“If they eat corpses then they would do, wouldn’t they?” Riley said. “That’s just like the fat kid hanging around Hungry Jack’s.”
Diana frowned and stared at the Australian. “Don’t be so horrible!”
“It’s not the aghori we’re talking about anyway,” Johar said firmly. “If — and it’s a big if — the rumors are true then we’re talking about a modern murder cult.”
Decker shifted in his chair. “So he is connected to some kind of cult?”
“As I say, the rumors refer to something called the Hatyara Cult or killer cult. If true, then they are a secretive group whose sordid proclivities are somewhere between those of aghori and the thuggees.”
“We’ve got to get our friends back, like yesterday!” Riley said.
“Yes,” said Diana. “They risked their lives to rescue me and now I must repay that debt.”
“Not so fast,” Decker said, raising his hands. “You don’t just walk into the private estate of a man like Rakesh Madan and do as you please. There are things to consider — how many men has he there? Are they armed?”
Johar smiled. “I have a man named Bhandari in the north. He has been monitoring Madan’s tea plantation on and off for some time now. I will contact him and arrange to meet him up there.”
“And what about us?”
He shrugged. “I cannot tell you not to go. You are free men and women.”
“How fast can you make this happen, Arjun?” Riley said.
“Arranging the meeting with Bhandari is no problem, but it will take some time to requisition an aircraft to fly up there. Perhaps a few hours.”
Decker smiled for the first time since the meeting began. “I think I might be able to help you out there, Mr Johar.”
24
Decker, Riley and Diana climbed out of the Bolero and walked across the asphalt to the other side of the road. Their flight up to the north of India had been smooth and uneventful, and they had hired the SUV with equal ease from the local airport.
Now they were joined by Arjun Johar who had just ended a call to his superiors and stepped out into the sunshine behind them. The faint scent of tea drifted on the warm air as they shielded their eyes and scanned the surroundings.
Ahead of them to the left the road zigzagged its way into the small town of Darjeeling, perched on the lush western slopes of the next rise. A taxi with music blaring from the driver’s window rattled past on its way south, and when it faded from view the total silence of the Himalayan foothills returned once again. In the hazy distance, a lammergeier screeched loudly.
“What the hell was that?” Diana said.
“Bearded vulture,” Riley said. “They’re all over the Himalayas.”
“Are they dangerous?” she asked.
Riley leaned back and pretended to calculate her weight. “No, you’re too heavy for them to carry off.”
She rolled her eyes and slapped his arm. “Fool.”
“Over there,” Decker said, interrupting the moment. “To the north of that valley — that’s got to be Madan’s tea garden.”
Arjun Johar nodded in confirmation and they took another look at their map. They estimated they were at least a mile away, and that was a mile through the steep terraces of tea plantations and even wilder, untamed foothills beyond them.
“We can’t go through that,” Diana said. “And the only other way is to drive right up to his main gate.”
“No, that’s not the only other way,” said Decker, and passed her the binoculars. “Take a look over there where those two low ranges come together. There’s some kind of track winding in and out of the plantation.”
“I see,” Diana said, and handed the binoculars to Riley.
“I got it,” the Australian said. “Looks like it starts not too far where that unsealed road leaves the western part of the town.”
“Right,” Decker said, already walking back to the Bolero. “Are you guys coming or you want to stand around up here all day enjoying the view?”
“First we must go into the town and meet with my agent, Bhandari,” Johar said.
The former Marine drove the Bolero the last few hundred yards into the town and parked up around the back of a large store. Packing the Glock he usually kept in the Avalon, Decker and the others followed Johar across the road and threaded their way through the tourists until they reached a small hotel on a side street.
Going inside, Johar glanced around the room for a few moments but couldn’t see the other IIB man. He ordered some bottled water and a copy of the The Hindu. “We wait,” was all he said.
They sat together at the table and kept their eyes on the clock. Decker wondered if this Bhandari character had been caught by Madan while on a reccie of the tea plantation, but then Riley pointed out a suspicious looking man approaching them rapidly from the outside terrace.
Riley leaped up and took hold of the man by his throat and hooked his feet out from under him at the same time. He was helpless now, writhing in the Australian’s grip like a man hanging from a branch. “What’s your business, mate?”
“That’s Bhandari!” Johar said. “Put him down at once!”
Diana rolled her eyes.
Riley let go of the man and he fell to the floor.
When Bhandari got to his feet and dusted himself off, Johar made the formal introductions and they all shook hands. “Agent Bhandari, these are the people you were briefed about — Captain John Decker, Corporal Riley Carr and Dr Diana Silva.”
Bhandari nodded at them and gave a fast, businesslike smile. “Our man arrived a few hours ago by chopper,” he said. “They flew in from Jalpaiguri where they landed in a private plane.”
“As we did,” Johar said.
“Except the helicopter part,” Decker added. “We drove up in a hired car.”
“Any news of our friends?” Riley said.
Bhandari shook his head. “I’m sorry, no.”
“So what’s the deal with Madan’s little tea business?” Decker asked.
Bhandari said, “He inherited the plantation from his father years ago. It’s not lucrative.”
“He keeps it for sentimental reasons?” Diana said.
Bhandari shook his head. “Rakesh Madan has never known sentimentality. He keeps the plantation purely because it provides an isolated retreat for him to hide when Mumbai becomes too much.”
“How many does he employ?” Decker asked.
“None.”
“But we saw several people working in the fields.”
“Slaves.”
Decker clenched his teeth. “Slaves?”
“I expect that sounds far-fetched,” said Johar.
Decker shook his head. “Not at all. Last time I had the pleasure of Madan’s company he threatened to sell all of us into slavery.”
“He meant it,” Bhandari said bluntly.
Decker clenched his jaw as he thought about Selena Moore and Charlie Valentine ending up as slaves in some vile coal mine somewhere. He didn’t like to admit it to himself but he was starting to think of these new people almost as friends. He hadn’t known them very long, but he had already been through more with them than many people he’d known for most of his life.
And the English woman was beautiful too, not that he would ever tell her that.
Now, he visualized her at Madan’s mercy. What the hell he was planning down there for them was anyone’s guess, but the American didn’t share Johar’s cool evaluation of the Indian billionaire.
He had seen him in action and witnessed the madness and hatred in those eyes. For Decker, believing the rumors about Madan and the cannibalism and Aghori death cults wasn’t such a crazy leap of the imagination, and he silently prayed Selena and Charlie were still alive.