IN THE CROSSHAIRS
Chapter 23
James had stopped asking for his parents. Often he simply sat and cried instead. Maysam did everything she could to distract the child or cheer him, but the length of his father's absence had taken its toll. Neither could anyone else placate the boy, not even Kavitha. Henri had nearly given up on trying to play with James, growing frustrated with his friend, no matter how much the adults insisted he should continue to spend time with James. Maysam knew there was little sense in badgering her great-grandson anymore, but she was desperate to bring some happiness to James.
Maysam told herself that John would be returning soon, whether he had found Sanjana's killer or not. He had to know James needed him. He should return home for a bit, then pick up the search again or perhaps be content with letting Bane handle it alone. If only she could reach out to Barsad. Maybe he would listen to her after all this time.
"You must call Haris," Maysam said to Talia at supper in the main dining room. "John must come home…now."
From the chair on her right, Abrams gently said, "She can't nag Bane while he's on an op, Maysam. You know that."
Across from Maysam, Talia set down her glass of wine. "Actually, I'm expecting a call soon from Bane. There has been a new development in the investigation. You may get your wish about Barsad."
Maysam nearly gasped from relief. "What is it?"
"I'd rather not say, Jiddah." Talia's sapphire eyes went to James in his highchair on Maysam's left. "And I don't want to get everyone's hopes up prematurely."
Maysam frowned. "Surely you don't think anyone is listening to our conversation."
Talia smiled slightly. "Just call me extra cautious…or superstitious, perhaps, especially with the boys here; I don't want to jinx anything."
Henri, seated to Talia's right, looked up expectantly from his plate. "Is Papa Baba coming home soon, Mama?"
"I don't know, son, but I hope so."
Talia glanced at Melisande in a highchair on her left. The girl, having already been fed, played with a small spoon, occasionally whacking it against her tray. When she heard her brother mention their father, her attention lifted to Talia, and she gurgled, "Baba," in what seemed a hopeful tone. It had been her first word, spoken only recently and used whenever she heard her brother talking about their father. Maysam and Talia deeply regretted that Bane had not been present when Melisande had uttered her first Baba. Talia had not mentioned it to him yet, wanting to save such a revelation until he was here to enjoy it firsthand. Talia hoped Melisande would soon be adding Mama to her vocabulary. Maysam smiled to herself when she considered that Bane would be pleased to know his name had been first on his daughter's lips. Hopefully that would dull the sting he would feel for missing out on such a milestone.
"I think I've grown an inch since Papa Baba left," Henri said proudly. "Wait till he sees."
Maysam's focus returned to James, who had been paying no heed to their conversation. Instead he moved restlessly in his seat. "Come now, little one. You must eat." She held a spoonful of applesauce to his mouth.
"No," James pouted, turning his face away.
"Just one mouthful," Maysam pleaded.
"Eat your supper," Henri ordered in frustration from across the table, drawing Melisande's attention.
"Hush, Henri," Talia softly but firmly scolded. "You aren't helping."
James looked angrily at Henri then at Maysam, who still held the applesauce poised. She smiled encouragingly, nodding and lifting the spoon to catch his eye.
"No!" James cried angrily, swiping a hand outward and knocking the spoon out of her hand.
"Mama!" Henri protested. "Look what he did."
Hisham rushed over from his station behind James and bent with a cloth to clean up the small mess.
James writhed in his chair. "Want down," he whined.
"Not until you eat some supper," Talia said.
"Want Naniji," James said, moving his head from side to side to avoid the next spoonful. This demand was a familiar tactic by now—if Maysam failed to do what he wanted, he would ask for Vita, and vice versa.
"I will take you to her," Maysam said, "after you eat your supper."
James's appetite had left him some days ago. Every meal was a battle just to get him to eat something small. Maysam was losing sleep over worrying about his health as well as worrying about Barsad's fate. She had the cook make every favorite food of his, but James ignored most of it, even the sweets.
"What will your daddy say when he comes home," Maysam scolded mildly, "and I tell him you have been a naughty boy?"
"Daddy not here," James said, adding softly, "Mommy gone." Tears welled in his eyes, and he began to cry.
"Jiddah," Henri said with authority, "you made him cry."
"Henri," Talia nearly snapped, "you will stay out of this discussion, or there will be no dessert for you, young man."
Melisande, always sensitive to tension, began to fuss. Talia gently soothed her and kissed her cheek.
Henri sulked and went back to his food. Meanwhile, Maysam took James from the highchair, embraced and kissed him before setting him on her lap. The toddler's petulance left him, and he weakly cried against Maysam's shoulder.
"Your daddy will return as soon as he can," Maysam soothed. "And it would make him sad to know you weren't eating. Little boys need full tummies to grow big like their fathers." She wiped his nose with her linen.
"Daddy gone."
"He will be back. He promised, didn't he?"
James hiccupped, his tears slowing but his hold on her remaining secure.
By allowing him to remain on her lap, Maysam managed to get the boy to eat part of his meal. If she attempted to return him to his own chair, he squirmed and protested.
"James," Talia chided, "Jiddah cannot eat her own meal if she's holding you."
"It's all right," Maysam said. "I will finish after my little habibi does. It is more important that he eats."
"Save your breath, Talia," Abrams said with an exasperated glance at Maysam.
Talia gave her grandmother a mildly rebuking look but nodded her understanding.
After supper, with the boy riding upon Abrams's shoulders, Maysam took James to his grandmother's cottage. During Barsad's absence, Abrams tried to spend time with James every day, hoping that providing a male presence would help the boy. Ahil's youth, immaturity, and unwillingness to befriend his nephew made him a useless substitute for a male companion for James. Maysam loved and appreciated Abrams's thoughtfulness. Not a man prone to public displays of affection, he put forth an extra effort when it came to James since Sanjana's death. And though James said nothing on their walk to the cottage, Maysam could tell the boy enjoyed sitting high atop Abrams's strong shoulders.
When they were near their destination, Maysam said to Abrams, "I smell food. Maybe they are not done eating. I am hoping Vita and Kavitha can entice James to eat some more."
It was common practice that Diya Panjabi, Vita, and Vita's children ate a little later than those in the chateau.
The League's man appeared from around the corner of the cottage as Maysam drew near. He was there, of course, to make sure Ahil did not wander off, unsupervised. Sharing meals in the cottage with his family was one of the liberties Ahil was allowed.
"Good evening, ma'am," the sentinel said with a slight bow, then a nod to Abrams.
"Good evening," Maysam said.
Normally James would greet everyone with a smile, regardless of their status, but he ignored the guard as Abrams lowered his squirming form to the ground. He hurriedly toddled to the door and flailed a hand against it.
"Naniji!"
The guard moved off a short distance so his presence would not be so obvious to whomever answered the door.
"I'll head back," Abrams said and kissed Maysam's cheek. "Don't want to spook those two biddies." He grinned.
"Hush, Aaron. They might hear you."
He chuckled. "I'll see you back at the house. Goodbye, buddy," he called to James just as the door opened to reveal Kavitha.
"There he is! Just in time for dessert." The girl scooped up her nephew and kissed him. Then she remembered herself and bowed to Maysam. "Good evening, MemSahib."
"Want Naniji," James said, then called over his aunt's shoulder, "Naniji!"
"Is that my little angel?" came Vita's distant voice. "Bheti, invite MemSahib in for tea and dessert."
"Please tell your mother I would like a private word with her, if she can spare just a moment," Maysam said to Kavitha. "I won't keep her long. I will wait out here."
"Yes, MemSahib."
"Want Naniji," James repeated.
"Your aunt is going to give you something to eat," Maysam told him. "I must speak with Naniji for a minute, then she will be right back to you."
Once Kavitha returned inside, Vita soon appeared, looking concerned.
"I am sorry for interrupting your meal," Maysam said, drawing her away from the door. "I hope you and your daughter can convince James to eat more supper. He ate very little with us. I'm worried about him."
"As am I, MemSahib. It is not natural for one so young to refuse food."
"And it is dangerous. We don't want him to fall ill." While Maysam's worry was indeed very real, she added an extra note of fear to her words to frighten Vita into pliability for what she was about to ask her.
"I will do everything I can, MemSahib. But he has been so irritable lately, understandably so, of course. Have you come with news of Sanjana's husband?" Vita asked hopefully.
Stepping closer, Maysam quietly responded, "What I am about to say must stay between us. You must give me your oath, on Sanjana's ashes."
Vita looked alarmed. "Of course, MemSahib. What is it?"
Vita knew nothing about Barsad being with Bane. She only knew what Maysam had told her after Barsad's disappearance—that they suspected he had left to find Sanjana's killer.
"I have received some news, nothing directly from John, unfortunately. But there is a chance he may return soon."
"Has he caught the person responsible for my daughter's murder?"
"I don't know, but when he does return, he will need your help."
"With my grandson? Of course I will help."
Maysam shook her head. "There is that, yes, but I am referring to something else."
"What is it, MemSahib?"
"Has Mrs. Panjabi ever told you about the conversation she and I had shortly after John disappeared?"
"I don't believe so. Nothing that stands out."
"It was about John and Nyssa, Mrs. Panjabi's daughter."
Vita shook her head.
Her bemusement seemed genuine to Maysam. Good to know Diya was discreet.
"In the work that John does," Maysam said slowly, "Nyssa is his…boss, so to speak."
"Yes, that much I have gathered."
"Well, John was not authorized to leave, not to visit you in India and not to search for Sanjana's killer."
"Why not? He is my daughter's husband; why would he not have been allowed to grieve with my family over his father-in-law?"
"He may have been allowed to if he had gotten permission for a leave of absence."
"Why didn't he?"
Maysam hesitated. "I cannot go into detail, I'm afraid. But I can tell you this—John has a strained relationship with Nyssa. These last two disobediences have made matters between them worse, much worse." She paused for effect. "He may be severely punished for his offenses."
Worry deepened in Vita's dark eyes. "She wouldn't harm my grandson, would she? To punish my son-in-law, I mean?"
"I don't believe she would. But you must understand that there is chance—because of reasons I cannot tell you—that Nyssa might have John executed."
Vita's eyes widened in horror. "What?"
"That is why I am talking to you now. I do not assume to know your feelings toward John, but I know you love James and would not want him growing up without any parents."
"Of course not. But what can I do to help, MemSahib?"
"What you have been doing—seeing to James's health and wellbeing. And I want you to have him around Mrs. Panjabi as much as possible. I think she may be crucial to our cause to save Sanjana's…husband. When he returns, if he is faced with the dire consequences I just mentioned, he will need every one of us in his corner, pressuring Nyssa for clemency for James's sake."
"But I don't know Mrs. Panjabi's daughter. Why would she listen to me?"
"She probably won't, but Mrs. Panjabi will. She could speak on your behalf to Nyssa, on behalf of James's grandmother and her friend; you have become her friend. You have been a blessing to her. She is not lonely like she used to be. I see it. She is attached to James as well as to your children." Well, she thought, perhaps not Ahil, but she was not going to delineate.
"I appreciate her company as well. And I will do whatever I can to help my son-in-law, MemSahib."
"Thank you. I will let you know when I hear anything more about his return." She saw deep fear in the woman's eyes; mission accomplished. "Remember, say nothing of our conversation to Mrs. Panjabi or even to your children. Act as if you know nothing of John's relationship with Nyssa."
Vita nodded.
"I am sorry to burden you with this," Maysam said, "but John and James need our help. James is already suffering trauma from his mother's death and his father's absence; I shudder to think how he would react to his father's death as well."
"I will do everything I can, MemSahib."
"Thank you. Now, I will let you get back to James. Perhaps you can convince him to spend the night with you and Mrs. Panjabi."
A small smile erased some of Vita's concerns. "I will try."
This would be a noticeable change, for James had never slept in the cottage, but Maysam was willing to allow it. Anything to have James around Nyssa's mother more. And it was easy to see how much the prospect pleased Vita.
"Just call me if he wants to stay, and I will have Hisham bring James's pajamas and his favorite blanket."
Vita bowed. "Thank you, MemSahib. I will so enjoy having him for the night."
Maysam bid her goodbye and started back to the chateau, confident that Vita would indeed help John's cause. Yes, she told herself, it was good that she had softened toward their guest from Jaipur. That alliance could very well turn the tide for John Barsad.
Bane watched the split screen of the laptop monitor. One side showed the view of the hostel's second floor hallway, the other the interior of Barsad's room. Both cameras had infrared technology, so Bane could easily see Brennan moving down the dark hallway. He watched with complete calm, complete confidence. Now if only his hotheaded lieutenant obeyed his orders and remained in position. So far, so good.
Bane had purposefully given Brennan a slim window of opportunity to catch Barsad in Jaipur. By doing so, Brennan had no time to surveil the hostel and observe Barsad entering. Instead he barely had time to fly in and reach the location after dark. Brennan would have done what he could, though, in preparation for his move on his quarry, including the use of infrared technology to ensure the presence of someone in the targeted room. Bane's plans had taken that into consideration, of course. All was in place; the spider awaited its prey, and right now that prey stood at the edge of the web.
As Brennan reached for the doorknob, Bane's attention shifted to the room's camera view, his eyes unblinking, his fingers twitching in anticipation. Brennan suddenly swung the door open and charged in, firing his suppressed weapon at the charpoy against the far wall.
Bane smoothly and quickly slipped from his position in the room across the hall from Brennan.
"Son of a bitch!" came Brennan's epithet from inside Barsad's room.
Bane stopped in the open doorway, silent and unnoticed by Brennan until he hit the light switch nearby on the wall. Brennan spun, whipping off his night-vision goggles, pistol aiming. Behind him lay the room's dead occupant, body riddled with bullets, blood staining the tan cotton rope of the charpoy and dripping to the floor. A hapless drunk whom no one would miss. Barsad had brought him here earlier in the night and drugged him to ensure he would not awaken.
Brennan stared at Bane in a moment of disbelief, but he quickly recovered from his shock to demand, "Where is he, God damn it?"
Bane stepped into the windowless room and closed the door. "You refer to Barsad," he rumbled matter-of-factly, fingers twitching at his side.
"Fuck, yes—Barsad!" Brennan shouted, gun still aimed at Bane.
"You did not uphold your oath to me, brother."
"Where is he?"
"Do you intend to shoot me?" Bane's voice chilled the stuffy room. "I advise against it. We are not alone."
"Of course we aren't," Brennan spat. "Barsad's probably right outside that door, isn't he? Your fucking shadow."
Bane inclined his head toward the corner of the ceiling where the camera watched them. "I am referring to that."
"Motherfucker," Brennan growled. "You set me up."
"Do not act as if your predicament is my fault, brother. I rightfully did not trust you to keep your word. You had no intention of obeying your orders, and our sister will see that."
"She'll understand why I couldn't take the chance of Barsad getting away or shooting me."
"Pure bravado on your part. We both know how insubordination infuriates our sister. And she would know how Barsad's assassination would add fuel to the fire of whomever is speaking against her rule as the Demon's Head." One corner of Bane's mouth raised slightly. "Lover or not, she will make an example of you."
Brennan's gun remained aimed as anger grew to a fever pitch on his face.
"Do not think you can shoot me and leave this building unseen. As I have said, I am not alone."
"You told Nyssa that Barsad isn't with you. How do you think your lie will play with her?" Brennan sneered.
Normally an accusation of lying leveled at Bane would result in the accuser's quick death, but Bane did not move from his spot. "Unlike you, I have not lied to our commander. Now, you will surrender your weapons and come with me."
"I have a mission to fulfill, just like you."
"Indeed I do. And my search for Barsad's would-be killer should be much easier to accomplish now that you are here to identify the shooter."
"What the fuck does that mean?"
"Do not be a fool and waste my time, Brennan. You have been behind this matter from the start."
"Yeah? Show me the evidence."
"It will be presented once we are standing before of our commander. Now, do as you have been ordered by a superior and relinquish your weapons. Or do you prefer that I take them by force?"
For the first time, a chink appeared in Brennan's armor. The smugness left his face, but he refused to lower his pistol. He would believe that Bane was not alone, whether accompanied by Barsad or someone else, so there was indeed little chance of making it out of here alive if he chose to be reckless. He would also assume Bane wore body armor under his shirt and perhaps had a concealed weapon.
"I prefer to take you in alive," Bane said laconically. "But if you insist…" He took a step forward.
Brennan stepped back, but he had nowhere to turn.
"The camera has seen everything," Bane said, taking another step. "Even if you were to destroy it, rest assured the footage has already been uploaded to a secure location. So do not make your situation even more dire than it already is by resisting or attempting to do me harm."
Brennan stared at him, obviously trying to figure a way out. His glance went past Bane to the door.
"Whether or not you leave this room alive is your choice," Bane continued. "I have already secured the evidence I need to prove that you had designs upon eliminating Barsad either during his visit to Sanjana's family home or here, so it matters not to me if you force me to kill you now."
Brennan's jaw tightened in frustrated anger. His fingers flexed on the grip of his Glock. "You're a God damn fool if you think Barsad doesn't want Nyssa to fail. He's hated her from the start. Everyone knows it. As her second-in-command, you should be dealing with Barsad. Instead I have to. The League has a new commander, a new direction. Anyone who doesn't believe in it shouldn't be in our ranks. Maybe the old guard has out-lived its usefulness."
Bane's eyebrows lowered like storm clouds over an unforgiving landscape. "The 'old guard,' as you call it, is the backbone of the League," Bane growled. "Tread lightly, brother, if you have any notion of deposing me or Barsad. Your views are as dangerous as you claim Barsad's to be. And whatever his personal feelings may be, he is not reckless enough to sow seeds of sedition in our ranks."
"Like I said, you're a bloody fool if you believe that—"
Bane was on him in an instant, one hand around Brennan's neck, the other around his wrist. The Glock went off, but the bullet buried itself harmlessly in the wall. Bane's impetus nearly knocked Brennan backwards onto the charpoy, but Bane's grip on his neck kept Brennan vertical, his boots now off the floor. Bane applied even more pressure to Brennan's right wrist; a second more and every bone would be crushed, but Brennan finally dropped the pistol.
"Now that I finally have your attention," Bane said, "make your choice on living or dying right now."
Brennan continued to struggle against Bane's grip, eyes bulging even more, strangled curses sputtering between wet lips. His free hand struck Bane in head and body with no effect. Bane's cold stare bore into him as he waited. He began to choke and gasp, his feet kicking against his captor, first strongly then weaker, his face flushing crimson. In vain, he tried to reach for what Bane figured was another weapon concealed beneath his pantleg.
"Are you truly ready to forfeit your life for a lie?" Bane intoned. "For your own selfish ambition?"
Another moment passed, and Brennan's color turned purple as his hand now tried to pry away Bane's relentless fingers. Bane's gaze never turned from his prisoner's dimming eyes. Finally, Brennan went limp with unconsciousness. Bane let him fall to the floor, there to lie in the pooled blood of his victim.