The Tomb

by F. Paul Wilson

  “After I established myself at the embassy,” Kusum was saying, “I searched for Captain Westphalen’s descendants. I learned that only four of his bloodline remained. They were not a prolific family and a number of them were killed off in the world wars. To my dismay, I learned that only one, Richard Westphalen, was still in Britain. The other three were in America. But that did not deter me. I hatched the eggs, mated them, and started the nest. I have since disposed of three of the four Westphalens. There is only one left.”

  Kolabati was relieved to hear that only one remained—perhaps she could prevail upon Kusum to give it up.

  “Aren’t three lives enough? Innocent lives, Kusum?”

  “The vow, Bati,” he said as if intoning the name of a deity. “The vrata. They carry the blood of that murderer, defiler, and thief in their veins. And that blood must be wiped from the face of the earth.”

  “I can’t let you, Kusum. It’s wrong.”

  “It’s right!” He leapt to his feet. “There has never been anything so right!”

  “No!”

  “Yes!” He came toward her, his eyes bright. “You should see them, Bati! So beautiful! So willing! Please come with me and look at them! You’ll know then that it is the will of Kali!”

  A refusal rose immediately to Kolabati’s lips, yet did not pass them. The thought of seeing a nest of rakoshi here in America at once repulsed and fascinated her. Kusum must have sensed her uncertainty, for he pressed on:

  “They are our birthright! Our heritage! To turn away from them is to turn your back on your past!”

  Kolabati wavered. After all, she did wear the necklace. And she was one of the last two remaining Keepers. In a way she owed it to herself and her family to at least go and see them.

  “All right,” she said slowly. “I’ll come see them with you. But only once.”

  “Wonderful!” Kusum seemed elated. “It will be like going back in time. You’ll see!”

  “But that won’t change my mind about killing innocent people. You must promise me that will stop.”

  “We’ll discuss it,” Kusum said, leading her toward the door. “And I want to tell you about my other plans for the rakoshi—plans that do not involve what you call ‘innocent’ lives.”

  “What?” She didn’t like the sound of that.

  “I’ll tell you after you’ve seen them.”

  Kusum was silent during the cab ride to the docks while Kolabati tried her best to appear as if she knew exactly where they were going. After the cab dropped them off, they walked through the dark until they were standing before a small freighter. Kusum led her around to the starboard side.

  “If it were daylight you could see the name across the stem: Ajit-Rupobati—in Vedic!”

  She heard a click from where his hand rested in his jacket pocket. With a whir and a hum, the gangplank began to lower toward them. Dread and anticipation grew as she climbed. The moon was high and bright, illuminating the surface of the deck with a pale light made all the starker by the depths of the shadows it cast.

  He stopped at the aft end of the second hatch and knelt by a belowdecks entry port.

  “They’re in the hold below,” he said as he pulled up the hatch.

  Rakoshi stench poured out of the opening. Kolabati turned her head away. How could Kusum stand it? He didn’t seem to notice the odor as he slid his feet into the port.

  “Come,” he said.

  She followed. A short ladder led down to a square platform nestled into a corner, high over the empty hold. Kusum hit a switch and the platform began to descend with a jerk. Startled, Kolabati grabbed Kusum’s arm.

  “Where are we going?”

  “Down just a little way.” He pointed below with his bearded chin. “Look.”

  Kolabati squinted into the shadows, futilely at first. Then she saw their eyes. A garbled murmur arose from below. Kolabati realized that until this instant, despite all the evidence, all that Jack had told her, she’d not truly believed there could be rakoshi in New York. Yet here they were.

  She shouldn’t have been afraid—she was a Keeper—yet she was terrified. The closer the platform sank toward the floor of the hold, the greater her fear. Her mouth grew dry as her heart pounded against the wall of her chest.

  “Stop it, Kusum!”

  “Don’t worry. They can’t see us.”

  Kolabati knew that, but it gave her no comfort.

  “Stop it now! Take me back up!”

  Kusum hit another button. The descent stopped. He looked at her strangely, then started the platform upward. Kolabati sagged against him, relieved to be moving away from the rakoshi but knowing she had deeply disappointed her brother.

  It couldn’t be helped. She’d changed. She was no longer the recently orphaned little girl who had looked up to her older brother as the nearest thing to a god on earth, who had planned with him to find a way to bring back the rakoshi and through them restore the ruined temple to its former glory. That little girl was gone forever. She’d ventured into the world and found that life could be good outside India. She wanted to stay there.

  Not so Kusum. His heart and his mind had never left those blackened ruins in the hills outside Bharangpur. There was no life for him outside India. And even in his homeland his rigid Hindu fundamentalism made him something of a stranger. He worshipped India’s past. That was where he wished to live, not in the land India was striving to become.

  With the belowdecks port shut and sealed behind them, Kolabati relaxed, reveling in the outside air. Whoever would have thought muggy New York City air could smell so sweet?

  Kusum led her to a steel door in the forward wall of the superstructure. He opened the padlock that secured it. Inside was a short hallway and a single furnished cabin.

  Kolabati sat on the cot while Kusum stood and looked at her. She kept her head down, unable to meet his eyes. Neither had said a word since leaving the hold. Kusum’s air of disapproval rankled her, made her feel like an errant child, yet she could not fight it. He had a right to feel the way he did.

  “I brought you here hoping to share the rest of my plans with you,” he said at last. “I see now that was a mistake. You have lost all touch with your heritage. You would become like the millions of soulless others in this place.”

  “Tell me your plans, Kusum,” she said, feeling his hurt. “I want to hear them.”

  “You’ll hear. But will you listen?” He answered his own question without waiting for her. “I don’t think so. I was going to tell you how the rakoshi could be used to aid me back home. They could help eliminate those who are determined to change India into something she was never intended to be, who are bent on leading our people away from the true concerns of life in a mad drive to make India another America.”

  “Your political ambitions.”

  “Not ambitions! A mission!”

  Kolabati had seen that feverish light shining in her brother’s eyes before. It frightened her almost as much as the rakoshi. But she kept her voice calm.

  “You want to use the rakoshi for political ends.”

  “I do not! But the only way to bring India back onto the True Path is through political power. It came to me that I have not been allowed to start this nest of rakoshi for the mere purpose of fulfilling a vow. There is a grander scheme here, and I am part of it.”

  With a sinking feeling, Kolabati realized where all this was leading. A single word said it all:

  “Hindutvu.”

  “Yes—Hindutvu! A reunified India under Hindu rule. We will undo what the British did in 1947 when they made the Punjab into Pakistan and vivisected Bengal. If only I had had the rakoshi then—Lord Mountbatten would never have left India alive! But he was out of my reach, so I had to settle for the life of his collaborator, the revered Hindu traitor who legitimized the partition of our India by persuading the people to accept it without violence.”

  Kolabati was aghast. “Gandhi? It couldn’t have been you—!”

  “Poor Bati.” H
e smiled maliciously at the shock that must have shown on her face. “I’m truly disappointed that you never guessed. Did you actually think I would sit idly by after the part he played in the partition?”

  “But Savarkar was behind—!”

  “Yes. Savarkar was behind Godse and Apte, the actual assassins. He was tried and executed for his part. But who do you think was behind Savarkar?”

  No! It couldn’t be true! Not her brother—the man behind what some called The Crime of the Century!

  But he was still talking. She forced herself to listen:

  “… the return of East Bengal—it belongs with West Bengal. Bengal shall be whole again!”

  “But East Bengal is Bangladesh now. You can’t possibly think—”

  “I’ll find a way. I have the time. I have the rakoshi. I’ll find a way, believe me.”

  The room spun about Kolabati. Kusum, her brother, her surrogate parent for all these years, the steady, rational cornerstone of her life, was slipping further and further from the real world, indulging himself in the revenge and power fantasies of a maladjusted adolescent.

  Kusum was mad. The realization sickened her. Kolabati had fought against the admission all night but the truth could no longer be denied. She had to get away from him.

  “If anyone can find a way, I’m sure you will,” she told him, rising and turning toward the door. “And I’ll be glad to help in any way I can. But I’m tired now and I’d like to go back to the—”

  Kusum stepped in front of the door, blocking her way.

  “No, my sister. You will stay here until we sail away together.”

  “Sail?” Panic clutched at her throat. She had to get off this ship! “I don’t want to sail anywhere!”

  “I realize that. And that’s why I had this room, the pilot’s cabin, sealed off.” She detected no malice in his voice or his expression. He was more like an understanding parent talking to a child. “I’m bringing you back to India with me.”

  “No!”

  “It’s for your own good. During the voyage back home I’m sure you’ll see the error of the life you’ve chosen to lead. We have a chance to do something for India, an unprecedented chance to cleanse our karmas. I do this for you as much as for myself.” He looked at her knowingly. “For your karma is as polluted as mine.”

  “You have no right!”

  “I’ve more than a right. I’ve a duty.”

  He darted out of the room and shut the door behind him. Kolabati lunged forward but heard the lock click before she reached the handle. She pounded on its sturdy oak panels.

  “Kusum, let me out! Please let me out!”

  “When we’re at sea,” he said from the far side of the door.

  She heard him walk down the hall to the steel hatch that led to the deck and felt a sense of doom settle over her. Her life was no longer her own. Trapped on this ship … weeks at sea with a madman, even if it was her brother. She had to get out of here!

  “Jack will be looking for me!” she said on impulse, regretting it immediately. She hadn’t wanted to involve Jack in this.

  “Why would he be looking for you?” Kusum said slowly, his voice faint.

  “Because…” She couldn’t let him know that Jack had found the ship and knew about the rakoshi. “Because we’ve been together every day. Tomorrow he’ll want to know where I am.”

  “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 muzak, 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, prefragmented hollow points 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 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 you 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 this 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?”