Kingdom Come

three

The next day, Noor made a slight but significant change to their plans. First, she insisted on coming because she was so damn bored working on her ‘Commitment in literature was a hoax’ thesis. And secondly, she was missing Sam and she didn’t want to, so she was going down to Gulmarg and indulging in a day of sightseeing and souvenir shopping. And pigging out on junk food.

Noor was what you’d call an emotional eater. Ziya knew her best friend’s moods as well as she knew her own, so she knew the deep hurt Noor was hiding under her flippant arguments. So, she simply texted Krivi to tell him that they could take two cars down, since Noor and Ziya would probably end up spending the night in Pehelgam.

He sent a word back in reply.

No.

No explanations, no excuses and definitely no deference to the boss’s wishes. Just a no.

She was half-tempted to go down to his cottage and give him a good tongue-lashing for such insubordination, but then her Inner Bitch reared her head and argued that the best revenge in this scenario would be compliance. She’d seen the acute distaste in his eyes when he’d touched her yesterday, which meant that he wasn’t a big fan of her company. For whatever godforsaken reason. So, what better way to avenge her piqued ego than by making him suffer her presence for as long as she could? And that made her mind up and she only sent a single Cool back.

And her last thought, before she slid into deep dreamless sleep was the way his eyes had gone absolutely still when he’d been looking at her. And the way that stillness had touched off something inside of her. A tiny explosion of … something. An explosion for a man who couldn’t even look her in the eye.

So, she consigned him to the deepest bowels of Hades and slept dreamlessly.

The next day, more of the amazing spring weather continued, as Ziya woke up at six a.m.

The sky was so blue it was unreal, and the world looked so fresh and silent, Dada Akhtar’s roses were in vivid Technicolor against the green of the garden. There was a river of fog winding down the ground, and she leaned out of her window and breathed deep. Closing her eyes, just … glad to be alive. Glad to be here and living this moment in Goonj.

Echo.

She opened her eyes and looked straight at the gamekeeper’s cottage. By some twisted uncanny coincidence, the cottage’s owner stepped out of the entrance at the same time and into his Jeep. Ziya shut the window closed with an audible snap. He was not the first thing she wanted to see any morning.

But, two hours later when she was packing for her overnight trip, he was what she thought of and she couldn’t understand her hopeless attraction at all. Especially, because asking Noor about it would be an exercise in futility and awkwardness since she already suspected some deep love-story schtick between Ziya and her taciturn assistant, incurable romantic that she was. And Noor would never keep her trap shut if she caught even a whiff of the tumult and confusion and plain anger running through Ziya’s mind.

“Hey, babe,” Noor said as she came in, without bothering with the knocking. “I have to borrow your earmuffs since …” She stopped dead as she saw the mass of jumbled clothes on her best friend’s bed.

“Did a tornado just pass through here?”

Ziya raked a hand through her short hair and kicked at a stray white tee that had fallen off the pile on her bed.

“It’s a business meeting. But we are going sightseeing later on and I have no fricking clue how to dress up and down at the same time.”

Noor manfully kept her full lips from splitting into a wide grin at the outraged picture her friend made, standing in her flannel pants and cute T-shirt. Ziya dressed more for comfort than she did for style.

“Want some help?”

Ziya gave her a speaking look through dark eyes. “No. I want to not go on this stupid meeting and then have to listen to you whine about how Sam is messing with you for the rest of the day. I have the harvest reports to get through, and the labor union is breathing down my neck and—”

Noor bounded over to her side of the bed and slapped her once. On the cheek. Lightly.

“Shut up,” she advised mildly.

Ziya’s eyes flashed, but she shut up. She rubbed her cheek and said, “I am going to talk to Sam about the benefits of staying single.”

Noor stuck her tongue out and retorted, “You need my help, you thrift store ragamuffin. So let’s not make idle threats here. Capisce?”

Ziya’s shoulders slumped and she conceded defeat.

“I am in your hands, Mistress Gabbana.” She was the undisputed expert on style and fashion as much as the state of politics in 19th Century England, the time period of her doctorate.

Noor grinned, ran a friendly hand on Ziya’s shoulder. “Make that Mistress Dolce. It just sounds better, doesn’t it?”

Ziya sighed and agreed. Because right now she needed Mistress Dolce’s help and she was running out of time because the Crypt Keeper without a watch would arrive on the dot of nine and she didn’t want to deprive him of her presence a second longer than she had to. And because no one was there to counter argue the point with her, she absolutely believed in its logic.

Pehelgam was a small town on the national highway, a tourist hub, just like most of the state’s territory was, and it had many focal points of sightseeing that were a must-see for everyone who visited the place. There was Chandanwadi, an ice cave that never melted through which the river Lidder flowed. Betaab Valley, which was about four acres of parkland where a very famous Bollywood movie had been shot. And, in the beautiful distance, one could see the Himalayan ranges in their majestic splendor.

Since, tourism was the biggest trade for the town; out-of-town vehicles were not allowed to operate inside city limits. Recently though, security had been upped in this sensitive spot because of IED bombings in nearby Sonmarg and Gulmarg in 2008. Pehelgam had, by the grace of God, escaped terrorist attacks but the tourists, army and visitors alike knew that was just fate and not coincidence.

Because of Sam’s pull with the local authorities, all Krivi had to do was flash a Military Vehicle pass and they were allowed to pass through without incident. Noor noted the action and some of the animation died from her excited face.

They stopped at the Paradise Inn, which was one of the circuit houses in town which select guests could use. Local businesses from Srinagar were one of the privileged few. Noor took off for a nap and made Ziya promise that they would do the cable car ride before sunset today. Since Gulmarg was a good two hours away, it was going to be a little tight.

Ziya and Krivi arrived at the Jaan-e-Bahaar estate where the saffron fields were located and their owner Bashir Khan awaited them.

The fields were on the highway itself, and were blooming with healthy orange strands and little purple wildflowers that made her want to run out and gather up an armful. Krivi braked smoothly at a convenient spot off the shoulder of the road and Ziya hopped down before he could do much more than engage in neutral.

His eyes followed her slim, jeans-clad figure as she ran nimbly between the rows of saffron and wildflowers and suddenly knelt down and just touched a single bloom. His heart thudded uncomfortably, once, and he gripped the steering wheel tightly before deliberately loosening his muscles one by one. He went out and joined her at a brisk pace and was once again caught off-guard at the sheer, unguarded pleasure visible on her face.

Ziya Maarten didn’t know the first thing about camouflage. And he couldn’t understand how she’d survived without getting her heart shattered into a million pieces given her rough childhood and adolescence. Either she was the most deluded creature he’d ever come across, or the strongest woman.

Ziya, unaware of the conflict inside her assistant manager’s brain, just smiled goofily at him as she knelt between the sea of flowers. Breathing in the heady scent of one of the costliest spices on earth. In a reputable restaurant in London, a pound of saffron would be bought for a cool three hundred pounds without a flicker of an eyelash. Not to mention its dollar equivalent in the rest of the world. Ziya already had feelers out in a couple of places in downtown Mayfair and a place in Manhattan that were in desperate need of saffron.

Milking them was not in the plans, but a healthy profit was nothing to sneeze at. Business School Tenet number twenty-three.

“It’s goddamn gorgeous, isn’t it?” she asked.

Krivi stuffed his hands in his pocket, a dark, unreachable shadow of a man in the bright noon sun.

“Yes,” he answered. Because saying otherwise would have been a lie.

Ziya stood up, brushing the mud off the knees of her jeans and smoothed the siren-red blouse she wore tucked into the waistband. It billowed out fashionably against her slim waist, and on her feet she wore smart black boots. Low-heeled that made for easy walking and she carried a black blazer that she slipped into when she caught sight of Bashir Khan coming their way.

Krivi noted the way she fluffed out her short hair against the collar of the jacket but kept his eye on Khan too. And the way the blond streaks shimmered golden in the afternoon light.

He struck his hand out to Bashir Khan before she could.

“Krivi Iyer,” he said briskly, in Hindi. “We are representing Goonj Enterprises. This is Ziya Maarten, Operations-In-Charge.”

Bashir Khan, a local Kashmiri who smelled of the saffron he grew and cigarette smoke shook hands with Krivi, sizing him up instantly. He regarded Ziya for a moment and then smiled as he shook hands with her too.

“Welcome, Miss Maarten. And may I say you are as lovely as your voice,” he added in perfect English.

Ziya smiled, pleased but her silver-gray eyes were cool. The man might have charm but this was still a business meeting. She nodded at the rows of flowers below them and said, “You have a beautiful set-up, Mr. Khan. The sunlight is adequate, your irrigation system seems to be in perfect working order and the harvest seems to have been particularly kind to you this season.”

Bashir smiled modestly, his light green eyes cooling too.

“Allah is kind, Miss Maarten. And please, let us not be formal. Call me Bashir miyan.” Brother, in Urdu.

“Bashir miyan,” Krivi said politely, “I was wondering if we could take a look at the property. Photographs haven’t done it any justice.” He tacked on a smile at the end, but caught Ziya’s frown before she hid it.

Why was she frowning when he was trying to be agreeable?

“Absolutely, Mr. Iyer. This way, please.” Bashir invited them on a well-worn pathway between the hedges. “And later on, if you are satisfied with what you’ve seen, maybe we can have a cup of kahwah.” A local tea brew that tasted delicious and smelled even better. “And talk terms.”

Ziya smiled, non-committal and distant. “I’m afraid Mr. Iyer doesn’t make the decisions around here, Bashir miyan. I do. I have the degree in business management.” Her smile turned a little nasty. “He doesn’t.”

Bashir grinned and bowed before her. “As madam says.”

Ziya offered her elbow to the man and he took it gallantly, leaving Krivi behind to follow if he chose to.

“Tell me about your rainfall scarcity backup plan,” she invited. “And I am very interested in finding out if organic pesticide is as effective on the southern part of the property as it is here.”

She might have been distracted by a hot ex-war vet who seemed to put her down every chance he got, but she still knew her work better than anyone else. And she was damned if some man was going to take her work away from her.

As Bashir talked her through his operation, elaborating on the points that she particularly wanted clarified, she resisted the urge to look back and check the thundercloud expression on the man following them. She would have been surprised to find that he wasn’t angry at her high-handedness at all.

In fact, if Ziya had looked back at all, all she would have seen in his midnight eyes were covert speculation and outright admiration.

“Where have you guys been?” Noor demanded a couple of hours later as she got in the car.

She was dressed in butter-soft jeans and knee-high boots with three-inch heels. Her coat was a leather floor-duster that swept in her wake like a regal cape. In fact, with her flowing hair and the Jackie O glasses she wore on her thin nose, she very definitely resembled a princess from some visiting principality.

She plonked on the passenger seat before Ziya could open the door for her.

“Can I get off first?”

Noor wriggled her butt and edged to the side so Ziya could get out and into the back.

Noor punched Krivi in the arm in a sisterly gesture. “You are late, mister,” she announced. “I had to have room service and you know I hate that.”

Ziya rolled her eyes as she settled herself in the back, after shrugging off the jacket and carefully folding it before placing it in the seat next to her. Next to her laptop briefcase. Because their meeting had run over, ending with a very successful kahwah tea meeting, she didn’t have time to change and get into more comfortable clothes.

“At least you got to have lunch, sweetie. We only had kahwah chai and you know how much I hate it,” Ziya retorted.

Krivi shot her a look on the rearview mirror as he gunned the engine and they took off in a blur of gravel. Her stomach dipped again at the unreadable emotion in his eyes and the easy, almost animal confidence with which he handled the Rover as he drove. His long, dark fingers caressing the wheel in a gesture she couldn’t help but notice. Dammit, but she didn’t want to notice anything about him.

“I didn’t know you hated kahwah,” he said, as he took the exit out of the city, flashing the Military Vehicle pass again at the checkpoint. “We wouldn’t have drunk it you’d said something.”

She shrugged, and felt her shirt blow out against her. “It wasn’t important. Bashir miyan was more inclined to negotiate in my favor if I drank the tea. And I knew that.”

“Smart strategy.”

She pressed her lips because she didn’t think he meant it as a compliment.

Noor on the other hand burst out with an amused chuckle and said, “You have no idea how strategic my Zee is, K. She scalped the sorority chicks in Trinity one semester because one of them had dared her to wear a bikini in December for Pledge Week.”

Ziya thunked the back of Noor’s beret-clad head. “Stop talking. Now.” She threatened.

“You want to know what she did?”

Krivi didn’t answer, so Noor continued anyway. “She posted a notice on the college website and charged a pound for all the frat house boys to see her parade in a Victoria’s Secret ensemble outside their frat houses. At two a.m.”

Krivi’s lips twitched but he kept his straight face on. “The sorority girl’s boyfriend was one of the idiots who paid up, I assume.”

“Yep,” she confirmed with an urchin’s grin. “He was. And all of his friends too, who were, of course, her girlfriends’ guys. Needless to say, there were a lot of breakups that week. And my Zee got a lot of desperate offers for dates.”

“Of course.”

“Noor?” Ziya said conversationally.

“Yeah, Zee.” Noor fiddled with the radio controls right as her cell phone started ringing. And the display picture was Sam. She turned the volume on high to drown out the sound of the ringing.

“If you don’t keep your trap shut I will rip my earmuffs off your pretty ears. Along with your ears.”

Noor held her hands up in a gesture of surrender and tossed her phone to the backseat, and Ziya sighed. The rest of the ride was accomplished to the sound of raucous music and the intermittent ringing of a cell phone.

The first thing Krivi noticed when they got to the Gulmarg Tourist Office parking lot was that the immediate area was almost empty of parked cars. The horse handlers were also leading their horses away from the sloping parkland. The tourist mania that was May in Gulmarg was also conspicuously absent.

Then his twenty-twenty vision spotted something near the cable car station. The station was about a kilometer into the parkland and was swarming with people. At first glance, they looked like normal civilians, tourists. But his veteran eyes could make out the outlines of firepower hanging from the sides of the perimeter guys. Which begged the immediate question, why the hell was a perimeter being formed at the cable car station at all?

Krivi recalled similar situations from news reports and snippets of news broadcasts he’d read and seen over the years. Unidentified vehicle in Srinagar contains IED. Ten dead, forty-four injured. A car bomb in July of 2011 resulting in the death of twenty-two people and several more injured. Some maimed for life. And that deadly suicide bombing of the Raghunath Temple, where terrorists affiliated to one of the jihad groups entered the temple twice, and killed closed to sixty people, injuring almost a hundred of them, all of them unarmed. All of them innocent.

Security was not just an issue in Kashmir, it was a foreboding presence. And seeing military personnel at the cable car park could be a regular exercise. But something in his gut, his spidey sense, told him that wasn’t the case.

He was out the door before he could stop himself.

“Krivi?” Ziya called out, in an uncertain voice.

He looked back at the two women still sitting inside the car.

“Stay inside. Don’t move,” he ordered.

He was sprinting towards the cable car station and covering it at a rapid clip before Ziya could process his action. Then she turned the door handle and leaped out of the Rover. Noor followed her, jumping out and keeping pace with her stride effortlessly. By now, Krivi was a distant blur as he’d already reached the perimeter.

“You know, he’s going to be very mad because we didn’t listen to him,” Noor said, as she tried to keep her breathing even in the freezing temperature.

Sunset was about forty minutes away and the air was turning colder by the second.

“He’s not my boss. I am his employer,” Ziya corrected Noor as she walked rapidly to the crowd that was formed around the cable car station. “He has no right to order me around.” She wasn’t sure but she thought they were all military personnel, which was very odd and a whole lot frightening. There were only a couple of reasons why the Army would make an appearance at a hopping tourist spot. Noor gasped next to her and caught her arm, pointing at the crowd.

“Sam’s Jeep. I see his Jeep, Zee.” Noor sprinted past Ziya, all her fear and love focused on the jeep and the man inside it.

Ziya ran faster and passed her and was almost at the crowd when she was lifted off the ground and thrust back with an almost violent force.

“What the fuck do you think you are doing?” Krivi asked her tonelessly, his black eyes pitch dark.

She stumbled away from him and Noor crashed into her and he steadied them both. His fingers biting into her skin.

“I asked you two to stay in the goddamn car.”

“She said … you’re not … her boss. Sam’s Jeep.” Noor bent over, trying to catch her breath.

Ziya simply glared at him and tried to stalk past him. He hauled her back again with insulting ease and this time her fist plowed into his stomach. It didn’t even faze him as he stared at her with infuriating calm.

“Go back,” he repeated, as if she was a five-year-old.

Noor’s eyes were streaming and she screamed, “Sam. Sameth! Answer me if you’re here.”

Krivi closed his eyes as the crowd parted and turned as one to look at the two females and one male who’d intruded on their party. Then, Sam came forward, walking fast and then with every step running towards Noor. She couldn’t be held back even by Krivi’s hard arms as she ran towards him and he caught her up in a bruising embrace.

“Go back,” he yelled, as soon as he’d taken his lips off hers.

“No.” She shook her long hair back, her Jackie O glasses on the ground somewhere, naked fear in her eyes. “Not without you.”

“Nuria—” He closed his eyes.

Ziya sighed and shook herself free from Krivi’s tight hold. Her skin hurt with the force of his fingers on her. He didn’t look all that happy with the way she surreptitiously rubbed her shaking fingers over her upper arm.

“Noor, maybe we should—”

“No.”

Sam looked at Krivi who shrugged; a movement that Ziya felt because she was still standing way too close for comfort.

“IED? Insurgents?” Was what he asked.

Sam nodded, hooked his glasses up. “IED. Found in a child’s backpack. The tourist admins were not sure at first, and by the time they reported it the thing was live. BDS is ten minutes out.” BDS was the Bomb Disposal Squad of the Indian Army that handled, well, disarmament of hot loads.