“And what the hell do we do now?” Riley said. “She could be anywhere.”
“I’ve got an idea,” Decker said. “That Kaleka guy — he said something about returning to Jambudvipa — is that right?”
“Shit — you’re onto something there, mate,” Riley said. “Jambudvipa — that’s what he said, all right.”
Decker turned to Selena, but she was already on her iPhone.
“What is it with babes and iPhones?” Riley said.
Selena stopped and looked at him. “I’m sorry, I missed that.”
Riley looked sheepish for a second. An experienced commando he surely was, but he was also a young man who never knew when to shut up. “Er… just sayin’ you’re sort of addicted to the thing and I wonder what you’d do if there was no signal. Cold turkey or something?”
“I know somewhere around here where there’s no signal. Would you like me to ram it up there to test your hypothesis?”
Decker cracked a smile but looked away.
“Sorry, Lena,” Riley said.
“Apology pending review,” she said sharply. “And in the meantime, looky-here.”
She held up the phone and showed them an image of the biggest yacht any of them had ever seen.
“What the hell is that?” Riley said. “A floating palace?”
“Pretty much,” Selena said. “This is the world’s biggest superyacht — Jambudvipa… apparently it’s from an old Sanskrit word meaning island or continent.”
Decker shook his head. “Modest. I like that.”
“I thought that was the Azzam?” Riley said. “Owned by the President of Qatar.”
“No,” said Selena. “Apparently not, and according to this the Azzam is owned by the President of the United Arab Emirates, not Qatar.”
The Australian shrugged “A bloke can’t know everything.”
“The Azzam is nearly six hundred feet long, but the Jambudvipa is six-hundred and fifty feet long. That makes this guy the lucky winner of the world’s biggest yacht.”
She held up the phone again and showed them both a picture of a man in a black tuxedo. He was at some kind of official event, standing on a red carpet and offering the camera an obviously fake smile.
“Who the fuck is that?” Riley said. “Talk about wooden — I’ve seen more life in an animatronic Disney dinosaur.”
“Allow me to introduce you to Rakesh Madan.”
“Wait,” Decker said. “I know that guy — I recognize the name but not the face. Isn’t he some kind of steel magnate or something?”
“No,” Selena shook her head. “He’s a tech guru — famous for satellite design, apparently. He also happens to be one of the richest men in India, and by extension, the entire world.”
Riley scratched his head. “And this arse-munch is the guy yanking Kaleka’s strings, am I right?”
“This arse-munch, as you put it, is the owner of Jambudvipa, so my guess is yes.”
“Jesus. Where’s she moored?”
“In the Gateway to India marina in Mumbai.”
As they walked the final few steps up to the hospital, Selena slipped her phone into her pocket and turned to the American. “Mr Decker, I have a miniscule, trifling favor to ask you.”
“Oh, God… not again.”
“Just to Mumbai — that’s all.”
As she spoke, Charlie Valentine walked out the door with a big smile on his face and his arm tied up in bandages. “Evenin’ all!”
Decker looked at Charlie, and then glanced back to Riley and finally to the proud face of Selena Moore. He put his hands in his pocket and focussed on the horizon for a second or two and then gave a deep sigh. “Just to Mumbai, and no farther.”
17
Dr Diana Silva felt the cold steel muzzle of Kaleka’s pistol push into the small of her back as they waited for the elevator to arrive. They were standing in the opulent marble entrance lobby of the Jambudvipa, the private super yacht of Rakesh Madan. A gentle metallic ping drew her attention to the elevator’s arrival and a moment later the burnished chrome doors swished open in luxurious silence.
Kaleka sighed and pushed the gun into her back even harder. “Get in.”
The elevator doors shut behind the two of them and the Indian hitman selected the top deck. The elevator serviced all seven decks of the enormous private yacht but today it was taking the prisoner up to the private realm of one of India’s most notorious recluses.
The elevator’s ascent was silent and felt almost motionless. The only sensation of movement was given by the flashing blue lights every time they passed a floor. As she waited, she gently rubbed her face — she already had the beginnings of a black eye from when Kaleka had hit her back in Goa, and now she wondered how far he might go with a gun in his hand.
A few seconds later the doors opened to reveal a vast private apartment with double-hung windows giving a breathtaking view of the city’s skyline beyond. The view rose and fell almost imperceptibly as the yacht bobbed up and down in the warm waters of the marina.
“Ah, Dr Silva — how kind of you to join me.”
Diana heard his voice, but couldn’t see him in the enormous apartment space. She tried to scan the room for him but before she began Kaleka pushed her violently out of the elevator with his shovel-like hand. She staggered forward and fell over to find herself face to face with the snarling face of a white Bengal tiger.
She gasped and scrambled backward, and as she got to her feet she heard Madan give a low chuckle.
He stepped out from behind a large Chinese folding screen and extended a hand to help her. “Please, it cannot hurt you. It was turned into a rug ten years ago.”
Diana rejected his hand and straightened her shirt as she pulled herself up to her full height. “How tasteless.”
“In your world, perhaps, but I personally shot this animal on a hunt in Madhya Pradesh. It was not my first kill, but certainly my bravest. Every day I am reminded of how fierce these beasts truly are.”
“Not this one.”
“No…” he said, eyes crawling all over her. “Not this one.”
As he spoke, Madan dismissed Kaleka with a string of orders, and the hitman disappeared into a room behind the elevator shaft. Then Madan turned to the Portuguese woman and smiled. “Please — allow me to show you the view.”
She followed him to a set of French doors which overlooked a large stretch of deck on the starboard side, with views over the bustling city in the distance.
Madan opened them and they stepped out onto the terrace where a brass side table was covered in a white cotton cloth and shaded from the late sun by a large parasol. “Please, have a seat.”
“Do I have any choice?”
“Of course not.”
Diana sat at the table and Madan joined her. As the billionaire’s eyes scanned Cumballa Hill, Kaleka stepped out onto the deck. He was holding a tray which he placed gently on the table. An antique silver teapot was in the center, and two china cups. Beside them was an upturned metal bowl, shining dully in the last of the day’s light.
Madan waved him away with his hand and began to pour the tea into the cups. “India is very famous for its tea,” he said. “We produce more tea in India than anywhere else in the world except China. This tea is from my own personal tea gardens in Darjeeling.”
“Why am I here, Mr Madan?” As she spoke, she was certain she saw the upturned metal bowl move slightly in her peripheral vision.
He stopped pouring the tea and added some milk before pushing Diana’s cup over to her. “What many people do not realize is that we have the British to thank for Indian tea. It was the British who introduced tea to India, and they did so to destroy the monopoly the Chinese had on tea production.”