly back with us to Singapore when we get out of this mess and I’ll arrange your return to Indonesia.’
‘But Papa, you can’t …’ Zhanna began.
‘There’s no discussion,’ Anatoly said firmly. ‘My decision is final. You’re both fired.’
Zhanna pleaded. She begged. And the more agitated she became the more her father stonewalled the situation. Finally she threw a glass of milk at the wall, shattering it into shards as her father looked on in disgust.
‘The more you protest the more determined I become,’ he shrugged.
Dawa and Anisa were fired from his team and that was that.
Zhanna asked to talk to Dawa before he left but her father forbade it. The gentle Nepali wasn’t even allowed to say farewell to Anisa.
‘You’re a stupid little girl,’ Anatoly raged at Zhanna. ‘There are plenty more servants out there who will do a better job. Those two have disobeyed my rules and they are now paying the price.’
‘They took me to the jungle,’ Zhanna told him, defiantly. ‘Took me on a birthday treat which was the best day of my life. Better than any day you ever gave me.’
‘Even more reason,’ Anatoly snorted, ‘to get rid of them.’
Zhanna’s Story: Breaking free
Zhanna hurried to her room, burying her head beneath the duvet of her bed until Anisa came in.
‘Has Dawa gone?’ Zhanna asked her.
‘Yes.’ Anisa’s eyes were, like Zhanna’s, puffy and raw. ‘He made it through the crowd without any problems, but I’m not sure if I will ever see him again.’
Anisa’s fingers clutched tightly at Zhanna’s hand.
‘But you must have an email address for him?’ Zhanna asked. ‘A mobile number or something?’
Anisa sighed. A single glistening tear ran down her cheek.
‘Your father confiscated his phone. I’ve got no other contact for him. I remember the name of his village but nothing else …’
‘This is all so unfair.’ Zhanna sprang to her feet, pacing the room. ‘I hate my stupid father! Really, I hate him!’
‘Don’t,’ Anisa said. She placed a trembling hand on Zhanna’s arm. ‘There’s nothing we can do now. I just have to accept my fate. But losing Dawa will be hard. He had even mentioned marriage.’
Zhanna gave Anisa a great big hug.
‘You don’t have to lose him,’ she said.
‘What do you mean?’
‘Why don’t you follow him?’ Zhanna proposed. ‘You’ve been sacked after all. You’re free to go, aren’t you?’
Anisa laughed at the audacity of the proposal, then her face clouded.
‘I can’t do that,’ she said. ‘How would I find him? Where would I go?’
‘You know the name of his village, yes?’
‘Lukla, near Everest,’ Anisa nodded.
‘So? All you have to do is get yourself there.’
For a moment Anisa stared at Zhanna, as if the idea was taking root. But then she shook her head.
‘You’ve been watching too many movies,’ she said sadly. ‘I don’t have the courage to do that.’
She gave Zhanna a kiss goodnight and slipped silently from the room.
Zhanna felt sick to her stomach that night. The sound of the protestors cut endlessly through the walls of the bedroom. Someone had brought some drums into the crowd and the rhythm of their beat went on for hours as Zhanna tried and failed to sleep.
The army took action at dawn on the fourth day of the protest. Anatoly had bribed a high-ranking officer to clear the crowd outside the hotel.
The first thing Zhanna knew about it was the squeal of brakes as the jeeps pulled up. A megaphone barked into life, instructions yelled in a guttural tone. The clamour of cries increased abruptly in volume. She rushed to the window with Anisa, watching in horror as the military men tore down the temporary shelters and began to burn them.
The crowd panicked. Opposition was brutally suppressed. Gunstocks and batons flew as the protestors were beaten.
To Zhanna’s surprise, the blonde woman and her friends did not fight back. They shouldered their rucksacks and melted into the alleyways on the other side of the road.
‘The foreigners have given up,’ Anisa said.
‘Yes,’ Zhanna replied, uneasily. It seemed strange to her that the ferocious-looking warrior woman had slunk away without a fight.
A water cannon opened up, drenching the protestors and extinguishing the braziers they had been huddled around for warmth overnight. The jet dampened the spirit of the crowd and soon they were dispersing in all directions with the army in hot pursuit.
‘Good result!’ Anatoly was jubilant. ‘Let’s get to the airport.’
A minibus was quickly brought to the front of the hotel. Anisa clutched Zhanna’s hand tighter than ever as the vehicle pulled away into the streets with an army escort front and rear.
‘We’ll be out of here in the next couple of hours,’ Anatoly said. ‘It’s a shame because there are good profits to be made in Nepal if only it were a calmer place.’
‘Profits?’ Zhanna blurted out. ‘That’s all you think about! That’s why the people are against you …’
At the airport they were held in a waiting area. After a delay of an hour, the airport manager arrived with unwelcome news.
‘Your aeroplane has been vandalised,’ the group was told. ‘A mob broke through the perimeter wall and damaged the undercarriage and wing.’
A series of frantic telephone calls followed. Spare parts and a technician would have to be flown from Switzerland. Six days was the minimum estimate to get the private jet back in the air.
Anatoly decided to stay in Nepal and explore the business options for a dam in the far east of the country, a remote zone where he would not be recognised.
‘You can fly out to Singapore with SilkAir tomorrow morning,’ he told Zhanna. ‘Anisa can keep you company before she goes back to Indonesia.’
Zhanna felt the heaviness in her heart lift as she watched Anatoly and two business associates fly out in a helicopter later that afternoon. Her world always felt so much lighter without her father around.
Zhanna and Anisa were checked in to an airport hotel where they both ordered burger and chips from room service.
They ate in silence, locked in their own thoughts until Anisa turned on the TV. The news was running and the lead report was from a town on the trail to Everest Base Camp.
‘Did he say Lukla?’ Zhanna said, in surprise. ‘Wasn’t that the town that Dawa comes from?’
Anisa leaned closer to the screen. ‘Yes …’ she frowned.
The images showed youths running in a muddy alleyway. Soldiers were following them, firing smoking canisters of tear gas.
‘They’re fightin
g in the mountains,’ Anisa said. ‘Some sort of rebellion?’
Anisa sat beside the young Russian girl as images of rioting filled the screen.
‘This is the last thing I need to see right now,’ Anisa said.
A reporter was ducking for cover in the midst of the protest. Stones and banners were whizzing just over his head as soldiers pushed against the crowd.
‘Dawa is somewhere there,’ Anisa added miserably.
The video images cut to a different part of the town, an open area outside a big lodge. The camera locked on to a young woman with a baby. Somehow she had become swept up in the chaos. Tear gas was swirling through the air. The woman was clutching her baby to her chest as she struggled to try and stay on her feet.
Soldiers ran at the protestors. A policeman was screaming something at the camera. Fists and wooden staves were flying left and right. The woman fell under the blows. A passer-by rushed through the shot.
Anisa suddenly went stiff.
‘That was Dawa!’ she cried. ‘I saw him!’
‘Where?’
Zhanna craned forward. The camera jerked left, then right, the image a blur as the camera operator was jostled.
‘Are you sure?’
‘I … I think so.’
The camera snapped into focus once more.
‘Yes! There he is again!’ Zhanna cried.
A figure seemed to be trying to shield the woman as the crowd panicked. Dozens of protestors fell to the ground. The man was lost beneath them. The view was fleeting, little more than a shadow seen side on. But it really had looked like Dawa.
Soldiers lunged into the crowd.
The scene cut again. Back to the studio where the news announcer moved smoothly on to a different story.
Anisa and Zhanna stared at each other in silence for a few seconds.
‘Do you think he was hurt?’ Anisa said. ‘It looked like the soldiers were hitting him.’
‘He’s tough,’ Zhanna replied. ‘With a bit of luck he …’
Anisa went to the window, staring out of the shutters at the airport terminal building. ‘This has changed my mind,’ she said quietly. ‘I’m going to the mountains to find him.’
Killer Storm Page 9
