Nine: Vengeance of the Warrior (15 page)

Her mobile buzzed. She grabbed it. ‘Hello?’

‘This is Peter. I’m calling from
News of the World
. Is that Anita?’ The distinct English accent was unmistakeable. There was an echo from the long-distance call.

‘Yes, that’s me. You got my email, I presume. Did you get the name of the boy or his whereabouts?’ Hand on hip, Anita was pacing excitedly.

‘Yeah, got your email about the fire story and the kid claiming to have seen a man who could fly.’

‘And?’

‘I wanted to reply but since you had sent your number, I thought it would be best to call you.’

She was standing still, her breathing strained. ‘So what did you find out?’

‘Nothing.’

‘Nothing?’

‘The building was on fire, the kid suffered from smoke inhalation and couldn’t see all that well in the dark. He was probably hallucinating.’

Anita’s shoulders sagged. Dead end. She was convinced that this was one tiny piece of evidence. ‘I see,’ she said slowly. ‘Do you have anything else for me?’

‘No, sorry. Hey, listen. I’m working on a story about India and the slums. You know someone I can interview?’

Anita snapped, ‘Why a story on the slums? What’s with you and your obsession to highlight poverty in India? Why not write on the growing economy, the vast talent of young people, the innovations that help the poor, the NGOs? The beautiful monuments?’

‘Hey, it’s not me. My editor wants an angle on India and that’s what the readers enjoy reading.’

‘Well, you won’t get that shit from me!’

‘Listen, there’s no need to be rude.’

Anita took a deep breath, squeezed her eyes shut and sighed. ‘Yeah. You’re right, I’m sorry. I was actually pinning my hopes on you telling me that you found this guy.’

‘Hey, no worries. If I hear anything I’ll call you. Anyway, you know how it is about the Third World kind of stories—they sell.’

‘Yes, I guess so. Thanks for calling,’ she murmured.

‘Bye, Anita. Good luck with your research.’

Before she hung up, she heard a second click. Alarm bells went off. The call was being monitored. By whom? And for what purpose? The office was quiet, empty, save for her. Then it struck her! Maybe she
had
stumbled on to something. She was searching in the right direction! If only she could get to meet that boy who saw this superhuman. She didn’t have to think twice before dialling a number. ‘Hey sweetheart! What do you think about a trip to London?’

15

Tejaswi

Siem Reap

There was a crushing pressure inside her head. The usual hospital sounds were muffled. A hand caressed her cheek. She mumbled, moved her hands weakly. There was a squeal of joy, as if she had done something award-winning, and the person spoke a million words a minute. Tejaswi was having trouble registering her words. Just like a baby she was rediscovering her ability to understand. It was torturous to even attempt to move parts of her body. They felt like they were glued to the bed.

A pinprick in her inner arm and she slipped into the delirious comfort of sleep.

She was then rudely awakened in the dead of the night. The Kalingan was repeating a phrase over and over again:
Get up and go home …

Still drowsy with all the meds, she managed to open her eyes. ‘Leave me alone,’ she mumbled.

You made a promise to me … And you are just lying here wasting time … Get up and go home. We have work to do …
He practically screamed in her head.

‘I feel unwell. I cannot even move,’ she said weakly.

You can do it … just stay awake and I will help you …

Then, as if his words were like magic, Tejaswi felt a flood of lucidity brighten her mind. She opened her eyes and this time they didn’t hurt. The pounding in her head had subsided to a gentle throb. She moved, eased her body up. But her head felt dizzy and she fell back.

See, that worked … Now keep trying …

Tejaswi felt a surge of anger. ‘Leave me alone!’ she shouted.

He laughed heartily.
That’s it, yell, scream and shout …

A nurse came running in. ‘Are you all right, dear?’

Tejaswi stared in bewilderment; her body didn’t feel like a ball of pain any more. She smiled weakly. ‘I feel better.’

Her name was Jenny, Tejaswi noticed her nametag. ‘Wonderful,’ the nurse said and checked her pulse, took her blood pressure and adjusted the drip.

‘When can I go home?’ Tejaswi asked.

The nurse patted her arm. ‘In good time.’ She checked the urine bag. Tejaswi had a catheter inserted. ‘As soon as you can get out of bed and go to the toilet on your own,’ she said. Tejaswi felt exhausted. The mere thought of doing that made her feel tired. Fortunately for her, she slipped into oblivion again. When she woke up three days later, she tried to leave again. The nurses tied her to the bed and did not let her escape.

Two weeks later Tejaswi, still weak and suffering from memory lapses, was given the green signal to get out of bed and walk. It was a triumphant moment and she felt a sense of exhilaration. Another week and she was allowed to leave the hospital. The nurse helped her pack her clothes which had been sent over from the motel. The police had made enquiries about her. They found the taxi driver who had taken her to the motel and checked the records in the hotel register. The police had a few questions that she answered satisfactorily, including her address and profession. Once they were sure there was no foul play in her accident, they left her alone to recuperate.

Twenty-four hours later, Tejaswi was sitting up without support and sipping water from a cup. She was able to walk steadily and her bodily functions were slowly returning to normal. The voice in her head seemed to have calmed down.

The doctors and nurses kept claiming her recovery was nothing but a miracle. They repeated the same line—‘You were supposed to die.’ Tejaswi shrugged and said, ‘What can I say, it wasn’t my time yet.’ Finally, after about a week, the day arrived when the doctors would let her go.

‘You need to see a psychiatrist for those periodic blackouts you seem to be having,’ the resident doctor said, studying her chart one last time. ‘The scans show nothing unusual, no swelling in the brain or any physical anomalies. These blackouts should not be happening. It must be a psychological reaction. You have repressed the traumatic experience. And I cannot understand why the mind responds this way. The brain is still a mystery to us doctors.’ He placed all her test and X-ray reports in a large envelope and handed it to her. ‘You have made a miraculous recovery. We almost lost you, young woman. You are one lucky soul!’ he said, patting her and giving her a warm smile. ‘You must have a guardian angel.’

Tejaswi shook her head. ‘Yes, true, I have my guardian angel. But do you believe in luck, doctor?’

‘That’s for people in casinos. Eventually, you’d run out of luck. Life is about surviving. Our instincts push us to survive. If your spirit is strong and courageous then one must believe that anything is possible.’

‘There you go! I survived because I wanted to.’ Tejaswi smiled weakly. What else could she say!

The doctor shook his head. ‘The odds were against you. Still, you survived. It accounts for your will, yes, but there was also something far more powerful.’ He pointed upwards.

The nurse wheeled her out of the room.

Tejaswi waved at the doctor. She felt a pang as she looked back. She took a deep breath and stood up slowly from the wheelchair. A few tentative steps and she could manage on her own. She turned to face the nurses and a couple of doctors applauding her, and thanked them. One of the nurses hugged her as if Tejaswi had returned from the dead. She gave her an eyepatch with a picture of Angkor Wat printed on it.

Tejaswi put it on and faced the bright sunshine. She paused in the open air, letting the sun warm her skin. Her body felt like it had been beaten and yet she felt renewed, different. As if part of her old self had died and she was filling the emptiness with a new persona. It was time to face the future. And her new destiny.

Tejaswi felt like her brain had been tired and now that it had been rewired, she was able to think and focus at lightning speed.

16

The Three

Raakin was in the strongroom, facing a blank screen. He had contacted the three of them. The hour that worked out for all of them was 8 p.m., Los Angeles time. Zubin was going home for the day. He was just about to leave when he received the urgent message from Raakin.

Zubin was dressed in jeans and sneakers, and still had his lab coat on. He sat down and faced Raakin. ‘Sorry to keep you waiting,’ Zubin said. ‘We had an urgent case, just got done.’

‘It’s okay. You look well, Zubin.’

‘Thank you. So do you.’ He looked impatient. ‘What is the situation?’

‘We will wait for the others.’

‘I cannot travel. You know I am up to my neck in work. Whatever I can do, I will do from here.’ He scratched his ear where the implant was a constant reminder of his affiliation to the secret society.

‘Don’t you want to know what’s going on?’ Raakin asked, frustrated.

‘I do my best to serve society within my capacity. And within the constraints of the secret society. And why would I want to know what’s going on?’

Raakin looked on sternly. ‘You and your friends are different from the seniors. You show no respect to the Nine. You have powers and you are expected to use it for a higher purpose. Healing the sick is not your calling, you are meant for more.’

Zubin was quiet. ‘Then why don’t you contact the Seniors for the problem.’

Raakin kept his anger in check. ‘The Senior Six will support you but the three of you must handle this actively.’

‘What is this all about?’ Zubin asked reluctantly.

‘I would like to wait for Tara and Akash to come online. I will share this news with them as well.’

‘Okay.’ An uncomfortable silence settled. Zubin flipped through his files while they waited and sent a message to his friends to hurry up. It was 4 a.m. in London and late morning in Mumbai—Akash and Tara should be available. The fact that Raakin was requesting the presence of the Three at the same time could only mean bad news. It gave him a sinking feeling that his life was going to spin out of control soon and there was nothing he could do about it.

Raakin sighed. ‘I am too old for this. I’ve managed the Nine for years and we’ve had minor incidents which the councillors and protectors have handled. We have never had to deal with a situation this devastating. Nor members of the Nine this … disinterested.’

Zubin felt a knot in his chest. Harsh words would not help. He didn’t respond and instead tried to connect with his friends. Their Sky Link icons got activated. He clicked on the icons and Tara responded first, Akash took a few minutes longer. Zubin had them up on a split screen.

‘What’s the problem?’ Akash asked, yawning. His laptop was on his bed. ‘In case you didn’t know, I didn’t get to bed till about two in the morning.’

‘Happy to see you too!’ Zubin responded.

‘Akash! I’m going to throw up if you don’t put on a shirt or something!’ Tara complained.

‘I normally sleep in the nude, darling Tara.’

‘Eew!’

‘Hey guys! Raakin has something important to share with us,’ Zubin said dryly, interrupting their banter.

‘Sounds serious,’ Akash said, still sounding groggy. ‘Okay, I got my tee on now and a pot of coffee.’

‘What’s going on, Raakin?’ Tara asked. ‘I can sense it.’

The tension was thick and Raakin’s grim expression got their attention.

‘The Kalingan is back.’

‘What!’ they screamed in unison. Tara was agape. ‘We have all received the warnings, but didn’t expect it to happen so soon!’

‘But surely he cannot escape from the temple?’ Zubin asked.

‘As a spirit he was trapped within the confines of the temple. But if there is a willing human who is aware of him and accepts, then it can happen.’ Raakin related the intel feed. ‘As far as we know, she is a woman and lives in Mumbai.’

‘So we don’t know the identity of this woman, but she is out to get us,’ Akash said, rattling off the gist of it.