Chapter Forty-one


Jonny shifted his shoulders experimentally, testing the fit of the tunic. It still felt a little tight, but he thought it would probably do. Near the door, Hadji kept a wary watch on the corridor. The two of them had made their way to the servants quarters where, after some digging, they had managed to find a non-descript white tunic and a pair of well-worn black pants that fit Jonny well enough to serve.

"This was a lot easier when we were younger," Jonny hissed softly to his brother as he shoved his old clothes into a cloth bag and handed it to Hadji.

"It is not my fault that you are built more like Father than I am," Hadji replied softly. Then he looked his brother over carefully. That feeling of disorientation struck him again as he took in Jonny's drastic change in appearance. Shaking himself, he nodded. "You will pass. Try to hunch your shoulders a little. It will help minimize your height." He nodded again as Jonny followed his instructions. "Better. Now listen to me. I have told you how to get to Mr. Patel's office from here. You will need to move quickly, but do not give the appearance of haste. That will draw attention. Keep your expression neutral and do not make eye contact with the people you meet in the corridors. Do not talk to anyone unless you absolutely must do so. If you have no choice, act subservient and tell them that you are new to Mr. Patel's staff and that you were sent on an errand and are due back. When you get there, you will find three secretaries. It does not matter which one you speak with. Simply say that you have a message for Mr. Patel that you have been directed to convey personally, and that you must speak with him immediately. If they ask you who it is from, tell them that you are not at liberty to say. If they say he is not there, try to find out where he is and when he is expected back. If they refuse to tell you anything, ask to speak with Mahavir. He is Mr. Patel's nephew and will be the one most likely to be able to provide information. Find out what you can and then get out of there quickly. If I am correct, Mr. Patel is being watched and it is likely that if you stay too long you will be detained and questioned either by Mr. Birla or the captain of the Janissaries. You cannot allow yourself to be taken by either of those two people. As soon as you have learned what you can, return here. This will be the safest place to get back into the passages. I will not be able to pace you in the corridors you will be taking, so I will make my way directly to Mr. Patel's office. I will give you 15 minutes to get there. If you have not arrived by that time, I will come looking for you."

Jonny had been peering down the corridor trying to gauge the activity in the area. At that comment, his head snapped around and he glared at Hadji. "Whatever happens, you do NOT leave these passageways, you hear me?" he hissed at him sharply. "I don't care if the earth opens up and I get grabbed by the Devil himself, you are not to put yourself at risk. If things go that wrong, you split . . . leave the palace and get out into the countryside."

"Jonny, I will not leave you in . . ."

Jonny pulled the door shut and turned to Hadji. "Yes, you will! Bangalore can't afford to have you in Birla's hands. You wouldn't survive the night. You get away . . . find people you can trust to back you and then come at him. Better yet, raise an army and then do it."

"Jonny, he will kill you." The agony in Hadji's voice was clear.

"Not if he doesn't have you," Jonny argued. "If he takes me here in the palace . . . and manages to figure out who I am . . . he'll know you're in-country and that will make you a serious threat. He's not going to kill me - he'll figure that he can use me to lure you in." He placed his hand on Hadji's shoulder and stared him straight in the eyes. "Whatever you do, do not let him coerce you into that. Because if you do, not only will you ensure my death, but you will ensure the deaths of countless others throughout Bangalore." Hadji tried to pull away, but Jonny refused to release him. "The truth is, Hadji, that Bangalore is in the middle of a civil war. And like it or not, you have to fight it. It's what being a ruler is all about . . . doing what is the best for all concerned, not just a single individual. And that often means making the hard choices."

With a sharp movement, Hadji pulled loose and turned his back on his brother. He was silent for a long moment. Finally, in a choked voice he replied, "I - I do not think that I can. Not that one . . ." Only silence greeted that admission, and when Hadji turned again, Jonny was already gone.


~ ~ ~ ~ ~


Arun Birla paced restlessly, his brilliantly colored robes flashing as he moved in and out of the late afternoon sunlight that bathed Neela Singh's private quarters. His temper was getting seriously frayed. Things were not going at all as he had planned. Both Neela Singh and the Sultan were still missing and no one seemed to have any idea where they were. His Janissaries were meeting open resistance everywhere they turned, and angry mobs had claimed many of his best men. Rumors were beginning to surface that members of the Sipahi were starting to organize against him, and many of the peasants were flocking to their banner. And now the Indian government was beginning to press him about the situation. Their pointed questions about a coup attempt made it clear that word was beginning to leak to the outside world about what was going on in Bangalore. It was becoming increasingly obvious that to stave off the rising tide against him, it would be necessary to produce either the Regent or the Sultan . . . neither of which he could find!

He had searched every square inch of these quarters but he could find no sign of an entrance other than the obvious ones. And yet, he was absolutely certain that somewhere in this palace were secret passages. And he was equally certain that wherever they were, Neela Singh would be found within them. Long before Neela was last seen publicly within the palace, he had put his own men on the doors with orders not to allow her to leave. And yet, six days ago she had vanished like a will-o-the-wisp, with no warning and no trace. So far, he had been able to keep her disappearance from being known, but she had to be found. She was a serious danger to him if he couldn't control her. And what about Vijay Patel? He was also gone, and that worried him almost as much as the Regent being missing.

In frustration, Birla picked up a small piece of statuary and hurled it against the far wall, shattering it into hundreds of pieces. His Captain of the Guard was right . . . he had severely underestimated Hadji Singh. He had assumed that because the boy was young and had not lived in Bangalore most of his life, that he would be ignorant and easily manageable. What he had found, instead, was that Hadji's friendly, calm demeanor hid a razor sharp mind, a nearly limitless social conscience, and a will of iron. The boy had thwarted him at virtually every turn, and had done it in such a way that for a long time, he didn't even realize he was being manipulated and blocked from his goals. The fury that consumed him when he finally realized it was still an inferno that screamed to be given release. When he finally got his hands on that young man, he would rue the day he was ever born!

He had also misjudged the extent of the people's devotion to the young Sultan. Within the last half an hour, he had gotten word that that another unit of Janissary troops had been attacked and destroyed in the rural countryside outside of the city. And it didn't seem to make a difference that ten peasants were dying for every one guard. They simply flung themselves at their enemies en masse until the sheer volume of their numbers overwhelmed and destroyed their adversary.

And he was developing international difficulties as well. When he began to make concerted moves on the throne, one of the first things he had done - under the Regent's auspices, of course - was to close all the foreign embassies within Bangalore. He cited the unrest of the population as the cause, saying that the government feared for the safety of the Ambassadors and their staff. Unfortunately, that didn't stop the inquiries or requests for information. And in the last day, those demands and their accompanying threats had escalated dramatically. This morning, the United States Ambassador to India had called, demanding to speak with the Sultan. He had spoken to the Ambassador personally, and was told that investigations were being made on behalf of the Sultan's American family who had been unable to reach him for several days. When informed that the Sultan was not in the country, the ambassador had then demanded to talk with the Regent. When that request was also denied, he had hung up, very angry and promising that the country of Bangalore had not heard the last of the matter. And the Indian government was no different. Their newspapers and radios and television stations were all running horror stories of refugees and the atrocities they had endured. Some were even calling for military intervention in the conflict. The Indian prime minister was openly threatening and had even voiced his intentions of calling for an emergency meeting of the United Nations Security Council to consider sending military forces into Bangalore. Without exception, all of them were calling for a personal appearance by either Hadji Singh or his mother.

With a snarl, he spun, his robes glinting in the sun once more, and strode out of Neela's quarters. One way or the other, he was going to get to the bottom of this. The members of his personal guard snapped to attention as he stomped by them. "You!" he barked, pointing a finger at one of the men. "Find the Captain. Tell him I want him and twenty of his men at the office of Vijay Patel . . . NOW! We are going to get some answers."


~ ~ ~ ~ ~


Jonny entered Vijay Patel's office and looked around. Off to his right was a small alcove with a divan, two chairs and a low table . . . obviously some form of waiting area. To his left was a large wooden desk of some dark, highly polished wood. A moderately sized telephone console, a computer, printer, and a few other smaller pieces of office equipment identified the desk as belonging to one of the secretaries. At present it was empty. Directly in front of him, the room opened out spaciously and he saw two other desks made of the same wood . . . obviously for the other two secretaries Hadji had mentioned. The desks were positions in such a way that you immediately knew that they served as gate access to the four doors that were visible across the back wall. To his far left, he could see a hallway that disappeared into the back. The overall appearance of the office was one of quiet, calm efficiency.

Jonny immediately moved toward the one desk that was occupied. Stopping in front of it, he sketched a small bow to the middle-aged woman who sat there and said in flawless Hindi. "I beg your forgiveness for the interruption, but would it be possible to speak with Mr. Patel for a short time?"

The woman looked him over carefully and then replied, "No, I am sorry. Mr. Patel is not available at this time." Her tone was pleasant but firm, with just a hint of regret.

"I understand that it is an inconvenience, but it is most urgent."

"I cannot help you, sir. Mr. Patel is not here."

"Can you tell me when he will return?"

"No, I cannot. I do not know how long he will be or when he is expected back."

By this time, alarm bells here going off very loudly in Jonny's head. The longer they talked, the more tense the woman was becoming. She had smiled at him when he had walked up initially, but now she had a heavy frown on her face, and one of her hands had unconsciously doubled over into a fist so tight that her knuckles were white.

"I bear a message for Mr. Patel from my master," he explained to the woman "I was told to give it to Mr. Patel personally."

"If you would care to leave it, I will make sure he receives it when he returns."

Jonny shook his head. "I am sorry. My instructions were very specific. I was to give the message to Mr. Patel himself."

"Then I am afraid that we can be of no assistance to you."

Jonny stood for a long moment, as though debating on what to do. Finally, he said, "Perhaps Mr. Patel's assistant may be able to help me . . ."

"Mr. Patel's nephew, Mahavir, is here," the woman acknowledged reluctantly.

"Then if I could speak with him for just a moment, perhaps . . ."

But before Jonny could finish the sentence, the door behind him flew open violently and armed men poured into the office. Jonny stepped to one side as a man in brilliantly colored robes pushed his way through the guards and strode up to the desk. With a shock, Jonny realized that this was the man from the incident at the front of the palace.

"Where is he?" the man grated, leaning belligerently across the desk toward the woman.

She shied back, the color draining from her face. "I - I d-d-do not know, Mr. Birla. He - he has been g-g-gone for some d-d-days."

Jonny's gaze sharpened as he observed the man in front of him with carefully veiled interest. So here was their enemy in the flesh.

"Gone where?" Birla snapped at the woman

"I - I - I do not know, E-e-excellency . . ." The woman was practically witless with fear. Jonny was steeling himself to step in when a new voice interrupted.

"May I be of service, Excellency?"

Birla jerked upright, and all eyes in the room turned toward the young man who had entered from one of the offices on the far side of the room. He was moderately tall, with medium dark skin, straight black hair and dark eyes. His attitude was calm and pacifying, and he moved forward to confront the angry man without hesitation.

"I would speak with your uncle, Mr. Patel. Where is he?"

Mahavir Patel shook his head regretfully. "I wish I could tell you, Excellency. He had a meeting with some men in the city last Thursday. He left the palace that morning, intending to be back in the afternoon for a subcommittee meeting, but never returned. Word came to me via messenger that something had detained him and that I was to notify the members of his subcommittee that he was unable to attend the meeting. We have not heard from him since. Our family is seriously concerned."

Birla stared hard at the young man for a long minute. "I do not believe you," he finally replied in a soft, deadly voice. "I believe you know exactly where he is and you have been directed not to tell me."

Mahavir shrugged, spreading his hands helplessly. "I am sorry you believe that, Excellency, because it is not so. I really do not know where he is."

"And the Regent?" Birla continued in the same rigidly soft tone. "Do you know where she has gone?"

Jonny could feel the young man who now stood on his immediate right tense. "The Regent, Excellency? I have not seen the Lady Neela in some days. I had heard that she was in seclusion in her quarters, awaiting the arrival of the Sultan from America."

"You know that is a lie," Birla said, stepping toward Mahavir threateningly. "They are together . . . the Lady Neela and Mr. Patel . . . I want to know where they are . . . what they are planning."

Birla's stance was threatening, but Mahavir didn't flinch. "I am sorry, Excellency, but I know nothing of this. As I said, I have not seen my uncle since last Thursday and it has been longer than that since I have seen the Regent."

The two men stared at each other for a long, tense moment. Then, with a snarl, Birla spun. "Take them all," he directed to his guardsmen. "Perhaps some time with the keepers of the dungeons will loosen their tongues. And search this place. I will have Vijay Patel and the Regent . . . one way or the other."


~ ~ ~ ~ ~


Less than ten feet away, safely hidden in the secret corridors of the Royal Palace, the Sultan of Bangalore watched his brother being led away by the guards. After a moment, he turned and stumbled away blindly, moving further and further from the sounds of destruction in Mr. Patel's office. Finally, he staggered into a wall, unshed tears blurring his vision, and came to an abrupt halt. He felt as though he couldn't breathe. Forced into doing a job he hated, separated from the woman he loved . . . his wife . . . with the sure knowledge that she would follow him into this hell, and now his brother taken by his enemies . . . it was suddenly more than Hadji could bear. His knees buckled and he sank to the floor in the blackness of the filthy corridor, totally overwhelmed. "Jonny . . ." he whispered brokenly, but silence was the only reply.