Hadji was standing in the middle of a crowd of people on the street across from his apartment, when he spotted a long, black limousine attempting to turn the corner a few blocks up. He watched it with idle interest while he waited for the light to change, wondering who would be stupid enough to try to bring a vehicle that size through these narrow, residential streets. After having to back and fill three different times to get around the tight corner, it finally straightened out and began moving toward him. As it drew nearer, Hadji stiffened. Fluttering pennants were mounted on either side of the front bumper and the white, green and orange of the Indian national flag were clearly visible. As he watched, the car drew up in front of his apartment building and stopped. The driver exited the vehicle, opened the back door, and held it as an older, Indian gentleman exited. Even from this distance, Hadji recognized the Indian ambassador. With a ping, the light changed and the crowd surged out into the intersection. Hadji moved across the street with the throng, keeping a wary eye on the man standing on the sidewalk talking with his chauffeur. The ambassador had just turned toward the building again when Hadji came strolling up to him.
"Ambassador Tilak," he said cordially.
The man turned in surprise and then bowed politely. "Sultan Singh. I am pleased to see you again."
"You will forgive me if I say that I will reserve my decision about whether I am pleased to see you until after I discover why you are here."
"I am here at the request of your mother to escort Ms. Subramanian to the airport for her trip back home."
"Then I regret to inform you that your trip has been wasted because Ms. Subramanian has no intention of returning to Bangalore at this time."
"But the Lady Neela said . . ."
"It makes very little difference what the Lady Neela said," Hadji replied sharply. "Ms. Subramanian wishes to get her education here in the United States and I will not tolerate any interference in her ability to do so."
"This is an extremely sensitive issue, Excellency. You risk much by your insistence in this matter."
"I risk nothing as long as my mother understands her place in this matter. Rest assured that I will make all haste to be sure that she does. Now, I believe you should be on your way. This street is too narrow and your vehicle is blocking traffic."
"But Excellency . . ."
Hadji cut him off. "I appreciate your willingness to serve my country's interests, Ambassador, and I assure you that your kindness will not be forgotten."
After a brief hesitation, the ambassador bowed again. "As you wish, Excellency. If I can be of assistance in the future, please do not hesitate to call on me."
"I will remember, and please do not hesitate to do the same if I may be of service." The man sketched a final bow and then returned to his car. Hadji stood on the curb watching the vehicle pull away. When it finally disappeared around the corner further up the street, he spun and strode into the building, fighting to control his rising anger.
His confrontation with his mother the prior weekend had left him seriously shaken. He could not remember a time he had ever been that angry. It was evident that he had not been able to hide it, either. When he walked back into the living room, Jonny took one look at him and announced that the two of them were going to go try to repair the elevator. Considering that Hadji knew absolutely nothing about elevators, he suspected it was Jonny's way of getting him away from the others and giving him a chance to talk. He hadn't been wrong, because Jonny started questioning him the second they were alone. Jonny meant well . . . he knew that . . . but he had a great deal of difficulty talking about the situation. In the end, Jonny finally gave up and left him alone, but Hadji could tell that he was disturbed by his reticence. And that hadn't been the end of it, either. Jessie was less pushy than Jonny had been, but she also tried very hard to get him to talk about it. And once Jonny and Jessie had retired that night, Kefira started in on him, as well. But he had not been able to talk about it at all . . . not even to Kefira. Certainly, he couldn't bring himself to tell either Jonny or Jessie what his mother had said about Jessie, and he wasn't about to tell Kefira what his mother had demanded of her.
Hadji had come to know Kefira very well in the short time since they had met, and he knew that if she found out about it, she was likely to throw away everything she dreamed of for her own future in an effort to take the pressure from him . . . a sacrifice he was not prepared to allow her to make. So he steadfastly refused to answer any of their questions, just saying that his mother had angered him over a dispute concerning a matter before the council.
He had also called both Kefira's father and Vijay Patel. The news they gave him was even more disturbing. Neela's veiled hints of coming revolution didn't appear to be alarmist. An increase in roving bandits was taking a toll on the people in the rural countryside. Rajeev reluctantly admitted there were rumors floating that someone in the palace was supporting these marauders, but no one had been able to prove that accusation. The result was that anger was rising among the rural populace, much of it directed against the ruling government, although, Rajeev had hastened to add, not against him. In addition, rumors had begun to circulate that the ancient order of the Janissaries . . . the old Sultan's elite guard . . . had reappeared. During his cousin Vikram's rule, the Janissaries had been resurrected and had risen to power for the first time since their destruction in the early 1800's. They had been greatly feared, being the instrument of Vikram's orders and his vengeance. The dissolution of that order had been one of the first things Hadji had done after coming to power. Many of the members had died in the brief fighting that followed Vikram's death, and those that remained had fled the country, fearing reprisal.
As much as he hated it, Hadji had known that there was a need for some form of military for the country. After much contemplation, he had taken a lesson from the ancient Ottoman sultans and reactivated the Sipahi. Once they had been the heart of the Ottoman fighting force . . . the "cavalry" of the Sultan's army. Unlike the Janissaries, whose ranks were created from young children taken from the enemy who were raised and trained as mercenaries loyal only to their employer, the Sipahi were native countrymen who signed on with the Sultan's armies for the promise of their own land grant at the end of their service. Hadji had promised grants of land to any young person willing to sign on for a five year tour of duty in the country's military. The response had been gratifying, and in short order, Hadji had a military force made up of young men and women interested in establishing their own homesteads as well as investing in Bangalore's future. But the resurgence of the Janissaries was further indication that there was someone pushing for a revolution in Bangalore.
His conversation with Vijay Patel had also confirmed another of his suspicions. He had been right to be skeptical of his mother's claim that Vijay had called for his return to Bangalore. The young council member assured him that, while he had called for Hadji to mediate the taxation dispute, he had not called for his physical return to Bangalore. Vijay did warn, however, that Arun Birla had made it quite clear that he felt Hadji should return to Bangalore and had been heard urging Neela on numerous occasions to convince him to do so.
All of this had done nothing more than confirm Hadji's growing suspicions. Even before Admiral Bennett began questioning him, Hadji had begun to believe that the man posed a serious threat. Kefira's story of Birla's actions in her home back in January was not the first report he had heard of the man's skill at manipulating others, but it was the first time that any obvious moves had been made against anyone affiliated with the royal family.
As Hadji unlocked his door, he cursed himself again for being so quick to name his advisory council. Unfortunately, he couldn't just wipe the slate clean and start over. The situation was too polarized and if he made such a move, it would cause a split right down the middle that was guaranteed to ignite the factions into open conflict. Now he had no choice but to tread a razor's edge, juggling all factions in an effort to second guess everyone's plans and stabilize the country before a full-blown civil war could erupt. And with each passing day, he was becoming more and more doubtful of his ability to accomplish that task.
He was thankful that he still had a large number of followers that worked tirelessly to achieve the goals he had established for the country. Chief among these was Rajeev Subramanian. Hadji's chance meeting with Kefira had born more fruit than just a woman to love for the rest of his life. He had also gained an invaluable ally in her father. Rajeev was a sensible man with a deep understanding of the value of Bangalore's richest resource . . . her people. He constantly kept the welfare of those who lived and worked on his property in his thoughts and the lands under his jurisdiction prospered. Accidents were rare in his mines, but when they did occur, the families of those hurt or killed were assured security and aid for as long as it was needed. As a result, his people were fiercely loyal. Rajeev's net of adherents also spread beyond his own holdings, and much of the rural population followed his lead on issues and causes. And because Rajeev Subramanian chose to align himself with the young Sultan Hadji Singh, the rural population did, too.
Hadji might have an Advisory Council, but the truth was that the person he listened to was Rajeev Subramanian. Hadji trusted him above anyone else and generally followed the advice he offered. Hadji had found his advice to be much like the man himself . . . measured, fair, and unfailingly accurate. In fact, it was Rajeev's feelings on the matter that had kept him from returning to Bangalore to try to quell the current problems. His mother might think it was because he was trying to avoid assuming the responsibilities that had been thrust on him with the discovery of his true heritage, but she would be wrong. He had been prepared to return any number of times in the last six months, but Rajeev had been adamantly opposed to that move, telling him that he felt that Hadji's very life would be at risk should he return to the royal palace under the current situation. Rajeev had spoken in such forceful terms that Hadji could do nothing more than accept his judgment. And in light of that, Hadji was not about to allow Kefira to return there to be used as a pawn in whatever game Arun Birla had planned.
Hadji flung his books down on a nearby chair and immediately picked up the phone and began dialing Bangalore. Rather than calling the main number in the palace and allowing someone to summon his mother as he usually did, this time he called directly to her quarters, knowing that at 1:45 in the morning Bangalore time, she was most likely there. The phone was on its fifth ring when Neela picked up and mumbled an incoherent greeting.
"Wake up, Mother," he said coldly. "We appear to have a matter of protocol to discuss."
"Hadji?" Neela questioned. He could almost feel her struggling to try to wake and clear her mind. "What is the meaning of this?" she demanded. "Do you have any idea what time it is here?"
"Yes, Mother, I am perfectly aware of the time. However, since I have just been forced to send Ambassador Tilak away without accomplishing the mission you sent him on, I felt obligated to let you know that I had done so." His tone was sharp as a whip and backed by anger as he spat, "Do not EVER again summon another government's official ambassador to do your bidding without consulting me. Not only did you inconvenience an important man, but you also made the government officials of both India and Bangalore look like fools. I will not tolerate it, do you understand me?"
"I told you that the girl must return to this country with a proper escort," his mother replied with equal coldness.
"And I told you that I would not tolerate Kefira being turned into a playing piece in the cat and mouse game of Bangalorian politics."
"You are forcing my hand, Excellency. Do not make me do something I do not wish to do."
Abruptly, something within Hadji snapped. Frustration, discontent, and claustrophobic despair clashed with the anger that was so foreign to his nature, and suddenly he was shaking so hard he could hardly stand. With a strangled sob, he demanded, "Why are you doing this to me?"
Neela's voice caught sharply, horrified by the razor-edge sound desperation in his voice. She was silent for a long moment, listening to her son's ragged breathing on the other end of the line. Finally, in a tone Hadji had not heard from her since he was very small, she said, "Tell me what is troubling you, my son." Hadji sank to the floor, his legs no longer capable of supporting him, as he struggled with the tumult of emotions that he seemed incapable of controlling any longer. Neela waited, giving him time, then said again, "Tell me what it is, Hadji. I promise you, I will listen . . . and hear what you say."
"I am trying, Mother . . . trying to rule as fairly and as capably as I possibly can," Hadji said in a broken voice. Neela winced at the weary bitterness in his tone. "I stay away because it is in Bangalore's best interests that I do so." Neela started to reply, but Hadji cut her off. "No, Mother, you do not know all that you should. You are being insulated and led . . . deceived by those closest to you."
"Hadji, you are not here . . . you do not see all that is going on . . ."
"I know more than you can possibly imagine," he replied, his tone weighted with the despair that knowledge had brought. "You do not know about the persecution of the people outside the city . . . the people who stand against those who actively work to overthrow me."
"No one would dare . . ."
"Not only do they dare, Mother, they also actively search for those who support me in an attempt to coerce or destroy them. You do not know about these, Mother . . . the ones who risk their lives and the lives of their families to ensure that I know what I need to know. And you do not know about the return of the Janissaries, and the fear and hatred their reappearance has caused."
"The Janissaries!" she exclaimed, her stomach clenching in remembered fear and horror, shaken into belief for the first time. "But you banned them . . . over five years ago!"
"I know I did, but it makes no difference. There are those in the palace who have supported their return."
"If you were here . . ."
"I would long ago have gone the way of my father," he replied, his voice flat. The raging emotions had drained away now, leaving him empty and exhausted. "I did the very best I could, Mother, but I have made mistakes and have come to regret them bitterly. I put my faith in people I did not know and they have betrayed me. I now have advisors that I trust . . . men with goals similar to my own . . . who work to ensure the peace and prosperity of all of our people, not just a select few. All I have ever asked for myself is to be allowed to choose my own wife . . . one that I care about and can share a bond that will strengthen both me and our country in the years to come. I found her in Kefira. If I send her home now, she will be used as a weapon against me by my enemies . . . and in the end, she will die. Of all of the things I have endured since coming to power as Sultan, I do not know if I could endure losing her . . ."
Neela closed her eyes, shaken to her soul at the tone of her son's voice. "Why did you keep this from me, my son? Surely you knew that I would have supported you if I had realized the truth."
"Because of all of the mistakes I have made, Mother, the gravest was naming you as Regent. I placed you in the center of my enemies, where any one of them could harm you if they suspected that you had turned against them. As long as we were antagonistic and seemed at cross purposes, you were safe from them . . . a tool they thought they could use. If you were to turn your wholehearted support to me, you would become more valuable dead than alive . . . and I could do nothing to protect you."
"Mr. Birla would . . ."
"Mr. Birla is our single biggest enemy, and has been since the beginning."
Neela gasped. "But he is the head of one of the oldest and most trusted families . . ."
"How much longer will it take you to realize, Mother, that family associations no longer make a difference?" Hadji snapped, the frustration rising once again. "Vikram and his father ensured that! The honorable men of Bangalore's founding families who used to be loyal to my father were executed many years ago. Those who are left are just like Vikram and not to be trusted!"
Neela slumped back in her bed, her head spinning as she tried to assimilate everything her son was telling her. If he was right, the situation was worse than she ever imagined. Finally, she said quietly, "What do you wish me to do?"
"Do nothing. Continue as you have been doing for the last several months, but do not pursue your move to try to bring Kefira home. If asked, tell them that I have refused your directions in the matter and have threatened to remove you from the Council if you defy me. Tell me, Mother, was bringing Kefira home your idea or Mr. Birla's?"
Neela thought about it carefully. "I . . . I am not entirely certain," she said hesitantly. "I have been concerned about her being in the United States. No matter what you may think, Hadji, I have understood that this girl matters to you a great deal, and I did not wish to have anything happen that might prevent her from being accepted as your wife. I have expressed these concerns more than once to Mr. Birla. But which of us came to the decision that she must return and expressed it first . . . I . . . I . . . really do not know. I am very sorry . . ."
"It does not matter, Mother," he said wearily. "All that matters is that she is not put at risk . . . even if, in the end, it means that I cannot take her as my wife. I would sooner be alone for the rest of my life than see her hurt. If I had realized how bad things were going to become, I never would have spoken my heart to her."
"I understand," Neela said softly. "I will do as you ask, my son. Do not fear." She hesitated and then continued, "You should rest, Hadji. You sound very tired."
Hadji sighed and leaned back against the wall. "I am tired, Mother. So very tired. It seems there is nowhere I can go any longer that life is not a trial . . . "
Neela frowned. "Surely your home with Dr. Quest in Maine . . ."
"No. Not even there . . . "
"Tell me what has happened."
What moved him to do so, Hadji didn't know, but in a broken and struggling narrative, he told her about the attack on the Quest family in December, about Benton's rising insecurity at the prospect of his sons' pending departure and the resulting conflict between Jonny and their father, about Jonny and Jessie's decision to defy Benton's wishes and go their own way, and finally, about the family's fears about Benton's health.
When he finally stumbled to a halt, Neela sighed. "I am sorry, my son. I did not realize the amount of stress you have been under. And I am also sorry for my comments concerning Jessie Bannon the other day. You were right . . . cultures differ and I have no right to judge Jonny or Jessie. Who is to say what I might have done if faced with a similar situation. Is there anything that I can do?"
For the first time in a very long time, Hadji felt a sense of peace filter into his soul. "You already have, Mother. You allowed me the chance to talk about everything that has been bothering me. No one person . . . not even Father . . . has known everything that has been going on. It is a relief to be able to tell someone."
Neela smiled, sharing that quiet sense of peace with her son. "I understand. May I make a suggestion?"
"Please," he replied.
"Meditate for a while. In the past, it has always helped you rest and get perspective on the difficulties that you must face. I believe that it will serve you well, now."
"I will try," he promised. "I am sorry that I woke you, Mother. And I am sorry for my poor control of my temper. I do not believe that I have treated you very well recently."
This time, he could hear a touch of real humor in her voice as she replied, "I believe that Benton Quest and I have shared more that we ever imagined. I too must apologize . . . for my jealousy and my possessiveness. I dealt with the signs of your adulthood no better than Dr. Quest dealt with them in his sons. I was jealous of your attachment to those people and resented them because they were able to share all of those years that I missed. It was unfair of me . . . both to them and to you."
For the first time, Hadji smiled. "Let us get through the days to come, Mother, and then we will find a way to make up for the lost years."
"It is a good plan. Go. Meditate and rest . . . and then go find the girl you have given your heart to and spend a quiet evening together. Her presence will heal you more quickly than anything else. Just try to do it in such a way that no one can level any unfair accusations against her later."
"I will do as you suggest, Mother. Take care . . . and watch your back." ."
In a distant corner of the Royal Palace of Bangalore, a man leaned forward and turned off the recording device that had been established to monitor the private telephone line into the Regent's quarters. Inserting a new tape into the machine, he set the incoming sensor once more, pocketed the used tape, and left his small, closet-like room to go in search of Arun Birla . . . ."
"Burroughs," Barbara said patiently. "Dr. William Burroughs. From England. I was told he recently joined your teaching staff."
"Well, ahym sorry, honey, but ah jus' don't see anyone by that name on our list of doctors," the woman replied in a deep Texas drawl. "If ya'll want ta leave a number, ah'll shore be happy to pass it on to the head of the medical school. If we turn up your Dr. Barlow, someone can call your doctor friend back. Whad you say his name was?"
"Mason," Barbara almost snarled through gritted teeth. "My name is Barbara Mason and I'm a physician with Penobscot Bay Medical Center in Rockport, Maine. And the doctor I'm searching for is named Burroughs . . . William Burroughs. He used to work for the Public Health Laboratory Service in Great Britain." She gave the woman the number for the third time. "Please ask the head of your medical school to call me back as soon as possible. It's extremely important."
"Shore thing, honey. Ah'll have him call your boss back if he knows this Dr. Mason. You have a nice day now, ya hear?" And the phone went dead in her ear. Barbara slammed the phone down with enough force to crack the instrument.
"Good heavens! Are you all right?" Estella propped herself up on an elbow and eyed her friend in concern. "What in God's name was that all about?"
"Stupid, incompetent woman!" Barbara swore in frustration. "How can they possibly have someone that incapable working a front reception desk at a medical school?"
"Everyone has a bad day every so often. Maybe she's just in the middle of one." Estella struggled briefly, coming to a sitting position and then swung her legs off the sofa and levered herself to her feet.
"Don't get up!" Barbara said sharply. The sound of her voice carried easily in the quiet house and quickly brought both Benton and Race running.
"Damn it, Estella . . ." Race exclaimed, leaping toward her with outstretched arms.
She fended him off deftly. "Give me a break, people! I have to use the bathroom. I can't do that lying on the sofa." She took three steps and then hesitated, swaying on her feet. "Oh!"
Race caught her as she staggered forward, barely keeping her from falling. "What is it, sweetheart? What's wrong?"
She clung to him, breathing deeply. "Just give me a minute. I moved too quickly . . . just a little dizziness. It will pass."
"You shouldn't be up," Race said fretfully, holding her close.
"Okay . . . there . . . I'm better now. I just needed to get my equilibrium back." She tried to push away from her husband, but he wouldn't release her.
"I'll take you. Come on . . ."
"Race, I'm fine . . ."
"I don't want to risk you falling. I'll get you there and back, and then you are to lie down again."
Estella looked at him in amused exasperation. "You are such a mother hen."
"Yeah, yeah. I am . . . so what?" they heard him reply as the two of them exited the room and moved off down the hall.
Benton looked after them with a troubled expression. "She's getting worse, isn't she?"
Barbara hesitated and then said quietly, "Yes. It's moving much more quickly than I'd hoped it would. She may not make it to 28 weeks." Barbara sighed softly. "I ran the screen on her again today and the protein levels in her urine have almost doubled since the first screen we did a week ago. And her blood pressure was up to 165/100 this evening."
"Isn't there anything we can do?"
"I'd hoped that altering her diet a little would control the blood pressure, at least for a while, but it's not working."
"What about hypertension medications?"
"There are some we can try," Barbara said reluctantly, "but anything we give her will effect the child and that's not good, either. If it keeps escalating at this rate, the more severe symptoms are bound to start showing up. When she starts showing signs of irregular heartbeat, kidney shutdown, or her blood pressure hits 180/110 I'm not going to have any choice but to hospitalize her, and she's not going to like that one bit."
"At the Medical Center here?"
"No. She'll be better off in Portland. Maine Medical Center has an outstanding neonatal critical care unit."
"I didn't know you were on staff there," Benton said in surprise.
"I'm not . . . at least, not any longer."
He turned to her, looking upset. "Are you saying you're going to turn her care over to someone else? They aren't going to like that, Barbara. I don't like it, either."
"Benton, she's going to need a specialist. I'm a family practitioner. I've delivered a lot of babies since I've become licensed, but I know when it's time to pass the ball to someone with specialized knowledge." She caught his arm and squeezed it tightly. "You understand this, Benton. It would be like asking a veterinarian to stand in for a physician. She needs more than I can give her."
"You said you used to be on staff there. Could you get privileges again?"
"Benton . . ."
"She trusts you, Barbara. We all do. And she's scared. Even if you weren't the doctor in charge of her care, I know that just having you there would ease her mind."
"One way or the other, I'll be there. I can promise you that much. But since we're talking about Portland, I might as well tell you . . . I've got your next round of tests scheduled."
"Oh, no!" he said violently. "I am not going to Portland."
"You told your sons you would do what I wanted you to do," she said with a determined glint in her eyes.
"I know I did, but now you're being unreasonable. I've done everything else you asked of me, but I am not going to drive all the way down there to have some stranger go through the same stuff you've already done."
"None of what they're going to do will be repeats. We'll send all your current test results with you. I'm sending you down to Dr. Newcomb. He's a friend and one of the finest cardiologists this side of New York. You're scheduled to start at 7:00 a.m. two weeks from this coming Monday. The entire workup shouldn't take more than three days . . ."
"No!"
"YES!"
"I have had enough! I'll be damned if I waste any more time on this . . . this . . . flight of fancy . . ."
"Do I have to call the boys and get them in the middle of this?" Race demanded quietly from the doorway. He supported Estella across the room and helped her lie down on the sofa again, before turning to face Benton. "I will if I have to. One way or the other, you are going down there and you are going to take those tests."
"Don't tell me what to do!" Benton snarled angrily. "I am not a child . . ."
"Then don't act like one!" Race snapped. "I'm sick and tired of you trying to hide behind that brave front and pretend nothing is wrong. From the first day I met you, I've watched you do this. You try so hard to protect those people that are important to you. And when you're sick or hurt or in pain, emotionally or physically, you erect this wall and retreat behind it. You figure if we don't know there's something wrong with you, we can't be hurt by it. Well, let me tell you something . . . we're not that stupid! We've all learned the signs. Every member of this family is worried sick about you. What will it take to make you realize that you hurt all of us more by pretending to be well than to admit there's a problem?"
Benton stared at him, dumbstruck.
"Damn it, Benton, please! Just do as she asks. I've got enough on my mind right now without having to worry about whether you're going to keel over."
"Race, I . . ."
"Just do it!"
"All right. You win," Benton finally said. Then he turned to Barbara with a look of desperate appeal. "Just stick with us, okay?"
She grasped his hand tightly, thankfulness filling her. "Every step of the way," she promised. After a minute, she squared her shoulders and turned back to the phone. "Okay . . . Dr. Burroughs . . . let's try tackling the airhead again . . ."
