The Brightest Fell Read online

  “It could make the suspects more docile and amenable to sharing vital information. It could also turn them into mindless puppets willing to say anything you want them to say. In which case, we’d lose any chance we ever had of getting the information we need out of them. Can you blame me for wanting to prevent that from happening?”

  The discussion – if the constant bickering and finger-pointing could be called that – continued, the accusations flying as fast as the arguments. Jehan wasn’t paying attention, or at least no more than necessary to field the occasional questions thrown in his direction.

  He was watching Rajat. The man looked livid, but it wasn’t enough. Jehan needed to make Rajat angry enough, disgusted enough with the proceedings, that he would resign voluntarily. Then there would be no need for an impeachment, for any further mud-slinging and character assassination.

  Rajat could step down with the least amount of damage to his reputation – most of it behind closed doors – leaving the door open for a possible reinstatement in the future. Jehan didn’t know how he was going to manage any of that, but he’d be damned if he didn’t try.

  And if flinging baseless accusations at his former mentor, at the closest thing to a real father he’d ever had, was the only way to achieve that…well, nobody had ever accused Jehan of being a sentimental man. Nobody who knew him, anyway.

  In the end, it didn’t even take very long. Rajat was an honorable man, and one of the drawbacks of decency was that it made you susceptible to other people’s opinions. With a final, withering look at Jehan, Rajat slammed his hands down on the table and rose to his feet.

  “That’s enough!” he thundered, glaring down at the squabbling ministers like they were misbehaving school children. “This disgraceful farce has continued for long enough. If I no longer have the trust of the people of this country, the unanimous support of my own Cabinet, then I will step down voluntarily.” He looked straight at Jehan, eyes burning with rage, and something else that Jehan tried not to read as betrayal. “My resignation will be tendered within the week. Have a good day, ladies and gentlemen.”

  He stormed out, leaving a deafening silence behind him.

  “It won’t be easy to find someone who can effectively deal with this situation without further alienating the media and the people. As it is, our approval ratings have gone down the drain over the last few weeks,” Badal sighed, looking thoughtful. “We no longer have the trust of the people. Moreover, I think I can safely say that none of us truly understands the intricacies of the Amven drug, or has the required scientific knowhow, to make the decisions that need to be made. Well, except for Dr. Fasih, of course.”

  Badal raised a brow, as if asking Jehan for his input. Jehan bit his lip to keep himself from laughing. The man didn’t want to take over as acting Prime Minister after Rajat resigned, because that would mean he would only be PM for the remainder of Rajat’s term. After the remaining two years were over and the initial crisis had passed, an election would be called and new representatives would be chosen from both the communities.

  But if only Badal could stall for another two years, avoid the premiership until his term began, he’d be able to rule for five years as the Zanyar Prime Minister, the entirety of his official tenure.

  Of course, he couldn’t say any of that himself. So he was hoping Jehan would do the dirty work for him. Not least because, of all the people in the room, Jehan was the least likely to attempt a power-grab at the end of his two-year tenure.

  Jehan’s eyes passed over Ruqaiya, who was bristling with barely concealed fury. If looks could kill, he and Badal would both be dead by now.

  Finally, his gaze settled on Aheli Mehrin, a firebrand Zanyar leader who had once been suspected of having links to separatist groups in Ishfana. She had since adopted a more moderate stance and softened her rhetoric, in an attempt to go mainstream and garner popular support. But Jehan could see her salivating at the prospect of having a Zanyar Prime Minister and Deputy at the same time.

  He tilted his head, as if waiting for her to speak.

  Without missing a beat, she nodded emphatically, her eyes wide and sincere. “Of course, who can be better suited to lead the country through these perilous times than Dr. Fasih? I don’t think there’s a man or woman in Naijan who can claim to have a better understanding of the Amven drug than him.

  “Plus, as a scientist, he’s perhaps the only person in this room who doesn’t have a vested interest in any political affairs, and therefore the best candidate to deal with the current crisis. At least until we’ve found the masterminds behind the metro blasts and brought them to justice.”

  “I agree,” said Badal, nodding gravely. “I think that, for the safety and welfare of this country and her people, it would be best if Dr. Fasih were to take over as acting Prime Minister for the remainder of Shian’s term. I know it is…unusual, to appoint someone who is not a Cabinet Minister to this role. However, the safety of Naijan must take precedence over all other considerations. So I, for one, will wholeheartedly support Dr. Fasih if he chooses to accept the role of our new PM. The welfare of the country must be prioritized over anybody’s personal interests, including my own.”

  Most of the Zanyar ministers nodded in agreement, either because they genuinely cared about Jehan’s ethnicity and supported him solely for that reason, or because they wanted to get into Badal’s good books so he would support them during future elections. Jehan had a feeling most of them were motivated by the latter possibility.

  He had expected the Birhanis to be harder to convince, so he had taken precautionary measures. The information that hadn’t been leaked to the media already, had been held in reserve for just such an occasion. It wasn’t that he had dirt on all of them, or even most of them. But he had enough to ensure a simple majority if it came down to a vote.

  Of course, the entirety of the Cabinet was only half his problem. The other half constituted solely of Ruqaiya Dehran.

  The minister of science and technology did not disappoint. With a frigid smile, she nodded at Badal. “I agree with everything the honorable Deputy Prime Minister has said. And I do believe that he has our country’s best interests at heart. However, being a representative of the people, I can’t in good conscience go against the national constitution, even in a time of crisis such as this.”

  Some of the gathered ministers gasped, others started muttering to themselves and to each other. Jehan knew what they were all thinking. He had thought about it too. Still, he wanted to see how it played out without his interference. At least for a while. He pressed his lips together, feigning consternation, and sat back in his chair.

  Ruqaiya leaned forward, eyes shining with triumph. “According to Article Three of the constitution, as I’m sure you’re all aware, two individuals from the same community can never be elected to the positions of Prime Minister and Deputy Prime Minister at the same time.”

  “But Dr. Fasih is not being elected, is he?” Mehrin chimed in, her brow furrowing. “He’s being appointed by the Cabinet to the role of acting Prime Minister until the Birhani Prime Minister’s term ends.”

  Jehan bit back a smile. It wasn’t the most fool-proof argument, but he gave her points for trying.

  Ruqaiya arched a brow and said scathingly, “By your own logic, my dear Mehrin, we cannot appoint a Zanyar representative – an unelected representative, might I add – to replace the Birhani Prime Minister, while his Deputy still retains his office. Not only will that violate the constitution, it'll further erode the public’s confidence in this government and help the cause of the separatists. It’ll prove what they’ve been saying all along, that this system of compromise and cohabitation between Zanyars and Birhanis isn’t sustainable, that it cannot work. That the founding of Naijan was a mistake.”

  Neer Lal, the Commerce Minister and a long-time friend of Rajat’s, nodded in agreement. “Having a Zanyar Prime Minister and Deputy at the same time could very well cause insecurity amongst the Birhani population. Best
case scenario, this government will lose support and credibility. Worst case scenario, we’ll be sending disenchanted young men and women right into the arms of the separatist groups.”

  “That’s my point exactly,” Ruqaiya said, sounding satisfied.

  Jehan took a moment to congratulate himself on a wager well made.

  A few seconds passed. Then Badal muttered under his breath and began with some reluctance, “I mean, if that’s the case, I suppose I would be willing to–”

  “What the Honorable Deputy Prime Minister means to say,” Jehan interjected smoothly, his voice slightly louder than usual, though perfectly calm. He needed to make his point before Badal could recuperate from the blow of being outmaneuvered by Ruqaiya. “Is that, if that’s how the Cabinet feels, then Madam Dehran should accept the role of Deputy Prime Minister for the remainder of the current PM’s term, at least until this crisis has passed and the next election can be organized.”

  Jehan smiled guilelessly at Badal, ignoring his shocked expression. One of the benefits of looking like a teenager was that it made it easier to feign innocence. “As Mr. Badal said only moments ago, the welfare of the country must take precedence over anybody’s personal interests.

  “And you said it yourself, Madam Dehran, that I’m not an elected representative. I’m not even a politician. I’m a scientist. And while I can direct the testing of the Amven drug and ensure that it’s not misused against the interests of the nation, I know next to nothing of governance. I’ll need guidance from someone who is experienced in these matters, and who has the trust of the common people, both Birhanis and Zanyars. And that being the case, who can possibly be better suited to this task than you?”

  Ruqaiya paled, beads of sweat appearing on her wide forehead. Her lips were pressed into a thin line and she looked like she had swallowed something vile.

  Jehan knew it then. He had her exactly where he wanted her, and there was nowhere left for her to escape. She had made it abundantly clear that she distrusted him and was suspicious of his motives. Now, he was offering her the position of Deputy PM on a silver platter. He was offering her a position of power from where she could have direct influence over him and every decision he made. A position from which she could keep an eye on him and ensure that he didn’t do anything counterproductive to the interests of Naijan and the Birhani people.

  He had essentially shackled himself and was now handing her the key. To refuse it, after everything she’d said, would make her look like a hypocrite who was only opposing him out of loyalty to her friend Rajat. It would make her look weak, indecisive, and self-serving. It would be political suicide.

  Taking his eyes off Ruqaiya, Jehan glanced over at Badal. The man looked like a fish that’d been left thrashing on the shore. His face had lost all color and his lips were slightly parted, as if unable to decide whether to say something or not. He didn’t even look angry, just flabbergasted. Like he was still unsure about what had happened, and who exactly was responsible for it.

  No one was paying attention to him anymore, and Jehan wondered vaguely if Badal was about to have a stroke. That would be inconvenient. He sighed and turned his attention back to Ruqaiya.

  For a moment, she said nothing. Lips pursed and eyes narrowed into slits, she stared at him across the room as if trying to read his mind through the power of determination alone.

  Jehan wondered if she was going to try and finagle her way out of it. He hoped not, for both their sakes. He hadn’t been lying when he said he needed someone to guide him through the finer points of governance.

  He wasn’t as clueless about politics or administration as he had led them to believe, but he was far from being an expert. Having someone by his side who knew what she was doing, and whose integrity he could rely on, wouldn’t hurt.

  Plus, Ruqaiya was a known quantity in political circles, and very popular with the masses. If nothing else, her presence would grant some stability and credibility to his rule, and would go a long way in smoothing out the ripples he was about to cause.

  He didn’t need her on his side, but it sure as hell was preferable to having her against him.

  “Alright. I accept,” Ruqaiya said at last, her voice loud and steady, without a hint of hesitation in her tone. She rose to her feet, gathered her papers, nodded to no one in particular, and strode out of the room.

  Jehan forced himself not to sigh in relief.

  Chapter 3

  Abhijat Shian emerged from the airport and hailed a taxi. After the months he’d spent in the forested mountains of rural Eraon, after the harsh minimalism of the barracks, the polished and glossy interiors of Qayit’s largest airport had seemed almost decadent.

  He threw his tiny suitcase and overstuffed backpack into the backseat and climbed in beside the driver, waving a hand to indicate that he didn’t need any help with his luggage. He told the man his destination and sat back into the hard leather seat, stretching his feet out in front of him.

  At 6’2, this was no easy task, but Abhijat had long mastered the art of making himself comfortable in cramped and narrow spaces.

  As the vehicle melted seamlessly into the rush-hour traffic – the skill of Qayit’s cab-drivers never ceased to amaze him – Abhijat looked out the window and tried not to notice that the car wasn’t headed towards Qayit Hall, the Prime Minister’s official residence. Not this time. Not anymore.

  His fingers clenched into fists as he thought about that last phone conversation with his mother. She had tried to hide the strain in her voice, the exhaustion in her tone, but she wasn’t a good enough liar to manage it. Never had been.

  He frowned, undoing the top button of his dress shirt. It was the middle of winter, but the coldest day in Qayit would be balmy compared to the icy chill of the mountains that he’d become accustomed to.

  Still, he felt oddly exposed without his uniform. Vulnerable – the word came unbidden to his mind.

  He grit his teeth and forced his fists to unclench. Not that. Never that. Never again. He may not be in uniform anymore, but he was – and always would be – a soldier. A captain in the Naijani army.

  Ex-captain. His mind supplied, ever ready to test his will and sabotage his resolve.

  Abhijat had to force himself not to jump out of the moving vehicle and walk the rest of the way home. He felt trapped, like a caged animal.

  Still, years of military training had inculcated a discipline in him that allowed him to overcome some of his natural impulsiveness. He couldn’t afford to act rashly. Not now. Not if he intended to get the thing for which he’d left the military and returned home.

  Not if he intended to get his revenge.

  Sucking in a deep breath, Abhijat lowered the car window to let some air in and fished the buzzing cellphone from his breast-pocket. Ruqaiya’s name flashed across his screen.

  He smiled for the first time in days, his teeth bared in a predatory grin that made the driver flinch.

  “Abhijat!” Ruqaiya rose to greet him as soon as he walked into the café. Putting her hands on his arms, she pulled him close, stood on tiptoes, and kissed him on the cheek.

  Despite the situation, Abhijat couldn’t help the smile that rose to his lips. He hugged her, lifting her slightly off her feet. Ruqaiya squealed. He laughed. “It’s so good to see you again, Qia. I’ve missed you.”

  “I bet you say that to all the girls,” she pouted, her eyes twinkling. She flopped down on the sofa and waved him over to the chair across the tiny wooden table.

  “There are no other girls like you,” Abhijat grinned, making himself as comfortable as possible on the squishy chair. As usual, there wasn’t enough leg room. He tucked his feet awkwardly under the chair and looked around.

  They were in a sequestered little café with overstuffed furniture and cheery, pastel walls. Not the type of place Ruqaiya would usually pick for dinner. But nothing was usual about this meeting, anyway. And it probably wasn’t the best idea for her to be seen dining with the ex-Prime Minister’s son in pu
blic.

  The waitress took their orders and wandered away. The café was empty enough and nobody looked like they were in a hurry to get anything done. Abhijat wasn’t expecting the food to arrive for another half hour or so.

  “You’re looking good,” Ruqaiya said at length, surveying him with keen brown eyes across the table. “Looking more like your father with every passing year. Tall, dark, and dashing.” She chuckled, “All that’s left now is for you to bless your poor mother with a sweet daughter-in-law.”

  Abhijat grunted. “Lead by example, why don’t you? You don’t look so bad yourself.” He wasn’t exaggerating. With a wide mouth and a strong, angular jawline, Ruqaiya was more handsome than she was beautiful. Her voluminous, silver-streaked, black hair was done up in a low, untidy bun just above the nape of her neck.

  She had celebrated her fiftieth birthday just last month, but rather than making her look old, the lines around her mouth and eyes only added character to her face, giving her an air of distinguished stateliness.

  Ruqaiya laughed. “You’re a charmer, aren’t you?”

  “What can I say?” he shrugged. “I learned from the best.”

  At that, Ruqaiya sighed, her smile fading slightly. “I’m so sorry, my boy. I couldn’t–” she shook her head. “I daresay you’ll think I’m making excuses. Half the time, I think so myself. I didn’t think I’d ever say this, but when it happened…I didn’t know what hit me. I should’ve known, I should’ve been better prepared, of course. It’s my own fault. But it was all just so…”

  “Unexpected?”

  She laughed. “That’s one way of putting it. I didn’t think he’d throw Badal under the bus like that. It doesn’t make sense. I thought he was working with Mehrin, that perhaps he’d been turned by one of the separatist groups in Zanya.”

  “Jehan Fasih?” Abhijat raised a brow. “From what I’ve heard of him–”