He considered running too, he thought about grabbing Madeline’s arm and dashing off down the street, but knew it would be pointless: two white people fleeing in rural India. He thought about saying something to her, warning her, but instead he stared mutely, her eyes posing a question at him and his obvious alarm.

The two men arrived, out of breath, a moment later, one of them replacing the hat on his head that he had held while running.

“Ms. Cavanagh?” he said to Madeline, his English pronunciation good, but stiffly lilted with local accent. She nodded, staring in fear and astonishment at him like he bore the plague, her worst fears trying to surface in spite of her.

“Ms. Cavanagh, please come with us. We have something most urgent to discuss with you.”

She stood, starting to walk in the direction the soldier was indicating with the lack of will of a captured criminal, looking with pleading eyes at Neal. He followed her, suddenly feeling an overwhelming need to protect her.

“What is going on?” he demanded from the soldier. “Where are you taking her?”

“Please, sir, we have some urgent business with Ms. Cavanagh. She will not be harmed. You must let her come with us.”

He tried to think of some reason for them to take him as well, and then blurted, “She’s my sister. If you must take her, I demand to come with you as well.”

The soldiers looked at Madeline, who was nodding emphatically, and then back to Neal. They were in no mood to argue. Their orders were to locate Madeline Cavanagh, who, according to their records had arrived into Kodikkarai with a James Hawkson a few days beforehand.

“Very well, sir, please come with us.” one of them said, indicating a waiting green jeep.

* * *

The two of them sat in stony silence in a small air-conditioned room. The windowless space held one desk, four chairs, and nothing else. It was the first time they had been in air-conditioning since landing, and they felt like they had been pulled from an oven. Steam, Neal noted, was actually rising from their clothes.

But the pleasure of entering the cool office building had been but a moment’s relief from their concerns as they had been led to, and then left in this hopeless room.

After five minutes the door opened and an officer in his mid-fifties entered carrying a folder and a fatherly smile walked briskly through it. He was followed by a younger man with more folders and a notepad, who closed the door while the officer introduced himself.

“Good afternoon, my name is Colonel Patel, of the Indian Coast Guard.” he said as he seated himself across from them. “You must forgive my men for coming for you with no information, I am afraid that must have been quite alarming, but we had little choice, as, in truth, we do not have a great deal of information ourselves.”