Turbulence (12 page)

“No you bloody well may not. An air strike has been authorised on this building. The Prime Minister has heard about your little gang, and he’s not happy. Unless you have an explanation — and a damned good one — you’re finished.”

“When I started this whole thing, my plan was to hand the best fighting force in the world — an unstoppable Indian elite squadron — to you on a platter,” Jai says. “I am now in a position to do so. And more. Would you like to see what I have to offer?”

“This has moved far higher than me, you arrogant young fool,” the Commander responds. “Come with us. The Air Marshall will deal with you.”

Vir coughs discreetly.

“Perhaps we should hear him out, sir.”

“I think that’s a good idea,” Jai says. “I can think of two
advantages to this. First, you wouldn’t be placing the Air Marshall’s life in danger. Second, I wouldn’t have to call your bluff about the air strike.”

“That was no bluff.”

“In that case, why sacrifice a Wing Commander? It doesn’t make sense. You’re here to negotiate, sir. If we can cease this childish banter, I will reveal my plan to you. Everything I have done so far — every crime you accuse me of — has been merely to eliminate bureaucracy, politicians, experts, committees, meetings, leaks — all of which I have heard you complain about endlessly. I don’t have to teach you about the problems our military faces, and I’m sure you don’t really mind my stepping out of line. I assume Vir has already shown you he can fly. There are others here who have powers even more extraordinary. If you would like a proper demonstration, I can promise to bring down the entire Pakistani military within the next two weeks. They keep sending people over the border. I could show them how it’s done.”

“Why should I believe a word you say? You’ve been running around the country murdering people. You just murdered my own men in front of me.”

“Those men were killed by a commanding officer who sent them into battle against an infinitely superior force. You seem to have forgotten what we do for a living. Murder is our business. And I was eliminating military threats, not going on some kind of mad spree. You don’t have to believe me, sir. It doesn’t really matter. The thing is, there is nothing you can do to stop me.”

Jai extracts a bottle of single malt from a cabinet and pours himself a drink. The Commander and Vir stand ashen-faced as he takes a swig, sighs in appreciation, and sets the glass down.

“If I had been a real danger to you, or to the Indian nation; if I had wanted to raze our armies to the ground, set the Taj Mahal on fire and laugh in the face of the world, I would have done it by now,” Jai continues. “Instead, I offer you the chance to break free from the old men you are forced to obey, and accept that the world as you knew it has ended. Thanks to this strange incident, there are powers that exist now that can make India — and only India — the mightiest nation in the world. You know people have been saying India is destined to be the next global superpower? Thanks to me and my actions, this is now literally true.”

“So you killed all the non-Indians on the plane,” Vir says.

“Not all. Only the ones I could find. It’s simple, really — I am going to kill every powered individual I cannot use. I do this not for myself, but for my country. Now, Commander, we can sit here and discuss this all night. Or I could kill the two of you, move this base to a quieter location and carry on.

“There is a third alternative I present for your consideration: meet my team. See for yourself how we can put an end to all our military troubles — Pakistan, China, even America one day, who knows? And then take me to meet the Air Marshall. I’d go now, but I’m afraid I’d end up killing superior officers.”

Vir starts to speak, but is silenced by a warning glance.

The Commander sits down.

“Show me what you’ve got,” he says.

Outside the building, a guard emerges from a little booth near the only gate to the compound. Floodlights come on, revealing a man slumped face down in front of the gate, and a short,
attractive woman standing over him. Brandishing his gun by way of greeting, the guard stalks up to the gate.

“Eh?” he says.

Tia smiles gently at him and rolls the man over with a slender foot. The guard swears as he recognises a very battered Mukesh.

“I need to speak to Jai,” Tia says. “My friend here would speak for me, but as you can see…”

The guard stares at her. “I’ll make a call,” he growls, and heads back towards his cabin.

“Sorry, but could you let me use your toilet?” she calls. “I’ve been dragging him for a long time, and I really have to go.”

The guard opens the gate. He frisks Tia, taking longer than he should, and confiscates her phone and wallet.

“In the cabin,” he growls, and she heads off.

A startled, horrified gasp a minute later tells the guard she has entered the hell-hole that is his toilet. He picks Mukesh up and drags him towards his cabin.

A phone call later, and two soldiers march out of the building. One binds Tia to him with a pair of handcuffs, and the other picks up Mukesh. They head back inside.

Mumbling to himself, the guard heads back into his cabin.

A few minutes later, Tia emerges, retching, from his toilet and hits him on the back of the head with a brick. He seems more amazed than hurt at this, but when another Tia appears, carrying another brick, and they both smite him on either side of the head, he goes down. The Tias merge, and she picks up her phone.

“Aman,” she says. “I’m at the Kashmir base. Can you get into the system here?”

“Tia? What the hell? How did you —”

“Later. Can you get in and shut them down?”

“Wait. Let me look. I’m got a satellite link outside, but… no. No wireless inside. No radar, even. And they’re underground. What do you plan to do?”

“Thought I’d talk to this Jai myself.”

“No, listen. Just try and get the prisoners out. Don’t go anywhere near him. Leave that to Vir.”

“No point telling me. I’m not the one inside.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“You talk too much.”

Tia hangs up, sits by the unconscious guard and begins to read his dirty magazine.

Jai leads Vir and the Commander to a huge underground hall, large enough to be an aeroplane hangar. It’s empty except for a makeshift gym in one corner, expensive exercise equipment and absurdly large weights arranged in rows. A stench of leather and stale sweat fills the entire hall.

“It’s not much of a Danger Room, but it’s all we’ve managed to put together at short notice,” Jai says.

“Where do you keep your people?” the Commander asks.

“All over the building. We’ve built this very good high-security prison right at the bottom. That’s where we keep the powers we can use, but don’t quite trust yet. There’s a science wing, where we run experiments, physical, psychological — we discovered fairly early on that people had been given powers that were manifestations of their ambitions. I wanted to be the greatest warrior in the world, and here I am. But people mostly want useless things — more money, to be skilled at dancing,
revenge, celebrity lovers. Whatever the nature of each power and the identity of the forces that gave them to us, one thing is certain — our bodies have been tampered with. A team of very good doctors are in the process of finding out how. For this we’re using people whose gifts have absolutely no military potential.”

“What have you found?”

“We’re still working on it. Simple processes like blood transfusions or organ exchanges haven’t yet produced any powered humans. But we’ll crack it eventually.”

“You’re using humans — ordinary people — for your tests?” Vir says.

“Nothing you need to worry about. We’ve mostly got Afghans — they run into Pakistan to escape Americans, and the Pakistanis give them bigger guns and send them to us. We’ve been practising combat ops by the border — you should see their faces when they meet us. I thought I’d put them to good use before we kill them.”

“You’re creating superpowered mujahideen? You’re insane!” the Commander cries.

“You’re not a very good negotiator. Look, my boys are here,” Jai says.

Two men walk into the hall. One is balding, bearded, bespectacled, middle-aged, and the other is Barack Obama, the forty-fourth President of the United States.

“Meet Jerry and Vivek,” Jai says. “Jerry used to be a poet, but he lived in Mumbai. Couldn’t write with all the noise around him, phone ringing all the time, needing to check his email every two minutes, couldn’t move out of the city because his wife earned the money and called the shots. He got a British Council fellowship, went to London, and what can you do
now, Jerry?” Jai asks the bearded man.

“I create a blue thing,” Jerry replies.

“A blue thing. See what a good poet he is? Jerry creates silence. Launches an electromagnetic pulse that shuts down everything nearby for a several minutes.”

“And I guess Mr Obama, or Vivek here, can change his facial features,” says the Commander, looking suddenly very impressed.

“More than that. I’d have preferred it if he could have done the whole instantaneous-morphing thing the demons of the Ramayana could do, but Vivek was an actor — ex-National School of Drama, the whole method actor nonsense. Never earned a rupee, of course, but now he can
become
anyone — not just look like them. Give him a few days to rehearse and enough background material, and at the end of it he looks, talks, even
thinks
like they do.”

“Amazing,” says the Commander. Vivek strides over and shakes his hand with a firm, warm and presidential grip.

“Delighted you could be here,” he says.

Tariq materialises beside Jai.

“And then there’s Tariq, of course. He would have been a deadly weapon just as he is, but we’ve found out that with the help of satellite imagery and even civilian-accessible technology like Google Earth, he can go anywhere he needs to. Very useful for low-budget international assassinations.”

The Commander stirs uneasily. “You understand that I find it difficult to respond with full coherence, given the circumstances,” he says.

“Of course,” Jai says. “And what you must understand in turn is that I mean well. We want the same things. The very
last thing I want is any sort of conflict with the Indian armed forces. Not because you could harm me in any way, of course, but because we’d be losing out on the greatest opportunity in our history. And all my men are not invincible.”

“Don’t listen to him,” Vir says suddenly. “He’s changed. He wasn’t like this.”

“No, Vir,” says the Commander. “He’s behaved… irresponsibly, but his record is excellent. I see your point, Jai, but after all you’ve done, I don’t think our superiors can trust you. Would you be willing to operate under Vir’s leadership? If so, I will speak in your favour.”

Jai’s smile is cold. “I’m not sure how to put this best, Commander,” he says. “I sense your willingness to work with us, and I can wholly understand how much effort it must have taken. But let’s face facts. In our present situation, it really doesn’t matter whether you trust me or not. I was always very fond of Vir — I’ve known him for years, I see myself as his mentor in many ways. And I always saw him as an integral member of my elite unit, but then he went and complained, like a whiny little schoolboy. So if we are all to be one happy family, I’m afraid it is now Vir who must earn
my
trust.”

“And how would he do that?” asks the Commander.

“You haven’t met the rest of my team,” Jai says.

“Where are you taking me?” Tia asks. “We’ve been walking for ages. I want to meet Jai!”

“He’s busy,” the soldier replies. “Sorry, but I have to lock you in. He’ll see you later, when Poison’s up.”

“All right,” Tia says. “Reasonable. Is there a place in this
building where you keep lots of weapons?”

“Like I’d tell you,” the soldier says, laughing.

He doesn’t even notice when other Tias, handcuffed to nothing, appear behind him, simply stopping as the one handcuffed to him walks on. He does notice, though, when a handcuff chain tightens across his throat, cutting off his startled yell, and another Tia dives at his legs, sending them all to the floor in a struggling heap. The guard tussles with four Tias until he’s relieved of his gun and the key to the handcuffs.

“So tell me again,” Tia says, idly pointing the gun at the guard’s right eye, “where do you keep the big guns?”

A huge shaven-headed man and a little girl in a school uniform, white shirt, grey skirt, striped tie, enter the hall.

“We need to leave,” Vir says quietly to the Commander.

Tariq appears beside the Commander, gun pointed at his head.

“Perhaps you should step aside, sir,” Jai says.

As Tariq pushes the Commander to a corner of the hall, the poet and the President back away, towards the door. The schoolgirl and the shaven-headed man advance slowly towards Vir.

“You first, Sher,” Jai says.

The shaven-headed man nods. Then his muscles swell up, and dark lines appear around his body, swirling contours that converge into thick black stripes. His spine bends forward, his face contorts, fur sprouts out all over his body. His clothes rip as his torso thickens. Moments later, an eight-foot giant with a tiger’s head and paws stands in front of Vir. He growls, a low, ominous rumble that fills the underground hangar.

Vir flies up into the air as the tiger-man lunges at him, misses and lands heavily on the floor. He’s up in an instant and airborne, but Vir swerves aside, and Sher misses again.

“Fight him, damn it!” Jai yells at Vir.

“No,” Vir says. “Stop this, sir. We can still find a way out of this.”

“What happened to you? What happened to your spine?” Jai responds.

“I met someone who showed me how wrong this was. How we need to work together to change the world.”

Jai laughs out loud. “I’d like to meet this friend of yours and congratulate him for being a really original thinker,” he says. “Oh, this endless war, this senseless violence!” He spreads his arms out and assumes an expression of infinite sorrow. “People fighting for millennia over nothing! If only someone had thought of this before! We could all get together and make the world perfect!”