Ben asked, Something, like what?
Brooke slowly shook her head. I wish I knew.
He didnt say?
I could tell he wanted to, but couldnt bring himself to. It was gnawing at him.
Ben frowned. Not even a hint?
I only know what little I was able to get out of him. He said that Kabir called him a few days before leaving on his trip, very excited, and confided something really important. Not just your typical run-of-the-mill secret. Something huge.
If the trip was related to his work, this archaeological project you said he was working on, then presumably this piece of information relates to that as well?
Its a fair assumption.
In which case, what are the possibilities?
Brooke shrugged. Archaeologists dig stuff up. Maybe Kabir did, too.
A discovery? Of what?
I dont know, Ben. You tell me.
Ben mulled it over for a moment or two, then decided that it was all too vague to even try to speculate about. And Amal thought this secret, or discovery, or whatever it is, of Kabirs might have had some bearing on the reason for the attack?
Brooke nodded. That was why he was so convinced it wasnt just some random incident. But whatever it is, Kabir had made him promise not to tell anyone.
Not even you? His own wife? It was hard for Ben to say that last bit.
Thats what I said to him, too. Asked him why he couldnt share it with me, if it was so important. Especially if it meant something about what happened.
And his reply?
He said to me, Hes my brother, Brooke. Please dont ask me to betray his trust.
Okay, fair enough. But why would Amal hold this information back from the police, if it might have shed some different kind of light on the investigation?
I asked him the same question. He said a promise was a promise, and that was the end of it.
Is Amal normally this stubborn?
Look, I know you think of him as just this bookish nerd, Brooke said.
Ben held up his palms in defence. Did I ever call him that?
But he has principles. If he felt it was wrong to betray his brothers trust, wild horses couldnt drag it out of him.
Im sure. Youd have to give him a Chinese burn to get him to talk, or twist his earlobe or something.
She gave him a resentful look. Thats a low thing to say, Ben.
Im sorry. It might help us, too, if we had any clue what it was. You dont have any idea?
None.
Thats just great. Nice to have so much to go on.
One thing we can be sure of, Brooke said. Kabir had some kind of big, important secret apparently connected with his trip to Rakhigarhi. And Amal was in on it too. Next thing, both brothers have disappeared, first one and then the other. The confidential information is what connects them.
Maybe.
Her cheeks flushed. Not maybe, Ben. Definitely. It means Amal was right. Theres more to this than a chance bandit attack. Has to be. And it also has to mean that whatever happened to him is somehow involved with what happened to Kabir. It cant possibly be a coincidence.
And all we have to do is find out what this secret was that Kabir made his brother swear never to tell a soul about. Bingo, our first inkling of a lead.
If anyone can find out, you can, she said.
Do you think hed have told his other brother?
Samarth?
If Kabir told him what he told Amal, he might share it with us.
Brooke thought about it, then shook her head. From the way Amal talked, I doubt that Kabir confided in anyone else within the family. The two younger brothers have a closer relationship than with Samarth. Hes always kept himself at a distance. Theres some tension there.
What kind of tension?
This is India. Traditions are still very strong here. It had always been understood that all three brothers would enter the family business, take over from their father when he retired, and work together to expand the empire that old Basu had founded. But Amal and Kabir both chose to go their own ways, which caused a certain amount of bad blood between them and Samarth. Their father too, though hes really quite sweet once you get to know him. Hes the reason I was able to get you here so fast. A couple of favours were called in from some very high-level people.
So I gathered. Lets get back to the events of that evening. You say you never made it to the restaurant. The snatch happened on the walk?
Just before we got there. Not long after wed had that conversation.
I think youve been cooped up in this room long enough. Lets get some air. Do you have a car?
She looked momentarily blank, thrown by the apparent change of subject. Theres a Jag house car that I use as a runaround. Its down in the garage. Or else we could get Prem to drive us in the Maybach.
Jaguars. S-Class Pullman limousines. Back when they were an item, Brookes drive had been a clapped-out Suzuki jeep. Ben said, Lets leave Prem out of it.
Where are we going?
He replied, To the food district.
Im not hungry.
Were not going there to eat. I want to see the crime scene for myself. Youre going to take me to the spot Amal was kidnapped.
Chapter 11
The sun outside was more intense as midday approached. The air felt as hot and heavy and moist as steam, trapped under the pale sky. Bens shirt began to stick to his back the moment he left the air-conditioned cool of the house, but despite the heat Brooke had wrapped a light shawl around her bare shoulders. Green and yellow silk, with a paisley pattern. It looked good on her. She carried a small embroidered handbag, or a clutch purse, or whatever woman termed these accessories, on a thin strap. Ethnic fashion wear, probably bought locally for a fraction of what some trendy London boutique would charge. The handbag seemed to hang heavy on its strap. It always mystified Ben what women carried around in those things.
Bees and giant dragonflies buzzed about the flower beds as she led him across the garden and down a path to the Ray residences garage block, a stretched-out and low open-fronted building painted white to match the house, with exotic ivy growing up its walls. I suppose you could call it the family fleet, she said, showing Ben the row of cars inside under the shade. All lined up neatly facing outwards, all immaculately waxed and polished. Prem had parked the limousine in a space at the end of the row, dwarfing the bright red Ferrari next to it.
Whose is the flying tomato? Ben asked. Amals?
Amal doesnt drive, she replied. Thats Kabirs. The Audi roadster is Prems. The little yellow Fiat belongs to Esha, Samarths wife. She doesnt get out much, though.
So I gathered. Unlike her husband, whos never at home.
He parks his Bentley there, Brooke said, pointing at an empty space next to the tiny Fiat. Hes usually home by six or seven, if its not a busy day at the office. You might get to meet him later.
The silver Jaguar that Brooke used as general transport occupied the far end of the row. It was the latest F-Pace SUV model, compact and boxy. But its plain-Jane exterior was wrapped around a five-litre supercharged V8 engine. Whatever the Rays owned, it seemingly had to be top of the spec list. By contrast, Esha Rays choice of a cheap and cheerful Fiat seemed a little out of place.
So I gathered. Unlike her husband, whos never at home.
He parks his Bentley there, Brooke said, pointing at an empty space next to the tiny Fiat. Hes usually home by six or seven, if its not a busy day at the office. You might get to meet him later.
The silver Jaguar that Brooke used as general transport occupied the far end of the row. It was the latest F-Pace SUV model, compact and boxy. But its plain-Jane exterior was wrapped around a five-litre supercharged V8 engine. Whatever the Rays owned, it seemingly had to be top of the spec list. By contrast, Esha Rays choice of a cheap and cheerful Fiat seemed a little out of place.
Ben pointed at it and said, Not exactly your typical millionaires ride.
Brooke shrugged. She used to drive a Porsche 911. She loved that car, but she sold it a few weeks ago. Actually, Samarth made her sell it.
Made her?
Said the insurance premium was too pricey for a womans runaround. Thats what she told me, anyway.
I suppose rich folks dont get that way by spending money unnecessarily, Ben said.
Brooke shrugged again. Whatever. Listen, do you mind driving? Im a bit light-headed from the whisky.
I think I can just about manage that.
She walked around to the passenger side, on the left like in the UK. A throwback to the olden days of the British Empire. Ben walked around to the drivers side and climbed in behind the wheel. The car smelled brand new. He was glad to be free of Prem, and also glad to have their own transport. He was fast running out of countries where he wasnt banned from booking a rental vehicle. He had absolutely no idea why. Werent rental companies insured against their property getting shot to pieces, blown up, flattened or sunk in canals?
Brooke got in the passenger side. Her hair brushed his face as they settled in. Its keyless, she said. You just press the button.
Ben had already found it. The Jaguar purred into life, not as whisper-softly as the Maybach, but you couldnt have everything. He pulled out of the garage and started down the driveway, pausing for a peacock that strutted unhurriedly across their path. The gates wafted open for them at the bottom of the drive. Brooke guided him left and down the street. Ben was breathing in her perfume and remembering the last occasion theyd travelled in a car together. It had been back in England, during the short time theyd rented a house in the Jericho district of Oxford. A totally different life, filled with wedding plans and the excitement of the big day looming. Ben had quit Le Val and handed the reins over to Jeff, not intending to return. Those days had been over for him, hed promised himself and Brooke. Having resumed the theology studies hed abandoned many years earlier, hed been looking ahead to a whole new future.
And look at us now, he reflected. Brooke married to someone else, and him back in the same old game as before, with the added twist that he had to help her get her beloved husband back. Life could be strangely ironic at times. His life, especially.
When the armed guards at the gated checkpoint saw Brooke in the Jaguars passenger seat they waved them through with friendly smiles and barely a glance at her driver. Its like living on a bloody military base, she said bitterly. Youd know all about that, I suppose.
Just a little bit, Ben said.
But at least its safe. I should never have made him leave home that night. Its all my fault.
It happened, Ben said. We cant change it. We can only deal with it.
I suppose.
So dont beat yourself up.
Okay. Ill try.
Anyhow, what were you going to do, stay hunkered down behind locked gates forever? If they wanted him, sooner or later theyd have had their chance.
They, she said. Whoever they are.
Thats what were going to figure out.
Ben?
He turned, and saw she was looking at him. What?
Thanks for being here.
Its what I do, he said.
The twenty-minute route that Brooke and Amal had followed on foot took just three or four by car. Beyond the limits of the serene, upscale residential area they entered a profusion of narrower, humbler and dingier streets crammed to the maximum with activity. Row after row of food stalls and street vendors sprawled over the pavements. Ben fell into line with the slow-moving procession of cars and motor scooters and tuk-tuks that filtered through the jostling crowds of pedestrians. Gangs of children swarmed around the Jaguar, clamouring and waving through the tinted glass.
We can stop here and walk the rest of the way, Brooke said. Ben pulled over and wedged the car into a parking space between two stalls. The throng of kids closed around them. As Brooke stepped out she tossed them some coins and said something in Hindi that seemed to please them. The biggest kid grabbed the lions share of the money and planted himself beside the car like a terrier on guard duty.
Ive been learning a bit of the language, she explained to Ben, with a shrug that could have been a little self-conscious.
What did you say to them?
That thered be more rupees if we come back and find the car still in one piece, she said. Come on, its this way.
Ben accompanied her through the food market, pressing their way between jostling bodies. The air was intense with the smell of motor fumes mingled with the scents of herbs and exotic spices and aromatic basmati rice and grilled mutton kebab from the vendors up and down the street. The place easily rivalled the grand bazaars of Marrakech, Tehran and Istanbul for sheer buzz and hubbub. Seafood merchants were pulling in scrums of customers for fresh crab and clams and shrimp. There were handicrafts and tourist trinkets and clothes and more exotic varieties of fruit and vegetables than Ben could identify. They passed cafés and small restaurants and musicians and stalls selling mountains of chillies and okra and nuts and teas, all adding to the sensory overload of smells, sounds and colours.
Brookes fair skin and auburn hair were drawing a lot of looks from men. Hence the shawl that covered her shoulders and protected her from more prying eyes. Ben threw back a few warning glances at the oglers, who quickly looked away. The white knight, protecting the damsel. Who, in this instance, was someone elses damsel. Another painful reminder, but he only had himself to blame.
It happened down there. Brooke pointed down a narrow lane to their left, and turned off the main street away from the bustle. Ben followed. There were no stalls along here, and just enough space for a vehicle to squeeze between the crumbly buildings. She stopped and looked uncomfortably around her, then at Ben. This is it. The restaurant we wanted to go to is at the bottom of this lane. Needless to say, we didnt get that far.
Pretty public spot to pull off a kidnapping, he commented.
Its so much busier by day. There was hardly anyone around to witness what happened. And if anyone did, they soon disappeared.
Ben stood in the middle of the lane and turned a slow three-sixty, scanning details and forming a scene in his mind. He pictured a couple walking. Not a happy pair, because of the troubles weighing on their minds. But things were about to get much worse for them.
He said, Okay, describe it to me.