Turbulence (32 page)

“I don’t want to go to a hotel, Aman. I’m scared of public places. He could be anywhere.”

“Then call me in ten minutes,” Aman says, and disconnects. He books several suites at The Ritz for his teammates. Vir wants to go straight to the hotel and chalk out battle strategies, combination attack plans and so on. He doesn’t want to meet Namrata at all — she might be Jai’s first victim of the day, and he doesn’t want to get to know her. He tells Aman to dissuade her from coming to the bridge at all.

“What if Jai does just want to talk?” Tia asks. “Maybe he just wants to send out a message like you did.”

“The last time Jai just wanted to talk, it was at his base in Udhampur, and he killed the man who’d come to negotiate with him,” Vir says. “He doesn’t just want to talk. If this girl can see the future, then I think he’s going to abduct her. He’s going to want to see how things turn out.”

“He let her go before, in Mumbai,” Tia points out. “Maybe he just wants to be sure he has the world’s attention.”

“Let her decide what she wants to do, then. If she can see the future, she’s in a better place to judge than I am.” And Vir buries his head in the newspaper again.

The train stops at Tower Hill, and Uzma and Aman get off, minding the gap. Before he leaves, Tia hugs Aman, hard. To his surprise, there are tears in her eyes. Lugging Uzma’s suitcase, they leave the station. As they emerge into the grey morning, Aman hears sirens everywhere. Police cars zip around the Tower of London, and a few policemen and women in high-visibility fluorescent jackets walk around, openly carrying
guns; something Aman hasn’t seen in London before.

Namrata calls again, and this time she’s in tears. She’s seeing Jai at every street corner, inside every passing car. Aman asks Uzma where a good place to meet would be. It’s 10 o’clock already, but he doesn’t want to give her Uzma’s brother’s address. Uzma rolls her eyes at this, and instructs him to call Namrata over at once. Namrata has, after all, never expressed a desire to kidnap
her
parents. When Namrata hears she’s going to be in someone’s house, meet people she knows, she sobs in relief, and Aman pretends he isn’t feeling any guilt at all.

Uzma’s brother’s flat is on Pepys Street, only minutes from the station. During that short walk, a policeman stops Aman for questioning, but is charmed by Uzma’s smile and leaves them alone. Pepys Street is narrow and calm, tall beige and white modern buildings rise on either side of the road, mostly full of renovated flats and yuppies. Uzma’s brother Yusuf fits the profile completely: his building has a hotel-like glass door, a porter and a lift which opens with a posh, restrained
ping!
Uzma practically flies across the landing into her parents’ arms.

Aman watches Uzma’s family envelop her in a giant-squid-like hug and smiles slightly nervously as he lugs her suitcase out of the lift. Uzma’s mother is as beautiful as she is, but judging from the stern line of her jaw and the formidableness of her nose, Aman does not envy her opponents in court. Her father looks like an actor hand-picked to play an ageing, distinguished, still-sexy Oxford professor, the kind that young undergraduates dream of seducing after tutorials. Her brother Yusuf is not as intimidating, mostly because he’s slightly plump and dressed in standard investment banker gear, which is not a disguise.

Outside the scrum waiting to jump in is Yusuf’s wife, a thin,
freckled and immediately lovable redhead named Meg. It is she who rescues Aman and ushers him into the flat. He sits on a big cream-coloured futon and studies the shiny wooden floor, the sleek and very impersonal minimalist metal/wood furnishings, the striking contemporary artwork (by jet-setting Pakistani artists) on cream-coloured walls and the very empty, very smart open kitchen. He deduces, correctly, that Yusuf and Meg are a very rich, very trendy couple who aren’t home a lot. He sees a family photograph on a table: Uzma, her two brothers, their parents. It’s Yusuf’s graduation, and everyone’s beaming.

Aman has a sudden urge to take an open-top bus tour of London, he wants to see the city once again before Jai tears it down. He remembers his first time here, many years ago, when his father was alive, when his mother smiled a lot.

After a few minutes, the squealing, many-legged beast that is the Abidi family totters into the drawing room and collapses on a low divan, and Uzma’s mother turns to Aman, back to Uzma, and says, “Tell us everything.”

“Before that, meet Aman, my boyfriend,” Uzma says, and Aman is surprised at how elated he feels; his face splits into a bashful grin.

The family Abidi scans him from head to foot in complete silence and then they all start talking at the same time. What they say is destined to remain a mystery to Aman because at this point two extremely attractive young men dash into the flat and lift Uzma off the divan with tremendous strength and enthusiasm. Neither of them is Uzma’s other brother, their names are Hanif and Mark, and they’re both old friends and former boyfriends of Uzma’s. Hanif is British-Pakistani, beautiful and sensitive-looking, has spiky hair, a carefully styled beard and
a very posh accent; Mark is built like a rugby player and is charmingly Irish. Aman hates them on sight. Mark and Hanif have evidently managed to cross the gap between ex-boyfriend and friend-of-the-family, and they join the Abidis in subjecting Aman to a thorough investigation on every detail of his life.

Aman talks for what seems like hours, facing reactions ranging from wide-eyed and impressed (Meg) to openly condescending (Hanif). Between Hanif and Mark, Uzma’s exes have done everything from performing in the West End to climbing Mount Titicaca, and Aman cannot find anything to brag about. “I recently took major steps towards solving world poverty and accidentally gave the internet sentience” seems like a rude thing to say. He’s actually relieved when Namrata calls to announce that she’s lost very near Pepys Street.

“I’ll go meet Jai if you two come with me,” Namrata says ten minutes later. She’s sitting with Aman and Uzma at Meg’s square wooden dining table, drinking something fruity and vitamin-enriched in a tall glass. There’s an ebony statue of Aphrodite in the centre of the table, a plaque beneath it reveals that is a prize for Team Togetherness.

The other Abidis watch the news on TV with Mark and Hanif, occasionally shooting curious glances at the three conspirators, but too polite to interfere. Uzma has announced this is an emergency, and her parents, it is clear, are now seriously worried. Vir’s video is playing on TV, interspersed with shots of a police cordon being formed at each end of the Millennium Bridge, of helicopters hovering over Parliament, of London preparing for the worst. There’s also a picture of Jai, taken at night by a tourist
walking by the Thames: Jai is sitting on a ledge high up on the MI5/SIS building by the river, 85 Vauxhall Cross, smoking a cigar. The image is grainy, but he looks like he’s smiling.

“There’s absolutely no reason for us to go meet Jai,” Uzma says. “Don’t do it if you don’t want to, though I don’t see why you came all this way to back out at the last moment. There’s just an hour to go, Namrata. Make up your mind.”

“He said he’d destroy London if I didn’t meet him,” Namrata says. “And I had this vision — I told you. That’s why you’re here, isn’t it? The three of us, standing in front of St Paul’s Cathedral. The bridge is broken. Jai is dead. There’s a man standing above him — floating, actually. I didn’t recognise him before but now I do. It’s that Vir guy from the video — the one who let Jai into your house. There were other people too — I think I saw that tiger-headed man and the little girl from the stadium, but I’m not sure. The man was dead, and the girl was crying. They must be here with Jai.”

“No, they’re with us,” Aman says. “Look, this isn’t going to help because it’s all drawn from fiction, but what they always say to people who see the future in books and comics is that they’re seeing one of many possible futures. If you change the conditions, you change the results. I don’t want to see a future where Sher dies. Or even Jai — I’m not sure that he’s beyond redemption, that he deserves to die.”

“I’m scared of going alone, Aman,” Namrata says. “What if you don’t come and Jai kills me? What if I don’t go and Jai kills everyone?”

“IT’S ALL OVER!” yells a voice, and they all jump and turn. The Abidis and the exes look back guiltily. Mark has changed the channel to ESPN.

“Sorry,” he mutters, and lowers the volume.

“If you’re right and the dreams I have are warnings of events, not unchangeable predictions, then it means that I could have done something to save those people. Kalki’s parents. Kalki. Jai’s parents. Their deaths are my fault,” Namrata says, tears welling up in her eyes again.

“Oh, stop crying,” Uzma snaps. “The baby’s alive. Nothing’s your fault. What’s wrong, Aman?”

Aman opens his eyes and shakes his head.

“I don’t know. Something is,” he says. “Did you have a vision of Jai’s parents’ death, Namrata?”

“What? Yes,” she says.

“Why didn’t you tell us?”

“I was too scared. I was hiding in the mountains at the time, hoping the bad dreams would just go away.”

She lowers her head and tears roll down her cheeks. Aman sits; his eyes are closed and he seems to be lost in thought. Uzma looks from one to the other, waiting for something to happen. Across the living room, the Abidis make enquiring gestures. Uzma waves the Team Togetherness award at them and they look at the TV dutifully, ignoring Namrata’s increasingly loud sniffs.

“Wait a minute,” Aman says, looking up. “When did you get in to London?”

“This morning,” Namrata replies.

“Impressive, considering that all flights are cancelled. And why does a British Airways flight from a week ago have your name on it?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Namrata says.

Aman stands up, knocking his chair back, and slams his fist on the table.

“You weren’t in the mountains,” he says, his voice rising. “You were in London. That’s why your phone was off. That’s why you emailed instead of calling. You were here when the first mob formed outside Jai’s parents’ house. You were here when they died.”

“Yes, I was,” Namrata whispers.

“Why?”

“I wanted to get the story,” she says, her voice barely audible. “I had a vision and I wanted to capture it on tape. Get an exclusive, like always. That’s my job.”

“But you didn’t get a story. Why not, if you were here?”

“I got scared, okay? I didn’t want to see Jai again. When the crowd started getting angry, I ran away. He wants to kill me, I know he does.”

Aman runs a hand through his hair, his eyes wild.

“Why is it that you and the mob controller are always at the same place at the same time, Namrata?”

Namrata’s eyes widen in horror.

“What are you saying?” she squeals. “Have you gone completely mad? Uzma! Talk to him!”

“You brought Jai here,” Aman says. “And you tricked all of us into coming here to kill him for you. You haven’t had any bloody visions, Namrata. These mobs — they were all you. Right from the start.”

There’s a sudden movement beside Aman. Uzma raises the Team Togetherness statue. She swings it, hard, and there’s a loud, dull thud as it connects with Aman’s head.

“Uzma! What the hell?”

Mark is the first to his feet, he runs up to Uzma and grabs her. The rest of her family and friends also rush towards the table. Uzma doesn’t struggle in Mark’s firm grip. She stares at the trophy in her hands, too aghast to speak. On the floor, Aman groans and rubs his head.

“They had a fight,” Namrata says. “Uzma, you really shouldn’t have hit him.”

Yusuf kneels next to Aman.

“Maybe we should call an ambulance,” he says.

“She’s been really angry over the last few days,” Namrata says. “I’ve tried to help her, but…”

“You did this!” Uzma yells. “You made me do it!”

“Don’t say anything,” her mother says. “We all saw what happened.”

“It’s your temper, darling,” Namrata says. “You should
really calm down.”

“Let me go!” Uzma pushes Mark aside. “That’s her power! She drives people into a rage! She makes them attack people!”

“Uzma, please, just settle down,” her father says.

“I’ve been really worried about her,” Namrata says. “Do you have any medication? She gets really violent when she’s like this.”

Uzma lunges at her, but Mark holds her back and wrests the trophy from her grasp. Uzma is pale and shaking with anger as she stares at Namrata.

“Tell them the truth!” she yells. “Tell them you did it!”

“I did it,” Namrata says, and clasps her hands to her mouth, her eyes widening in horror. “I did it, she’s not lying, I made her hit Aman. What — what’s happening to me?”

Aman tries to sit up, but can’t. He rubs his head and watches, amazed, as Namrata steps back, still speaking. It’s as if every word she utters is leaving her mouth against her will.

“Aman was right. All those angry crowds — they were all me. I can’t see the future at all. Why am I telling you this?”

“I don’t know. Are you going to attack me again?”

“Of course not. I don’t want to. I really like you, Uzma. I have from the start. That’s why I didn’t use my power on you at the cricket match. I thought you’d catch me then. Thought you’d all wonder why my cameraman wasn’t affected, but you didn’t.”

“This is crazy. Why would you do something like this?”

Namrata regains her composure. A slow, sly smile spreads across her pretty face.

“Uzma, I really don’t want to tell you,” she says. “But are you asking me to tell you?”

“Yes,” Uzma says. “Tell me everything.”

“I told you in Mumbai. I gave too much away. I told you how I was upset because we were all living in this bubble. Because no one got angry about the things going on around us any more, no one cared about anything even when it was in the news. I was sick of covering stupid fashion shows and awards ceremonies. Maybe that’s why I got this power. I could rustle up a mob, make them really mad about anything I wanted. Mad enough to rip apart anything I asked them to. At first I was just doing it to get bigger stories, promotions, become well known so I got to be the reporter my channel sent to the really important places — but then Jai showed up. I got him mad as well, but he just shrugged it aside. Never lost focus. Didn’t know I was doing it, but he knew who I was. He was watching me, following me. I thought he wanted to kill me.