A knock on the door of Neela Singh's office caused her to look up with a frown.
"Come!" she called irritably. Her tone must have conveyed her displeasure, because the young woman who opened the door and stuck her head in did so with more deference than usual.
"I am most terribly sorry, Excellency. I know that you stated that you did not wish to be disturbed, but Mr. Birla is asking to see you. I felt that it would not be wise to send him away without informing you that he was here."
Neela felt herself go still. Birla? Here? What was he doing here? He wasn't expected . . .
"Did I have a meeting scheduled with him? I do not remember . . ."
"No, Excellency. He stated that he had come to the palace on another matter and hoped that you would be available to see him briefly. He did not indicate that it was urgent. Shall I tell him that you do not have the time?"
"Continue as you have been doing for the last several months," Hadji had said. And in the last several months, whenever Mr. Birla had appeared she had accommodated him.
"No, of course I shall see him. Please escort him here." Hastily, she cleared her desk, shoving reports and diagrams out of sight in a desk drawer. By the time her assistant knocked on the door once more, she was standing at the high window to the left of the desk, gazing out across the city. "Come," she called, without turning. She heard the door open and footsteps enter. After a moment, the young woman cleared her throat and said diffidently,
"Mr. Birla, your Excellency."
Turning, she nodded at the young woman and said, "Thank you. You may go." She bowed and left, closing the door behind her. "Mr. Birla, what an unexpected pleasure." She gestured to a grouping of chairs on the far side of the room, indicating that he should sit. "May I offer you something? Tea, perhaps? Or coffee?"
"I would welcome a cup of tea if it is no trouble."
"Certainly." Neela rang for a servant and instructed that tea be brought immediately. Then she sat down across from him and looked him in the eyes. "Now, how may I be of service this morning?"
"I received reports last evening that disturb me greatly and I felt you should be made aware of them."
"What sort of reports?" A knock on the door interrupted them. At her call, a servant entered and set a tray with a pot and two cups on the table. Neela poured two cups of tea and handed Birla one of them. Sitting back in her chair, she prompted him, "Reports?"
Birla sighed. "It seems there was a clash between a group of men in one of the high mountain provinces and a contingent of the Royal Guard. Shots were fired and at least one man was killed."
"How did this happen?" Neela asked sharply. "What were Royal Guardsmen doing in one of the outlying provinces?"
Birla hung his head. "I am sorry, Excellency, but I asked them to go. You are aware that we have been having problems in that area with bandits. I asked these guardsmen to go to see if they could not quell some of that activity. Unfortunately, resentment for the government in that area is running exceedingly high and things escalated into violence last night."
"Where did this incident occur?" she demanded.
"In a small village called Keala in the northern mountains."
Neela thought hastily. "That is on Rafiq land."
Birla shook his head. "No. It used to be Rafiq land, but it now belongs to Rajeev Subramanian. The land, and the people living on it, were part of the dowry agreement when the eldest Subramanian daughter married Subir Rafiq." Birla looked at Neela steadily and something in his eyes made her want to shiver. She had seen that look before . . . on the face of Deepak Singh just before he ordered his own brother slaughtered. With sudden clarity, Neela knew . . . Arun Birla knew of the telephone call from her son last night and he was preparing to move.
"Do you see significance in this, Mr. Birla?" she heard herself say, and the calmness of the tone surprised her. Hadji was right. This man was deadly.
"I am sorry to say, Excellency, that I have received numerous reports that indicate that Rajeev Subramanian has more sympathy than he should for the local rabble. I am not convinced that he wholeheartedly supports the Sultancy."
"Tread carefully, Mr. Birla," Neela said coldly, knowing that this response was correct. She would have replied this way even before she knew the man's true colors. "This is the father of the young woman my son has chosen to be his future wife. The man has pledged himself and his family to ours. Be very certain before you accuse him of treason."
Birla's expression was regretful and he inclined his head to her, but that flash in his eyes told her that this game had a purpose. What it was, she had yet to be able to determine.
"I regret that I must bring this news, Excellency, but the information is sound. It comes from within his own family."
"What!? Explain!"
"You remember the daughter . . . Daria?"
"Yes. The eldest girl. She was presented to my son as a marriage candidate."
Birla nodded. "She now lives with Subir Rafiq not far from the main mine owned by Rajeev Subramanian. Her husband works for Subramanian as a heavy equipment operator. Because she still remains close, the girl often visits her parents. She tells of men who have been positively linked to the rebel movement visiting the Subramanian home."
Why is he telling me this? Neela wondered. She had the uneasy sense of events escalating out of her control. He knew there was little or nothing she could do to stop anything he might want to do, and yet he came to her with this. What did he want? "You have a suggestion about what should be done?"
"I believe that it would be wise to bring Rajeev Subramanian and his family here to the palace. We have discussed this before and at that time you felt it was unwise. Particularly with the young woman returning from America, we should reconsider. It will make her stay here easier if her family is with her. It also takes them out of the reach of the rebel leaders . . . disassociates Rajeev from the conspirators . . . so that when they fall, as we know they must, he will not be linked to them and the girl's reputation will not be tarnished by the association."
He is like the cobra, Neela thought. He slithers through the grass, driving others before him in fear . . . sensing his presence but never really knowing what he will do until he rears his head to strike. She feared that if he were given the chance, just as with the cobra, his strike would be deadly. But even the cobra could be controlled . . . if the situation and tactics were right. Perhaps, if she moved carefully, she might at least be able to slow him down.
Neela sighed. Leaning forward to set her cup on the table, she rose and walked back across the room to stand staring out across the city once more. "Yes, the girl," she said in a soft, sad voice. "I am actually very glad you are here today, Mr. Birla. If you had not come seeking me, I would have come to you. I am in great need of your council."
Birla set his cup on the table and rose to come to her solicitously. "Certainly, Excellency! Anything I may do to serve . . . "
Neela turned to him with an expression of great distress. "My son called me last night, Mr. Birla. He was extremely angry. He has refused to send the girl home . . . actually turned Ambassador Tilak away when he came to collect her. And his accusations! Why, he called some of the oldest and most trusted families in all of Bangalore traitors! I am extremely distressed and I do not know what to do. For him to believe such things . . ."
Neela caught the flash of surprise that flickered across Birla's face. He hadn't expected this. Good. If she could convince him that she didn't believe the things Hadji had told her, she might have the opportunity to stay close enough to find out what he planned. Any information she might be able to glean could only help her son.
"He is getting poor information, Excellency," Birla replied. "And because his is so young and has not stayed in this country, he does not understand that there are those who would try to use him for their own purposes."
"But what are we to do?" she asked piteously. The words and the tone almost stuck in her throat, but an instant later she was rewarded by the look of triumph that flashed across his face. He was convinced she was gullible enough to believe him!
"Let us start by getting Rajeev Subramanian and his family here to the palace. Once they are here, I am certain the girl can be convinced to return home. Hopefully, removing Rajeev from the subversive influence will allow him to get some perspective on the situation as well as providing a blow to our enemies."
"Yes. All right. That seems reasonable. I will call the Captain of the Guard and have a contingent of Sipahi sent to . . ."
"No!" Birla replied sharply. Catching himself hastily, he continued quickly, "No, Excellency, you do not want to risk sending the military in to do this job. As volatile as the situation is, it could trigger fighting in the area. Allow me to handle this. I will go talk with him personally."
Neela didn't like this one bit, but she didn't dare object. "Very well, Mr. Birla. I will leave it in your hands."
The shrill ringing of the telephone interrupted them. Crossing to the desk, she picked up the phone and snapped, "What is it? You know I am not to be disturbed with I am meeting with one of the Council members!" She listened for a moment, then replied in a more patient tone, "I see. Yes, I will see that he gets the message." Hanging up the phone, she turned back to Birla.
"Your business manager called. He has asked that I inform you that there is an urgent overseas business call that needs your immediate attention. He said the man is to call back in half an hour."
Birla nodded sharply. "Then I must go. I have been in the midst of some extremely delicate negotiations to export some of our new manufactured goods and I cannot afford to miss this call. But rest assured, Excellency, that I shall talk with Rajeev Subramanian before the weekend is out." With a formal bow, the man spun on his heel and left quickly.
Neela walked quickly back to the window and watched until she saw him exit the front of the palace and cross to his car in the inner courtyard. Then she turned and hurried across the room to the door. Opening it she gestured to her assistant. "I have a project that must be completed by this afternoon and I cannot accomplish it if I continue to be interrupted. So I do not want to see anyone, is that clear? No exceptions. Nor do I wish to be interrupted by the telephone. When I am done, I will notify you." The girl nodded.
Neela stepped back into her office and locked the door securely. Rajeev Subramanian must be warned. He and his family must be gone before Arun Birla could reach their home. Neela bitterly regretted that she could not find a way to stop the move on the man completely, but to have attempted to do so would have warned Birla that she recognized him as a threat. She could not risk trying to telephone him. Clearly, Birla knew about the telephone call from Hadji last night. He also knew exactly what was said. That meant that it was likely that her telephone line was monitored. And where one was monitored, you had to expect that they all would be. There was no way she could do it herself. She didn't dare go missing that long. Which meant that she would have to charge someone with the task. And there was only one man she could think of. Hadji had said that he now had advisors that he trusted . . . ones that believed as he did. She didn't know whom they all were, but she was willing to bet that she knew at least one of them.
Returning to the desk swiftly, she opened a drawer and drew out a flashlight. Checking the charge, she crossed to a highly decorated wall behind the seating area. Running her fingers along the raised edge of one of the ornate designs, she found the latch mechanism and triggered it. Pressing firmly in just the right place caused the wall to rotate silently, revealing a narrow, dark passageway. She slipped through the door and shut the access panel behind her. For centuries this palace had stood, home to the ruling families of Bangalore. And of its many secrets, the one that had been the most jealously guarded was the existence and access to the secret passageways that allowed the royal family to move unseen and unheard throughout the palace. More than once during their long history, these passageways had saved one or more of the rightful rulers from death at the hands of his enemies. Hopefully, this time they would save a good man and his family from the hands of yet another would-be despot.
Moving at a fast pace, she set off in search of Vijay Patel.
The phone began to ring just as Arun Birla walked in the front door of his home. Waving off the servants, he picked up the phone himself.
"Namasté."
"Tumhara naam kya hai?"
"Arun Birla."
"Sire! I did not expect . . . I would not have presumed . . ."
"Yes, yes," Birla replied irritably. "You have news?"
There was a perceptible pause. "Yes, Sire, but it is not all good . . ."
"Wait! I must move to another location. Give me a number where you can be reached and I will call you back as soon as I reach a secure telephone." The man rattled off a number, which Birla jotted down quickly. Hanging up the phone without another word, he turned and strode toward the back of the palatial residence. Entering an office/study, he locked the door behind him and sat down at the desk. He dialed the number the man gave him and waited. When the phone was answered, he started in without any preliminaries.
"Now, where is the girl?"
Again, that pause. Finally, the man sighed. "We believe she is dead."
"Dead! I did not send you there to kill her! I wanted her back in country. Where is the Sultan?"
"We do not know, Sire. There was an altercation on the street outside of the girl's apartment building. We attempted to take her from the Sultan, as you directed, but they fought back fiercely. Our leader had her and was holding the Sultan at bay when he directed us to retreat. We had reached the car when we heard the shot. I saw the girl fall and then the Sultan became crazed. He attacked our leader with his bare hands, screaming like a dervish. It was as though he was possessed by a devil! We could not stand against that, so we decided it was better to get away so that we could report back."
"You ran," Birla said in disgust. The man didn't respond. "What of the leader of your team? What happened to him?"
"He returned a short time ago. He was knocked senseless by the Sultan's attack. When he regained consciousness once more, all were gone."
"And the second team?"
"They report nothing . . . no sign of the Sultan or the girl."
Birla was ominously silent for some time. Finally, he asked, "Does the Sultan know who sent you to get the girl?"
"Our leader told him we were sent by the Regent, but the Sultan said that he did not believe it."
Birla sat for a moment longer, considering the situation. Slowly, a nasty smile began to form. "This was not as I ordered, but I believe it can be turned to our advantage. Leave quickly and return here. Do not get caught. I expect you to die before being taken, am I clear?"
"Yes, Sire."
"Then go!" Hanging up the phone, Birla sat back and contemplated his idea again. Yes, he thought, this should work. He wanted the Sultan back in Bangalore and now he saw exactly how to get him here. And once he had that arranged to his liking, he had business in the northern provinces . . . business he was truly going to enjoy.
