Bankerupt (Ravi Subramanian) (17 page)

For the investment made, the investor would get a fixed return of ten thousand rupees per month for the first two years. After two years, the money realized from the emu meat, skin, toenails and any other by-product would be passed on to the investor after retaining a certain service fee.

A full-grown emu was expected to fetch thirty thousand rupees. For six emus, the amount would be a lakh and eighty thousand. The monthly payment of ten thousand rupees meant a realization of two lakh and forty thousand rupees for the customer over two years. After deducting Narayanan’s share in this, the investor would get roughly three and a half lakh rupees for an investment of two lakhs. All this, with no effort from the customer. This scheme was particularly designed to appeal to people living in apartments and small houses, people who did not have the space to set up their own farms to rear emus. The middle class loved it and demand skyrocketed.

In the span of just a month after the launch of the scheme, Narayanan was able to sign on five thousand customers. An amount of over hundred crores was collected in a month. If all went well, through the sale of emu oil, meat, toenails and skin, Narayanan expected to make a profit of fifty crores in this business. Perhaps even more.

The corpus in GB2 Geneva was growing by the day.

30

December 2007

MIT, Boston

It was a chilly December morning when Deahl walked into his office. There was a spring in his step that day. The lounge chair was to his right. He flung his bag on it and walked to his desk. The black chair was where he had left it the night before. He pulled it back, sat down and looked at the table in front of him. The tiny red light on the bottom right corner of the telephone instrument was blinking. Nonchalantly, he stretched out his right hand and flicked the button next to the light. He was in a great mood.

‘Morning, James. Can you please call me once you get in? I need to speak with you,’ the voice on the telephone crackled. A smile lit up his face. So the feathers had been ruffled. He had expected that. He got up, pushed his chair back and walked out of his room. In a few minutes, he reached his destination. He pushed open the door and walked in.

‘Yes, Gordon. You wanted me to call you. I thought I might as well come over and grab a coffee with you.’ Gordon Meier, the provost of MIT, looked up from the pile of papers on his table as Deahl strode into his cabin.

‘Hey, James. Good to see you.’ He got up to welcome Deahl into his room. His secretary walked in at the same time. ‘Should I get you another cup of coffee, Gordon?’ Gordon nodded and she left, shutting the door behind her.

‘Is this necessary, James?’ he asked the moment they were alone.

‘What are you referring to?’

‘You know very well what I am referring to, James. Over the weekend I read the research report, which you plan to send out for peer reviews.’

‘I didn’t send it to you. How did you get it?’

‘The OSP did. They were concerned about the impact of the research.’

‘Impact! Have I said anything wrong in my report, Gordon?’

‘Technically …’ he said, thinking for a moment before continuing, ‘… no. Technically nothing is wrong. It’s an extensive research. But given the public mood and the general drift against gun activism, do we really need to muddy the waters by releasing something as controversial as your report? There is already a fair bit of shit going around, given that the ten-year ban on assault rifles was allowed to just lapse into obscurity.’

‘That was two years ago, Gordon.’ Deahl remembered that in 1994 the Bill Clinton administration had banned nineteen types of assault weapons. The ban was in force for a period of ten years and, unless explicitly authorized by the Congress, was to lapse in 2004. Congress did not act on the ban, causing it to lapse.

‘In its hundred and fifty years of existence, James, MIT has steered clear of political affiliations. This breaks the tradition. Your report is too volatile.’

‘My research is the reality, Gordon. Everything else is fantasy. Political or non-political, I don’t know. My report calls a spade a spade.’

‘James, I understand where you are coming from. You have been a part of this university for a long time. Don’t you think this could eventually lead to erosion of credibility for our university? We will be branded as siding with the Republicans. The only university in the entire United States of America to get such a reputation. I can’t let this happen, James.’

‘On the contrary, the public at large will respect the honesty of this university. Our credibility will only improve.’

The argument went on for another fifteen minutes. Finding it inconclusive, the provost finally took a tough stance. ‘I will disallow this university from putting its official sanction on this research.’

‘Must I remind you, Gordon, that the very basis of giving academicians a tenure is to make sure that they don’t succumb to bullying of the sort that I am being subjected to right now, and to make sure that they speak their mind.’

‘James, you have the right to speak out against gun control if your research states so. But you are wrong in doing so at the behest of the NRA. It kills any objectivity that the research was expected to have in the first place. It is a case of moral drudgery. How can you accept and complete a research which has been sponsored by the NRA and present a result favourable to them in exactly the same manner that they wanted?’

‘Firstly, if the research findings are data backed, I really don’t care what the findings are. And secondly, it is not an NRA-sponsored research.’

‘It is.’

‘Says who?’ demanded Deahl.

‘Me.’ It was Cardoza. He had just walked into the room and was standing at the door listening to the two of them. The dean of the Social Psychology department was with him.

‘When you walk into a discussion, courtesy demands that you knock,’ an irritated Deahl snapped at him. Cardoza and the dean ignored his snub.

‘Lucier had met me with the research request. I had turned him down. In you he found an ally. The funds for research were funnelled in through the Department of Social Justice and Equality, Government of Arizona, so that no one could connect the dots. I can say with complete confidence that the research has been compromised.’

‘Ridiculous. This accusation is nonsensical.’

‘Not as ridiculous as the genesis of this research, James.’

‘What if I disagree with the two of you?’

‘As I said, you will not be able to publish this research as an MIT-sponsored research.’

‘And how could you deny me that right?’

‘You need three peer reviews to get this research published,’ the dean said. His body language was aggressive. Meier had been balanced in his approach and communication, but the dean was arrogant and aggressive. This did not go down well with Deahl.

‘Oh. So you will make sure that no one from the faculty at MIT reviews my research. This kind of arm-twisting is appalling. I guess I will need to talk to my lawyer, gentlemen, before I do anything further about this.’ Deahl got up and walked out of the room in a huff. As he was exiting the room, he turned, looked at the dean and thundered, ‘My three peer reviewers don’t necessarily have to be this university’s faculty. The peer review can be from any individual of repute and standing. I hope you realize that! You can’t stop the world from reviewing my research. Can you?’ He turned and walked out of the room. Deahl had no fear. After all, he was a long-term tenured professor.

Meier smiled. He looked at the dean and said, ‘You ticked him off. He will not put it up for peer review now.’

Cardoza didn’t share his confidence. ‘Don’t underestimate James. We don’t even know what he is capable of.’

‘It doesn’t matter.’ Meier stepped in. ‘Even if he puts it up for a peer review, he has to keep the OSP informed. Once he does that, I will bring in sanctions on the project citing misconduct. The university rules give me adequate authority to do so, as long as the investigation gets completed in a hundred and twenty days. So we have time to figure out what to do.’ He turned to Cardoza and said, ‘Michael, can you please inform the OSP to keep me posted if and when James puts it up for peer review.’

‘Sir,’ Cardoza acknowledged as he got up to go. There was a knock on the door.

‘Coffee!’

The hundred and twenty days that the university rules gave him to investigate any wrongdoing would be enough to figure out a way to scuttle the issue. At least that’s what the provost thought.

31

End-February 2008

MIT, Boston

A furious Meier stormed into Cardoza’s room. The latter was in a discussion with the dean on some academic and student-related issues. Meier was clearly agitated as he walked up to Cardoza’s table and, in one swift action, he lifted his right hand and banged what he was carrying down on the table. A loud thud echoed.

‘Were you aware of this?’

Cardoza rose from his chair. It was impolite of him to have continued sitting when the provost was standing. The door opened. His secretary walked in hurriedly. Cirisha was standing behind her. Her India project was over and she was back to her Boston–Mumbai grind. Both of them had rushed in hearing the loud noise. It had sounded as if something had collapsed.

‘It’s OK. Nothing to worry about.’ Cardoza faked a smile and hastened to add, ‘Cirisha, don’t go away. I need to talk to you after this meeting. Hang around.’

‘Yes, Michael.’ The door shut behind them.

Cardoza flipped through what Meier had flung on his table. He didn’t like the look of it. ‘When did this happen?’

‘No clue. I will get him. We had specifically told him not to do it. And what does he do? Just the opposite.’ The provost was fuming.

‘It’s a free country, provost. You will not be able to stop him. At least legally you cannot.’

‘Now I know why the OSP did not get any intimation of a peer review request being sent out. It’s simple. He didn’t send one out. That arrogant son of a bitch.’ Everyone in the room was shocked. They had never heard the provost mouth profanities before.

‘Let’s talk to him. Maybe he can explain his actions.’ It was a poor attempt at calming him down.

‘Talk to him? You must be kidding. This calls for action. Send out a message to the disciplinary committee. Call a meeting in an hour. If the members are in the classrooms, send someone and ask them to assemble in my room.’ And he walked out.

Cardoza heard the door slam shut. But he didn’t look in that direction. His eyes and his mind were focused on the book Meier had slammed on his table.

On the cover, in bold letters, were the words
Staring Down the Barrel
. Authored by James Deahl. Instinctively, his hands reached out for it and he flipped open the cover. On the first page was a message. ‘Dear Gordon, with best wishes … Hope you enjoy reading this. James Deahl.’ Along with it was a bookmark prominently displaying the Barnes & Noble logo. ‘In all Barnes & Noble Stores, March onwards.’

There was a feeble knock on his door.

‘Michael?’ It was Cirisha.

‘Come on in.’ He was still flipping through the book.

‘What’s this, Michael?’

‘James decided to give the peer reviews a skip. Instead of getting it published as a research paper in one of our research journals, he has gone ahead and published it as a book. A hardback which will be available in all bookstores. Accessible to anyone who wants to buy and read.’

‘What?’ she exclaimed. ‘Isn’t that inappropriate?’

‘Yes, morally speaking. Though legally, he is well within his rights. As long as it is a sponsored project and the university does not pump in its grants, he can do it. Article 4.3.12, para seventeen of the research guidelines gives him that right.’ And he went back to flipping through the pages. ‘Though I have never seen anyone exercise this right ever. James is a smart cookie.’