Chapter 6

The sun had set moments ago, leaving the sky tinged with shades of red, orange, and copper. The courtyard of the Parliament House almost glowed in the fading sunlight, resplendent with colorful flowers and panoramic greenery. On any other day, Abhijat would have enjoyed his routine walk through the grounds.

Yet, all he could think of was yesterday's dinner. Rito's laughter and her contagious excitement, as she told them about her new job at the university. The way she had raved about Sinya Haval and her books. The plans she had made about surprising their parents with the news. And the baffled disappointment in her eyes when he had failed to share in her joy.

He'd told her he had a headache, but he could tell she didn't believe him. Not really. Rito always knew when he was lying; not that he was a very good liar to begin with. He could see her trying to cover up the hurt in her eyes as she joked with the waiters and discussed her plans with Ruqaiya.

And throughout the evening, he bit his tongue to keep himself from telling her the truth. But the one thing that was more intolerable than the thought of Rito being angry with him, was that of her feeling defeated, feeling like a failure.

And so, he had kept his mouth shut and done his best to share in his sister's happiness. And he still wasn't sure if he'd made the right choice.

He rounded the corner into the front yard. A man dressed in orange and black detached himself from a group of similarly dressed workers and approached him.

"We're done for the day," he said, nodding at Abhijat. He was broad shouldered, wore a thick moustache, and was almost as tall as Abhijat. He held a black cap in his large, callused hands, attached to thick forearms with more than a few scars on them. "We'll be back tomorrow to check if any of the new pipes are causing trouble. But apart from that, the work is almost over."

Abhijat nodded, and accompanied him to his truck. All their gear had already been packed into the back, and some of the crew members were taking off their overalls before jumping into the vehicle.

"No trouble, I hope," Abhijat said, more out of politeness than real curiosity.

Every six months, the pipes were cleaned and any minor damages repaired. The work had been going on for the past week, and by now Abhijat knew most of the plumbing crew by face, if not by name.

The man assured him that everything was in order, put on his cap, and jumped in beside the driver. The truck rumbled to life, lurched forward, and rounded the corner towards the exit gates.

Out of the corner of his eye, Abhijat saw a flickering brightness in one of the second floor windows. He turned. An orange and gold light flared in the balcony of the Prime Minister's office.

***

Abhijat darted up the four flights of stairs to the second floor, taking the steps two at a time. An acrid smell filled his nostrils as soon as he reached the second-floor landing. He kept moving, his lungs burning with the lack of oxygen.

The passage leading up to his father's old office was filled with smoke. He dashed up to the doorway and reached, instinctively, to turn the brass doorknob –

And recoiled, blisters forming on the skin of his palm as a cry escaped his lips.

He cursed, then tried kicking the door in. The sturdy fiberglass panel refused to budge. "Fuck," he snarled, smoke filling his lungs even as he stood helplessly outside the chamber.

Preparing himself for the impact, Abhijat sucked in a deep breath and threw himself, shoulder-first, against the door. It creaked, but remained firmly shut. He took a step back and repeated the process, throwing his full weight against the door. This time, it creaked and moved slightly backwards.

Acrid fumes filled his lungs, choking him and making his eyes water. For a fleeting second, he considered backing away, getting to the safety of the ground floor and calling for help. He could barely breathe out here. What would it be like inside? He wouldn't be doing Fasih any favors by burning to death alongside him.

And yet, had things been different – normal – it would have been his father inside the office.

"Third time's the charm," he muttered, and careened into the door one last time. It flew open, causing him to bang his head painfully against the reinforced fiberglass. He groaned. "Damnit!"

The smoke-filled chamber was dark and suffocating, with occasional flashes of fiery brightness that blinded him and made it harder to see. The curtains near the back were on fire, as was most of the carpet, making it look as though half the floor was burning. An ember singed the bottom of his boot, burning through the leather and causing a scalding pain to shoot through his foot.

The lights had gone out and there was smoke everywhere. His eyes watered incessantly, further clouding his vision. Abhijat thanked the stars for those miserable weeks of high-altitude training, which was the only reason he hadn't yet collapsed from the lack of oxygen.

Dizzy, breathless, and in pain, he stumbled forward, trying to avoid the flames and the smoking remnants of what had once been expensive furniture.

Precious seconds passed before his stinging eyes landed on Fasih. The Prime Minister had collapsed face-first on his desk, his inky hair staining the polished tabletop, which was thankfully yet to catch fire.

Stepping over smoking debris, Abhijat closed the distance between them and pulled Fasih up by the scruff of his neck. He was pale, his face whiter than usual and his lips chapped and blue. He wasn't breathing.

"Goddammit!" he muttered, pulling Fasih unceremoniously off the chair and into his arms. He wasn't heavy, and ordinarily Abhijat could have carried him without breaking a sweat. He didn't ordinarily have burned feet and lungs full of smoke, however.

Staggering under the added weight, he inched towards the door. Something creaked, and a section of the plaster fell off the back wall.

Abhijat whirled, forgetting for a second that he was carrying a comatose Prime Minister in his arms. Swaying slightly, he took a step back, trying to find his balance without dropping Fasih, and promptly stepped on a splintered piece of smoldering wood.

His vision swam as he cursed a blue streak, his knees threatening to buckle. He was losing air he couldn't afford to lose, yet it hurt to breathe, like a million hot pins were stabbing his lungs. His throat itched, but coughing made him choke, which only made the pain worse.

Every fiber of his being screamed at him to let Fasih go and make a run for it. What good would it do for both of them to die in this inferno?

Rito's face flashed before his eyes. What would she say? And his parents? He wondered incoherently if they would miss him. He wondered if he would want them to.

His feet moved, almost of their own accord, towards the still-open door. Towards the light which promised fresh air and an escape from the searing pain in his chest.

Seconds before he'd reached the doorway, a grinding noise made him pause. He looked up. One of the wooden cupboards near the door was aflame. It burned with an orange and gold flame which sent sparks flying in every direction. They singed Abhijat's face, even as he closed his eyes to keep them from blinding him.

There was another piercing screech and the cupboard collapsed, the top half falling across the doorway, still aflame.

Abhijat staggered back, his vision clouding over. He wasn't sure if it was the sweat, the tears, or just the lack of oxygen. He looked back. The flames had eaten their way through most of the carpet and were moving incessantly forward, towards them.

In front of him, the heat from the burning cupboard made his skin prickle. He coughed, inhaling more smoke and retching into the fire, even as his ribs tried to crawl out of his body along with his lungs.

There was no way in hell he was going to be able to jump over the burning cupboard – not with Fasih in his arms. Trying it would be a death sentence for both of them. And yet, there was no other way out.

Waiting for the cupboard to burn down wasn't an option. The chamber was full of wooden furniture and other flammable knickknacks waiting to catch fire. And even if they didn't get burned to a crisp by then, they certainly would die of smoke inhalation.

Part of him wasn't even sure if Fasih was still alive. And he had neither the energy nor the desire to check for a pulse.

He took a hesitant step forward, then jumped back with an aborted cry. It was too hot, and the embers flying around the blazing cupboard stung him.

His legs were shaking, and he could feel the dizziness getting worse. He'd end up killing both of them if he didn't act, and act quickly.

Closing his eyes, he sucked in a deep breath. Well, nobody could say he hadn't tried. And a concussion was better than third degree burns anyway. His arms shaking under the strain, he lifted Fasih's prone form as high as he could manage and, with a strangled groan, threw him across the doorway, over the flaming cupboard, and into the safety of the corridor outside.

Something crackled behind him and a gust of smoke filled his lungs. The carpet was almost gone and a part of the large mahogany desk had caught fire. The advancing flames were less than a foot away.

He took a step back, further closing the distance, his heel barely an inch from the fire. Parting his lips, he inhaled deeply one last time, closed his eyes, and leaped.

The moment his feet touched the ground again, his knees buckled and he collapsed. He wondered if he had made it out of the office, but he was too tired to open his eyes and see.

***

The stench of antiseptics assaulting his nostrils was the first thing Abhijat noticed. The second was that he was surrounded by various shades of white, blue, and purple. His body ached, but the pain was muted and distant, held at bay by some cocktail of drugs he was simultaneously thankful for and annoyed about. He had never been a fan of painkillers.

There was a needle in his arm, and he was hooked up to a bottle of some suspicious-looking greenish liquid. He wondered if the buzzing in his head was due to the drugs, or if he had a concussion.

The door swung open, letting a harried-looking Ruqaiya into the bare and sterile hospital room. Her clothes were wrinkled and her hair askew. God, how long had he been out?

When she saw he was awake, she grinned, shut the door softly behind her, and came to sit on the lone chair beside the narrow bed. "Well, look who's awake. The hero of Qayit."

He grunted impatiently, trying to push himself up into a sitting position. "How long has it been? How long was I out?"

"A few hours." Ruqaiya placed a firm hand on his shoulder and another on the small of his back, helping him into a sitting position. She then pressed insistently down on his chest until he had his back against the cushioned headboard.

"This is ridiculous," he said irritably. "I'm fine. The worst that happened was I stepped on some goddamn piece of burning furniture. Which reminds me, is Fasih still alive?"

"Alive and kicking. Or, well, at least breathing. Which is more than he would've been if you hadn't ridden to his rescue when you did." She chuckled. "I can only imagine the headlines when the press finds out."

"So they haven't yet?" He asked hopefully.

Ruqaiya shook her head. "The guards have been instructed to keep the media out. For now, all they know is that there was a minor accident at Parliament House. They're speculating, of course, but for now that's all it is. We'll issue a statement once we know more about what exactly happened there."

"Well," Abhijat raised an eyebrow. "Enlighten me. What did happen?"

There was a knock, and the door opened a few inches to reveal a short, bespectacled man dressed in a button-down and an ill-fitting pair of trousers.

"Mr. Vyas. Come in, come in." Ruqaiya rose from her seat and extended her hand to the newcomer.

He stepped forward, took her hand, shook it briefly and let it go. "I can come back if this is not a good time," he said, glancing at Abhijat with some curiosity in his eyes.

"Oh, that won't be necessary. As you know, this is Abhijat Shian, head of the Prime Minister's security detail." She turned to look at him. "And Abhijat, this is Mr. Vyas from the NIA. He's currently in charge of this investigation."

Abhijat nodded, his mind racing. If the National Investigation Agency was involved, then what had happened was most probably not an accident. Or at least Ruqaiya had reason to believe that it wasn't. He had suspected as much, but the knowledge still sat uneasily in the pit of his stomach.

Pleasantries were exchanged, and a few more minutes passed before Ruqaiya cut to the chase. "So, do we have any updates?"

Vyas pressed his thin lips together and crossed his hands behind his back. "Well, we know for a fact that the fire started because of some loose electrical wiring in the office balcony. There was power fluctuation in the building around…uh, 5pm, more or less.

"That caused some sparks, from what we can tell, which ignited the furniture in the vicinity and started the fire. Our engineers are still trying to figure out what caused the power fluctuation, and how the faulty wiring went unnoticed for so long. You'll know more as soon as I get some concrete answers." He sighed. "Still, it was fortunate nobody was in the balcony at the time. 'Cause from what I understand, if anyone had come into contact with the wires during the power fluctuation, they'd almost certainly have been electrocuted on the spot."

Ruqaiya paled. "I see," she said, her voice tight. "Well, thank you, Mr. Vyas. You'll let us know as soon as you get any new information?"

"Of course," he nodded, and left.

As soon as the door swung shut behind Vyas, Abhijat leaned forward on the bed. "What was that about?"

Ruqaiya hesitated, looking almost ready to follow Mr. Vyas out of the room. Abhijat narrowed his eyes, pinning her to the chair with his gaze.

"Damnit Qia! Spit it out, will you? What's the matter? What's gotten you so riled up?"

Ruqaiya fixed her gaze on a gray spot on the otherwise pristine bedcover. For a few seconds, she said nothing, her fingers tapping the armrest of her chair. "Rajat used to love that balcony." She looked up to meet Abhijat's eyes for a brief second, before returning her gaze to the bedcover. "Unless it was raining, he had his tea there every afternoon, watching the sunset. Oh, around four-thirty or five o' clock, depending on the weather."

Perhaps it was the painkillers fogging his brain, but it took a moment for the implications of her words to sink in. When it did, his stomach clenched and he sucked in a sharp breath. "You're saying this was deliberate. An-an assassination attempt?"

"I'm saying I don't remember the number of times I've had tea with Rajat in that balcony at five in the afternoon. We'd discuss policy, or take a little break from work and just chat about random things. It was almost a ritual with your father. Everybody knew he'd be in the balcony, watching the sunset in the late afternoon. Well, everybody in his inner circle, anyway. He even held meetings there every now and then, if the group was small enough to fit."

"So if my father had been in the office today…"

"It's very likely he would've been in that balcony when the fire started."

Abhijat rubbed a hand over his eyes. To his surprise, he realized his fingers were shaking. "And you don't think that's a coincidence, do you?"

Ruqaiya shook her head, rose to her feet, and started pacing. Abhijat envied her the freedom. "It's all too perfect, the time and the place. I mean, what're the odds? And like Mr. Vyas said, how did the loose wiring in the Prime Minister's office go unnoticed for so long?"

Abhijat frowned. "The wiring is checked every two weeks. There was nothing wrong with them during the last inspection."

Ruqaiya leaned forward and pressed two fingers to her temple, her eyes closed. "You mightn't know about this, but about a month before your father resigned, he'd had a...I suppose you could call it a minor accident.

"We'd just left his office. We were taking the stairs to the ground floor, for a meeting with some union leaders in the Southside conference hall. I was a couple of steps behind him when his walking-stick broke. Just snapped in two in the blink of an eye, that heavy ironwood cane he'd been using for more than two years. And for no apparent reason.

"He tripped, of course, and sprained his ankle. Would've taken a dive down the stairs, if one of his guards hadn't caught him in the nick of time. I didn't think much of it then. We were too busy making sure he was alright, and we all thought it was an accident. But now that I think about it, it could have ended very badly if not for a bout of sheer good luck.

"And the same can be said of the fire this afternoon. How did a sturdy ironwood cane break in half out of the blue? How did faulty wiring in the Prime Minister's chamber go unnoticed for long enough to cause a fire?

"Besides, both these incidents were just...too specific, you know? The cane. The fire in the balcony, at the exact time when your father used to have his tea there. Somebody had to be very familiar with Rajat's habits and routines to pull these off."

"But that's the point, isn't it?" Abhijat said, frowning. "My father doesn't drink tea in that balcony anymore. He hasn't done so in weeks. Whoever was targeting him, if they were in fact targeting him, must have known about that.

"I mean, you just said only those in his inner circle knew that he spent the afternoons in the balcony. But if any of them had in fact betrayed him, why didn't they simply call the whole thing off after he resigned? They must've known he'd resigned. Everybody in the country with a cable connection knows that by now."

"You're right, they should've called it off. Unless they couldn't."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Ruqaiya shrugged. "It means that to shoot someone, you don't always need to pull the trigger yourself. Say they hired someone to mess with the wiring in the Prime Minister's office on a particular day, expecting that Rajat would be there. And then the whole mess with Fasih started unexpectedly. Well, maybe they just couldn't contact the hired guns in time to call it off. Or maybe they didn't want to call it off."

"You're saying they wanted to off Fasih as well? So you think it's not personal. Somebody just wants to kill the Prime Minister of Naijan, whoever that happens to be?"

"I'm not saying anything, Abhijat." Ruqaiya dropped back into her chair with a sigh. "Hell, for all I know, I might just be overthinking it. The fire might've been an accident after all."

"But you don't think it was."

She shook her head slowly, looking up to meet his eyes. "No, I don't think it was."

Abhijat nodded. "Well, whatever it was, we'll find out. We'll start our own investigation once I'm out of here. If only we can get our hands on whoever tampered with the wiring, this whole mess will untangle itself quickly enough."

"The NIA wouldn't be happy about you interfering with their case."

Abhijat smirked. "Then they're welcome to be unhappy. I'm the Prime Minister's head of security, aren't I? I have every right to take an interest in a possible assassination attempt. Hell, that's literally my job description."

Before Ruqaiya could reply, the door clicked open and a nurse stuck her head into the room. "The Prime Minister is awake, in case you wanted to see him."

***

The nurse hadn't been happy about taking him off the IV drip. But Abhijat would be damned if he missed this opportunity to interview a drug-addled and possibly-concussed Fasih. If there was ever a time when they might get some truth out of him, this was it.

Ruqaiya rapped her knuckles respectfully against the door, but didn't wait for a response before stepping through into the room. Abhijat followed her in, letting the door swing shut behind him.

Fasih, sitting with his back against the headboard, smiled brightly at them as they came to stand beside his bed. "Please, sit down. Make yourselves comfortable," he said, setting aside the magazine he had been reading. Cutting off Ruqaiya's perfunctory protest, he quipped, "Besides, you're both very tall. Staring up at you is singularly uncomfortable."

Despite herself, Ruqaiya snickered and perched near the foot of the bed, signaling for Abhijat to take the bedside chair.

With some difficulty, he settled himself into the chair under Fasih's curious gaze, trying not to put too much weight on his injured foot. Once he was as comfortable as it was possible to be on a narrow plastic chair, he looked up to see Fasih watching him with wide, guileless eyes. It was unnerving.

"I understand I have you to thank for the fact that I'm not a charred splotch in that stuffy old office. Really, my friend, thank you. I'd have hated for my last moments on earth to be spent on paperwork," he shuddered.

"I…uh," Abhijat spared a glance at Ruqaiya, unsure how to respond to that sentiment. Fasih looked genuinely thankful, not to mention a tad awestruck. For some reason, that made him uncomfortable. "I'm glad I could be of service, sir."

"I am very grateful to you for saving my life, Mr. Shian. But no amount of gratitude will compel me to let that pass. You've got to stop calling me that. And do stop being so horribly polite. It makes me feel thirty years older."

Before Abhijat could respond with anything more than a baffled grunt, Fasih turned his blinding smile towards Ruqaiya. "And I owe you a huge thank you, Madam Dehran, for recommending Mr. Shian for the position of my chief security officer. Not that I ever doubted your judgment, of course, but even I couldn't have foreseen how perfect a choice he'd turn out to be.

"Really, I'm glad he's heading the investigation into what happened today. I'm sure it was nothing, of course, but you can never be too careful, can you? Gosh! I feel like I've smoked every last cigarette on the planet. Anyway, I'd never feel safer than if I knew Mr. Shian was watching my back."

"Wait. Back up a second." Ruqaiya gaped at Fasih. "Abhijat's heading the investigation into the office fire?"

"Of course he is." He looked equally baffled. "Who else should be heading it?"

"Well, I mean, the NIA–"

"Ah yes, the NIA. That reminds me. I was just on the phone with Mr. Vyas. He'll share all the details of their investigation with you. Not that there's much to share as of yet, of course. Still, I hope you won't have a problem collaborating with them on the case." He sighed. "I know from experience the NIA can be a pain in all the wrong places, when they want to be."

"I – of course," said Abhijat, swallowing his surprise. "It won't be a problem at all."

He looked over at Ruqaiya, and could see that she was wondering the same thing he was. How hard had Fasih hit his head when Abhijat threw him out of the burning office?

"Ah well, in that case, I'll call the NIA headquarters and set up a meeting immediately," she interjected, just in case Fasih changed his mind once he was feeling better. "Take care, Jehan. I'll come visit you again tomorrow. Don't talk to reporters until we know more about what happened."

"Of course not." Fasih smiled sleepily, pulling the blanket up to his chin. "Wouldn't dream of it."

After a few more seconds of polite conversation, Abhijat left the room with Ruqaiya. Shutting the door behind her, she frowned at him, looking nonplussed. "You know, it's the strangest thing. He just gave us exactly what we wanted, probably 'cause he's too drugged to know better. And yet..."

"It still feels like somehow he played us?" Abhijat finished the thought for her.

"It really does, doesn't it? And the worst part is, I don't understand how."