The Brightest Fell

by Nupur Chowdhury

  “One that doesn’t have an Opposition?” Abhijat let the sarcasm bleed into his tone.

  “Oh, it has an Opposition, alright. Just one that isn’t too prone to opposing, at least not when it matters. Nobody wants to be seen as a tyrant, of course. Or a dictator, for that matter.”

  “No, I guess not. They just want to be one.”

  “Precisely!” she giggled. “No international treaties broken, no bullets fired…and no internal opposition to speak of. All within the ambit of a democratically elected government. That’s what you call having your cake and eating it too.

  “After the metro blasts, Badal assured Grigori that Prime Minister Rajat would finally use Amven on the terrorists. That there was such media frenzy, so much public pressure, that he wouldn’t have a choice. We were so close,” she shook her head. “And look where that got us. Fucking Fasih turned on his mentor, accused him of corruption, and your father ran out of parliament with his tail between his legs. After all that work, all that meticulous planning, we were back to square one.”

  “And so you and Badal decided to lick your wounds and traffick some children in Weritlan?”

  “Oh, that was just an experiment,” she said dismissively. “Though I will say, a very lucrative one while it lasted. Like I said, we needed a large sample size to test the effects of Amven when it was used at scale. We couldn’t very well risk using it on a powerful politician, only to realize that some people are more resistant to the drug than others.

  “But of course, it wasn’t very accurate. We didn’t yet have access to the final version of the drug, so we were just using an old prototype. And as always, Fasih just had to poke his nose where it didn’t belong and blow it all out of the fucking water.”

  “And that’s why you tried to implicate him in Badal’s murder?” Abhijat prodded. “As some kind of revenge?”

  She sighed. “Badal, that stupid fucker. We had a good thing going. But you can’t expect much of cowards, can you? Fasih exposed the La Fantome club and stole a sample of the Amven prototype we’d been using on the escorts. And then they arrested that bloody electrician,” she frowned. “What was his name? Sajal, right?”

  “Sajal!” Abhijat gasped. “He was working for you? You’d hired him to tamper with the wiring in the prime minister’s office?”

  “Well, technically, Badal had. But that was just a backup plan, in case the metro attacks didn’t yield the desired results. Of course, we had no way of knowing that both Rajat and Badal would be kicked out of the Parliament House before the month was out.

  “But Sajal’s arrest, so soon after the La Fantome debacle…well, it spooked Badal. He wanted to leave the country, settle in Maralana. Obviously, we couldn’t allow that. For Grigori, it’d be as good as an open admission of guilt. But Badal refused to see reason, threatened to expose us if he didn’t get what he wanted.”

  Abhijat nodded sympathetically. “Traitors, they tend to be irritatingly disloyal. Who’d have guessed?”

  Rinisa rolled her eyes. “Well anyway, none of that had anything to do with revenge. That’s your problem, you know that? Always with the petty squabbles and grudge-holding. You can’t see the bigger picture.

  “If Jehan was put on trial for Badal’s murder, he wouldn’t have been able to come to Manganic for the New Year’s gala and drum up support from Grigori’s opponents in the country. Even you couldn’t have failed to notice him getting cozy with Ivanovna at the party last night.”

  “Oh please,” he scoffed. “You want me to believe that you went to all that trouble just so Fasih wouldn’t be able to suck up to Madam Ivanovna at a party? This isn’t the middle ages, you know. What was stopping him from giving her a call if he was so desperate to form an alliance against President Maganti?”

  Rinisa’s eyes narrowed into slits. Abhijat swallowed his excitement and forced himself to look away, feigning indifference. He’d managed to hit a nerve.

  A few minutes passed in silence. Then, she hopped off the box and began pacing the room.

  “Oh well, I’m basically talking to a corpse, aren’t I? And it was a pretty clever plan, if I do say so myself.” She grinned. “I might as well tell you. If Jehan had been implicated in Badal’s murder, it was very probable that he’d have had to step down as prime minister. And if that happened, it was almost inevitable that your father would’ve been reinstated.”

  “I don’t see how that would’ve served your cause.” Abhijat frowned. “No way in hell was Papa going to approve the use of Amven so long after the metro attacks, and after all the controversy that’d been stirred up the last time he tried.”

  “Oh, he wouldn’t have had to approve anything. He’d have been dead before the month was out. And all the evidence would’ve pointed towards Jehan’s involvement in the assassination.

  “I mean, the motive was obvious enough, and he was already accused of one murder. Who’d have doubted it?

  “After that, he’d either have been hanged for double murder or – and personally, I think this is more likely – killed by you as revenge for your father’s death.” She chuckled. “Either way, he’d have been out of our hair. Him and your father, both.

  “Conveniently leaving a power vacuum in Qayit, which Grigori could then fill with a suitable candidate who'd be...pliable to his suggestions...about Amven and other things.”

  “He wanted to install a puppet ruler in Naijan,” Abhijat breathed. “And you were helping him do it. Are you insane? Naijan is your country too. You want to enslave your own people?”

  “Aww, you’re so cute! You and your quaint little notions of patriotism and loyalty. They’re not my people, Abhijat. And they’re not yours, either.” She glanced at Fasih, still lying unconscious beside Abhijat. “Look at what ‘his people’ did to him, after all he’d done to protect them. People are people, inherently vicious and murderous. They’re not going to be nice to you just because you happened to be born inside the same borders.

  “There’s only one thing human beings understand, fundamentally. And it’s power. Everything else is hogwash, fairy tales they feed you since the day you’re born, to keep you in line and keep the system going.”

  “And what did Maganti promise you, in return for all this? The premiership?”

  Rinisa’s eyes widened. Then, she burst into giggles. “What? No. Oh my God, no. You sweet, naïve man! You think I’d settle for that, after everything I’ve been through, all that I’ve sacrificed for the cause? No, sweetheart. I’ve no intention of being a pawn when I can be a queen.”

  “A – what?” Abhijat gaped at her, his mind racing. “You think – he told you he’ll marry you? Is that it?”

  “It’s only reasonable,” she shrugged. “This war – and it is a war, make no mistake – he’d never have won it without me. So why shouldn’t I want to share the spoils, fifty-fifty? A prime minister can be replaced if she becomes inconvenient; governments collapse all the time. A wife…well, we both know that’s easier said than done.”

  Abhijat cleared his throat. “So, what made you change your mind?”

  Rinisa raised an enquiring eyebrow.

  “About pinning Badal’s murder on Fasih. That hitman changed his story overnight. I’m guessing that was your doing?”

  “Well, Jehan Fasih is quite possibly the biggest spoilsport this world has ever seen.” She pouted. “He threatened to go public about the use of Amven at the La Fantome club.”

  “You mean how you used it to drug children and force them into prostitution?”

  “Precisely,” she sighed, rubbing tiredly at her eyes. “Can you imagine what the media would make of that story if it ever came out?”

  “I’ve some ideas. For one, if the public became aware of the drug’s potential for misuse, no government hoping for re-election would dream of ratifying its use in the justice system. Maganti’s grand plan of a unilateral power-grab via the use of Amven on prisoners would be over before it even began.”

  “Well, you’re certainly proving to
be smarter than you look.” Her eyes traveled slowly over the length of his body. She smirked, “Not that I have any problems with the way you look. But you can see why we had to scrap that bright little idea. Couldn’t let Amven get a bad rap in the media. Not when the situation’s this delicate. You come from a family of politicians, you should know that. Public opinion is everything.”

  “And Maganti thinks that having the prime minister of Naijan murdered in the capital of Maralana, the day before the New Year’s gala he is supposed to be hosting,” he let the skepticism seep into his voice. “Will help with his reputation?”

  “Perhaps it wouldn’t have, if you hadn’t fallen for my story as easily as you did. But you did, didn’t you?” She winked, her lips quirking as her gaze flickered over to Fasih once again. “You drove him here to this abandoned warehouse, all by yourself and seemingly under no duress, when you were supposed to be escorting him to a brunch appointment on the other side of town. Not the kind of thing you can pass off as an honest mistake.

  “Now, why did you do that?” She shrugged. “Let’s see. Jehan Fasih betrayed your father, caused your sister to get kicked out of Weritlan University, and has in general caused all kinds of trouble for your family. Some might even say he was the reason you had to leave the military. Is it so very unlikely that after all that, you might’ve wanted some revenge?

  “Especially if Maralanese intelligence operatives – acting on a tip about a possible assassination attempt against the Naijani prime minister – happened to find you trying to kill Jehan in this very warehouse. And then, of course, they’d have to shoot you in order to save the prime minister. But as you can imagine, they’ll have arrived too late.

  “Fasih was already near death by the time they located the warehouse. He couldn’t be saved, and died tragically on the way to the hospital. That’s the story the reporters will get, at least.

  “That gun you were pointing at Fasih not so long ago, with your fingerprints all over it? You can be sure that’s the weapon we’ll use to send him on his way, once we’re done with him. You dismantled his phone, left your prints all over the parts that’re now lying outside this building, begging to be found. My poor little soldier boy, I couldn’t have created a more airtight case against you if I’d tried.

  “And what’s the alternative theory, anyway? President Maganti has nothing to gain directly from your death or Jehan’s. What reason would anyone have to suspect him? And even if they did, they certainly wouldn’t be able to prove anything.”

  “Not a bad plan,” Abhijat said, trying to keep his voice from shaking. “Not that it’ll do you any good, but points for trying.

  “You said it yourself, if Fasih had to step down, my father would almost certainly be reinstated as prime minister. That holds equally true if Fasih were to die. And if you think he’s going to toe Maganti’s line about Amven, or about anything else for that matter, you’re even more deluded than I thought.”

  Rinisa hummed softly, examining her pistol. “Mmm, well, that would’ve been a problem, if not for a convenient little rumor suggesting that Rajat Shian might have conspired with his son to murder Fasih...a fitting retribution for his betrayal of the Shian family.”

  “You’ll never be able to prove–”

  “I wouldn’t need to. That’s the beauty of it, don’t you see? It’s all a game of perception and public opinion. I’ll never need to prove his guilt in a court of law...I wouldn’t even try. Just as long as enough people believe it to be true, or even suspect that it might be true, your father isn’t sitting on the prime minister’s chair ever again.

  “His reputation would be ruined beyond repair. No one can withstand a blow like that, twice in less than a year. Politically, he’d be as good as dead. And I don’t particularly care if he hangs himself or becomes a goat farmer after that.” She smiled, her eyes far away. “And whoever comes after him would’ve no problems with – what did you call it? Ah yes, ‘toeing Maganti’s line about Amven,’ if you know what I mean.

  “And there you have it, my idealistic soldier boy. The perfect happy ending to our sordid little fairy tale.”

  Something stirred, pulling Abhijat out of the nightmarish reverie his mind was sinking into. He whipped around to see Jehan moving.

  He coughed, his body jerking with each hacking exhalation of breath. A few seconds later, the coughing stopped and Fasih tried to move. A whimper, followed by another round of hacking coughs, and his body stilled once again.

  As Abhijat watched, helpless, he realized that Fasih was barely breathing.

  “So why’re we still alive, then?” he demanded, turning to Rinisa. His voice was shaking, and for once, he didn’t care. God, what had he done?

  “Well, we still need to know where the latest version of the drug is being stored. Wouldn’t want Dileep Haval to take the final Amven prototype and disappear, once he hears of his best friend’s tragic and untimely demise in Maralana.”

  “And you think Fasih’s going to give you that information? Why? ‘Cause you asked nicely?”

  She chuckled. “No, silly. ‘Cause I’ll ask with Amven. Remember the drug they used at the La Fantome? You were there with Jehan, weren’t you? Well, it was one of the early prototypes that Badal had managed to get his hands on. Nowhere near as effective as the final version, I daresay. But it did the job. Did it quite well, actually, if a little ham-handed.

  “Anyway, a large enough dose of even the old prototype should be enough to get him talking.” She walked over to Jehan and prodded him with the tip of her sneaker. “It’s not like we’ll need the effects to last forever, just so long as it’ll get him to answer a few simple questions.”

  Abhijat bit his tongue, swallowing the retort that rose spontaneously to his lips. Fasih had said he was immune to Amven, but how far did his immunity extend? And did Rinisa know that Jehan had developed a resistance to the drug? Would she have that accounted for or would it come as a surprise to her?

  And if it did, how could Abhijat use it to his advantage?

  He shook his head, focusing back on his captor. “And I take it you’ll kill him, after you have your answers.” It wasn’t so much a question as a statement of fact.

  “Eventually,” she shrugged, nudging Jehan with her foot until he was lying flat on his back. “Cute, isn’t he? I’ve always thought so.” The tip of her sneaker caressed Jehan’s cheek, making him groan incoherently and shrink away. “Would be a shame to put that on a pyre without getting a taste of it first, wouldn’t you agree?”

  “You’re sick,” Abhijat hissed, nauseated. “He isn’t even conscious. Leave him alone.”

  Stepping away from Jehan, she smirked. “Aww, don’t be jealous, big guy. I haven’t forgotten you. In fact, I’ll be sure to give you my full attention after I’ve put a bullet into Fasih. After all, we both know that political control isn’t the only thing Amven is good for.”

  Her tone made Abhijat’s skin crawl, but he said nothing. Now wasn’t the time.

  Walking over to the door, she reached for the handle, then turned around with a speculative look in her eyes. “But we still need to wait for Grigori to get here before we can get this show going. In the meantime, try not to cause any trouble, okay? I’d hate to have to kill you before we can have some fun together.”

  She stepped out, and Abhijat heard her speaking in some Maralanese dialect he couldn’t quite place. Moments later, the two burly, leather-clad guards he’d seen earlier, stepped into the room and took up positions on either side of the door.

  “We’re literally in the middle of nowhere, and this warehouse is surrounded by Grigori’s men,” Rinisa cooed, poking her head through the door. “So I wouldn’t try anything stupid if I were you. You must realize just how dispensable you are to us right now. The smallest false move, and the next time they shoot, it won’t be a tranquilizer dart.”

  The door clicked shut, casting the room into shadows.

  Abhijat reached out and grabbed a fistful of Fasih’s cardigan, t
rying to shake him awake. It wasn’t easy. Any sudden movement made the chains jangle noisily, drawing the attention of the guards.

  Fasih’s eyelids fluttered. He moaned, then shrank further into the corner, showing no signs of awakening.

  Abhijat bit his lip to keep himself from growling in frustration.

  Carefully, he wrapped the metal chains around one hand to keep them from clinking noisily together every time he moved. Then, he reached under his shirt and unbuckled his belt. As quietly as possible, he wrapped his fingers around the buckle pin and broke it off, before pushing it quickly up his sleeve and leaning back against the wall.

  One of the guards glanced over at him, frowned, then turned away without saying a word.

  Abhijat sighed, heart thundering in his chest. Over the next few minutes, while pretending to take a nap, he slowly kicked off one of his shoes and placed the pin between his big and index toes.

  Fasih had shifted too far away for Abhijat to reach him with his bound hands, but he was still within kicking distance. The manacles around their legs were attached to slightly longer chains.

  Positioning the pin between his toes as accurately as possible, he extended his leg towards Fasih inch by careful inch, trying not to make any noise. When he was close enough, he pulled slightly back, then jabbed the blunt head of the pin into Fasih’s neck as hard as he could.

  Fasih jerked back, banging his head against the wall. His eyes flew open and he gasped, looking around groggily with terror-filled eyes.

  Abhijat pressed his foot against Fasih’s shoulder, willing him to stay still, keep quiet, and not draw the guards’ attention to himself. “Be quiet,” he hissed, meeting Jehan’s panicked eyes. “Or you’ll get us both killed.”

  For a second, something like shock flickered behind Fasih’s eyes. Then he stilled, breathing deeply. “What the–” he coughed, making his chains clink as he instinctively raised a hand to cover his mouth. “What the fuck? Don’t tell me you got us kidnapped!”

  His eyes darted across the room, taking in the damp, concrete walls, the manacles around Abhijat’s limbs, and the armed guards standing at the door. “Of course you got us kidnapped,” he sighed, his tone melancholy.