Incredulous, Jack rose to his feet. “What?” He was tempted to mention the rakoshi but remembered Kolabati’s plea to say nothing of them. Apparently she hadn’t told Kusum that Jack had been on the boat tonight.

“I believe I spoke clearly. You are alive now only because of the service you performed for my family. I now consider that debt paid.”

“There was no debt. It was fee-for-service. You paid the price, I rendered the service. We’ve always been even.”

“That is not the way I choose to see it. However, I am informing you now that all debts are cancelled. And do not follow me. Someone might suffer for that.”

“Where is she?” Jack said, leveling the pistol. “If you don’t tell me, I’m going to shoot you in the right knee. If you still won’t talk, I’ll shoot you in the left knee.”

Jack was quite ready to do what he said, but Kusum made no move to escape. He continued facing him calmly.

“You may begin,” he told Jack. “I have suffered pain before.”

Jack glanced at Kusum’s empty left sleeve, then looked into his eyes and saw the unbreakable will of a fanatic. Kusum would die before uttering a word.

After an interminable silence, Kusum smiled thinly, stepped into the hall, and closed the door behind him. Containing the urge to hurl the .357 against the door, Jack lined up the empty chamber and gently let the hammer down on it. Then he went over and locked the door—but not before giving it a good kick.

Was Kolabati really in some kind of danger, or had Kusum been bluffing? He had a feeling he had been outplayed, but still did not feel he could have risked calling the bluff.

The question was: Where was Kolabati? He would try to trace her tomorrow. Maybe she really was on her way back to Washington. He wished he could be sure.

Jack kicked the door again. Harder.

Chapter Nine

manhattan

tuesday, august 7

1

For I am become death, destroyer of worlds.

The Bhagavad Gita

With a mixture of anger, annoyance, and concern, Jack slammed the phone back into its cradle. For the tenth time this morning he had called Kusum’s apartment and listened to an endless series of rings. He had alternated those calls with others to Washington, D.C. Information had found no listing for Kolabati in the District or in northern Virginia, but a call to Maryland information had turned up a number for a K. Bahkti in Chevy Chase, the fashionable Washington suburb.

There had been no answer there all morning, either. It was only a four-hour drive from here to the Capitol. She had had plenty of time to make it—if she really had left New York. Jack didn’t accept that. Kolabati had struck him as far too independent to knuckle under to her brother.

Visions of Kolabati bound and gagged in a closet somewhere plagued him. She was probably more comfortable than that, but he was sure she was Kusum’s prisoner. It was because of her relationship with Jack that her brother had taken action against her. He felt responsible.