I wasn’t going to tell him the film was lost. That would make killing me an even easier decision. If he thought I could get my hands on the photos, he might not go through with whatever he had in mind. Maybe he was bluffing.

Chhotu wrestled himself out of the swing chair and smoothed his clothes. “Very well. If that’s the way you want it. Shall we go?”

“I don’t suppose I’ll need my things,” I said.

He shook his head. “Not where you’re going.”

Even the guard, who so faithfully saluted each time a car entered or left the compound, had disappeared. The gate was wide open. With an upturned hand, Chhotu indicated the white Mercedes—Sushmita’s Mercedes—sitting in the drive, as if there might have been another vehicle I could have chosen by mistake.

“Front seat, please,” he said, and he climbed into the back directly behind me. Bikas took the wheel. “Bear in mind that I have a pistol pointed into your back. In case you were thinking of playing the hero.”

Then, wielding his ridiculous haw-haw accent, he said something to Bikas in Hindi. I struggled to understand, but only got something like karate. Did it matter? Who was I going to tell, anyway?

I began to plan a last-ditch effort to escape. Once we reached North Main Road, I might try throwing open the door and taking my chances with Chhotu’s aim. Would he be willing to fire off potshots in the crowded center of Koregaon Park? The odds for escape were better than waiting for him to shoot me in the head as soon as we arrived wherever he was taking me. In preparation, I tested the door handle quietly. No dice. And a quick glance to my left revealed that the lock button had been removed. I doubted I could lower the window and squeeze myself out before Zadya had shot me several times.

“Yes, the door is locked,” said Chhotu from the back seat.

We turned right onto North Main Road and headed east. Minutes later, we passed ABC Farms and soon, after a tiny village or two, we’d be in open countryside. I drew a deep breath, then looked up to see the herd of buffalo creeping onto the road. If they cut us off, it might provide the necessary delay for me to lower the window and yell for help from the motorists behind us. Chhotu had seen the buffaloes, too, and barked an order to Bikas, who hit the accelerator and swerved onto the grassy shoulder and barely sneaked around the lead animals. The herd closed the way, and the traffic following us was lost in the gathering darkness.