Vikram Chandra - Sacred Games

Parulkar's PA came through the doorway to the left, a sheaf of papers in his hand. 'Saab's escort radioed ahead. They'll be here in twenty minutes.'

'Good, Sardesai Saab,' Sartaj said. 'I'm here only.'

Sardesai nodded, and went down the staircase. Parulkar had a long list of appointments, all of whom were waiting on the other side of the staircase in a long queue that Sartaj had blithely walked past. Sartaj had called Parulkar at home, early in the morning, when he knew Parulkar would be sitting in an old armchair with his papers and his chai, and he had presumed on old acquaintance to wangle himself an early meeting. 'It is very urgent, saab,' he had said. And so here he was, ahead of the queue. He was trying to practise his operational readiness techniques, which mainly consisted of trying not to think of what was to come shortly. After all, how hard could it be? He had lied to suspects, and to apradhis, to his parents, to Megha, to other women, to himself, to his superiors, to journalists, to many policemen. He was a master of lying, a veritable adept at it. But he had never lied to Parulkar. This is what tensed him up, and it was exactly this nervousness that Parulkar would pick up on. Parulkar was the guru who had taught Sartaj how to lie, and when to lie. He had given him the craft. Would he detect Sartaj's hesitations, his over-eagerness? This is how you catch a suspect in a lie, he had once taught Sartaj, you watch not only for contradictions, but also if the story sounds too similar each time he tells it, if the language is the same, if it has been rehearsed. Sartaj had seen him reduce hardened men to tears in half an hour.

The four sparrows sat in a row on a power line loosely tacked above the pillars and shook their tails at Sartaj. Relax, Sartaj told himself. Don't over-think it. He jiggled his arms and loosened his shoulders. It's a job, it's just a job. Think about something else. He thought about Mary, about her small hands and the gathering of age at her knuckles, and a small swell of tenderness carried him into a vivid recollection of their love-making, her exhalation as he first went into her. Then he was afraid again: why wouldn't she leave the city? How stubborn she was in her fatalism. Now he was afraid again. Parulkar would know, like every other senior officer, about the details of the high-status alert from Delhi. He would be alert himself, and sceptical, and hard to fool. The anxiety sang in Sartaj's veins and drummed into his forehead. He felt weak and incapable.

But Parulkar, when he came bouncing up the staircase followed by his three bodyguards, was at the top of his game. 'Sartaj Singh,' he boomed, 'come in, come in.' He led the way into his cabin, ordered two cups of chai, karak and with adrak, and had the floor-to-ceiling curtains at the back of the room swept back so they could look down on the garden he had built in the years of his tenure. The air-conditioner was adjusted, a spray of air-freshener was squirted into the corners of the room, two vases of fresh flowers were brought in, and finally they sat, Parulkar and Sartaj, facing each other.

'Okay, tell me,' Parulkar said. 'What is so urgent?'

'Saab,' Sartaj said, 'yesterday Iffat-bibi asked to meet me. Actually, she insisted. She said it was top priority. She wouldn't tell me anything on the phone.'

Parulkar was looking down into his chai. He frowned, reached into the cup with a teaspoon and removed the film from the surface. 'So where did you meet her?'

This was Parulkar at his most dangerous, when he was apparently casual and uninterested. 'In Fort, sir,' Sartaj said. 'Behind a seafood restaurant called Kishti.' This he had also learned from Parulkar, that when setting up a big lie it was important to be truthful in the small details. You wanted to give the interrogator a lot of specifics to check and cross-check and find correct. 'In an accountant's office.'

'Yes, yes. That's Walia's office. He handles a lot of their legitimate business for them. What did she want?'

Sartaj leant closer. Of course there was nobody in the office, but somehow it was necessary to whisper. 'Sir, Suleiman Isa wants to talk to you.'

Parulkar put down his teacup, edged it back on the table. 'Can't be done. My position is too sensitive. And nowadays you never know when and where the Anti-Corruption Bureau is listening.'

'I told her that, sir. But she insists. I mean, she said that he insists. They said you choose when and how. By phone or satellite phone or however. You choose everything.'

'Even if I choose my end of the connection, the other side is not safe. Who knows what agency is listening to them?'

'They thought of that, sir. If you don't want to call Suleiman Isa in Karachi, you can talk to Salim in Dubai.' Salim was Suleiman Isa's top controller and long-time friend, he ran the day-to-day business of the company from Dubai. 'They said you can have someone bring a fresh phone to Salim at a place you both agree on, and he will call from that phone to whatever number you designate in India. So there will be safety at both ends.'

'So I should talk to Suleiman Isa's errand boy? These bastards have become too arrogant.'

'If you have a contact in Karachi who can bring a phone to Suleiman Isa, sir, then you can talk to him directly. Whatever you want, Iffat-bibi said.'

'Dubai or Karachi, that is not a problem. The problem is these gaandus who think they are masters of the world.'

'I understand, sir. Shall I tell Iffat-bibi no, then?'

Parulkar rubbed his stomach, picked up his cup again. 'What else did she say? Tell me the whole thing.'

So Sartaj told him the whole thing, from the summons on his mobile phone, the journey to the accountant's, finding Iffat-bibi in the tiny cabin, how she had asked for a conversation with Parulkar Saab, how Suleiman Isa was growing anxious to talk to Parulkar, how they understood Parulkar's delicate position with the current government but there was an unavoidable need to talk. 'She said it was a matter of some money, sir, that Suleiman Isa wants to discuss.'

'That bastard,' Parulkar said. 'I have always given them a complete and clean accounting.'

'Of course, sir.'

A gang of labourers were working on a renovation of the Hanuman temple behind the station. They were stripped down to their banians and blue-striped underwear, and were scrambling over the white dome of the temple. Parulkar watched them, scratching at his nose. 'Do you have any ideas?' he said.

'You want to talk to Suleiman Isa, sir?'

'He is a cranky man. He has become almost crazy now, after all those years abroad. Better to talk to him, clear up whatever confusion he has. Bas, finish it, you know. No need to make him more suspicious than he already is. So, okay, I will talk to him. On a new phone, which can be delivered to him personally in Karachi a few minutes before he calls. My man will watch him dial on that phone only, and will confirm to me that security has been maintained. The question remains of where to receive the call.'

'Yes, sir. Sir, I was thinking. Are you still going to Pune on Thursday?' Parulkar had a meeting with senior Pune policemen planned for that morning.

'Yes, yes.'

'Then, sir, why not after your lunch, you come to our house there? Don't tell anyone till the last minute, just say then that you want to go and visit Ma. I will be there, I will reach there on my own that morning. At two forty-five, I will call Iffat-bibi from my mobile and tell her to have Suleiman Isa call on Ma's land line at three. They can ask for me, I'll give you the phone. No problem, no fuss, and both ends safe. You can talk.'

Parulkar put down his teacup and wiped his hands on a napkin. He smoothed back the short hair above his ears, in a gesture that he must have acquired as a young man. It reminded Sartaj of some fifties film hero, but he couldn't think of which one. Parulkar nodded. 'There is just one phone there?'