The Sultan's Tigers (17 page)

“He will not see you.”

“Then I won't waste any more of your time.” My uncle nodded to me. “Come on, Tom. Let's go back to the hotel.”

I almost said,
Hotel? What hotel?
Luckily my brain moved a little quicker than that. I grabbed my bag and stood up.

“Wait a minute,” said Bharati. “There is no need for any hasty actions. I will talk to Mr. Jaragami and ask if he wishes to speak to you.”

I thought we'd only
be waiting there for a couple of minutes, but we were actually alone for about an hour. I spent the time pacing up and down, thinking about what my uncle had said to me.
I hope you're ready for who you're going to be.
What did that mean? Who was I going to be? Would I be like him, forgetting about my grandfather's killer, only caring about money? Was that how real Trelawneys behaved? If so, did I really want to be like that? No, of course not. I didn't care about the money. Sure, no one was threatening to break my legs, but that wasn't the point. I wouldn't care even if they were. I just wanted to find Grandpa's killer.

My uncle sat patiently at the table, reading stuff on his phone. When I asked what he was doing, he replied, “Research.”

“What kind of research?”

“I'm learning about J.J. Always be prepared. That's the first rule of business.”

“I thought the first rule of business was—”

“Oh, stop it. Don't ask me to be logical, that's not my style. Do you want to know the real first rule of business?”

“Yes.”

“Earn more money than you spend. It is a rule that I have broken almost every day of my life. But not today.” He laughed suddenly.

“What's so funny?”

“Nothing.”

“What is it?”

“Just a message from a girl.”

“I thought you were doing research.”

“I am. But I'm sending a few messages, too.”

He tapped the screen.

Research—yeah, right. He was just flirting with some girl on the other side of the world.

I went back to staring out of the window. I didn't bother telling him what I was thinking about. I didn't want to talk to him about Marko. I knew what he'd say.
Shut up, don't worry, it's all going to be fine.
I didn't want to have another argument about the rights and wrongs of chasing the money rather than Grandpa's murderer.

Around the time that I was beginning to wonder if we'd been forgotten, the door swung open and seven people marched into the room, four men and three women. I was relieved to see that Marko wasn't among them.

If I hadn't recognized Jalata Jaragami from the YouTube video, I never would have guessed he was the richest of the seven, the boss of them all. The others looked far more slick and important than him, the men broad-shouldered and handsome, the women elegant and beautiful, their necks and fingers dotted with discreet jewelry. J.J. himself was a nerdy little man with scruffy sneakers, faded jeans, a white T-shirt, and small, round glasses. He must have noticed my uncle and me, but he paid no attention to us, carrying on his conversation with Bharati as if we weren't even there.

One of the women was talking into her phone. Another was jotting notes on a tablet. The third shook my uncle's hand, then mine.

“Mr. Jaragami is very pleased to meet you,” she said.

“He hasn't actually met us yet,” I said.

She ignored me. “You will appreciate that Mr. Jaragami is a busy man, so he will be grateful if you can state your business quickly and concisely. Do you understand?”

“Perfectly,” said Uncle Harvey.

“Thank you. Mr. Jaragami has been briefed already. He knows you have possession of an object which interests him.”

“You mean the tiger?” I said.

Again she ignored me. “As you know, Mr. Jaragami is very keen to see this object. However, he will also need to see some authentication of the object's provenance. Are you able to provide any evidence of—”

She broke off in midsentence as Jaragami swooped down on us. “Hello, hello, thank you for waiting, I hope you haven't been here long.” He offered his hand to my uncle. “Mr. Trelawney, how very good to meet you.”

“You too, Mr. Jaragami,” said my uncle.

“Please call me J.J. Everyone else does, especially non-Indians. The pronunciation of my true name appears to perplex them.” Jaragami turned to me and pressed my hand between his palms. “And you must be Tom. How are you enjoying India?” He managed to make it sound as if he owned the whole place.

“I haven't seen much of it,” I said. “We only arrived yesterday.”

“You came from England?”

“We were in Ireland.”

“Near enough. How is the weather?”

“It's cold.”

“And raining?”

“Yes.”

“Of course it is.” J.J. grinned. “I love everything about England except the weather. Even the food isn't as bad as people say, but the weather is truly abhorrent. I spent a whole year there, studying at Oxford, and it rained almost every single day.”

“What an amazing coincidence,” said Uncle Harvey. “I was at Oxford too.”

“You were at Oxford University?”

“That's right. The happiest years of my life. Which college were you at?”

“I thought you went to Edinburgh University,” said J.J. “Although you were only there for a year, is that not right? Then you were forced to leave after failing your exams.”

Uncle Harvey was very rarely at a loss for words, but this was one of those occasions. He finally managed to stammer, “H-how do you know that?”

“Information is my business, Mr. Trelawney. Give me a computer terminal and I will tell you what is happening anywhere and everywhere on the planet. Knowledge is power. You know this phrase? If it had not been said already, I would have to say it for myself, because it is so remarkably truthful. While you have been waiting here, I have learned everything about you, Mr. Harvey Humperdinck Trelawney.”

“Your middle name is Humperdinck?” I said. “Why did no one ever tell me that?”

My uncle didn't react. I guess he was still in shock.

“I know where you have lived,” continued J.J. “I know where you have traveled. I even know the state of your finances. Which are not looking too good, if you don't mind me saying so.”

“That's why I'm here,” said my uncle. He'd managed to pull himself together and was smiling again, although he still looked rattled.

“You know about my interest in Tipu Sultan,” continued J.J. “You know I have acquired seven of the eight tigers from his throne. You come here and you say you are the owner, the possessor, of the last of them, the eighth tiger, the object that I covet more than anything else in the world. You say all this, Mr. Trelawney, yet you refuse to show this tiger to my closest advisor. You can imagine why I am intrigued, Mr. Trelawney, but also a little suspicious. Now I am here. And I should like to see this tiger.”

Uncle Harvey paused for a moment before replying. He seemed to be thinking. Perhaps he was simply enjoying the moment, taking his chance to tantalize a billionaire. Did he have a strategy? Did he really know what he was doing? I hoped so. He kneeled down, unzipped his bag, and pulled out the tiger. It was wrapped in one of his white shirts. He dropped the shirt back in the bag. “Here you are. The eighth of Tipu Sultan's tigers, taken from his throne on the night of May the fourth, 1799.”

“May I?” asked J.J.

“Please.” Uncle Harvey handed the tiger to him.

J.J. took it carefully, lovingly, as if it were a delicate flower and not a lump of metal, then turned it over and over and over again, inspecting it from every angle.

His assistants had put away their phones and now all their attention was focused on their boss, waiting for his reaction.

Finally he lifted his head from the tiger and looked at my uncle. To my relief, I saw he was smiling. “This is very nice,” he said.

“It's a beautiful piece,” replied Uncle Harvey.

“It certainly is. It looks perfect. But there is such a thing as too perfect. If something is too perfect, I can't help feeling suspicious.”

“It might just be perfect.”

“Mr. Trelawney, every day, people are coming to me, promising that they have what I want. They say they have found a sword which belonged to Tipu Sultan. If not a sword, then a dagger, a cloak, a jewel. I send none of them away. Instead I ask an expert to examine what they have brought me. He will check its provenance. Ninety-nine times out of a hundred, they are forgeries. Is your tiger going to be any different?”

“This is the real thing,” said Uncle Harvey.

“Then why don't I own it?”

“Do you own all of Tipu Sultan's treasures?”

“Not all, but most.”

“But you don't have his eighth tiger?”

J.J. smiled. “Touché. So tell me about your tiger. Where is it from? How do you come to own it?”

“Don't you know already?” I asked.

J.J. was staring at me, surprised, as if it hadn't occurred to him that I could talk. “How would I know?”

“Didn't Marko tell you?” I said.

“Marko? Who is Marko?”

“Marko Malinkovic. Doesn't he work for you?”

“I have never heard of him.”

That was when Uncle Harvey stepped in. “Please excuse my nephew. He's had a long flight and he's feeling confused. Let me tell you about this tiger. You wanted to hear about its history. It was taken by a British soldier, who stole it and hid it, and it's stayed hidden ever since. His name was Horatio Trelawney and was my great-great-great-great-great-grandfather. He was among the first group of soldiers who looted Tipu's palace. He and his comrades broke up the throne and stole the tigers, taking one each. The tiger was passed to his son, and his son's son, down through the generations, until it reached me.”

“All this time,” said J.J., “for all these years, none of them thought of selling it?”

“They respected my great-great-great-great-great-grandfather's wishes,” replied Uncle Harvey. “Horatio insisted the tiger had to stay in the family.”

“So why are you selling it now?” asked J.J.

“Because I need the money,” said Uncle Harvey.

J.J. laughed. “You know, this does sound interesting.”

At that moment, one of his advisors gave him a discreet nod. He didn't acknowledge her in any way, but he must have understood the signal, because he said to us, “Do you mind if we walk while we talk?”

Without waiting for an answer, he strode briskly toward the door, expecting us to follow. Uncle Harvey grabbed my elbow. He gave me a look. He didn't need to say anything. I understood exactly what he meant. Shut up about Marko. Remember what we agreed. Then he was hurrying after J.J. I went with him. J.J. carried on talking as soon as we caught up with him.

“I have a meeting now,” he said. “But I'd like to take your tiger to my museum. There, I have experts. They will authenticate this piece. If it is the real thing, we can discuss a deal.”

“I'm afraid that's not possible,” said my uncle.

“You don't want to sell it?”

“I want to sell it. But I won't let it out of my sight.”

“Come to the museum too. You can meet the curator and have a look around.”

“I'd like that. May I?” Uncle Harvey held out his hand for the tiger, but J.J. pretended not to notice.

Two elevators were waiting, the doors already open, a man standing inside each of them, ready to the press the buttons for us. J.J. led us into one and the rest of his entourage crammed into the other. The man in our elevator pressed the button marked 30. We went up a single floor in less than a second. Then the doors opened again and we stepped out onto a wide, flat roof. The sky was dark, but the air was still warm and a hot breeze whisked over us. The city was spread out around us, a million lights twinkling in hundreds of tall tower blocks.

In the middle of the roof, a slim black helicopter was waiting, its rotors whipping the warm air. Through the windshield, I could see two pilots hunched over the controls.

J.J.'s entourage spilled out of the other elevator. One of the women peeled away from the group and came to meet us.

“Meera will drive you to the museum,” said J.J. “My experts are waiting there to authenticate this tiger. They will make sure that it is the real thing. I shall meet you there as soon as I can.”

I couldn't believe it. Weren't we going in the helicopter?

We weren't.

Without even bothering to say goodbye, J.J. was already hurrying across the roof.

Uncle Harvey charged after him. “The tiger!”

Reluctantly J.J. turned around and handed the tiger to my uncle. He took it with both hands, then yelled to be heard over the noise of the rotors. “We have to talk about one more thing.”

“Oh, yes? What's that?”

“Money.”

“Money?” J.J. spread his arms wide, encompassing the tower, the helicopter, the city, perhaps the entire country, as if he owned it all. “If your tiger is
the
tiger, I will give you as much money as you want.”

“How much is that?” asked Uncle Harvey.

“Wait till we authenticate the tiger, then we can talk about money.”

With that he was gone again, this time not giving my uncle the chance to call him back.

We stood on the edge of the roof, watching J.J. settle himself into his seat, strap a belt over his shoulders, and clamp a pair of big headphones onto his ears.

I waited for him to turn and wave, or even cast a glance in our direction, but he appeared to have forgotten us already and was peering at a computer on his knees. The glowing screen lit up the lenses of his glasses, giving the illusion, just for a moment, that his eyes were on fire.

Once the helicopter had
sped away, its lights dwindling into the darkness, Meera escorted us into the elevator and down to the main lobby. Uncle Harvey gave her all his best pickup lines, but she seemed much more interested in her phone than him.