22, Interrogation

"What happened"?

"I'm sorry Mr Sharma. As I said before, I don't really know."

"A power surge of that magnitude could not have occurred accidentally. Nor could anyone in the vicinity have survived it. Yet the co-ordinates of the... occurrence... coincided precisely with your location on that night as transmitted to the Padma Series satellites by your GPS device... Indian made satellites are considered the best in the world, they are used by the Americans, did you know that, Miss Steel?"

"Yes, I did, I..."

"Our investigators are out there now, checking the area for evidence and analysing the data. These are dangerous times, as you know, Ms Steel - there are military powers out there that... We've sealed off the village, no-one can go in or out. With Mr White about to grace us with his presence, we can't afford to take any chances. We will soon discover exactly what occurred, but I am keen to know what your part in it all was, Ms Steel. We are not entirely ignorant, you see, of your political leanings."

"What do you mean? I don't have any..."

"These poor tribal ladies you took with you could have been killed..."

Kamala laughed..."That I took with me? What are they, children? And anyway, what do I know about the forest?"

"That is just what we are trying to ascertain, Ms Steel. What do you know?"

"All I know is what I've told you already; I went with Dr Singh to the village and assisted in the research there. Dr Singh asked me to go with the indigenous women and watch their full moon ceremony because he thought there might be a tree involved which would help in the research... I'm not even sure what the research was, he never told me the full story! Why don't you ask him?"

"Oh believe me, we will. He and Ms Jensen have been flown to Greenfields Asia head office in the capital to file a full report of their research. We will be checking their account against yours. So, you went with these ladies to the forest, and then...?"

"And then, as I told you before, they started... sort of... singing, the moon came out, I stood up and I... um... felt a bit faint, so I leant against this old tree... and that's the last thing I remember until I woke up. I must have passed out. I have these funny turns sometimes..."

"'Funny turns'? What is that?"

"Um... episodes, things happen which I... I can't really explain. Hallucinations, I suppose. Black outs. I've been taking tablets. Sedatives."

The sound of Mr Sharma's pencil tapping on the table made the pause seem much longer than it really was. Kamala realised she was pressing her snake pendant so hard between her fingers that they were starting to tingle with pins and needs. The sound of the air conditioner seemed to swell and press against the walls of the little room, press in on Kamala's eardrums, her eyeballs, her throat. She picked up the glass of water in front of her and took a sip. Mr Sharma stared at her for a moment, a small muscle at his jaw throbbed, then he broke into a dazzling smile...

"I'm sorry to be tiresome Miss Steel, but are you absolutely sure you've remembered to tell us everything?"

Polite and pleasant though Mr Sharma, of Greenfields Asia Incorporated, might be - something about him made her uneasy. Maybe it was his silent side-kick... she realised now that the introduction she had been expecting since she entered the room almost an hour ago had never come - like the second shoe which never dropped. She hadn't said anything herself since Mr Sharma's last question. He spoke again, but although his smooth politeness never wavered - his voice took on an icy quality which made her throat feel dry;

"Forgive me, Miss Steel, perhaps I didn't make myself clear... what I meant to say was - you are lying."

Kamala's throat felt even drier. She took another sip of water.

"I'm not ly..."

"Miss Steel, please don't insult my intelligence"

"Ok, ok. I'll tell what really happened, it's no big deal, I was probably half cut on that root wine...No great scientific mystery."

"'Half cut'?"

"Drunk...I had a sip of some drink Dhanmatbai gave me, it made me a bit light headed. When the moon came out, I..."

Mr Sharma and the Silent Sidekick glanced quickly at each other. The Silent Sidekick, moved for the first time. He scribbled furiously for a second or two on a note pad on the desk in front of him. Kamala looked down at her hands clenched together in her lap. She'd just have to tell them. She couldn't bear the embarrassment. What would they think? The urbane Mr Sharma with his flashing gold wedding ring, and the silent, smirking man sitting beside him, never saying a word. But she'd been in here for over an hour now - they knew she was holding back, and as long as they thought that there was something more she could tell them, she knew they wouldn't give up. She didn't know what they were after, but unless she told them the truth, however shameful and insignificant, they would never end this ghastly meeting.

How stupid they'd feel when they realised that instead of some sinister scientific espionage agent, what they had here was just a silly student girl, pissed on local hooch, stripping off in the middle of a forest and passing out in a hollow tree trunk. They'd sack her. Send her home. Tell Mother. Oh God! Tears stung her eyes, and she blinked hard - determined not to make herself any more foolish than she was already going to seem. Still staring down at her hands, she took a deep breath and told them everything, right up until the closing of the lips of the ancient tree around her face. When she'd finished, she looked up, her facing blazing with shame, but relieved that she'd be able to go now. However she'd expected Mr Sharma and his silent companion to react - laughter, disgust, scorn, lewdness - she didn't expect this. Mr Sharma's face was dark with anger. His fingers - wrapped around the pencil - white, and then the pencil snapped. He threw the broken pieces down on the table, and Kamala jumped back to avoid being blinded by the ricocheting shards.

Through tight lips, Mr Sharma, now standing over her, hissed. "You little gori bitch! You think we're a bunch of superstitious primitives, don't you? You think you can fob us off with some mumbo jumbo story... just because you've dressed up in a sari for fancy dress, just because your father screwed some Indian whore... it doesn't give you the right to come here and mess with our country, lie to us, patronise us... We have powers you can't even imagine, just wait... We'll get to the bottom of this with or without you. We know that you are some kind of activist in UK and that your associates have been sending you libellous allegations about our organisation."

He snatched a piece of paper out of the Silent Sidekick's hand and read "'We've found out some pretty scary things about your beloved Greenfields... Forget guns, forget weapons of mass destruction, think Weapons of the Apocalypse... there's nothing they want more than a good, profitable world war, and they've got it all set up... all they need now is the ammo.' Do you deny you received this from your informants in London? Hmmm? Do you deny that you are an activist who takes part in violent demonstrations against legitimate businesses enterprises who are merely trying to better the life of the average Indian?"

He flung a computer printout on the desk in front of her, bearing an image of her own face, fists up-raised, mouth yelling, eyes gleaming - a fuzzy Amelia just visible behind her left ear. Kamala was speechless. She just stared back at him, open mouthed... Mr Sharma was clearly heartened by the effect he'd had on her and decided to press home his advantage. "If you don't tell us, we'll find out anyway. We have your precious... " He twisted his head sideways to look at the Silent Sidekick's notes " 'Dhanmatbai' in custody right now (thank you for that piece of intelligence at least, you've confirmed our suspicions that she plays a significant part in all this) - and we are not constrained by diplomatic etiquette in our methods for questioning her..."

"WHAT??!!" Kamala screamed. "What do you mean you've got her 'in custody'? You're not the fucking police! You're just a jumped up company security guard...what are you doing to her? Get her out now! Take me to her...." The words were tearing through her sandpaper dry throat, while her mind cowered in a corner of her head saying, well done, Kamala, now you've really, really blown it... she waited for the new 'nasty policeman' Mr Sharma to explode, have her arrested, put her 'in custody', have her tortured - but to her amazement she realised that he had sat back down in his chair and both he and the Silent Sidekick were pressing themselves as far back as they could in their chairs staring at her in what looked like... fear.

With a sudden wave of relief that she'd got away with it... for now... she turned sharply and marched to the door, barking "Ok, if you won't tell me where she is, I'll find her myself!" Just as she reached it and was turning the handle, she caught a glimpse of her reflection in the glass panels at the top of the door and flinched. Her eyes glittered like the coals of Hell, her face was pulled taut and gaunt with anger, her chin struck out - lengthening her neck, the twined snakes at its base looked hot and volatile, her hair - full of dust and sweat - was flattened against her skull... she looked like she was about to strike venom into a tiny morsel of a mouse. Striding down the corridor of Greenfields Asia Incorporated's sub-regional office, her legs - which kept catching in the folds of the sari that Dhanmatbai had dressed her in that morning - started feeling less solid and her sudden burst of confidence was evaporating fast.

She could hear raised voices in the air, sense anger, fear, crackling up through the nylon carpets, through the soles of her sandals. Some of it was her own, but there was more, much more, and it was growing, building up, like a raging river pressing against a dam. She strained to see if she could hear the sound of Dhanmatbai screaming... Where were they holding her? What were they doing to her? She had to find her, it was her fault they'd got her... Oh god, it was all her fault, the GPS watch, all the information she'd given Dr Singh, and now she'd given these bastards the ammunition they needed to do unspeakable things to that dignified old woman, who had trusted her, loved her. She'd betrayed her, she'd betrayed her. Remorse and terror welled up into her eyes... her view of the corridor clouded over and she didn't see the man coming towards her.

They'd collided before she knew it, he grabbed her arms. The rage that had given her such persuasive powers with Mr Sharma came lashing back, and now gave her a strength and ferocity she'd never known she had... she hit out with arms and knees and teeth, she knew she could kill him... would have killed him, but something about his voice broke through her fury... a voice like warm chocolate. She wanted to weep with relief, she wanted to throw herself into his arms like the sissy heroine of some dodgy forties film and let him carry her away from all this in his strong, brown arms.

But he was hissing "Come on, we've got to get the hell out of here... it's not safe. Quick, this way!"

He dragged her through a peeling door set in a recess of the corridor, and down a dark stairwell which reeked of garbage and piss. The voices were getting louder - angrier.

"No, stop, we've got to go back. They've got Dhanmatbai!"

"I know. There's nothing we can do... can't you move any faster, dammit?"

The multiple forces now pulling and pushing at her were paralysing her - the sari wrapping itself around her legs with every step, the tide of anger washing against the outside of the building, the crackling fury radiating from within it, the gaping hole of not knowing what she'd done to Dhanmatbai... But Deepak, pulling her down the stairs, three at a time, his fingers sunk into her upper arm, his other arm round her waist shoving her on, overwhelmed all other forces. It wasn't just his physical insistence - it was his certainty of the immediate danger they were in that she sensed and knew she couldn't fight. She'd have to come back for Dhanmatbai.

She grabbed fistfuls of the slippery material which was sucking at her shins, pulled them up to free her legs and bounded down the steps in time with Deepak. They'd reached the last flight of stairs now.

"What's happening, Deepak? Where are we going?"

"We're going to somewhere safe...just shut up and run, I'll explain everything later."

"But the danger's out there... we're going towards it..."

"The danger's everywhere - you know that. Stop! Shshsh."

They'd reached the bottom of the stairs. In the pitch dark she could smell musty sacks, stale sweat, motor oil, bidi smoke, the sweet rot of garbage, strong now. They must be in some kind of storeroom which doubled as living space for some lucky servant. Over the sound of her hammering heart and hers and Deepak's breath sawing painfully, trying not to make a sound and failing, she could hear the voices loud and clear now. They virtually surrounded the building, the voices were behind them and on either side, but not in front of them... the anger in them was raw and ancient, and it was haemorrhaging through a fresh wound.. and it was all centred on where they stood. She was just starting to wonder what they were waiting for when a blade of light sliced through a crack in the door with a roar.

"Now!" Deepak yelled and, flinging the door open, yanked her through and pushed her into the front seat of the Tata Sumo which was swerving towards them, screeching tyres, door hanging open.

"Kill the fucking lights, for god's sake, Sunil!" Deepak hissed, pulling the back door shut behind him. "And slow down - we're trying to sneak out quietly, not do a bloody Bollywood car chase!" "Sorry, sir, habit." Grinned the driver and switched the light off. But it was too late. A shout of discovery peeled away from the general chanting at the front of the building and a man came running around the corner - a white cloth tied around his head like a bandana, and a long-handled, sharp-clawed implement in his hand. He swung it down towards the windscreen, the iron claws coming straight for Sunil's face...

The car lurched forward as Sunil slammed his foot on the accelerator. There was a sickening thump and the car tipped slightly, rocked twice as first the front, and then the back tyres rolled over the body. Kamala could see the iron claws sticking out from underneath the car, like the lifeless hand of a slain giant. More quickly than she could have imagined possible, the Sumo, that only a moment ago had been alone in a dark, empty back alley, was completely surrounded by surging bodies, red eyes, screaming mouths, clenched fists.

Sunil was weeping. "Hai Ram, Ram! I've killed him. I've killed him in cold blood! Somebody's son. And now they're going to kill us. I deserve it, Deepak-bhai, Kamala Madam, I am a murderer, but they are going to kill you too... because of me. I have murdered you. Oh, ma, forgive me, I have killed everybody...". He was sobbing loudly, his elbows on the steering wheel, his head in his hands. Deepak leant forward from the back seat - squeezing his shoulder.

"Come on, yaar, pull yourself together. You were saving your own life... don't think about it now, just ease the car forwards, gently." But it was hopeless. There was no way the vehicle could move through the solid wall of bodies, not without killing many more of them. And Sunil was broken. He could not have driven now even if the crowds had parted like the red sea and beckoned him through...

"Sunil-bhai, I'm sorry!" Deepak was saying now "I should never have dragged you into this. Kamala, I'm sorry, I tried - It's me who's killed us all..." He had to raise his voice over the yells of the crowd, was almost yelling himself now. Kamala looked back and saw that tears were streaming down his cheeks too. She looked back at the press of bodies around the shuddering car, the fingers clawing at the windows, the faces contorted with rage pressed up against the glass, the dark eyes in blazing yellow pools boring into her.

There was something about them... something familiar... then it clicked. The skin the colour and sheen of walnut, the smudged tattoos showing beneath the white headbands tied across broad foreheads... So that's it, she thought. Of course, it makes perfect sense. She had betrayed them. They had given her their hospitality, they had fed her and sheltered her and told her their stories and in return she had brought destruction to their forest. The matriarch had put her trust in her, honoured her and allowed her into their most sacred ceremony and she had rewarded her by getting her arrested and tortured. And now one of them was dead. Not because of Sunil or Deepak, but because of her. And Sunil himself and Deepak were going to die too. Because of her.

There was a loud crack and Kamala felt something spatter on her right cheek and arm. She looked down and saw that she was speckled with blood. For a moment she wondered why she couldn't feel any pain. Then she looked at Sunil and realised it was his blood she'd been sprayed with. The arrow had come straight through the windscreen... its tail end was still in the hole it had made on the way through. Its head was buried in Sunil's left shoulder. He hadn't moved or cried out. He'd accepted his fate and knew he deserved it. But Kamala knew that he didn't. She knew that she had unleashed this chaos on all of them. She knew that it was her responsibility to put it right. She reached up and pressed a button. The hum of the sun roof sliding open was drowned out by the howls of rage that now flooded into the car.

Deepak grabbed her arm, shouting "What are you doing....? Kamala, are you fucking mad, sit down, get down, don't put your head up there, they'll blow it off...." but her arm slithered smoothly out of his grasp and his voice was soon far below her. She knew now what to do.

Oh how I laughed, my beauty, when we rose up like that out of the roof of the car! Did you see the look on their faces? Like they were seeing a ghost! They couldn't see me of course, my arms wrapped tight around you, all they saw was your sari wrapped tight around your sinuous body and your hair billowing out in the wind like a cobra's hood. And your eyes glittering like the coals of hell and your long, white throat... and we rose up and up, and flowed over the front of the car, the long tail of your sari flowing behind you, following you over the windscreen, over the bonnet and on the road, as the crowd parted like the red sea before you. Did you see the look on their faces? Not the fear and the shock so much... but the respect! They worshipped you, my baby. And so they should. You are their saviour. You are everybody's saviour.

Kamala moved slowly but steadily forwards. The car followed her like a well trained, but frightened, puppy, though Sunil still slumped, inert with grief and shock, his hands hanging limply in his lap. At the end of the corridor, which ran between the now petrified and silent bodies, someone was waiting for her.

The light from the main street which crossed this unlit back alley plunged the huge figure into silhouette, fizzed a halo at the edge of the cloudburst of hair, glinted off the gold that ringed each arm from wrist to elbow, gleamed blood-red off the curves of the huge, silky bosom. Kamala didn't need light to recognise her... after all she'd been waiting for years... had been expecting every minute she'd been in India to see her again.

The gold braceleted arms reached out to enfold her again.