The Delhi Deception (30 page)

From this point on, Andrew’s dislike for the suave American intensified. Bristling, he adopted a defensive mental stance. When George asked the waiter for the wine list, Andrew asked for one, too. Leila watched in trepidation as the sparring reached an untenable psychological stalemate. Andrew would not back down, insisting upon a French Margeaux. All the while aware of the consternation in Leila’s eyes and that the situation was now clearly getting out of hand, George relented.

She shot him a look of gratitude and then launched a discussion on Delhi. Didn’t they think that the weather was unseasonably hot? George listened, bemused but not offering any comment. Andrew drummed his fingers on the edge of the table. When the waiter brought their lunch to the table, they ate engrossed in a silent world of private speculation.

The chicken, prepared Japanese-style, was delicious. Andrew thought it tasted like cardboard. George, on the other hand, was enjoying his rogan josh, in his hands like the locals. Leila opted for sushi, even though George warned her about eating raw fish in the Indian summer. “I’ll be fine. I have an excellent constitution,” she said with stoic resolve.

Arching his eyebrow, George responded, “Then who am I to stop you?”

As they ordered coffees, George’s phone rang. On studying the screen for a moment, he decided to answer it, mouthing an apology to them.

“Yes, Kumar.” George listened intently and then, frowning deeply: “Are you sure? Did you wait for the next flight?” He listened again and said, “Stay put and check out the spas; you might have missed them. I’ll check on this side.” Placing the phone on the table, George turned to Andrew. In a grave tone he asked, “Andrew, do you know where Carla is?”

His ears flushing red, Andrew started spluttering in indignation. Calmly, George held up his hand and said, “Please, now is not the time. What did she tell you?”

Swallowing hard, Adam’s apple pronounced, Andrew said with deliberation, “Elouise was going to take her to Bangalore for a few days to some or other spa. That’s all she said.”

“Well, they didn’t arrive in Bangalore. My chap was at the airport,” George said.

“Are you having her followed?” Andrew asked him, his cheeks now flushed with anger.

“Yes. It’s for her own protection, I promise you.”

“How did you know she went to Bangalore? Did she tell you?” Leila asked George.

“No, my guy in Delhi asked her driver after he dropped them off at the airport. Elouise had told him that they were leaving for Bangalore on the 9:45 a.m. flight on Jet Airways. Bangalore is famous for its health spas, so I assumed that that was where they were going.” George called for the bill, and before Andrew had a chance to take out his wallet, George had his AmEx ready, giving it to the waiter and telling him to add a twenty percent tip.

The CIA are such generous employers
, Andrew thought with sarcasm.

George signed and, getting up, said, “Let’s go to my place. We can try to find her together. Are you guys OK with that?”

“Of course,” Leila replied, getting up. “Andrew?”

He looked up sullenly and said, “I’m coming.”

George sat in the front of the jeep next to his driver. He made a couple of calls, but Andrew didn’t understand the language he spoke in. Leila told him it was Pashtun and Hindi. When they arrived at George’s house, Sunil showed them to the study and asked if they would like tea. They declined. George then gestured to the leather armchairs in front of his desk. Taking his seat behind it he said, “Thanks for coming. I’m really sorry about all this.” After a moment he stated the obvious: “I suppose I owe you an explanation.”

Andrew pursed his lips and said, “We know about Carla’s kidnapping, as well as your and the CIA’s involvement.”

If George was surprised, he didn’t show it; he looked at Leila and asked, “I suppose he got this from you?”

Leila looked down at her clasped hands in her lap. She sat perfectly still. Then with an apologetic smile, she looked up and said, “I had no choice, really. I owed it to them.”

“But this was top secret; only a few agents had clearance to this.”

“I think Langley should keep an eye on your agent in Pakistan. He’s drinking more than he should.”

George said with a look of incredulity, “He told you?”

Looking bashful, Leila replied, “Not in so many words. He let something slip about Andrew’s wife and then, as you know, the CIA is responsible for my specialized training in extracting information.”

With a knowing smile, George said in a serious tone, “That’s pretty disconcerting information you’ve given me. I’ll have to ask you to put in a report.”

“OK, but please cover my butt. I’m not exactly Miss Popular with the director since that little fiasco in Syria last year.”

George smiled and said, “Don’t worry, it will blow over.”

Feeling left out Andrew turned, somewhat petulantly, to George and said, “Please explain. Exactly what’s going on?” To this Leila nodded her head in agreement.

“Sure, but what do you guys know?” George asked.

“I saw her file,” Leila said. “You recruited her to spy on Harry Singh. The details of her kidnapping and rescue were there, as well as your successful honey trap.” She looked at Andrew quickly. He was pale and felt nauseous. Leila continued, “The exact reason for all this was not forthcoming, but I gathered it’s something pretty important.”

“Well, that’s a relief. You didn’t find out too much,” George said.

“But you are going to fill in the blanks, aren’t you, George,” Leila stated rather than asked.

“I guess we’re in this mess together; we might as well try to make the most of it. Andrew needs to be cleared.” Addressing Andrew, he asked, “Please tell me you have not been involved in any subversive activities during your youth.”

“Of course not, why?”

“If Langley is to give you clearance, we need it fast.”

George’s mobile phone rang. He picked it up and said something in Hindi, listened intently, and then in English said, “You’re quite sure, Srinagar? OK, thanks for that.” He then switched off the cell phone and said, “Kashmir. They were on a Jet Airways flight this morning for Srinagar. The flight left twenty minutes earlier than the flight for Bangalore.”

“Why Kashmir?” Andrew asked, perturbed.

George looked for a number on his phone and said, “I don’t know, but I’m certainly going to find out. In the meantime, please sit tight and let me know if you hear anything from Carla. As soon as I have clearance for you from Langley, I’ll fill you in. My driver will drop you back at your hotel.”

Leila started to protest, but George gave her a firm, meaningful look. “OK,” she said, “but please keep me informed. I could be of much-needed help.”

George smiled and called Sunil to show his visitors out.

.

CHAPTER 22

C
arla tried to alert Elouise to the name on the painting, but she went on chatting about her daughters.
Of course! Elouise knows…
Carla realized, frowning.
But how?

The younger woman servant came into the room carrying a tray with a porcelain teapot and matching cups and saucers, while an older woman carried a plate of cookies. The older woman asked Soraya something in Urdu. Smiling kindly at her, she said in English, “It’s quite all right, Mona, I’ll pour.”

The tray and plate of biscuits were put down on the square walnut coffee table. Soraya leaned forward and stirred the tea in the pot. “Mona and her daughter have been with me since I first came to live here more than thirty-five years ago. Her husband’s family wanted to kill her baby daughter, as they were a poor family who couldn’t afford to keep a girl. Naturally, she wouldn’t hear of it. She bravely managed to escape, saving her baby. I was fortunate to offer her safe concealment. She has, in return, been loyal in service and companionship.”

“I believe infanticide is still happening in parts of India today,” Carla ventured as she was handed her tea.

“A terrible statistic, I’m afraid,” Elouise commented.

“Elouise, I didn’t quite catch the name of our hostess earlier,” Carla said as she finished drinking her tea.

“Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t introduce myself properly to you. I just presumed Elouise would have told you,” their hostess apologized, “My name is Soraya Khan.”

Carla looked knowingly at Elouise while Elouise explained hastily to Soraya, “I wanted to meet you first before explaining the whole situation to Carla, and to be honest, I was hoping to hear the story from you.”

“Oh, I see. Of course I would love to tell you. I have not ever told this to anyone.” Soraya scrutinized Elouise’s face and then, as she closed her eyes, shifted into a more comfortable position in the armchair.

“My parents both worked for a wealthy and powerful family in Lahore. They had three children, two boys and a girl. We were also three children, but my brother died when he was just a toddler. Mr. Jashpreet was kind to us, and I was only four when he allowed my brother and I to sit in on their children’s classes taken by a young English governess. Ranjit, the eldest, was very kind to me. In fact, my older brother didn’t like this very much. I was devastated when Mr. Jashpreet decided to take his family to India. I cried for days and begged my mother and father to ask them to take us with them, but we should have known that they would never agree.’

Soraya cleared her throat and, lowering her tone, continued, “Oh, the unspeakable violence; it was horrible. The rioters killed my father, and my mother was desperate. And then, as if God willed it, Mr. Jashpreet came back. My mother pleaded with him to take me back with him. She knew that she could offer me no future in the newly independent Pakistan. My brother was studying in a Madrassa in Peshawar. Mr. Jashpreet was kind and relented. He took me with him, and I joined his household in Delhi.

“One of the old maidservants took care of me. But she didn’t like me much. She begrudged the time I spent with the children. When Ranjit was sent to boarding school, the English governess left, and his brother and sister were both sent to school. A good Indian education was needed now that India had finally gained its independence from Britain after more than two hundred years. I started working in the house, but missed Ranjit terribly. Years later, after his studies abroad, he came back. He was so handsome and worldly. Within days, his parents announced his engagement to the daughter of a powerful family. I cried for days. You see, I was madly in love him and had been all my life.

“His wife, Priya, was nice, but I think she resented me—always finding fault with my work. Ranjit defended me, but of course, this made matters worse. It was during Diwali that the unthinkable happened. Ranjit had organized a party with fireworks. He had a peg or two too much. Priya refused to attend, as they’d had a row over something or other. He asked me to hold one of the devices while trying to light it. It exploded in my hand and burned it quite badly. Ranjit was deeply remorseful and offered to drive me himself to the hospital. He stayed at my side while the doctor bandaged my hand.

“When he took me home, the festivities had come to an end. He saw me to my tiny little room in the back of the servant quarters. It was very quiet. He laid me down on the charpoy and covered me with his woolen shawl. As he walked to the door, I called him back and thanked him. It must have been the longing in my voice or eyes that made him turn around and kiss me with such passion and yearning that I thought I would die of love. The few hours we spent together felt like heaven. He left quietly, and in the morning I found his note scribbled on my small notebook. He apologized for what he had done and asked my forgiveness. It wouldn’t happen again, he wrote. I was desolate but knew there was nothing I could do about it. I returned to work and tried my best to avoid him.

“A few weeks later I discovered I was with child. I told Ranjit, who in turn told his father. They asked me to keep it quiet, and Jashpreet arranged my marriage to the young gardener. He was a sweet and lovely boy, unaware of the deception. Priya fell pregnant that same month, and I was miserable. However, the thought that I was carrying my love child with Ranjit made it bearable. My son was born in August. He was most beautiful. Ranjit and his father came to my room while I was nursing my newborn, suckling with such strength and greed. I was so happy to see Ranjit, and when he held our baby in his arms, I though my heart would break with love and pride. Jashpreet then told me that Priya’s little baby boy had died. The doctor only managed to save her life by performing a hysterectomy on her. She would never be able to bear children again. He and Ranjit then made me a proposition I couldn’t refuse. My son would have the name and status of a powerful family. He’d marry well and have a future. This was something I could never have given him growing up in the small, cramped servants’ quarters.

“I was employed as his wet nurse, and so I was able to watch him grow. He was such a happy child, loved to distraction by his family. My husband ran away with the money paid for his silence. We had to pretend it was my son who had died. Ranjit’s sister helped with the arrangements.

“When Harry was four, I realized that Priya resented my being there. I tried to stay away from Harry, but he was always crying for me. Priya, who was suffering from depression, told me one day that she couldn’t live like that, knowing her son loved me more. She was going to expose Harry as Ranjit’s illegitimate son. Of course I couldn’t let her. My dreams and aspirations for my son were my reasons for living. I told Ranjit and his father that I would go away. They tried to dissuade me, but we all knew that it was for the best.