IN THE CROSSHAIRS
Chapter 27
Barsad had been in position for over an hour. Darkness cloaked Jaipur, but the noise of the city never seemed to lessen. He had tuned it out, though, as he had tuned out everything external except what lay in the crosshairs of his gun's scope. At the same time, he was aware of everything in his immediate location which was a second-floor room in an abandoned building across from one of Jaipur's post offices. If a rat scurried somewhere nearby, his senses clocked it but dismissed it as innocuous. When he had scouted this location the previous day, he had noted signs of homeless people squatting here, but this second-floor room with its broken window apparently didn't appeal to them. And if one of them foolishly stumbled in tonight, they would never leave alive.
He glanced at his tactical watch. How much longer?
The night had tempered the previous day's heat. He was glad for it, glad that his index finger was dry against the curved, smooth trigger of his suppressed Lobaev light tactical sniper rifle. He had chosen this weapon specifically. It was this rifle that he had used to kill Amir El Fadil, Maysam's brother-in-law. Amir had raped Sanjana shortly after she had started to work at the palace in Rajasthan. Though Sanjana had not admitted the crime to anyone at the time out of fear of losing her job or worse, her behavior afterward made it clear to Barsad what had happened. He had suspected that Amir had been the perpetrator because the warlord had known of Barsad's interest in the young woman. Amir, like others in the El Fadil household, had never approved of and greatly resented Bane and Barsad living there under Maysam's protection, so the rape had been Amir's way of pissing on Barsad's lamppost, so to speak. Now, Barsad would employ the same weapon to kill Sanjana's murderer that had been used to avenge her rape.
He tried to stay focused, not let Sanjana into his thoughts right now. But she was there, nudging him about James, admonishing him for being away from their son so long. But I'm doing this for you, Sanjie…and James, he kept telling her. He also blamed his wayward thoughts on Bane. If Bane hadn't called him the other day after meeting with Nyssa, maybe he wouldn't be assaulted by these distractions.
"You must shorten your timeline," Bane had said when Barsad answered his cellphone.
"Why?" Barsad asked in a surly tone.
"Sidorov will be apprehended as soon as I give the order following this conversation, and the council will convene at the chateau. I want you here for that. You being gone any longer will not help your cause in their eyes."
"I don't give a damn about the council—"
"It is more than that; it is your son."
This brought Barsad up short, caused him to swallow his attitude. "What's wrong?"
"Talia's description of his demeanor and health from her earlier phone call when I was in the field fell short of the reality of the situation. She did not want to alarm us at the time, but I feel strongly that now is the time to accurately describe his mental and physical state. It is imperative that you make haste to return to him. If I must couch this in the form of a direct order, I shall."
A direct order had not been required. Between Sanjana urging him through his conscience to return to France and Bane's information, he knew he needed to heed their advice, no matter how bitterly it sat with him. He consoled himself that even though this killing would of necessity be quick, the next one—the more important one—would not, if he had his way. That is, if that damned Nyssa didn't stand in his way. Sanjana deserved to be avenged properly, blood for blood, at his hands and no other's.
Below him, another shadow came moving down the opposite side of the street, in the direction of the post office. A solitary man. Barsad's night vision scope found his face, but the man had his head down and wore a baseball cap, so he couldn't positively ID him. He moved with a loose gait, appearing nonchalant. A man who didn't want attention drawn to him, wanted to blend in with the occasional passersby. Barsad slowly drew in a long, even breath, blinked several times to moisten his eyes, prepare. Could it be…?
The man entered the lit lobby of the post office. His back was to Barsad then, further concealing his identity. But he was headed to the lockboxes recessed in the wall. Barsad licked his lips, released his breath in a measured exhale, slowly inhaled again, waited, the scope centered on the man's head. Barsad felt a wave of relief flow through him when the man opened the designated box, the one that held an envelope of American money—several thousand dollars to make the ruse believable —and a note from Brennan. Another job, he had been told, but Brennan had not done this of his own volition. No, the envelope and note were the cheese that led the rat to the trap.
The assassin didn't waste time opening the envelope; he would do that once he was in a safe place. Instead he tucked it into his light jacket with barely a glance at his surroundings, then left the post office at the same easy pace as his arrival. Now his face filled the scope, a face Barsad would never forget, one he hoped Sanjana could see as well.
Five steps. That was all Barsad allowed him. No one else on the street now. A dog barked from somewhere. Barsad squeezed the trigger, and the man dropped. Barsad stared at him for a minute, a foolish indulgence in his line of work. But since time hadn't allowed him to give the man the long, slow death he deserved, he wanted to savor the moment. Shortly, two young men appeared, staggering against one another and laughing, smoking.
Barsad quickly disassembled his rifle. By then the men had come to the dead body. One nudged the corpse with a toe, the other then rifled through his pockets, found the envelope of money. Then they realized the dark stain on the ground beneath the dead man's head. They recoiled, spoke in Hindi, words Barsad could not make out at this distance. When they turned to flee, Barsad noticed one still held the envelope with the money.
"Have a drink on me, motherfuckers," Barsad murmured before melting into the night.
The wind blew James's feathery hair back from his forehead as the golf cart jounced past the rear gardens and up to the patio. Though Bane steered, James's tiny hands rested on the lower part of the steering wheel as he sat on Bane's lap, and Bane allowed him to think he were in charge of their route. They had been out in the mild autumn sunlight for an hour now, traveling wherever the boy wanted to go on the grounds, but now lunchtime drew near, so Bane knew Maysam would be tracking them down to come in to eat.
As Bane applied the brake, James patted the steering wheel and tipped his head back to look at his driver. "Make go, Unca Bane!"
Bane chuckled. "We can go back out after you eat your lunch and take a nap, little one."
"Make go!"
"You heard me," Bane gently admonished, trying to dismount and carry James with him, but the boy held fast to the wheel. "Jiddah will have my hide if you were to miss your lunch. Now, let go of the wheel, or there will be no more riding about this afternoon."
Reluctantly James obeyed. Bane regretted having to go inside, for their morning sojourn had perked up the child considerably. In the three days since Bane's return, he had spent as much time as possible with James, for the boy obviously craved his presence as a substitute for his father.
"I've done as much as I could for him," Abrams had told Bane on his first day back, "but it's you he wants more than me if he can't have his dad."
"Maysam told me you were very generous with your time. I appreciate it, as Barsad will, too. I will keep James close until his wayward father returns, which should be soon."
Abrams produced a small, knowing grin. "I won't ask you how you know that. I don't want that she-wolf boss of yours to torture the truth out of me."
As Bane left the golf cart for Francois, the gardener, to return to its garage, he lifted James high and placed him on his shoulders. "Are you hungry, boy?"
James wrapped his arms around Bane's neck. "Want Auntie."
"You are in luck. I see her through the window, there, studying with your uncle. We will stop to say hello, but we must not interrupt their studies for long."
James rested his chin against Bane's freshly shorn head. "Okay."
Bane could hear fatigue in the boy's compliant tone. Hopefully the lengthy time outside had improved James's appetite. He had been eating better since Bane's return but not as much as they all wanted him to eat.
When they reached the music room, they found Kavitha and Ahil seated on cushions on the floor, textbooks spread before them, sunlight warming their study space.
"Auntie!" James cried.
A smile broke across Kavitha's face when she saw James, and she quickly got to her feet. When her brother remained on the floor, his attention seemingly on his studies, she discreetly nudged him with her champal and gave him a warning glare. Sullenly, Ahil stood, and together they greeted Bane with bows, Kavitha saying in halting English, "Good afternoon, Sahib. Nameste."
"Nameste," Bane said, adding in Hindi, "James insisted on saying hello before he has his lunch. I am sorry to disturb you."
"Want down," James said in his mother's language.
When Bane obliged him, James went to Ahil and took his hand. Ahil looked a bit uncomfortable but did not pull away as James asked, "What doin', Unca?"
"Studying," the young man said, trying to appear unmoved by his nephew's interest in him.
Kavitha gave her brother a pointed stare and made a small gesture with her hand to demand Ahil pick James up. Awkwardly, Ahil obeyed. James played with the young man's collar.
"You read?" the toddler asked.
"I am learning."
Bane was pleased to see that Ahil had obviously developed an affection for James. Maysam had told him how obstinate Ahil had been about everything when he had arrived at Chateau Blanc, including his nephew, even though James was all that was left of his sister. Over time, though, no doubt aided by Kavitha's obvious love for James, Ahil had warmed up to James, and even played with the child. Their favorite activity was kicking around a football outside, and Maysam told him how James would laugh whenever Ahil bounced the ball on his head. Talia had also commented to Bane on the relationship, how it seemed to affect Ahil in a positive way, for the young man did not seem angry and sullen all the time now. Perhaps, Bane thought, there was indeed hope that Ahil could one day find a place in the League's ranks.
"Read to me, Unca," James said, pointing down at the textbooks.
"Those are not storybooks," Bane said. "They are schoolbooks, and your aunt and uncle are studying, just as you will one day." To Kavitha, he said, "Your teacher speaks highly of you. He says you have come far in just a short time. Your sister would be proud of you both."
"If only she were here," Ahil muttered.
Bane sized him up. "You are here because she is not. She would be displeased if she knew you were ungrateful for your education. She always enjoyed learning."
"We are grateful, Sahib," Kavitha quickly said with a sharp glance at her sibling.
Bane noted how the young woman had gained some confidence since she had come to Chateau Blanc. Though she still had a difficult time meeting his gaze, she nevertheless tried to do so for more than a second or two. Her progress reminded him of Sanjana when she and Barsad had first begun their relationship. Like Sanjana, he knew Kavitha would continue to thrive and gain confidence. It was plain by the way she squared her shoulders at his compliment that she was proud of her achievements.
"Though Sanjana did not know it at the time," Bane said to Ahil, "her sacrifice is for your betterment. The future is wide open for you both now. To honor her, I suggest you appreciate this opportunity, Ahil. Be a good example for Sanjana's son. It appears the two of you have formed a bond while his father is away."
James hugged Ahil around his neck as if to confirm what Bane had said. Ahil's lips twisted as if he was reluctant to admit the accuracy of Bane's observation.
"We both miss our fathers," Ahil said with both sorrow and stubbornness.
"I am sure you do. I never had a relationship with my father; I was not fortunate in that matter as you are. Honor your father by being a positive influence for his grandson."
This seemed to reach Ahil, for he nodded, and the veiled resentment left his dark gaze.
Kavitha drew their attention when she gave a sharp gasp. They followed her stare to the doorway at the far end of the music room.
"Daddy!" James cried, immediately wiggling out of Ahil's arms. "Daddy, Daddy!"
Barsad stood just inside the music room, disheveled, lean, and haggard, his heavy-lidded eyes looking even more tired than usual, his beard fuller than when Bane had last seen him, for he had apparently not touched a razor since. Fatigue weighted his shoulders into a slump, his hands hanging loose at his sides. He had obviously come to find James the minute he had returned.
Calling repeatedly to his father, James ran as fast as his uncoordinated legs could carry him across the long stretch of carpet. Halfway, he stumbled in his haste and fell, but by the time he tried to right himself, Barsad was there, sweeping him up into his arms. James was sobbing now, overwhelmed with emotions a toddler could never hope to process. Bane noticed there were also tears of relief in Kavitha's eyes, her hands clasped close to her mouth.
"It appears," Bane said with satisfaction, "the prodigal son has returned. Excuse me." He started for his lieutenant.
James had a chokehold on his father's neck, trembling and still sobbing as Barsad tried to soothe him. "Hey, buddy, it's okay. I'm here. I'm here. Don't cry."
"Welcome back, brother," Bane said, unable to restrain a smile.
"Here he is, Jiddah!" Henri's exuberant voice interrupted them. "I told you I saw him!" The boy rushed into the music room. "Uncle John, you're back!"
"Hey, kid," Barsad said with a tired grin, tousling the boy's hair. His attention lifted to Maysam, who trailed in Henri's wake, carrying Melisande. Upon seeing Barsad, she appeared about to faint from shock and relief.
"Why didn't you tell us you were coming?" she asked, smiling. "We've been so worried. Oh, poor James. Don't cry, habibi. Your father is home now. Do you want me to take him, John? You look utterly exhausted."
Barsad chuckled and rubbed his son's back as James's sobs trailed off into hiccups. "I don't think I could pry him loose, Maysam. And, besides, you already have your arms full."
Melisande saw her father and stretched out her arms. "Ba-ba!"
"Holy shit," Barsad said, "she's talking!"
"John," Maysam admonished, "language."
"Sorry." He winked at Henri and kissed Maysam's cheek. "I'm outta practice."
"Lunch will be served any minute now," she said. "By the looks of you, you haven't eaten in days. Haris, if you could take Melisande and Henri in charge, I'll go with Barsad to his suite so I can occupy James while his father changes clothes and washes up before lunch. We shall see you in the dining room. Knowing Aaron, he's already there with knife and fork in hand. He will be so glad to see you, John." She briefly, gently put one hand against his cheek, her eyes shining with her own tears of relief that he was home safe.
Heavy footfalls drew near at a quick pace, and Bane tensed just as two of Nyssa's men arrived behind Maysam, semi-automatic rifles brought to bear upon Barsad. Maysam gasped and shielded the baby in her arms, standing between the men and Barsad.
"What is the meaning of this?" she demanded. "Put your weapon away. Can't you see these children?"
"Barsad," Ivan Kozlov growled with obvious satisfaction, "surrender your weapon."
"Weapon?" Maysam said sharply. "He is holding his son, not a weapon—"
Barsad gently grasped her arm, drew her back. "It's okay, Maysam."
"It certainly is not," she said, then to Ivan, "How dare you—"
Bane, with Henri hiding behind him, stepped forward, his voice low and commanding. "Maysam, take my children to the dining room." When she hesitated, he added, "Now, please. Barsad, give me your pistol."
"What about James?" Maysam sputtered.
"He can stay with me," Barsad said, staring at Kozlov. "Don't worry; no one's gonna hurt him."
Maysam took Henri by the hand.
"Jiddah," he protested, "I wanna stay with Papa Baba and Uncle John."
"This is no place for children," she said.
"Go with Jiddah," Bane ordered, his tone leaving no room for further argument.
With a final glare at the armed men, Maysam carried Melisande away toward the door at the opposite end of the music room. The baby fussed and cried out, "Baba!"
Maysam called in Hindi to Kavitha and Ahil, who were still standing near their books, wide-eyed and alarmed by the scene taking place before them, "Come, you two. Leave your books and follow me. Hurry, now."
Barsad had slowly drawn his concealed pistol from his rear waistband and handed it to Bane, who in turn gave it to Ivan.
"There is no need for any of this," Bane said. "Barsad has no plans to leave the chateau, do you, brother?"
"Daddy stay," James said emphatically.
"We have our orders," Kozlov growled.
"And what are those orders?" Barsad asked sarcastically. "You gonna shoot me in front of my kid?"
"You will be confined to your suite until the council convenes," Kozlov said.
"Go with them, brother," Bane directed. "I will speak to Nyssa about this."
"Don't bother," Barsad said, still staring at the armed men. "It's fine. James and I have a lot of catching up to do anyway. Just have our lunch sent to our rooms."
"Very well," Bane said.
Barsad forced a smile for James's benefit. "C'mon, slugger. Up you go." As if the menacing gun barrels did not exist, he lifted the toddler onto his shoulders. James—oblivious to any danger—now laughed like his old self, as if his father had never been gone.