The Brightest Fell Read online

  Abhijat nodded. “What about her?”

  “To gain entry into the sanctum, a client must book a suite at the desk. It’s not cheap, but the money isn’t really for the room. The client is given a keycard to the suite, and the escorts accompanying him are given a shot of Amven. You know, to ensure that they’ll remain pliable and obedient inside. From what I’ve noticed in the past few hours, the dosage is pretty much as high as you can go without risking an overdose.

  “Obviously, I couldn’t allow myself to be drugged out of my mind in the company of a stranger. Even I’m not completely immune to the effects of the drug, and with that high a dose…I couldn’t risk it.

  “But of course, that’s not a problem anymore,” he grinned. “Now you’re here, I can just go in with you. I thought it was over when I saw you picking a fight with those guards. But guess what, your presence mightn’t be a total disaster after all.”

  He walked over to the mirror and carefully smudged some of the makeup on his face.

  “What’re you doing?” Abhijat asked.

  “Well, we don’t want it to look like we were in here all this time having a heart-to-heart, do we? Anyway, once we get into the sanctum, we can wait inside the suite until the drug wears off. It shouldn’t take too long. Like I said, I’m largely immune. And you can always punch me or something if it takes longer than expected.

  “After that, we'll check all the other suites and see if we can find Afreen or your guy in any of them. If everything goes according to plan, the whole thing shouldn’t take more than an hour.”

  “Okay, just back up for a second here. Are you suggesting I take you into this sanctum pretending to be your ‘client’?”

  “Obviously. How else would you do it?”

  “And you plan to get drugged up to your gills while we’re at it?”

  Jehan shrugged. “It’s the only way in. It doesn’t matter, though. Amven isn’t particularly addictive, and it doesn’t cause any pain. Withdrawal is minimal, and would only manifest after multiple doses anyway. There’s nothing to worry about.”

  Abhijat laughed, but the sound rang hollow and humorless even to his own ears. “Docile and compliant, you said. God, I’d gladly pay to see that. You sure being locked in a room with me while under the influence of your wonder-drug is the brightest idea you’ve ever had? What’s to say I won’t take advantage of the situation and make you do something you don’t want to?” He bared his teeth in a predatory smile. “Like sign a resignation letter, maybe.”

  “Because, as my head of security, it’s your sworn duty to protect me.” A seraphic smile appeared on his shimmering lips. “And the Shians, you know, are nothing if not dutiful.”

  Unlike the outer hall, the décor in the sanctum was both tasteful and minimalistic. The foyer was well-lit and furnished with cozy-looking sofas, the floor covered with a simple cream carpet. There was a large bar near the back, and beside it stood a winding staircase with intricate, off-white railings.

  One of the sofas was occupied by a tall, balding man who had an escort writhing in each arm. He had a joint between his fingers, but seemed too distracted by the amorous attentions of his companions to smoke it.

  As Abhijat passed the trio with Fasih in tow, the man turned to leer at them, the corners of his chapped lips twisting in a smile that made Abhijat’s palms itch with the urge to punch him.

  Tearing his eyes away from the drug-addled kids – neither of whom could’ve been above eighteen – he swore to himself that he’d burn this hellhole down to the ground before he left the city.

  Summoning one of the attendants who kept discretely to the shadows, he held out his keycard and asked her to direct him to the Royal Suite.

  The room was luxurious, but not as ostentatious as Abhijat had expected it to be. It could’ve been a suite in any high-end hotel. The bed was large and inviting, littered with little round cushions in various shades of red. Atop the bedside table sat a small steel bucket, which held a bottle of champagne and some ice.

  Locking the door, Abhijat directed the befuddled prime minister to the bed, and threw himself down onto the couch, which was the only other piece of furniture in the room.

  After a moment of silence, Abhijat leaned forward for a closer look at his companion. Fasih looked slightly unfocused and woozy, but apart from that seemed well enough. He was gazing curiously at the champagne bottle sitting in its bucket beside the bed.

  “Want a drink?” Abhijat asked, sitting back and stretching his legs out in front of him. “Not sure that’d be the brightest idea, what with the drug in your system. Then again, you seem to be on a roll tonight.”

  Fasih clicked his tongue. “That doesn’t matter. But did you know there’s almost eight grams of dissolved carbon dioxide in this bottle? That means more than 20 million bubbles per glass. And even that’s just 20 percent of it, ’cause 80 percent of the gas escapes through direct diffusion—”

  Abhijat grinned. “Alright genius, here’s a trick question for you. Why doesn’t it matter?”

  “Huh?”

  “You said just now, it doesn’t matter that you’re drugged. And earlier in the washroom you said you were immune to Amven. Well, no offense, but you don’t look particularly immune to me. What’s the deal with you?”

  Jehan giggled and shook his head, orange hair flopping into his eyes. “That’s not how it works. Being immune doesn’t mean it doesn’t affect me. It just…affects me less. And I get over it faster. That dose wouldn’t last more than forty minutes on me. On anyone else it’d last at least six hours, more if it was their first time taking the drug.”

  “And why’s that?”

  Jehan shrugged. “Cause I’m used to it. Your body develops a certain amount of resistance to any drug that’s administered to you consistently over a number of years.”

  “And what? You’ve been getting high on Amven at the QRI all these years?”

  “Of course not.” Jehan rolled his eyes. “You can’t get high on Amven. Not in the recreational sense, anyway. I was testing it.”

  “Testing it?” Abhijat raised an eyebrow. “On yourself? Why? The institute run out of guinea pigs for you to play with?”

  Jehan frowned. “I was fifteen when I started developing Amven. Of course, that was a very crude version, nowhere near as potent as this. Still, I really had no idea what I was doing, those first few years.

  “It was a previously untested compound, quite unstable. Initially, I wasn’t very sure about how it’d affect the nervous system, you know, what it’d do to an actual living creature. I mean, in theory I knew. But I couldn’t begin animal testing until I was sure the drug wouldn’t cause any permanent damage.”

  “And so, you decided to test this…unstable compound…on yourself?”

  “It had to be tested on someone,” Fasih shrugged. “I’ve never liked relying purely on theory, anyway.”

  “I see your history of terrible ideas is long and glorious,” Abhijat sighed. “For how long did this go on?”

  “Only the first few years. We did start testing on animals eventually, once we’d stabilized the formula and were reasonably certain of the correct dosage and possible side effects.

  “But since I was already immune to the drug to a great extent, I just volunteered to be the test subject every time we developed a new prototype or something.” At Abhijat’s raised eyebrow, he proceeded to explain. “It was just more accurate that way. Rats can’t report very reliably on the nuances of the variations in physiological symptoms caused by two different prototypes, you know.”

  Abhijat shook his head, aghast. “I can’t believe the QRI signed off on this.”

  “Who said anything about the QRI?” Jehan frowned. “I mean, we did use their labs sometimes, but very little of the actual research was conducted on campus. Amven is one of the highest priority projects funded by the central government. Much of the research is still classified. You don’t think we were testing those drugs on the premises of a public institution, do you
?”

  “I’m almost tempted to order you to tell me everything you know, but I have a feeling that’ll turn into a biochemistry lecture I’ll most probably sleep through.”

  “Your self-awareness is admirable.”

  “Can I punch you now?”

  Fasih shook his head. “Only if the drug doesn’t wear off by the end of an hour,” he said earnestly. “We still have thirty-five minutes to go.”

  Abhijat leaned forward, eyes shining with interest. “Yeah? And why is that?”

  “’Cause if it doesn’t wear off in an hour, then this prototype’s more potent than I thought it would be. In which case, we’d have to resort to plan B.”

  “What’s plan B?”

  “Violence,” Jehan smiled.

  “Come again.”

  “The effects of the Amven drug can also be counteracted by pain. For example, an electric shock or a broken bone will enable a person to regain control of their mind, even before the drug has worn off naturally. The only requirement is that the sensation of pain has to be sudden, unexpected, and intense.”

  “So, now you want me to electrocute you?”

  “Of course not. I’m just saying that you might have to. Although I really would prefer a broken nose, if it’s all the same to you.”

  Abhijat bared his teeth in a grin that was almost feral. “I aim to please.” His eyes wandered over to the champagne bottle on the bedside table. Could this be considered drinking on the job? “So, you’ll do anything I say, huh?”

  Jehan cocked his head to the side and squinted at him suspiciously.

  “Pour me a drink.”

  At Jehan’s glare, Abhijat shrugged. “What? It’s for science. We’ve been spending the taxpayer’s money on the Amven project for years. I need to know if your claims hold water. Now, touch your nose with your tongue and pour me a drink.”

  Jehan rolled his eyes and poured out two drinks, handing one to Abhijat.

  “You still have to touch your nose with your tongue.”

  “Even Amven can’t make one perform impossible feats.”

  “It’s not impossible at all. It’s easy. You just stick your tongue out until it reaches your nose.”

  “Please, feel free to demonstrate.” Jehan smirked, reaching for his cellphone and flicking on the camera. “I’d be honored to learn from you.”

  “You’re a terrible captive.”

  “I’ve had better captors.” He sipped the champagne. “This stuff isn’t half bad.”

  “Why’d you betray my father?”

  Jehan froze. Abhijat waited with bated breath, his heart thundering in his chest.

  It was a gamble, and this was probably the worst possible time to make it. They were in enemy territory, with no one to rely on but each other. And Fasih certainly seemed to know more about what was going on here than he did. Making an enemy of him was perhaps not the best idea, under the circumstances.

  But Fasih would never volunteer the truth of his own accord. And Abhijat needed to know. It wasn’t logical, but he knew he’d never forgive himself if he let this opportunity pass.

  If he couldn’t give his father his old position back, the least he could give him was the truth.

  Jehan grinned ruefully. “All this…you were trying to get me off my guard.”

  Abhijat said nothing. He didn’t trust himself to speak. He just stared at the other man and willed him to tell the truth.

  Jehan bit his lip, gazing down at his own hands. He seemed to be fighting with himself. For a moment, Abhijat was sure that despite the drug in his system, despite everything, Jehan wouldn’t talk.

  Then, he blew out a breath and sagged against the headboard. “Fine,” he said, refusing to meet Abhijat’s eyes. “You want the truth? You’ll have it. I betrayed Rajat so that–” he inhaled sharply, his voice shaking. “So that he’d be safe. So he’d be happy.”

  Incredulous laughter escaped Abhijat’s lips. “Happy?” he began, his voice rising. “You thought casting aspersions on his character, questioning his integrity, painting him as a traitor in the media, and destroying his reputation would make him happy?”

  Jehan flinched, shrinking imperceptibly back into the bed. Despite the effects of the drug, he retained significant self-control. Abhijat noted these facts almost subconsciously, his training kicking in despite the fury rushing through his veins.

  Part of him wanted to walk out of the room and not look back, leave Fasih alone in this hellhole to whatever fate might await him. It was what the bastard deserved.

  But a bigger part of him wanted to know the whole truth.

  “Happier than he would’ve been dead,” Fasih murmured, staring blankly up at the ceiling. “A ruined reputation can be fixed, but corpses can’t be stitched back together into a person. God knows, I’ve tried.”

  A terrified, blood-curdling scream rang out from beyond the locked door of the suite.

  Abhijat rushed over to the door. Through the peephole, he noticed that a group of people had gathered near the bar. A man was writhing on the floor, screaming. The crowd looked agitated, but Abhijat couldn’t see enough to understand what exactly was happening.

  “Damnit!” he snarled, kicking the wall.

  He turned to see Jehan sitting on the edge of the bed, wide-eyed. He sighed. Whatever chance he’d had of getting the truth out of Fasih, it was gone. At least for now.

  He held out a hand. “Come on, we need to get out of here.”

  For the fraction of a second, Fasih hesitated. Then, he nodded and clasped Abhijat’s outstretched hand.

  Abhijat pulled him up, spun him around, and twisted his hand up behind his back until he could hear the bones popping.

  Jehan screamed.

  “Feeling feisty yet?” Abhijat hissed into his ear.

  “I should’ve known you’d enjoy this way too much,” Fasih snapped, pulling himself free and rubbing gently at his swollen wrist. It was going to bruise. Abhijat grinned.

  “You’re welcome. Now move it.”

  The balding man Abhijat had seen on his way to the suite was lying on the floor by the bar, clutching his crotch and screaming obscenities. A few feet away, two women were being held down by the club attendants.

  One of the huge guards previously stationed at the sanctum door had also stepped inside, and was currently trying, without much success, to subdue a weedy man at least two heads shorter than him.

  One of the women was screaming in pain. The other was trying to kick her captor in the groin.

  Abhijat rushed forward and pulled the attendants off the struggling women. One of them had blood on her face, and curled into her side, coughing, as soon as she was released. The other one sprang to her feet, swiping hair away from her bruised face, her gaze fixed on the guard and his slender opponent.

  “Rito?” Abhijat gasped, this breath catching in his throat.

  “When did you call for backup?” Abhijat asked, as they were escorted out of the club by the prime minister’s security detail.

  “Long before you arrived. I told you I was there to try and find Afreen. What did you think I planned to do after I found her? Fight my way out of the club with a drugged and injured woman in tow?”

  “Where will they take the children?” Afreen asked, clutching a bloodied napkin to her nose.

  “To a government home in the suburbs, for now,” Fasih reassured her. “Ruqaiya has been in contact with Pragati. Their volunteers will work with the government to rehabilitate the children. I expect most of them will be returned to their families in Eraon. But you’ll get to know the details soon enough. Your colleagues are quite eager to see you. They’ve all been very worried.”

  “Ruqaiya knew about this?” Abhijat asked, aghast.

  Fasih shook his head. “Not initially, but she’s just found out.”

  “She’ll kill you, you know that, right?”

  “But I can publish this story so long as I keep you out of it, right?” The weedy man enquired, turning to Jehan with imploring eyes
. Laihan, Rito had called him. Abhijat made a mental note to look him up as soon as they got back to the hotel.

  Rito smacked him on the head, even as Jehan shrugged. “I don’t see why not.”

  Abhijat glared at his sister. “You and I are going to have words.”

  “Yeah? Cause I was the one hiding in a room with the fucking prime minister dressed like a hooker, was I?” she snapped. Then, she turned to Jehan. “No offense.”

  “None taken,” he assured her, a wide grin splitting his face. “Please, continue. This is very entertaining.”

  “You will die by my hands, Fasih,” Abhijat growled, getting into his car as Rito and Laihan helped Afreen into the back seat. “And you’ll die slowly.”

  Rito and Laihan collapsed onto the bed as soon as they walked into Abhijat’s hotel room. “God, I could sleep for a century,” Rito moaned, rubbing her face into a pillow.

  “I thought we’d never get out of that place,” sighed Laihan, spread-eagled beside her.

  They’d dropped Afreen off at the offices of Pragati on their way to the hotel. She needed to see a doctor, anyway. Abhijat was pretty sure her nose was broken.

  “I suppose I should call Ruqaiya,” Jehan muttered reluctantly and stepped out of the room, pressing his phone to his ear.

  Abhijat thought about asking him not to wander the corridors covered in glitter, but decided it would be funnier to take pictures. After all, opportunities like these didn’t present themselves every day.

  With only the three of them left in the room, he rounded on his sister. “What were you thinking going to a place like La Fantome without telling me about it? Without telling anybody! Are you out of your mind? What do you think would’ve happened if we hadn’t been there? You’d all be dead, that’s what.”

  “It’s ironic how you don’t see the hypocrisy of that statement,” she retorted. “You went there all alone, didn’t you? Without any backup. Does Papa know about that?”

  “You know, she does have a point,” Jehan said, stepping back into the room and pocketing his phone.