"Certainly. I had a long talk with my sister tonight and have convinced her that you are not right for her."
"Interesting," Jack said. A little smile played about his lips. What did he know? "What arguments did you use?"
"Traditional ones. As you may or may not know, Kolabati and I are of the Brahmin caste. Do you know what that means?"
"No."
"It is the highest caste. It is not fitting for her to consort with someone of a lower caste. "
"That's a little old fashioned, isn't it?"
"Nothing that is of such vital concern to one's karma can be considered 'old fashioned.' "
"I don't worry about karma," Jack said. "I don't believe in it."
Kusum allowed himself to smile. What ignorant children these Americans were.
"Your believing or not believing in karma has no effect on its existence, nor on its consequences to you. Just as a refusal to believe in the ocean would not prevent you from drowning."
"And you say that because of your arguments about caste and karma, Kolabati was convinced that I am not good enough for her?"
"I did not wish to state it so bluntly. May I just say that I prevailed upon her not to see or even speak to you ever again." He felt a warm glow begin within him. "She belongs to India. India belongs to her. She is eternal, like India. In many ways, she is India."
"Yeah," Jack said as he reached out with his left hand and placed the phone in his lap. "She's a good kid." Cradling the receiver between his jaw and his left shoulder, he dialed with his left hand. His right hand rested quietly on his thigh. Why wasn't he using it?
"Let's call her and see what she says."
"Oh, she's not there," Kusum said quickly. "She has packed her things and started back to Washington."
Jack held the phone against his ear for a long time. Long enough for at least twenty rings. Finally, he replaced the receiver in its cradle with his left hand—
—and suddenly there was a pistol in his right hand, the large bore of its barrel pointing directly between Kusum's eyes.
"Where is she?" Jack's voice was a whisper. And in the eyes sighting down the barrel of that pistol Kusum saw his own death—the man holding the gun was quite willing and even anxious to pull the trigger.
Kusum's heart hammered in his throat. Not now! I can't die now! I've too much still to do!
11
Jack saw the fear spring onto Kusum's face. Good! Let the bastard squirm. Give him a tiny taste of what Grace and Nellie must have felt before they died.
It was all Jack could do to keep from pulling the trigger. Practical considerations held him back. Not that anyone would hear the silenced shot; and the possibility that anyone knew Kusum had come here was remote. But disposing of the body would be a problem.
And there was still Kolabati to worry about. What had happened to her? Kusum seemed to care too much for his sister to harm her, but any man who could lead a ceremony like the one Jack had seen on that hellship was capable of anything.
"Where is she?" he repeated.
"Out of harm's way, I assure you," Kusum said in measured tones. "And out of yours." A muscle throbbed in his cheek, as if someone were tapping insistently against the inside of his face.
"Where?"
"Safe… as long as I am well and able to return to her."
Jack didn't know how much of that to believe, and yet he dared not take it too lightly.
Kusum stood up.
Jack kept the pistol trained on his face. "Stay where you are!"
"I have to go now."
Kusum turned his back and walked to the door. Jack had to admit the bastard had nerve. He paused there and faced Jack. "But I want to tell you one more thing: I spared your life tonight."
Incredulous, Jack rose to his feet. "What?" He was tempted to mention the rakoshi but remembered Kolabati's plea to say nothing of them. Apparently she hadn't told Kusum that Jack had been on the boat tonight.
"I believe I spoke clearly. You are alive now only because of the service you performed for my family. I now consider that debt paid."
"There was no debt. It was fee-for-service. You paid the price, I rendered the service. We've always been even."
"That is not the way I choose to see it. However, I am informing you now that all debts are cancelled. And do not follow me. Someone might suffer for that."
"Where is she?" Jack said, leveling the pistol. "If you don't tell me, I'm going to shoot you in the right knee. If you still won't talk, I'll shoot you in the left knee."
Jack was quite ready to do what he said, but Kusum made no move to escape. He continued facing him calmly.
"You may begin," he told Jack. "I have suffered pain before."
Jack glanced at Kusum's empty left sleeve, then looked into his eyes and saw the unbreakable will of a fanatic. Kusum would die before uttering a word.
After an interminable silence, Kusum smiled thinly, stepped into the hall, and closed the door behind him. Containing the urge to hurl the .357 against the door, Jack lined up the empty chamber and gently let the hammer down on it. Then he went over and locked the door—but not before giving it a good kick.
Was Kolabati really in some kind of danger, or had Kusum been bluffing? He had a feeling he had been outplayed, but still did not feel he could have risked calling the bluff.
The question was: Where was Kolabati? He would try to trace her tomorrow. Maybe she really was on her way back to Washington. He wished he could be sure.
Jack kicked the door again. Harder.
chapter nine
manhattan
tuesday, august 7
1
For I am become death, destroyer of worlds.
The Bhagavad Gita
With a mixture of anger, annoyance, and concern, Jack slammed the phone back into its cradle. For the tenth time this morning he had called Kusum's apartment and listened to an endless series of rings. He had alternated those calls with others to Washington, D.C. Information had found no listing for Kolabati in the District or in northern Virginia, but a call to Maryland information had turned up a number for a K. Bahkti in Chevy Chase, the fashionable Washington suburb.
There had been no answer there all morning, either. It was only a four-hour drive from here to the Capitol. She had had plenty of time to make it—if she really had left New York. Jack didn't accept that. Kolabati had struck him as far too independent to knuckle under to her brother.
Visions of Kolabati bound and gagged in a closet somewhere plagued him. She was probably more comfortable than that, but he was sure she was Kusum's prisoner. It was because of her relationship with Jack that her brother had taken action against her. He felt responsible.
Kolabati… his feelings for her were confused at this point. He cared for her, but he couldn't say he loved her. She seemed, rather, to be a kindred spirit, one who understood him and accepted—even admired—him for what he was. Augment that with an intense physical attraction and the result was a unique bond that was exhilarating at times. But it wasn't love.
He had to help her. So why had he spent most of the morning on the phone? Why hadn't he gone over to the apartment and tried to find her?
Because he had to get over to Sutton Square. Something within had been nudging him in that direction all morning. He wouldn't fight it. He had learned through experience to obey those nudgings. It wasn't prescience. Jack didn't buy ESP or telepathy. The nudgings meant his subconscious mind had made correlations as yet inapparent to his conscious mind and was trying to let him know.
Somewhere in his subconscious, two and two and two had added up to Sutton Place. He should go there today. This morning. Now.