He puts a finger to his lips, frowning, and shakes his head. Mystified, she is about to speak again when he gets up and says, “Done. Sorry, was just putting the recorders on a loop. Didn’t want them to see me going online.”
He paces around the room with his eyes shut for a few seconds, occasionally bumping into things. He then utters the all-explaining words, “Oh, crap.”
“What?”
“British TV channels at Jai’s parents’ house in London. Police everywhere. Lots of people with placards and stuff, mostly Asians. They’re saying Jai Mathur is an alleged terrorist, a disgraced Air Force officer being hunted by the police.”
“Why? I mean, good, but what for?”
“More than a hundred missing Brits, and what happened at Udhampur. His parents have locked themselves in their house and haven’t talked to anyone, but there’s a big crowd outside, and it’s getting bigger. They want Jai to turn himself in and clear his name.”
“Oh, crap,” Uzma says.
“Exactly.”
“Namrata,” Uzma says suddenly. “Is Namrata there, doing a story?”
“No,” Aman replies. “I, um, checked her email. She wrote to
someone five days ago saying she was going on holiday in the hills. Mussoorie, Nainital. She’s probably just trying to lie low.”
“You checked her email? That’s so wrong.”
“I know. But do you remember how she was saying we should threaten Jai’s family? Someone clearly has, and I wanted to make sure she had nothing to do with it. But… maybe the mob guy got to her. Maybe he’s in London right now, hoping to get to Jai using his parents. Do you think he got the address from Namrata? Could they be working together?”
“Doesn’t really matter, does it? She’s lying low in the hills, and the mob guy has Jai where he wants him.”
Through the door, they hear a loud scream, which is then abruptly cut off. Aman turns off the loops on the surveillance equipment. They hear someone fumbling with the lock outside their door.
“Jai’s probably not very pleased right now,” Uzma says.
“No,” Aman says. “Probably not.”
The lock is ripped off. The door tumbles inwards with a horrendous crash.
Jai strides into the room.
“We have absolutely nothing to do with what is happening to your family,” Aman declares.
Jai ignores him and walks up to Uzma.
“Now that you’re awake, Miss Uzma, answer me this — what is your power, exactly?” He seems even edgier than usual; his brow is lined with sweat.
“Nothing useful,” Uzma replies.
He leans over her, staring into her eyes.
“Your beauty is maddening, but not all-conquering. I desire you, but not to the point of surrendering myself. I could kill you now with one punch.”
“Please don’t,” Uzma says.
“We don’t know, Jai,” Aman says. “Powers grow with use, you know this. Hers will show soon.”
Jai growls, shakes his head.
“I need to be sure you aren’t behind this,” he says. “I need
to know what you can do.”
“I can’t
do
anything, Jai,” Uzma says.
“Let’s find out,” Jai says.
He raises his arm, as if to strike, and Uzma cowers.
Aman knows it will achieve nothing, but he throws himself at Jai, grabbing at his wrist, and is astonished when Jai, instead of knocking his head off, actually falls to the floor.
“Enough,” says a voice from the doorway. They turn, and see Jai.
“Aman — attacking me is getting to be a habit. Try not to do it again. Get up, Vivek. The simplest of tests, and you fail,” Jai says, walking in.
Vivek shoves Aman off and stands, rubbing his head.
“He keeps hitting me,” he grumbles.
“Good. Now where do I begin with you? You can’t actually threaten to strike anyone while impersonating me — use their fear. And, more importantly, I do not talk like that. A little class, please.”
“I’m trying, sir,” Vivek says. “I need more time to perfect a character — I’m impersonating you. I’m not immersed yet.”
“That is obvious. Fix it.” Jai turns to Aman. “I know the London nonsense is not you,” he says. “It’s our friend, Mr Mob. I’m going to London to meet him. I’m going to fly as a civilian in disguise. Who will organise this trip?”
“I will,” Aman says. “Vivek’s going to hold the fort while you’re gone?”
“Yes. It’s inconvenient — I needed to be here, the day after next. My own mob is planning a visit.”
“Your underworld friends?” Aman asks. “Do you trust them? Isn’t it dangerous bringing them here?”
“It will be in my absence. They are no threat to me. I am invincible when alone; this base is not. A team as physically insignificant as yours was able to disrupt my plans. My underworld allies are infinitely more dangerous.”
“Who are these friends of yours? They sound lovely,” Uzma says.
“A crime family — not one of the established gangsters like Dawood or Rajan, but powerful, even before the flight. They travelled with us on that plane. Two brothers, one son each. The older brother is a politician; the rest of the family does not bother with words. Their names are —”
“I know their names. The Shinde brothers,” Aman says. “I’d hoped someone had killed them. You, in fact. I was hoping you had killed them.”
“I’m sure I will eventually. But not yet. An efficient organised crime system is one of the cornerstones of every successful empire, Aman. Read your history. Look it up on the internet. The Shindes are criminals, politicians, brilliant entrepreneurs. Risen from the gutters, killing everything in their way. Slumdog millionaires, yes? We can’t afford to alienate them. They will run the world’s shadow economies and crime networks once my plans fall into place, and would be dangerous enemies even now.”
“You want to let the Shinde brothers run world crime on money I steal for you? They were monsters even without powers!”
“We are all monsters here. Or gods. When I need your advice on strategy, I will ask for it. For now, listen and obey. Thus far, my dealings with the Mumbai underworld are limited to the Shindes themselves — their men do not know of their powers, or ours. But now the time for revelations is coming, and our pact can no longer be based solely on their fear of me. In ancient
times, kings in our situations would wed their children and unite houses. Lacking that option, we will exchange hostages. The brothers will give us their sons, who will work under my command. We will give them the Baby Kalki, who will help their political ambitions.”
“Well, can’t you just do it later? Or somewhere else?”
“No. I have delayed this exchange several times already, while I was searching for you. Any further changes and they will call off our alliance. I would destroy them eventually, of course, but at great cost.”
“Why are you telling us this, Jai?” Uzma asks.
“Because the two of you must help Vivek impersonate me. Aman, you will tap their phones and let me know everything they do from now on. And, Uzma, you will accompany Vivek when he goes to make the exchange. It will provide a distraction. Don’t bother refusing — you really don’t have a choice.”
“They’ll probably take you home with them,” Vivek sneers. “Don’t be sad, sweetheart, if you’d become a Bollywood actress they’d have done that anyway.”
“I have a better plan,” Aman says. “You want to hear it?”
Correctly interpreting Jai’s lack of violence as assent, Aman continues.
“This mob guy knows you’ll come for your parents. If you just rush in, he’s going to get that crowd to tear your family apart. He’s seen you at work, so he won’t want to talk to you either. If you go to London to confront him, he’s going to kill your parents and disappear.”
“Are you suggesting I stay here and do nothing while my family is under threat?”
“No. If you do that he’ll kill them anyway. I don’t think he
wants to negotiate with you. But there is another alternative. Hand yourself over to the police.”
“What would that achieve except dead policemen?”
“Let Vivek hand himself over: make a big scene, go to jail, court, get on a talk show, whatever. Let Mr Mob think he’s won. He’ll let your family go. You, meanwhile, go to London and hunt him down. But quietly. Discreetly. I’ll help.”
Jai stands in silence, one hand on his chin, lost in thought.
“You’re right. But if Vivek is sitting in jail while I’m in London, the Shindes will tear this house down.”
“Not if Vivek can get out of jail. He’s a shapeshifter, it should be simple enough. He could just change his face and say you got away and shut him in his cell. Even if he fails, just let Sher make the swap. Or Mukesh.”
“The Shindes will pull out. I can conquer the world without them, but I have to say I have a patriotic desire to see India’s gangsters be the world’s worst.”
“Family ties are supposed to be important to gangster-politician families, right? If The Godfather says so, it must be true. They’ll have seen the news, they’ll know your situation. In fact, if you’re present at this meeting, they’re going to think family means nothing to you. Not the best way to win their trust.”
“They’re not Bollywood gangsters, Aman. They’re businessmen.”
“All right. I have another plan, then.”
“Resourceful, aren’t you?”
“No point having me in your team if I don’t contribute, Jai. If you can’t be there to meet the Shindes — why not ensure they can’t make it here to meet you? Send one of your boys over to where they live. Or ambush their car when they’re on their way. You can’t miss a meeting they don’t arrive for, and they won’t know who hit them.”
Jai steps up to Aman and shakes his hand, and this time he speaks with actual warmth in his voice.
“I chose wisely when I let you live,” he says. “Sher will ensure the meeting is rescheduled.”
“If you don’t mind my saying so, Jai — perhaps you should send someone a little more expendable. You did say the Shindes were very dangerous.”
Jai’s smile is twisted.
“And you don’t like Mukesh very much, do you?”
“May I be honest? It’s going to be a while before I like any of you. But your plans make sense to me, and I intend to work for you to the best of my ability.”
“And I could ask for no more,” Jai says. “Now, excuse me. I have to pack, and you have to get to work.”
Jai departs the next morning in a flurry of instructions, and Aman sits in his room to monitor his progress from Goa to London. Mukesh has been sent off to Mumbai to intercept the Shindes — a job the reptile-man seems to regard as a suicide mission. Aman’s new guard is Sher, who clearly does not relish the idea of being cooped up in a room full of computers all day. Aman tries to introduce him to the joys of
World of Warcraft
, but Sher doesn’t really get into it.
After an hour or so of Aman complaining about Sher’s constant growling and twitching, Uzma wanders in and points out that no one in the building has been told what to do with her. She offers to replace Sher as Aman’s guard. Sher refuses at
first, but after two hours of watching Aman typing as if in a daze and Uzma apparently absorbed in her fingernails, the tiger-man departs, muttering something about training exercises, called irresistibly by the sun and sea outside. He locks the door behind him.
Uzma bolts the door shut from inside as well, and Aman leans back in his chair with a satisfied grin.
“We’d make excellent secret agents,” he says.
“Just tell me once that you have no real intention of helping Jai. And that you’re thinking up a way to stop him,” she says. “I just need to hear it.”
“I’m absolutely committed to helping Jai go as far away from us as possible,” he says. “Hang on a sec, let me turn off the cameras. Yeah.”
“What now?”
“Tia’s been in touch. She’s on her way.”
“When?”
“I don’t know. The Tias I’ve been calling aren’t picking up, or have decided to run away. But I got an email from one, saying she’d got my message about this place, and would come and rescue us. She wouldn’t tell me when because I’d been captured and this might be a trap. That’s all she said. She didn’t leave a phone number.”
Aman looks at the screen in front of him, and it changes to a menu, a list of in-flight entertainment options.
“Jai’s off to London,” Aman says. He blinks, and forces Jai to watch a chick-flick.
“That’s helpful,” Uzma says. “Can you get us out? Get the police or the navy to attack this place while we get away?”
“We’d probably be the first to die. And if we survived, Sher
would track us. We’d get killed. Or I would. They’d probably just look at you reproachfully and bring you back.”
“So we just wait for Tia to come and save us?”
“Yeah. Imagine you’re playing the princess locked away in the tower.”
“What would that make you, then?”
“The token Indian tech support character. Dies in the first twenty minutes.” Aman glances at the screen again — it’s now showing a muted news report. The mob outside Jai’s parents’ house has grown to at least a hundred people. Some of them are policemen and news crews.
“I should have gone to London with Jai,” Uzma says. “At least I’d have been near home. I could have introduced him to my parents.”
“Wait.” Aman is distracted again. Another screen flickers to life, showing a team of Mumbai policemen dragging a man with a bag over his head into a van.
“Disgraced Air Force officer behind Wankhede riots captured in encounter!” screams the ticker.
“I like the idea of a bag over that guy’s head,” Aman murmurs. He turns to Uzma, who’s looking at the screen, her mind clearly far away. Aman smiles, and gently touches her arm. “You’ll get home,” he says. “Don’t worry. What’ll you do after that, though? Won’t you miss the excitement?”
“Not at all. I’m really done with Mumbai. I’ll just hang out with my family, read, watch bad TV.
X Factor’s
coming back in a bit. Sleep for a few days. Survive. Even if Jai starts a war — people live through wars, right? Like cockroaches. I’ll just sit it out, do nothing; wait for things to blow over. Drink lots of tea. Hide in bunkers.”
“Well, with any luck, Tia will storm the mansion before Jai returns, and then you can go wherever you want.”
“Wait a minute. ‘You’ can go?” Uzma drags Sher’s chair up close to Aman’s and looks at him suspiciously. “You’re planning to
stay.”