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Stories
The Night of Ten
– La Noche del 10
by Dibyendu Ghoshal
 The
climate was really unstable, and the wind, which had all but stopped
for a few hours, had veered suddenly to the North. I didn’t know
what it presaged, but I suspected it was not anything good.
As I opened the folder of my daily morning newspaper, the top-half
portion of the International Herald Tribune showed the ghastly sight
of an indistinct picture of a railway smash of some kind, carriages
on a bridge that ended abruptly over a stretch of water, with boats
beneath, and I realized that it was a shocking train disaster - the
reporter saying that a loaded luxury commuters’ train at Elizabeth,
New Jersey, had plunged out over an opened span of the bridge into
the waters of the cold Newark Bay. There were only dozens of
passengers all of whom have died and all the dead bodies have been
recovered . Above all, the train was carrying something ‘very
important’. This made my naturally curious mind more curious towards
this particular case, even though it seemed to be of very large
dimension.
I was restless to inquire into the case . But I was posted at a
different city away from New Jersey.
Acute concern crept across my face as I watched the screen from
outside the RetroVision store window. "Police are still baffled as
the cause of the Newark Bay Railway Disaster remains unsolved and
also about the identity of the criminal if it was a sabotage”.
I was preparing myself to surrender to complete rest to avert an
absolute breakdown of my health. I had to give myself a complete
change of scene & air. Thus, in the early Spring I found myself in a
small cottage near the Logun International Airport in Boston.
And on the whole my company boss Herr Wilhelm did well. He was
cautious, and he had the benefit of the still greater caution and
larger experience of Herr Gerhardt, the second partner in the firm.
Patents and the laws which regulate them are queer things to have to
do with. No one who has not had personal experience of the
complications that arise could believe how far these spread and how
entangled they become. Great acuteness as well as caution is called
for if you would guide your patent bark safely to port – and perhaps
more than anything, a power of holding your tongue. I was no
chatterbox, nor, when on a mission of importance, did I go about
looking as if I were bursting with secrets, which is, in my opinion,
almost as dangerous as revealing them. No one, to meet me on the
journeys which it often fell to my lot to undertake, would have
guessed that I had anything on my mind but an easy-going young
fellow's natural interest in his surroundings, though many a time I
have stayed awake through a whole night of railway travel if at all
doubtful about my fellow-passengers, or not dared to go to sleep in
a hotel without a ready-loaded revolver by my pillow. For now and
then - though not through me - our secrets did ooze out. And if, as
has happened, they were secrets connected with Government orders or
contracts, there was, or but for the exertion of the greatest energy
and tact on the part of my superiors, there would have been, to put
it plainly, the devil to pay.
One morning - it was nearing the end of November - I was sent for to
Herr Wilhelm's private room. There I found Herr Gerhardt before a
table spread with papers covered with figures and calculations, and
sheets of beautifully executed diagrams.
"Mr. Dibyendu," said Herr Wilhelm," you will take the super luxury
express through Boston – on the whole it is the best route,
especially at this season. By traveling all night you will catch the
boat there, and arrive in New Jersey so as to have a good night's
rest, and be clear-headed for work the next morning."
I bowed in agreement, but ventured to make a suggestion.
"If, as I infer, the matter is one of great importance," I said,
"would it not be well for me to start sooner? I can - yes," throwing
a rapid survey over the work I had before me for the next two days -
I can be ready tonight."
Herr Wilhelm looked at Herr Gerhardt. Herr Gerhardt shook his head.
Suddenly his mood changed ."No," he replied, "tomorrow it must be,"
and then he proceeded to explain to me why.
Suffice it to say, the whole concerned a patent - that of a very
remarkable and wonderful invention, which it was hoped and believed
the Government would take up. But to secure this being done in a
thoroughly satisfactory manner it was necessary that our firm should
go about it in concert with a German house of first-rate standing.
To this house - the firm of Messrs Berliner Hathaway ---- I was to
be sent with full explanations. And the next half-hour or more
passed in my superiors going minutely into the details, so as to
satisfy themselves that I understood. The mastering of the whole was
not difficult, for I was well-grounded technically; and like many of
the best things the idea was essentially simple, and the diagrams
were perfect. When the explanations were over, and my instructions
duly noted, he began to gather together the various sheets, which
were all numbered. But, to my surprise, Herr Gerhardt, looking over
me, withdrew two of the most important diagrams, without which the
others were valueless, because inexplicable.
"Stay," he said; "these two, mister, must be kept separate. These we
send today, by U.S. Express Post, direct to our client The
Streisands Inc. They will receive them a day before they see you,
and with them a letter announcing your arrival."
I started to prepare myself to head for my destination.
I found myself along with my consort , Ms. Alexandra, entering the
station at a run just as - yes, a train was actually beginning to
move! We dashed, baggage and all, into a compartment; it was empty,
and it was a luxury one, precisely similar to the one I had occupied
before; it might have been the very same one. The train gradually
increased its speed, but for the first few moments, while still in
the station and passing through its immediate entourage, another
strange thing struck me -- the extraordinary silence and
lifelessness of all about. Not one human being did I see, no porter
watching our departure with the faithful though stolid interest
always to be seen on the porter's visage. I might have been alone in
the train -- it might have had a freight of the dead, and been
itself propelled by some supernatural agency, so noiselessly, so
gloomily did it proceed.
We reached New Jersey safely .
Brian was a black man, we had met him in the station on our first
arrival in this Old City area . He had politely introduced himself
out of the blue and spent a whole day insisting he keep me company
until he finally won me over with his charm and became my friend in
that alien land . He worked over as a guide.
After taking that night's rest , I headed for the disaster site,
without even bothering to report to my company, while Alexandra
preferred to stay at home.
My instinct made me restless until I reached that particular area.
Even though I am not a daredevil nor I have ever been involved in
any daredevil act, I idolize the great aviator Howard Hughes.
Nothing in my life is fiction. Fortunately, I did not leave my sense
of humor in the tarmac. So my life is laced with funny anecdotes.
Actually I’m a reasonably good swimmer . But a few years ago the
speedboat my friend and I were in capsized in the Powai Lake
situated in India. He didn’t know how to swim and there were
crocodiles in the lake. It put the fear of water in me.
The wreckage caught my eyes from a distance . The mangled wreckage
have been lifted up and kept in the nearby field .I jumped for the
side-screen of one compartment, hooked my fingers over the sill;
hauled myself up with some difficulty and wriggled my way into the
driver’s cabin, flashing my torch around. Out of the five
compartments the train was carrying , only the engine driver’s cabin
and the pantry could be barely recognizable after the accident
---even in a mangled form . I entered inside the mangled pantry.
There was a big refrigerator, with a small hinged table in front of
it, and at the far end, under the window , a hinged box covered over
what might have been a heating unit or sink or both.
But there was something so gloomy and unsociable, so queer and
almost weird about the whole aspect and feeling of the place, that a
sort of irritable resignation took possession of me.
Across the narrow passage I found what I was looking for almost
immediately even though I had not had pretty good idea where to look
. The thin metal at the top right-hand corner of the compartment was
bent almost an inch out of true.
Now that I had time to spare it more than a fleeting glance it was
abundantly clear to me that the wrenching away of the face-plate did
not even begin to account for the damage that had been done .
Gradually, ever so gradually, in infuriating slow-motion process,
thoughts were beginning to click into place in my numbed mind. I
straightened , walked forward into the cabin and stumbled on
something . I shone my torch on the object and it was a dead man. As
I had noticed , he appeared to be completely unmarked , and I don’t
know whether it was some unconscious process of logical reasoning or
some strange instinct enough to see the black ‘bullet hole’ in the
middle of the spine . My mouth was suddenly dry, and my heart was
thudding heavily in my chest.
I lowered the policeman’s jacket, pulled it down into position ,
turned away and walked slowly towards the rear of the wrecked cabin
. And there I found another policeman-- with a deadly head injury ,
completely still, propped up stiffly in a corner, as stiffly as he
would remain there for heaven only knew how many frozen centuries to
come .Surprisingly, there was not a single metal projection in the
entire wall, nothing that could possibly account for the wound in
the back the jacket was fastened by a central button. I undid it,
saw nothing except a curious thin leather strap running across the
chest, undid a shirt button , and there it was, the same deadly hole
, the same evidence of point-blank firing staining the whiteness of
the singlet. But in this case the powder marks were concentrated on
the upper part of the ring, showing that the pistol had been
directed in a slightly downward angle. I eased him forward, and
there , less like a 'bullet hole' in the jacket than an
inconsequential rip one might easily overlook, was the point of
exit. Heaven knows that I was in no mental frame of mind at the
moment, anyway, to figure anything out . I was like an automation. I
felt nothing at the time, not even horror at the hideous thought
that the policeman’s neck might well have been cold-bloodedly broken
after death to conceal its true cause . If ever there was a time
when my thoughts should have been racing it was then , but the plain
truth is that they were not . My mind was sluggish, but even so I
knew that this time I could not be wrong about what had happened to
the two police personnel who might have come for some inspection of
the ill-fated carriage.
The leather strap across the dead man’s chest led to a felt-covered
holster under the arm. I took out the little dark snub-nosed
automatic, pressed the release switch and shook the magazine out
from the base of the grip. It was an eight-shot clip, full. I
replaced it and shoved the gun into the inside pocket of my overcoat
.
I made a desperate effort. Cold as it was, the beads of perspiration
stood out upon my forehead as I forced myself along. And by degrees
the nightmare feeling was beginning to clear off.
It was just at that moment that I heard the sharp metallic sound
coming from the front of the dark, mangled and deserted carriage .
For may be five seconds, may be ten, I stood there without moving ,
as rigid and motionless as the dead policemen by my side with a bent
right arm.
What, then, were we doing here, and what was 'here'? Had there been
an accident - some unforeseen necessity for stopping? At that moment
a curious sound, from some yards' distance only it seemed to come,
caught my ear. It was croaking, cackling! - the sound of my
momentary mental unconsciousness, towards which I immediately felt
an instinctive aversion. I looked out of the wrecked window - there
was that refreshment room just opposite, dimly lighted, like
everything else, and in the doorway, as if just entering, was a
figure which I felt pretty sure was that of a person.
Looking back on it, I can only think that my brain had been
half-numbed from too long exposure to the cold, that the shock of
the discovery of the two savagely murdered policemen had upon me
more than I would admit even to myself, and that the morgue-like
atmosphere of that chill metal tomb had affected my normally
un-imaginative mind to a degree quite unprecedented in my experience
. Or may be the nameless dreads that can in a moment send the
adrenalin pumping crazily into the bloodstream .However it was, I
had only one thought in mind at that moment, but an unreasoning
blood-freezing certainty : that one of the dead policemen had
somehow risen from his seat and was walking back towards me . Even
yet I can remember the frenzy of my wild, frantic hope that it was
not the Inspector.
Heaven only knows how long might have sat there, petrified in this
superstitious horror, had the sound from the front not repeated
itself . But again I heard it, the same metallic scraping sound as
tangled wreckage of the deck, and as the touch of an electric switch
can turn a room from pitch darkness to the brightness of daylight,
so this second sound served to recall me , in an instant ,from pitch
darkness to the brightness of daylight, so this second sound served
to recall me, in an instant, from the thrall of superstition and
panic to the world of reality and reason, and I dropped swiftly on
my knees behind the high padded back of the seat in front of me, for
what little shelter it offered. My heart was still was still
pounding , the hairs still on the back of my neck, but I was a going
concern again, my mind beginning to race under the impetus
invariably provided by the need for self-preservation.
A person who had killed two times to achieve his or her ends --- and
protect the secret would not hesitate to kill a third . And the
killer knew his or her secret was no longer a secret, not while I
lived ! he or she need not hesitate to use the gun : apart from the
fact that the North wind would carry the crack of a pistol-shot away
from the cabin.
I began to feel as if there was an evil spirit haunting me. I could
only hope that the splendid lock to the bag had defied all
curiosity, but I felt in a fever to be alone again, and able to
satisfy myself that nothing had been tampered with. The thought
recalled my wandering faculties. How long had he been asleep? I drew
out my watch. Heavens! It was close upon the first hour the morning.
Not a creature was to be seen in the room or at the door as I passed
out - always excepting the still unseen and unknown dangerous
person.
Then something snapped inside my mind and I was all of a sudden a
fighting mad. Perhaps it was the inevitable reaction from my
panic-stricken fear of a moment ago, and perhaps, too, it had no
little to do with the realization that I , too, had a gun. I brought
it out from my pocket, transferred the torch to my left hand, jumped
up, pressed the torch button and started running down. It was proof
enough of my partial inexperience in this murderous game of
hide-and-seek that it was not until I was almost at the door at the
forward end that I remembered how easy it would have been for anyone
to shoot me at point-blank range as I passed. But there was no one
there and as I plunged through the door, I caught a fleeting glimpse
of a dark muffled figure, no more than a featureless silhouette in
the none too powerful beam of my torch, wriggling out through the
smashed side-screen of the cabin.
I brought up my automatic---the thought that I could be indicted on
a murder charge for killing a fleeing person, no matter how criminal
a person, never entered my mind----and squeezed the trigger. Nothing
happened. And I plainly heard the thud of feet hitting the ground.
Cursing my stupidity, and again oblivious of the perfect target I
was presenting, I leaned far out of the window. Again I was lucky ,
again I had another brief sight of the figure, this time scurrying
round the tip of the right flank before vanishing into the darkness.
Two seconds later was on the ground myself. I landed awkwardly but
picked myself up at once and skirted round the wreckage, pounding
after the fleeing figure with all speed I could muster in the
hampering bulkiness of my fur and overcoat. But It was not too late
yet. The wind had been blowing almost directly in my face as I had
been running : all I could do was walk back . I turned , took one
step, then two, then halted in my tracks. Where could the attack
come from -----downwind, so that I could se nothing, or upwind , so
that I could hear nothing? Downwind , I decided-- one could move as
silently as on a tar-macadam road.
Five minutes passed and nothing happened . So well-adjusted now were
my eyes to the darkness, so well-attuned my ears to the area's
mournful symphony of sound, that I would have sworn that had there
been anyone there to be seen or heard, I would have seen or heard
them.
For once, that night , I did not panic. I knew that panic would have
been the end of me. I could not even begin to guess what the
tremendously high stakes must be in this murderous game that this
incredibly ruthless and deceptive person was playing, but I swore to
myself that I was not going to be one of the pawns that were going
to be brushed off the table . I stood still, and took stock. And it
was just my evil luck that it should fall so heavily that night. The
wind was northerly or had been, but in that fickle climate there was
no knowing what minute it might be back or veer.
I trudged along the road - there were lamps, though very feeble
ones; but by their light he saw that the tall man who had been in
the wrecked compartment just a few moments ago was still a few steps
ahead of me. It made me feel slightly nervous, and I looked round
furtively once or twice; the last time I did so I was not to be
seen, and I hoped he had gone some other way.
Dawn was not yet breaking, but there was in one direction a faint
suggestion of something of the kind not far off. Otherwise all was
dark. I stumbled along as best as I could, helped in reality, by the
ugly yellow glimmer of the woebegone street, or road lamps. And it
was not far to the station, though somehow it seemed farther than
when I came; and somehow, too, it seemed to have grown steep, though
I could not remember having noticed any slope the other way on my
arrival. A nightmare-like sensation began to oppress me. I felt as
if my luggage was growing momentarily heavier and heavier, as if I
should never reach the station; and to this was joined the agonizing
terror of missing the train.
I ran all the way back to my cottage. I was vaguely surprised to see
one shadow still moving in the lamp-lit screen. The young girl was
still in the far corner, working on the gas-stove and was rubbing
her hands above the flame.
"Cold, Miss?" I inquired solicitously. At least, I had meant it to
sound that way, but even to myself my voice sounded hoarse and
strained.
"And why shouldn't I be, Sir?" Alexandra told, "I've just spent the
last few minutes or so out there ."
"Doing what?"
"I went out to bring coffee." For the first time Alexandra showed
some spirit. "What's wrong in that?"
What was there peculiar about that coffee? Or was it something
peculiar about my own condition that caused it to have the unusual
effect she now experienced? Feeling of irresistible drowsiness
creeping over her --- mental, or moral may say, as well as physical.
For when one part of me feebly resisted the first onslaught of
sleep, something seemed to reply: "Oh, nonsense! you have several
hours before you. You are all right. No one can touch them without
awaking you."
"Nothing,” I said shortly. Takes you a damned long time to pour a
cup of coffee. I thought savagely.
As I stripped off my leather gloves and washed my blistering hands
in disinfectant, I saw Alexandra's eyes widen at the sight of my
hands. But she said nothing : may be she knew I was not in the mood
for condolences.
Messaging my cold face, I walked away into the bedroom, nodding to
Alexandra. She joined me immediately.
"Somebody just tried to murder me out there." I said without
preamble.
"Murder you !" Alexandra stared at me for a long moment, then her
eyes narrowed. "I'll believe anything in this lot."
"Meaning?"
"What happened to you, Sir?" she asked quietly.
I told her everything, and watched her face tighten till the mouth
was a thin white line in the dark face. She knew what it meant to be
lost in the wilderness of cold darkness.
"The murderous, cold-blooded devil," she said softly. "We'll have to
nail the killer, Sir. We'll have to, or god only knows who's next on
that killer's list. But won't we have to have proof or something? We
can't just......"
"I'm going to get that," I said. The bitter anger still dominated my
mind to the exclusion of all else.
"Two killers," Alexandra stunned me with her conclusion, "two
ruthless merciless killers who would surely kill again, at the drop
of a hat, as the needs of the moment demanded."
"You may be right, of course, Alexandra," I forced myself to speak
calmly, matter-of-factly. "It was blind of me, I should have known.
But remember that there might have been a bigger gang involved if it
was a sabotage or had been ambushed ."
She looked in astonishment. She must have thought me either mad or
just awaking from a fit of intoxication - only she flatter me I did
not look as if the latter were the case.
I remembered how the bullets had passed clear through the policemen.
"I did know , but I could not add one and one. They were killed by
different guns--- the one by a heavy carrying weapon, like an old
Colt or a Luger, the other by a less powerful, a lighter weapon,
like something a woman might have used. "
I broke off abruptly. A woman's gun! Why not? It could have been a
woman that had followed me out earlier in the evening.
As Alexandra turned to me , I saw tears brimming over in her eyes.
She took my hands and pleaded, "Don't leave me alone." She sobbed,
"Don't leave me alone."
And the answer seemed simplicity itself. Why did a strange thrill of
misgiving go through me? Was it something in the look that had
passed between us? Perhaps so. In any case, strange to say, the
inconsistency between our having received no papers and yet looking
for my arrival at the hour accompanying the documents, and accosting
me by name, did not strike me till some hours later.
She threw off what I believed to be my ridiculous mistrust, and it
was not difficult to do so in my extreme annoyance.
For the first time in those few hours I acted sensibly---- I closed
my mouth tightly and kept it that way. I just sat there silently
watching her staring straight ahead , her fists clenched and tears
rolling down her cheeks, and when she crumpled and buried her face
in my hands and I embraced her, she made no resistance , just looked
up at me , crushed her face into my caribou fur and cried as if her
heart was breaking : and I suppose it was.
The emotions are no respecters of the niceties, the proprieties and
decencies of this life, and , just then, I was clearly aware that
her was stirred as they had not been since that dreadful day, two
years ago, when her long-time fiancé, a groom-in-waiting, had been
killed at point-blank range by his ex-girlfriend and this poor
Alexandra had given up her studies , began to distrust the people of
her own sex, returned to her first great love, traveling, and taken
to wandering wherever work, new surroundings and an opportunity to
forget the past had presented themselves. Women are generally of
weaker sex and Alexandra did not like the idea of a sight of a woman
with a gun in her hand. I suppose, too, that the moment a man hears
that a girl had not been able to forget that her fiancé had died in
the hands of another girl is the last moment that man should begin
to fall in love with her. Why, when I gazed down at that small dark
head pressed so deeply into the fur of my coat, I should have felt
my heart turn over I did not know. For all her wonderful bluish eyes
she had no pretensions to beauty and I knew nothing whatsoever about
her. Perhaps it was pity for her past loss, for having so exposed
her to danger of my deadly amateurish profession . I was not married
but mature enough to know that the heart has its own reasons which
even the acutest mind could not begin to suspect.
I told her, “In taking on the elements , we have conquered our mind
and in the conquest, found ourselves . That is what drives the guy
who climbs the Mt. Everest or swims across the English Channel . I
have enough courage and intelligence to go into the bottom of this
case.“
By and by the sobbing subsided and she straightened. She was
trembling violently, so I put my arms round her and held her tightly
until she calmed down, took her to bed and made her to go to sleep,
gently caressing her dark hairs with my fingers.
My eyes were cold and hard, and I knew I had not only one enemy but
lots of enemy groups on the prowl . That did not worry him, but he
found the very triviality of the whole thing irritating beyond
measure when there were so many other and vastly equally important
things to ponder about.
I was just handling the young lady a cup of coffee when she
screamed. It was not really loud, but in that confined space it had
a peculiarly piercing and startling quality. Her arm jerked
violently and the scalding contents of the coffee-cup were emptied
over my bare hands.
I hardly noticed the pain. The lady, who had screamed, was now
kneeling down. I pushed her to one side and sank on to his own
knees.
When I rose to my feet I did so like an old man, a defeated old man,
and I felt very cold, almost.
She was staring at me, the eyes of hers reflecting the superstitious
horror which the presence of sudden and unexpected and unlucky
things and happenings brings to those who are un-accustomed to it.
Food was being readied. Even in the steadily rising warmth, the
melancholy gloom was an almost palpable blanket. I ate nothing. Both
of us looked unwell because the first grayness of the morning
twilight was stealing through our mind skylights and it did because
I had just explained to her in detail exactly what the situation
was, and she did not like it one little bit.
Neither did I.
The lunch was as silent as it was miserable, conversation being
limited to what was necessary . Time and again I would see Alexandra
turn to me and make to say something, then his or her lips would
clamp tightly shut, the expression drain out of the face as one
turned away without a word : with almost everyone thinking that a
murderer was waiting to pounce upon us, the lunch was by all odds
the most awkward and uncomfortable that I ever had. Or, that is, the
first part of it was : but by and by I came to the conclusion that
he had a great deal more to worry about than the niceties of social
intercourse.
She was trying to watch me at one and the same time, while doing her
level best to give the appearance of not watching.
But I knew that in her innermost soul, Alexandra had been constantly
on the lookout for her dearest fiancé's killer---that woman who
ruined her dream in the early of her life and who was now a fugitive
in the eyes of the law . The moment she scented the idea of a woman
killer , Alexandra became aware of her job at an instant, even
though it was just an instinct, not any clear solution.
"I do not doubt your zeal and discretion, my good Alexandra," I
said, "but in this case we must take even extra precautions. I had
not meant to tell you, fearing to add to the certain amount of
nervousness and strain unavoidable in such a case, but still,
perhaps it is the best that you should know that we have reason for
some special anxiety. It has been hinted to us that some breath of
this" - and I tapped the papers - "has reached those who are always
on the watch for such things. We cannot be too careful."
”Aren’t you afraid of any incoming danger to your life?”
“My angel is my old girlfriend Oindrila who was an Indian and whose
picture I keep always with me wherever I go and throughout my
journey, ” I said.
Daredevils always need their “guardian angels” for a happy ending.
She awoke at last, and that with a start, almost a jerk. Something
had awakened her -- a sound -- and as it was repeated to my now
aroused ears he new that she had heard it before, off and on, during
my sleep. It was extraordinary.
I thought, “The man who had so recently knocked me out had been
desperate all right. I was dealing blindfolded against the culprit
--- or culprits ----- far dangerous and cleverer than myself.”
I must find out the reason for the attack . But what was not
inevitable, what pointed most clearly of all to the shrewdness of
the killers, was their guess that whoever responsible would be most
reluctant to go into specific detail : and they had robbed me of
some clues that might have helped me discover what that detail was
and also, the identity of the killers . But the time was far past
now for crying over spilt milk.
My thoughts were black and bitter as the deepening darkness of a sky
that was slowly beginning to fill with cloud. A dark depression
filled him, and a cold rage, and there was room in his mind for
both. I had a strange fey sense of impending disaster and it was
almost certainly a psychologically induced reaction to the cold,
exhaustion and sleeplessness ------ nevertheless I could not shake
it off : and I was angry because I was helpless.
I was helpless to do anything to protect the innocent Alexandra, who
had entrusted herself to my care. I was helpless because I knew the
murderers might strike at any time.
For the hundredth time I went over everything I could remember,
everything that had happened, everything that had been said, trying
to dredge up from the depths of memory one single fact, one isolated
word that would point the fingers in those unmistakable directions.
But I found nothing.
One will scarcely credit that I actually and for the third time fell
asleep. Some occult influence was at work upon me throughout those
dark hours, I am positively certain. And with the daylight it was
dispelled. For when I again awoke I felt for the first time since
leaving home completely and normally myself, fresh and vigorous, all
my faculties at their best.
It was broad and bright daylight. How long had I slept?
The next day as I was walking down the road, going towards that
wreckage site, I saw the usual crowd of pushy working girls of
Hispanic origin already hanging just outside the cafe in the blazing
afternoon sun, trying to woo the tourists.
I downed the rest of the mojito and the ice water in a beat and
briskly walked out, turning the corner to avoid any encounters. Soon
the mojito and the sun hit me and I began having random thoughts
while wandering the already familiar streets and alleys of the Old
City area . I blamed the absence of machismo in my upbringing for my
reluctance to indulge in the oldest profession. On a more mindless
note, I wondered if one could actually fry eggs, sunny side up, on
the sidewalk.
In the midst of my lightheaded rambling I caught sight of a
stunningly beautiful young girl. It seemed as if she was following
me. She wore a loose floral mini dress with shoulder straps and
flip-flops. She had a delicate, slim figure with beautiful curves
and smooth dusky skin. She looked graceful, not at all like a
working girl.
Casually adjusting my pace, I began to keep her in sight. She turned
a couple of corners and paused by a storefront where she sensed my
gaze from a distance. Her eyes avoided me and for a moment she
frowned in pride.
Later she walked into a medical shop and I sat a distance away on
the shady side of the street and lit a cigarillo, concentrating on
not inhaling. As I blew the second puff of smoke, Brian showed up,
riding on his bike .
That day, as usual, he was offering me a deal, $100 for a box of
cigars .
" Right now I want to meet that morena." I said, pointing out the
exotic young girl just as she left the shop and began walking away.
He shadowed his eyes with his palm and said:
"I know her."
"No shit. She was probably following me ."
"What the hell are you talking about ? Her name is Jennifer. She's
from my neighborhood. Wait here I'll go get her for you."
He was about to jump on his bike but I held him back.
"Oh no. Not like this. I don't think she would like to meet me right
now. Do you really know her?"
"Yes. I know where she lives. She lives with her mother."
"What's she like? Does she go out?"
"How old is she?"
"Twenty-one or so. Old enough."
"Do you think she would like to meet me?"
"Sure. If you want I'll invite her to have dinner
with us."
"Be my guest. You're a real wonderman."
Brian had taken me to Casa de Blanca, a nice guesthouse .
The wonderman had also introduced me to Butragueno's restaurant
where I would dine and hang out almost every night. The cozy
restaurant was inside a fourth floor apartment . I used to sit on
its small balcony overlooking the street and read my book over beer.
The old proprietor, a retired person, would often keep me company
recounting his memoirs.
That night Brian delivered the box of cigars to my room and walked
me to Butragueno's where, to my pleasant surprise, the enchanting
Jennifer joined.
She was wearing the same dress she wore that day. Up close she was
even more radiant and captivating than when I had seen her from a
distance. Her ample, cascading black hair flowed onto her shiny bare
shoulders.
The greatest Florence Nightingale truly said :"Beautiful objects and
brilliancy of color are actual means of recovery."
She was shy, pensive and reserved and barely said a word all night
but she seemed to know that she was the special person on a special
occasion.
That night after Mr. Butragueno closed the restaurant, we all walked
by the breezy and moonlit drive and I got to have a few words with
her.
"Would you like to see me tomorrow?" I asked.
"I don't know," she said shyly with her eyes downcast.
When they were a dozen or so steps away, Brian made a wide turn on
his bike towards me.
"I think she likes you." He said.
Over the next few nights I held court at Butragueno's where they all
came to dinner and I got to see more of Jennifer . She was a woman
of many blushes and very few words. I could never guess what she was
thinking. She would not eat much and would quietly ask for her dish
to be bagged to go.
Little by little however, she seemed to get comfortable with the
fact that I wanted to be close and intimate with her. The second
night she sat next to me. She was wearing a hint of red lipstick.
I appreciated her , saying, "Your fragile beauty and submissiveness
fits the role well --- like a SUNDECK with BARBECUE pits."
The following day, I took Jennifer to a Mexican restaurant. She
loved her fortune cookie but kept her fortune without showing it to
anyone. She put her head on my shoulder and closed her eyes. I felt
preciously touched and kept still. That night we took a slow walk on
the drive and when we passed a dark stretch she suddenly stopped,
held my hand and whispered into my ear that she could go with me to
a guesthouse she had prior contact.
At the guesthouse, we tiptoed to the room so as not to disturb
anybody .
"Have you heard about the Newark Bay railway disaster ?" I asked her
.
"Ya, I've. But It's beyond my daily life's interest and jurisdiction
to inquire about its cause and go into its depth."
I did also tell her and fully explain everything about the danger I
faced while investigating the Newark Bay railway disaster .
"I don't doubt your readiness to fight . But it would be by no such
honestly brutal means as open robbery that you should be outwitted."
She continued," Make friends readily with no one while in this land,
sweetheart , yet avoid the appearance of keeping yourself aloof. You
understand?"
I whispered into her ears ,"On your first night undressing should be
the last thing on your mind."
She swiftly turned off the other light and came to bed. I looked at
her silhouette . Silently she cuddled up next to me and rested her
head on my chest for a while. I felt her warm silky touch for the
first time. I held her for a bit and slowly began kissing her
forehead, shoulder and lips. I touched her back and thighs .
"Enjoy, baby," I said gruffly as I kneeled on the floor . My hands
were on her haunches , pulling her hips against that of mine , to
let her know how much I wanted her . We made love. She was quiet and
tender at first but suddenly she became passionate.
Jennifer was full of surprises. After our intense lovemaking she
quickly put her dresses back on, turned on the light and spent some
time quietly examining me with the curiosity of a little girl who
had just undressed her doll for the first time. When I left the
bathroom, she had opened a can of beer from the mini refrigerator,
lit one of my cigars and, as if I was not there, begun going through
my things that were strewn around the room. She found my open
backpack in the closet and carefully went through all its pockets
and compartments. I did not have much to hide. As I lay in bed
watching her she found my passport and stared at my picture and my
name for some time. Then she found my wallet and carefully examined
my bit of cash, travelers' cheques .
"No pictures?" She asked.
"Sorry, I did not bring any."
Then she turned the light off, snuggled next to me in bed .
When I woke up by the tringing of my cell Jennifer had vanished by
then, to my utter surprise . Through the small window high above my
bed another cold and dark day in New Jersey poured in.
I clearly heard Alexandra’s voice on the cell: “The Admiralty or the
Government or whoever it is have loosened up at last !”
With a short pause, she said again : “You’re sitting on dynamite and
you don’t know it. You’ve got it right there with you and you could
exchange it tomorrow for a million dollars in the right place. No
wonder the government were so cagy, no wonder they knew something
fishy was going on and mounted the biggest investigation ever.”
There was a pause again, then she went on, slowly, impressively. ”I
understand the governments concerned are prepared to go any lengths
----- any lengths --- to secure the recovery of this valuable piece
and prevent its falling into wrong hands.”
The magnitude of the entire thing took my breath away, temporarily
inhabited all thought and speech.
That day I took a cab to the beach and stared at the blue sky and
the low clouds on the horizon. At night I stayed in and read. When I
went to bed the unchanged sheets had her scent. I left the house in
despair of losing her without any reason . I started towards my own
cottage.
Was it all a dream, or a prophetic vision of warning? Or was it in
any sense true? Had I, in some inexplicable way, left own town
earlier than being intended, and really traveled in a slow train?
Or had the girl with a beauty, for her own nefarious purposes,
mesmerized or hypnotized me, and to some extent succeeded? After
all, in such cases, nobody is above doubt.
The experience I had gone through left me a wiser man. Now a flash
of lurid light seemed to have transformed everything.
Breakfast was waiting and ready to be eaten, but I had little
appetite for it : it seemed to me I had forgotten what sleep was
like, I had had none for almost two days, I was living now in a
permanent state of physical and mental exhaustion and it was
becoming almost impossible to concentrate, to think of the hundred
and one things that had to be thought of all the time. More than
once I caught myself nodding and dozing off over my cup of coffee,
and it was only with a conscious effort of will that I forced myself
to my feet.
That afternoon, on Alexandra's insistence, I took her to the spot of
the disaster and entered into the wreckage. We checked all the
details .
As we were preparing to leave that place, a car was speeding down
towards us and I fell.
I immediately tried to leap to my feet to get a bearing on the
vehicle, but I did not succeed.
Even with the realization a jarring vibration, of a power and
intensity far beyond anything I had expected, reached my feet
through the ground. I heard clearly the sudden sharp sound like a
crash or violent accident, the grinding tearing scream of metal
being twisted and seemed tortured out of shape. And then, abruptly,
silence ------- a silence deep and still and ominous, and the sound
of the wind in the darkness was no sound at all.
Shakily, I rose to my feet . The blinding suffocating weather was a
nightmare, a cruel refinement of contrasting torture where the
burning in my throat contrasted with the pain of his freezing face
for dominance in his mind. I was coughing constantly in the chilled
air, no matter how I tried to cover mouth and nose with one hand, no
matter how shallowly I breathed to avoid chilling my lungs.
The devil of it was, shallow breathing was impossible. I was running
now, running as fast as away from murderous gale wind, life or death
was simply a factor of speed.
As Alexandra pointed to my face, I kneaded my face vigorously with
my chilled hands until I felt the blood pounding painfully back.
My greatest fear had already proved groundless --- there was no sign
of fire, no flickering red to see, no hidden crackling to hear. It
was still possible that some small tongue of flame was creeping
along inside the fuselage of the car looking for the petrol or oil
that would help it blaze into destructive life ------ and with that
wind to fan the flames, destruction would have been complete -----
but it was unlikely that any skilled driver cool-headed enough to
turn off the ignition would have forgotten to shut down the petrol
lines.
The car screeched to halt in the distance and as I looked, I could
not find clearly what was going to happen as it was already evening
. A tall person came down from the car’s driver's seat and walked
round to the mangled cabin , pushing his searchlight slightly to one
side. I could not see if there was any other person sitting in the
car.
It was already darkness. We could not see his face clearly , but the
tip of his gun barrel could be seen , protruding menacingly into the
searchlight’s beam.
“The end of the line, Mr. Dibyendu. You and your little friend will
please come out and drop your weapon.”
I was surprised to hear the unknown person calling me by my name.
There was nothing else for it. Stiffly , numbly, I came out , took a
couple of very slow steps towards him, stopped as his pistol
steadied unwaveringly on my chest and dropped my rifle on the
ground.
“You’re wasting your time. Both of you off.”
“It’s my legs. I think they are sleeping or frozen in the bitter
cold.”
“Come out!” he repeated sharply, “May be a bullet or two in one of
your legs will help,” he said unemotionally, ”to get the feeling
back.”
I did not know whether he meant it or not. I did not think so ---
gratuitous violence might not be in the character for this man, who
was supposed to be a professional killer.
“I’d snuff you and your accomplice like a candle.”
“No!” I said, savagely, the words carrying clearly in a sudden lull
in the wind.
“Lay a finger on my woman, and I’ll get you and break your neck like
a rotten carrot even if you empty the entire magazine into me.”
I looked at him as he crunched there like a great cat, boots digging
into the cold ground, fists clenched, ready for the challenge with
an explosive leap that would take him across that tiny space in a
split second of time. It was then that it happened, with the
stunning speed and inevitability that violent tragedy, viewed in
retrospect, always seems to possess. I thought perhaps that it was
some calculated plan, a last-minute desperate effort to save me that
made Alexandra act as she did .
As she passed by the man she tumbled, he put up an arm , not to help
her but to ward her off, and before he realized what was happening
--- it must have been the last quarter from which he expected any
show of violence or resistance--- she kicked out blindly and knocked
the gun out of his hand to land on the ground beneath. He sprang
after it like a cat-- the speed was unnecessary, the low growl of
warning from an armed accomplice of the man put paid to any ideas I
might have had of taking advantage of the situation-picked up the
gun and whirled round, the gun lining up on Alexandra, his eyes
narrowed to slits against the light, his face twisted, the lips
drawn far back over the teeth.
“Alexandra!” asked a female voice .
A woman ! lurking behind the car, was the nearest to her, and her
voice high-pitched.
“Look out, you bloody young lady !”
That lady also plunged forward to catch the gun by pushing Alexandra
to one side, but I do not think her boss even saw her coming out :
he was mad with fury and nothing on earth was going to stop him
pressing the trigger . The lady lunged at her, a six-inch butterfly
knife held high above her head in a classic stabbing position, a
crazed, blood thirsty grin with tiny droplets of spittle flying from
it was on her contorted face. " DIE BITCH DI............" she
screamed .
I tried to focus my eyes again and for a moment I caught a good
sight of her from afar as she was illuminated by approaching
searchlights.
It was Jennifer !
I was in total shock . Beautiful objects and brilliancy of color are
actual means of recovery.......
"Well ... It's true you just arrived here ..." Jennifer yelled .
glancing at me .
Suddenly, loud gunfire erupted from behind and I found Alexandra's
face sprayed with blood and chunks of organs and bones caused by
Jennifer's exploded abdomen . Alexandra continued to scream as I
found her, wearing a belted coat--- was lying on the ground. She was
stirring, and as I put my hands under her arms to help her up, she
screamed in sudden pain. I changed my grip and lifted her gently.
“My shoulder.” Her voice was low and husky. “It’s very sore.”
Easing back the blouse at the neck and closing it again , I
whispered, ”Your clavicle - the collar bone is gone. Just sit there
and hold your left arm in your right hand……...yes, so. I’ll strap
you up later. You won’t feel a thing, I promise you.”
"A woman, I told you, Sir."
She smiled at me, half-timidly, half-gratefully, and said nothing
more. I stared at her, glanced down at the dead girl at my feet then
gazed unseeingly after the rapidly receding headlights of the car,
until it had faded and vanished into the cold darkness of the
befalling night. Suddenly a rich baritone brought us back to the
scene again as the man in black emerged from behind, a smoking
berretta in one hand.
“That Jennifer was a fool.”
Ruing his fate of losing his right-hand 'Lady Terminator', he was
now in a vengeful mood. He ordered us to kneel down on the ground .
A bell was ringing far back in my mind, not so loud as the first but
even more desperately insistent, and all at once I had it and began
to rise to my feet. “But there were three of them, three of them !”
That was as far as I got when some metal object smashed across my
wrist with brutal force, sending my automatic gun flying, and
something small and hard ground viciously into the back of my neck.
“Don’t move, mr….Craxxi.” The voice, flat, controlled but alive with
a vibrant power that I had never heard before, was almost
unrecognizable. “Just one suspicious move and you get your head
blown off.”
I stood stock-still. The man behind that voice meant every word he
said. I did not need any convincing of that . The cold certainty in
that voice only reinforced that. The sanctity of human life was a
factor which can never enter into this man’s considerations.
“All right, Mr. Dino?” He was speaking again, his voice empty of all
concern for and interest in his accomplice : his only anxiety, if
one could by any stretch of imagination call it that, lay in his
desire for his accomplice’s effectively continued co-operation.
“All right,” Mr. Dino said softly. He was standing now and that both
mind and reactions were back to normal was evident from the
dexterity with which he caught the gun his boss threw back to him.
I was choked off in a grunt of pain as his gun barrel caught me
viciously across by the side of the head. I fell to my hands and
knees and remained there for several seconds, head down and shaking
it from side to side as I tried to overcome the dizziness and the
pain.
As I gave a glance at the leader, the mouth was a thin hard line,
the upper eyelids bar-straight and hooded above the unwinking eyes.
Flat marbled eyes of a faded light-blue . A KILLER’s Eyes.
Both Alexandra and I had to oblige because his gun was pointing at
us, while he was moving backward. Alexandra leaned across and tapped
me on the shoulder with something held in her hand. I reached up and
silently took it from her.
“The killer’s wallet,” she said softly. ”Fell from his pocket when I
knocked him down. He didn’t see it go, but I did --- sat on top of
it.”
The boss’ gun was still pointing at us , while he was now nearer to
his car, but none of them was looking at us at that moment. I
stripped off my gloves , opened the blue-colored wallet and tried to
examine its contents in the dim light. The wallet provided us with
that last proof of the thoroughness, the meticulous care with which
the man had been carrying out his job : The ‘D.A.’ stamped on the
hand-tooled morocco, the visiting cards with the inscribed
‘Demetrius Albertini’ above the name and address of the now
blacklisted J.Paul Getty Museum, and the leather-backed fold of
American Express cheques, each one already signed ‘D. Albertini’ in
its top left-hand corner, would have carried complete conviction.
And , too late, the wallet also presented us, obliquely but beyond
all doubt, with the reason for many things, especially the purpose
of the crashing of the carriage to the explanation of why I had been
attacked the last night : inside the bill-fold compartment was the
newspaper cutting which I read very slowly, below the minimal
decibel level, just in a whispering note , with infinite chagrin.
The account was brief, that it concerned the dreadful disaster in
Elizabeth, New Jersey, where the small luxury commuters’ train had
plunged through an opened span of the bridge into the waters of
Newark Bay. I already knew from the quick glance I had at the
cutting. But, as I had also gathered that the luxury train was
carrying the prized ‘EUPHRONIOS KRATER’.
This was a follow-up to the original story that goes like this :
Acquisition of the Euphroniosa krater in 1972 sparked a media frenzy
in both the US and Italy.
In their decade-long investigation of the illicit antiquities trade,
Italian authorities have amassed the strongest evidence to date that
the most prized ancient Greek vase in New York’s Metropolitan Museum
of Art was looted.
The Euphronios krater, described as one of the finest antiquities
ever ,obtained by the Met, was being transported to another city for
restoration works. Italian prosecutors believe they have the proof,
according to previously undisclosed court records.
The records include excerpts from the handwritten memoir of Robert
E.Hecht Jr., the American dealer who sold the krater, a terracotta
bowl, to the Met in 1972.
In his memoir, seized during a raid of his Paris apartment in
2001,Hecht tells a very different story. Instead of buying the
krater from a reputable dealer with a documented ownership history,
he says he purchased it in 1971 from an Italian dealer, Giacomo
Medici, who was convicted last year of trafficking in looted art.
Medici turned up one morning at Hecht's apartment in Rome and showed
him a Polaroid photograph of a krater signed by Euphronios, a master
vase painter of ancient Greece, the memoir says. Within an hour,
Hecht writes, the two men flew to Milan and caught a train north to
Lugano, Switzerland, where Medici had the bowl in a safe-deposit
box. Hecht says he offered Medici 1.5 million Swiss francs -- about
$380,000 at the time - for the krater on the spot, making a cash
down payment of about $40,000. He then headed straight to Zurich,
Switzerland, he writes, where he left the krater with a restorer
before heading back to Rome to go on a family ski trip. In this
account, he makes no reference to documentation establishing that
the object had been legally excavated and exported from Italy. The
Italians' new evidence about the krater's origins emerged at a time
of heightened controversy over the ethics of antiquities
acquisitions, with Italy, Greece and other source countries pressing
claims for the return of rare items they say were illegally removed.
Hecht and Marion True, the former antiquities curator of the J. Paul
Getty Museum in southern California, are now facing trial in Rome
for allegedly trafficking in looted art. Medici was convicted last
year in the same case and is appealing a 10-year prison sentence.
Italy is also demanding the return of 42 objects from the Getty.
This J. Paul Getty Museum is accused of dealing in stolen
antiquities.
Among the other new evidence cited by the Italians is a sworn
deposition by True before an Italian prosecutor. In the document,
also obtained by The Times, she said Met antiquities curator
Dietrich von Bothmer showed her an aerial photograph and pointed to
the exact tomb in a heavily looted necropolis north of Rome where
the krater had been excavated.
Italian officials said in Rome in interviews in 2005 that two men
from Cerveteri, site of the ancient necropolis, have told them that
they helped illegally remove the krater from a tomb in 1971.
Probably Mr. Albertini wanted to take illegal possession of the vase
and it was still inside that mangled wreckage . It was still unclear
whether Mr. Albertini was traveling by the same ill-fated luxury
train that met with the disaster and now at a distance behind us or
he intercepted it in the middle himself or with the help of his
accomplices to cause the accident. If he was really in the train,
how could he survived the disaster while all the others had died .
If not, then he and his gang must have manipulated the tracks and
the bridge so as to crash the train . But I was sure that the vase
was still inside the wreckage of the train and has not been fallen
in the hands of Albertini . The attack on me the night before the
previous night was its proof .
Chilly -- , that it was -- very chilly; but as my faculties returned
I remembered my precious bag, and forgot all else in a momentary
terror that it had been taken from me. No; there it was my elbow had
been pressed against it as he slept. But how was this? The time was
not in motion. I glanced at my watch. Barely midnight! We were not
due there till four o'clock in the morning or so.
And Yes. One thing I did not disclose to Alexandra . That I had
shared bed with that 'Jennifer' . That night Jennifer checked my
passport and other documents . Probably she was set after us to know
the secret information about me and about what I was investigating
in this particular case. I silently blamed myself for putting
Alexandra into the hands of this dangerous Jennifer .
Time check 2200 .
The killer had, by that time, walked up to his car and opening its
door, went inside. There came the sudden click, abnormally loud and
I stretched my length on the ground, picked my rifle up in my hands
and had the rifle raised to my shoulder. And then, suddenly, the car
had come clearly into sight, speeding up , probably trying to mow
down us. And just twenty yards ! I could never miss at this
point-blank range, even with a moving target .
But I had gambled, and I had lost. The car was already on the far
side, even at its nearest point of approach it would still be three
hundred yards away which I could not guess in the darkness. Mr.
Albertini must have been desperate, desperate to the point of
madness, for no sane man would have taken the fearful risks of
driving the car through sloping surfaces. Or could it be that he
just did not know the suicidal dangers involved?
After a few seconds I was convinced he did not . I tried fleetingly,
frantically, to get inside his cold and criminal mind, to try to
understand his conception of us. Did he think that we thought, like
him, that the krater was all important, that human life was cheap
and readily expendable ? If he did, and guessing the quality of my
marksmanship with a rifle, would he not be convinced that he would
be shot down as soon as he had stepped out?
But the time for thought, had there ever been such a time, was past.
I was on my way, plunging out into the open across the narrow
thirty-yard stretch that led into the first of the fissures. The
first shell came out of my gun and smashed through the hood of the
old car and the second into the engine with all the metallic clamor.
But still the vintage black beauty rolled on . I went on firing in a
line, indiscriminately and aimlessly, but I missed the tyres. I was
about half-way across when I heard the engine change gear. And then,
when I was just less than a hundred yards away and after a lull in
my firing --- the engine stopped as abruptly as if the ignition had
been switched off. There was no mistaking the high-pitched screech
of those worn brakes..
Then, abruptly, the door on the driver’s side burst open---Mr.
Albertini came out into the open.
I catapulted myself off my seat, took one tremendous hop and hurled
myself bodily towards the chief criminal, who, his face twisted in a
vicious and unrecognizable mask, had pushed himself off the car with
one hand and with the other was fumbling desperately to bring
something out from under his coat. He saw he could not make it in
time, threw himself to one side, but I was like a cat on his feet .
There was an astonishing speed of his reflexes , that burning left
arm of his carried with lethal conviction. And he was a very big
man, six feet three at least two hundred pounds, but when that fist
caught him with such frightening power just under the heart he
staggered back and slid slowly to the ground, unseeing eyes turned
up to the first driving flakes of the newly fallen snow.
I ran down towards him and flung myself completely on top of the
killer and started butting him savagely in the face with the top of
my already emptied-out rifle and Albertini, trapped in the narrow
space, could find no room to make use of his much greater strength.
I stared down at the outspread stillness of the man, his face empty
of all expressions.
It might have been a flash of fear, of realization that he had come
to the end of his road that I saw in Albertini's eyes, but I could
never swear to it, the turn of his head, the sudden headlong dash
for the shelter by the side, five yards away, were so swift that I
could be certain of nothing . But swift as he was , I was even
swifter: I caught Albertini before he had covered three yards and we
both crashed together, clawing, punching and kicking in the grim
desperate silence of men who know that the winner’s prize is his
life.
He is evidently in the same hole as myself. What in Heaven's name
are we waiting here for?
Neither of us had allowed each other to regain our feet since the
struggle had begun, and still we rolled over and over first he on
top , now me. My hands were clubbing and hammering the life out of
Albertini . Then I remembered he was fully prepared to kill
Alexandra with as little compunction as he would snuff out the life
of a fly.
Suddenly, I was underneath , one arm crooked round Albertini’s neck
while the other delivered a murderous serious of short-arm jabs,
each one drawing a grunting gasp of agony from a white-faced
Albertini : finally , goaded into supreme effort by panic and fear,
he managed to break loose and hurled himself not towards the high
ground where safety lay, but for the shelter of the steep rocks ,
where nobody would never know safety again . I, cat-like as ever,
was only feet behind him, moving so fast.
But, his body skidded violently first to one side then the other,
finally making a complete half-circle and sliding backward down the
steep rock , following the slope . And then came a long quavering
moan of agony, cut off as abruptly as it had begun. And suddenly
there was only silence. But then, I shall never know how I survived
all the crazy chances I took on my mad headlong run down that steep
slope, unable to stop, pounding my sliding way alongside where the
slip of either foot would have been my death. But Albertini slipped
, felled and the next moment had disappeared from my sight. Already
trying all I could to brake myself , I flung myself flat on the cold
ground to stop myself, I caught a glimpse of Albertini and as I
peered down through the two-foot wide gap between the rocks , I felt
faint : the crevices narrowing as it went down to not much more than
two feet, ended about 15 feet down in a solid shelf of rock, a ledge
sculpted by years of weathering of the rocks .
Albertini was still on his feet, shaky. I could see, but seemingly
unharmed --- it had been a short drop. Albertini , flattened lips
drawn back over his teeth, was staring up at me.
“A rope, Mister !” he said softly. “Get me a rope. I beg you.”
“Very well,” I said calmly. My mind felt preternaturally clear. I
knew his life hung on just a fraying thread.
Meanwhile, Alexandra had already brought a large and heavy rope from
inside the wreckage . I un-wound the rope thrown by her.
“Here it comes.”
He reached up both hands to catch the falling rope. The heavy rope
fell on him like a plummeting stone . With the tangle of the rope
and the narrowness of the crevices he had no chance to get clear and
he crashed further on to the ledge , now just holding a tip of the
cliff with his hands.
“Throw me a rope.”
He could see death’s hand reaching out to touch him as it was
inevitable that it was impossible to cling to a cliff for more than
a few minutes . I thought of the trail of death Albertini had left
behind him, of how close to the brink of death he had brought to the
girl now trembling in the crook of my wounded arm. I stepped back
without a word and walked slowly up to meet the officer-in-charge
who had come in hurriedly , probably informed by Alexandra on the
wireless sensing the impending danger ahead of us . Within a moment
we heard a loud thunderous voice going down and splashing into the
cold water of the Newark Bay below.
But the old man smiled condescendingly, though with a touch of
superciliousness. It was very well done. He waved his hand.
The white hell of that night, the agony of the bitter dreadful hours
that followed – and God only knows how many hours these were – is a
memory that will never die.
The thoughts, the emotions of these hours I could never afterwards
recall. Chagrin there was, the most bitter I have ever known, an
overwhelming mortification and self-condemnation that I had all
along been deceived with such childish ease, that I had been
powerless to offer any hindrance to the endless resourcefulness of
that brilliant criminal. With that thought anger would flood in to
supplant the chagrin, a consuming hatred and a fury that flamed
throughout my entire being, but even that anger was not all
exclusive : it could not be, not so long as fear, a fear for the
safety of Alexandra such as I had never before known, was the
dominating factor in my mind. And it was.
"I should be glad to be free from the responsibility of the charge,
but I dare not let these out of my own hands till the agreement is
formally signed," I told the officer.
September 17, 2006
Image under license with Gettyimages.com
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Stories
The Week of September 17, 2006
Fighting Terror: Musharraf's Offer Too Little, Too
Late! by Rajinder Puri
Clash of 'Words' not 'Civilizations' by Col.
Rahul K. Bhonsle
The Last "J" that Broke Bush's Back by Gaurang
Bhatt, MD
Non-Aligned Movement Summit in Havana, Sept 06
by Dr. Subhash Kapila
Social Rocketry by J. Ajithkumar
Are China's Rulers Illegal? by William R.
Stimson
Empires and Dust: Travels in Modern India II by
Ashish Nangia
Dating the Dunes at Sam a Photo
Essay by Sutapa Chaudhuri
The World is One Family by TA Ramesh
Arguments for including Bhoti Language
in the 8th Schedule of the
Indian Constitution by Stanzin Dawa
Understanding Mahabharata: A Woman's Fury, Soft
Skills and a Hero by Satya Chaitanya
And, the Clock Stopped ! by VK Joshi
Ustad Bismillah Khan: The Shehnai Maestro by
Yamini Ayyagari
Search Engines: Technology Behind Searching
by Ruchi Gupta
In Feline Company by Bijoyeta Das
Friendship Never Ends by Wazhma Frogh
The Night of Ten – La Noche del 10 by Dibyendu
Ghoshal
The Coast of Mendocino by Walter Durk
A Hope by Arya Bhushan
Ganga's Daughters by Julia Dutta
Investing in Women by Stephanie Hiller
Insurgency: The Long Way Down by Nava Thakuria
The Dark Side of Media Hype by Anuja Agrawal
On the Fast Track to Growth? by Usha Kakkar
Struggling to Make It: A Mother's Dilemma by
Rajesh Talwar
Arun Kumar Das: A Beam of Hope by Amarendra
Kishore
Pune: Down Memory Lane by Vikram Karve
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