Chapter 7

The office smelt of mildew and stale coffee.

Walking up to the lanky, green-haired receptionist, Abhijat asked to see the manager. The boy grunted irritably, glanced up from his phone, took one look at Abhijat, and visibly swallowed whatever cheeky riposte had been bubbling in his throat. He pointed Abhijat to a tiny waiting room and ran off to look for his boss.

Abhijat took a seat at the larger of the two tables in the waiting room and began flipping through an old magazine lying in a corner. For an electrical company, the place wasn't particularly well lit.

A few minutes later, a short, balding man with beady eyes and a protruding belly entered the room. With a friendly nod, he sat down across from Abhijat. He guessed he was in the presence of the manager.

"So, Mr. Dixit, I gather your company won the last tender for electrical maintenance work at the Parliament House," Abhijat said, once the initial greetings had been exchanged.

The man nodded, looking nervously around the room. Abhijat surmised he had heard about the fire, but said nothing. Dixit looked harmless enough, but Abhijat didn't want to part with more information than he had to.

He cleared his throat and continued, "Correct me if I'm wrong, but I understand that your firm did much of the electrical rewiring work during the last renovation of the Prime Minister's office?"

Mr. Dixit blinked. "Yes, yes. But that was over six months ago."

This was news to Abhijat, but he tried not to let his surprise show. "And can you give me a list of the people who had access to the PM's office during that time? I suppose you have records of the team that worked on that project?"

"Of course we do," Dixit frowned. "In fact, most of them are here in the office right now. We vet all our employees most thoroughly, I can assure you."

"Most of them?" Abhijat raised an eyebrow.

"Well, some of them were contract workers, of course." He coughed, stalling. "It was a very big project, the biggest we'd ever handled. We didn't have the manpower to handle everything ourselves. Most of the people who worked on the ministers' offices were our own employees, though. Only four or five were independent contractors."

"Four? Or five?"

"Five, to be exact."

"Can you give me their details? Addresses and phone numbers, to begin with."

Dixit nodded vigorously, looking relieved. "Of course. Right away. I'll be right back." He sprang to his feet and left the room hurriedly.

Minutes passed before the green-haired boy stepped through the door, carrying a handful of damp manila folders. "Dixit sir said we can send you the digital records if you'll leave your email at the reception," he said, handing Abhijat the folders.

"That'll be very helpful," he smiled up at the boy, accepting the files. "Tell me, how long have you been working here?"

"A little over a year," he frowned. "Why?"

"So, you were here about six months ago, when this company did some work over at the Parliament House?"

The boy nodded. "Of course. It got quite crazy around here. Busiest we've ever been." He chuckled. "The bonuses were worth it, though."

"I'm sure they were. I hear Mr. Dixit hired independent contractors to handle some of the work back then. Do you remember any of them? Anyone who seemed...suspicious, maybe?"

The boy frowned and scratched his head. "Nothing like that. There were the Vardhan brothers, of course, who kept sneaking into the kitchen. And well..."

"What?"

"Uh...nothing." He bit his lip. "Nothing important, anyway."

"Would it feel more important if there was a hundred bucks to be had at the end of it?"

The boy grinned. "For two hundred it'd feel positively indispensable."

"You've got yourself a deal."

***

Abhijat limped the few yards to his car, slid into the vehicle, and locked himself in. His injured foot throbbed from all the walking. "Fuck," he told his steering wheel, and fished his phone out of his pocket.

Taking a sheet of paper from one of the manila folders, he dialed the first number on it, leaned back into his seat, and waited.

It was noon by the time he was done with the phone calls. Stuffing the folders into his backpack, he turned the key in the ignition and drove out of the parking lot.

The Vardhan brothers, Fayed and Faheen, were still in the city, doing contract work for various electrical firms. Two of the other independent contractors Mr. Dixit had hired for the rewiring work at Parliament House were working together at a shopping mall downtown. Abhijat made a mental note to pay a visit to all four of them early the next day.

That just left Sajal, the fifth and final electrician outside of the company's payroll who, according to Dixit, had had access to the PM's office over six months ago. The man whom the green-haired boy had suspected of siphoning funds from the company's coffers, because of the expensive jewelry he wore to work.

And yet, according to the manager, nothing was amiss and all their finances were in order when Sajal's contract finally came to an end.

Furthermore, the phone number Sajal had given Mr. Dixit had been deactivated.

After some digging, Abhijat managed to track down the contact details of his landlord. When he called the number, an annoyed old man informed him that Sajal Mairik had only rented the flat for two months, almost half a year ago. Apparently, it'd been months since he had left the city.

That was all the old man knew, or was willing to tell. He swore he didn't know where his former tenant had gone, or even if he was still alive. When Abhijat asked if he had the phone numbers of any of Sajal's friends or family members, the old man grunted and disconnected the line.

He'd send someone to search the house Sajal had rented during his stay in Qayit, Abhijat decided. More to tick the task off his to-do list than because he expected to find anything useful there. Still, it had to be done. So far, this man was the closest thing he had to a lead.

After a few more minutes of driving, the silhouette of the NIA headquarters finally came into view. It was time to touch base with Mr. Vyas and his team.

***

Going through the folders Abhijat had brought, Mr. Vyas smiled thinly and pushed his spectacles up his nose. "Not bad for half a day's work."

"No, but I still don't know who this Sajal guy is. He seems to have vanished into thin air after completing his contract at the company."

"Ah, I think we can help you there, Captain...I mean, Mr. Shian."

Abhijat gritted his teeth, his hackles rising. He said nothing, however. If Vyas was trying to get a rise out of him, he wouldn't give him the satisfaction.

Not waiting for a response, the NIA agent rose to his feet and signaled for Abhijat to follow him down the corridor. "We've had our eyes on Sajal Mairik for some months now," he said, as they walked down the corridor towards his office. "That's one of the names he's used over the years. There are others. Anyway, he's been involved in some...what you might call 'unsavory activities' in Weritlan. Nothing major, at least not until now. Still, his name keeps coming up in many of our investigations in and around Ishfana."

Abhijat frowned. "You're saying he's holed up in Weritlan? So, what's his deal? Dissident? Separatist?"

Vyas laughed. "Nothing as...ideologically motivated as that. He's a mercenary, plain and simple. Does odd – and oftentimes unpleasant – jobs for the highest bidder. Up until now, he's only been a minor headache for local law enforcement; nothing the NIA needed to get involved in."

"Well, it needs to get involved now."

They came up to a large wooden door, which Abhijat assumed led to Vyas's office. The other man retrieved a card from his breast pocket and held it up to a tiny black device mounted on the wall next to the doorway. There was a click. Vyas pocketed the card, reached out, turned the knob, and stepped through the door. Abhijat followed suit.

The office was well-appointed but not ostentatious. Vyas slid behind his desk and dropped into his chair, inviting Abhijat to sit across from him. "Way ahead of you, Mr. Shian," he said with a patronizing smile. Bending slightly, he slid open a drawer in his desk and retrieved a sleek, gray tablet.

The device came to life under his fingers, and he pulled up a grainy photograph of a greasy-haired man coming out of what looked like a club. The lighting was poor and the picture quality wasn't great, but Abhijat recognized the man whose photo the green-haired receptionist had shown him earlier that day. Sajal Mairik.

Vyas flicked his fingers, pulling up more photos of Sajal on the device. All of them were taken in the same locality, it seemed, in and around the same club. Surveillance photos, Abhijat realized belatedly. "You're having him watched?"

Vyas nodded. "We'd have been more proactive about it if we'd known he's involved in such a high-profile case." He shrugged. "Still, it's no use crying over spilt milk. According to our intelligence, he's bought a house in quite a posh neighborhood of Weritlan. A neighborhood that should've been well beyond his means, according to his reported income."

"And this..." Abhijat pointed at the tablet screen. "Nightclub? Dance bar? Whatever this place is, seems to be quite a favorite of his."

Vyas grinned. "You're a perceptive man, Mr. Shian. The La Fantome Club…that's what first got him on our radar. It's apparently a highly exclusive club which opened recently in downtown Weritlan. Very fashionable. Very secretive. Very selective of their clientele."

Abhijat would have sensed the hostility rolling off Vyas if he'd been standing a mile off. "You think there's something going on at this club?"

"We have reliable information from multiple sources about suspicious activities taking place at the La Fantome. We've tried time and again to get our agents into the club, but to no avail. Their vetting process would put most government agencies to shame. You don't invest that kind of money on security unless you've got something you're desperate to hide."

Abhijat raised a brow. "So, what do you think it is? Smugglers? Terrorists?"

Vyas took off his glasses to rub tiredly at the bridge of his nose. "If I knew the answer to that question, we wouldn't be having this conversation, would we? But I can tell you this. La Fantome is not a nightclub any more than I'm a potato farmer. And the easiest way to find out what it really is…well, for now, your boy Sajal is our best bet."

Abhijat pulled the tablet to him and flipped through the pictures, this time focusing more on the buildings in the background than on Sajal himself. "You know," he said, after a few moments of silence. "I don't have a background in the intelligence services. Hell, it's been years since I lived in the capital and I've never worked in law enforcement. I served in the military, yes, but that's not unusual for the children of politicians."

"It's unusual for them to stay on active service for longer than a few months."

"Be that as it may, there's nothing in my background to suggest I might be an undercover agent working with the NIA. I think I might have better luck securing entry into this club than your people have had so far.

"And as far as 'exclusive clientele' is concerned," he smirked, stretching his legs out under him. "Not to brag or anything, but having Shian for a surname is pretty much as exclusive as you can get in this country."

Vyas grinned. "Why, I wouldn't have taken you for a snob, Mr. Shian."

"I wouldn't have taken me for one either," Abhijat smiled ruefully, rising to his feet. "But you know what they say about desperate times."

***

Jehan stirred the translucent liquid in one of the cups and handed it to Sinya with a smile. He then dropped another sugar cube into his own cup and folded himself into the moth-eaten sofa next to the stained kitchen counter.

He didn't have much of a sweet-tooth, but there was something about being in this house that always made him crave the sweet ginger tea Anuja gave them whenever they had a cold.

The kitchen was dim, paint peeling off the walls, and cobwebs peeked out of the corners. Jehan hadn't felt so comfortable in weeks. Breathing in the spicy aroma of the tea, he sighed. "God, I've missed this."

"And you've got no one to blame for it but yourself," Sinya informed him, taking an appreciative sip of her tea. "Maa taught you well. It's just like hers."

Jehan grinned, tipping his head back to stare up at the mold-stained ceiling. "Pretty much the story of my life summed up in a sentence, isn't it? 'No one to blame but myself.'"

On the dilapidated old couch beside him, Sinya stiffened. "Damn it, Jehan. That's not what I–"

"Drink your tea. It'll get cold. I'll let you know when I'm in need of a cuddle."

Sinya rolled her eyes and threw a cracker at him. "You're incorrigible."

"And you're the pot to my kettle," he said cheerfully, popping the cracker into his mouth.

"I'm serious, Jehan." Sinya frowned, gazing worriedly at him. "You could've been killed. And we couldn't even come to visit you. Damnit, do you have any idea how scared we were? How fucking terrified I was!"

Almost imperceptibly, Jehan curled in on himself, trying to calm his racing pulse. He bit his tongue, swallowing back the useless apology that rose automatically to his lips. He was sorry, but it wouldn't change anything. And neither of them had ever been big on inane platitudes.

Beside him, Sinya sighed and rubbed a hand tiredly over her face. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to startle you. I just...worry about you."

Jehan ignored her, looking around the room. "We'll need to repair this place sooner or later. It's falling apart." He was desperate to change the subject, and wasn't doing much to hide it. No point, anyway. Sinya had always been able to see right through him. She was probably the only person on earth who could.

Sometimes, he hated her for it. Just a little bit.

Sinya huffed and sipped her tea. She wasn't going to dignify such an obvious evasion with a response.

Neither of them had any real desire to have the house repaired. They had talked about it. There was even a time when they'd thought of selling it.

But nothing had ever come of it, and the ramshackle old house still stood precariously at the edge of the city, one strong wind away from catastrophe. Just as it had, almost fifteen years ago, when they'd first moved into it – penniless refugees fleeing their past into an uncertain future in an unknown city.

Besides, Jehan was sure that Anuja's ghost would haunt him for the rest of eternity if he dared to mess with her kitchen. He was not a superstitious man, but he didn't doubt for a moment that if Sinya's mother wanted to box his ears from the afterlife, she would find a way to do just that.

"So, did you find out what caused the fire?" Sinya asked at length, carrying her cup to the sink. "Or should I say…who caused it."

"It could've been an accident."

She snorted. "Sure. Just like you becoming the goddamn prime minister was an accident. You knew this would happen, didn't you?"

"Define 'this'."

"Don't play dumb with me, Jehan. You told Dileep somebody was gunning for Rajat Shian. It isn't that much of a stretch to imagine they might've shifted targets, considering recent events."

Jehan shrugged, moving to the counter to retrieve the jar of cookies from the lower cabinet. They hadn't lived in this house in years, but the kitchen was always stocked with Jehan's favorite tea and Sinya's favorite cookies. Just like it had been when Anuja was alive. It was tradition.

He took a cookie and passed the jar to Sinya, who took two. "I don't think they're targeting me, if that's what you're asking. They'd have no reason to. They'd only try to kill me if they thought I couldn't be bought."

"And they don't think so?" Sinya's gaze turned curious. "Maganti's made an offer?"

"Not him personally, of course. And not in so many words. But there've been…hints. Overtures. Very generous trade agreement terms, for one. Manufacturing revenue will grow by leaps and bounds in the coming years, that's for sure. The markets will be delighted."

Sinya sighed. "It's a dangerous game you're playing, Jehan. Not that anything I say is gonna make you see sense. At least tell me you're investigating it. The fire, I mean."

"Sure I am. Or at least Abhijat Shian is. The man's more useful than I'd expected him to be."

Sinya threw her head back, her shoulders shaking with laughter. Bits of cookie flew in all directions. "Oh dear lord, Abhijat Shian! To be saved by the son of the man you dethroned in your nefarious bid for power. Man, that's gotta sting."

"You're juvenile." Biting back a smile, Jehan rolled his eyes. "He is my bodyguard. Keeping me from harm's way is literally his job description."

"Yes indeed. Your choice of employees is simply stellar."

"Well, you're the one who gave his sister a job," Jehan pointed out, biting into his cookie. "Seems like we all need a bit of Shian in our lives. How're you two getting along? Has she filled the void left by Jhilik…or whatever the last one's name was?"

"And then some. She's spectacular. I told you I wouldn't hire her if she didn't live up to my standards. Which reminds me. Jhilik called yesterday." She frowned, her voice turning grave. "Something's going on in Weritlan."

"Something's always going on in Weritlan. But what's that got to do with your ex-TA?"

Sinya said nothing for a few seconds, her fingers drumming the arm-rest of the threadbare couch. Then, she reached for her handbag and retrieved her cellphone from its overstuffed depths. Her fingers flew over the screen until she'd found what she was looking for. Then, she handed the device over to Jehan and sat back.

A good-looking young woman with jet-black hair and big, brown eyes smiled back at him from the screen. "Who is this?" Jehan asked, glancing up from the screen. "Am I supposed to know her?"

"That's Afreen Firoz. One of my old students. Jhilik's classmate. For the last few years, she's been working with Pragati in Weritlan."

"Pragati?" Jehan frowned. "You mean the anti-human trafficking organization?"

"Yep. That's the one. Afreen always was interested in social work. Was involved with many nonprofits here in Qayit while she was studying at the university. Anyway, after Jhilik moved to Weritlan with her husband, she started working at Pragati with her friend.

"About a week ago, Afreen went with a colleague to some club they'd been told was being used to hold trafficked children from Eraon. The colleague returned the next day, injured, disoriented, and alone. Unable to remember much of anything that'd happened after they'd entered the club. Afreen hasn't been heard from since."

Jehan's eyes widened. "What? Have they filed a report? Who's investigating this?"

"They have. And that's the thing. Jhilik and her colleagues believe the police aren't taking the matter seriously, 'cause apparently this club's frequented by the who's who of Ishfana. Politicians, businessmen, actors, that sort of thing. Very high-profile clientele, which makes the local law enforcement reluctant to step in.

"Jhilik told me there's been a recent spike in trafficking from Eraon, and even from the rural parts of Ishfana, to Weritlan. Interstate trafficking has always been a problem in those parts, of course, so it's not something they haven't dealt with before. But from what I gather, there's something…different, this time."

Jehan leaned forward, his eyes boring into Sinya. His skin prickled with unease. "Like what?"

She sighed. "You're not going to like this. As usual, most of the abducted kids are the children of poor villagers or city laborers. There's nothing unusual about the police not giving a fuck about them.

"But this time, Jhilik says something else is going on. The police say the children weren't kidnapped at all. That they left willingly, of their own volition.

"What's more, eyewitness accounts corroborate these claims. Neighbors and friends saw these kids get into the cars willingly and drive off…no protests, no struggling. As if they were going for a drive with an old friend.

"And it's not just the younger children, either. A six-year-old might've been tricked by a stranger offering sweets, but a sixteen-year-old? Not likely, is it? Rural Eraon is no stranger to trafficking.

"And since they weren't taken by force, the police are refusing to even consider the possibility that they might've been abducted. Even the families of the missing children don't know what to think.

"Pragati had been working for months to locate these missing kids. And apparently, many of them were spotted by locals around this club in Weritlan, which was what kindled their interest in it. And after what happened with Afreen–"

Jehan interjected impatiently, "You said this colleague of hers had returned disoriented and confused, without any recollection of what had happened inside the club. That right?"

Sinya nodded.

Jehan bit his lip thoughtfully, blood thrumming in his veins. "Can you ask Jhilik if he happened to have any puncture wounds on his arms? Or on any other part of his body, for that matter."

Sinya's eyes widened, but she typed out a message on her phone and said nothing. Jehan rose to his feet and walked over to the counter, setting the water to boil for another pot of tea. His hands were shaking.

He heard the phone beep behind him, but forced himself to focus on the tea brewing on the ancient stove. He needed a clear head, and getting anxious and overwrought wouldn't solve anything anyway. He poured the tea into cups – spilling some onto the counter – and walked back to the sofa.

Sinya accepted her cup and handed him her phone. On the screen was the picture of a man's forearm. His hand was fisted, making the veins stand out against his fair skin.

There were three puncture marks above the wrist, the skin surrounding each slightly bruised, like the wound from a badly administered injection.

"Jhilik sent me this photo after I asked her about the puncture wounds," Sinya said quietly, as Jehan sank back into the sofa. "This is what I was afraid of."

"They're using Amven," Jehan said, pushing his hair back with shaking fingers. "I don't know how, but it all adds up. Confusion, disorientation, memory loss…symptoms of Amven overdose. And that's why those kids went willingly with the traffickers – they were drugged. They'd have jumped off a bridge without question if they'd been told to do so. God, does Dileep know about this?"

Sinya shrugged. "I told him what I've told you. He was the one who asked me to talk to you about it, so he must've suspected something. He couldn't call you himself, of course." She glared at him. "You've made that quite impossible."

Jehan sagged against the tattered backrest of the sofa, tipping his head back with a sigh. He was suddenly exhausted. "It had to be done, Sinya. The phones could be tapped; some goddamn journalist could get their hands on the call records. We can't afford to risk it." He closed his eyes. "I can't afford to risk it."

Sinya huffed out a breath, her eyes on the teacup clutched in her hands. "I know," she said tiredly. "I know. I just–" she shook her head, as if to clear it. "Look at me, getting all sentimental and shit. La Fantome. That's the name of the club Pragati was investigating. It's somewhere in downtown Weritlan. I'll email you the exact address once I have it."

Jehan nodded. "I'll look into it. I'll find your student, Sinya. Don't worry about it. She'll be alright."

"I know," she said quietly, leaning forward with her elbows on her knees. Her eyes found his and held them, forcing him to see her concern, her empathy. "But tell me, Jehan. Will you?"

***

"You wanted to see me?" Ruqaiya asked, stepping into his temporary office on the ground floor.

Jehan looked up from the report he had been pretending to read and smiled sweetly at her. He had requested a meeting with her a couple of hours ago. She'd said she would see him as soon as she was free. According to her schedule for the day, she'd been free for about an hour now.

Her stance was relaxed, her expression cordial. She made no move to explain what had kept her so long, and he didn't ask. She'd be more willing to cooperate if she thought she'd already scored a point, won the first battle in their little war.

"Madam Dehran! So glad you could make it! Tea?" he asked, rising from his chair.

Ruqaiya hesitated, but her sense of propriety eventually got the better of her. "I'll make it," she said, stepping towards the electric kettle tucked away in one corner of the huge office.

"Don't stand on ceremony with me, Madam. How long have we known each other again?" He waved her off and headed over to the little makeshift kitchenette near the back.

She sat down on the chair opposite the one Jehan had recently vacated and crossed her legs. "Long enough for you to start calling me by my name, I should think."

Jehan reached for the kettle, ducking his head to hide the smile tugging at his lips. Slowly but surely, he was breaking down her walls. This might not prove to be as difficult as he had imagined after all.

Handing her one of the exquisite porcelain cups, he returned to his seat and took an appreciative sip. Anuja's lessons hadn't gone to waste; he really did make very good tea.

"I'm planning a trip south, to Weritlan and Waimar. Shouldn't take more than a week, in all. You'll be able to handle things here in the capital, I'm sure." It was a statement, not a question.

"I'm sorry, what?" Ruqaiya leaned forward in her chair, a frown marring her handsome face. "You're going to Weritlan? When? More importantly, why?" She sounded more exasperated than wary or suspicious.

Jehan let out the breath he'd been holding as he waited for her reaction. "Well, isn't it obvious? To make sure Rinisa doesn't screw up the Vanya dam negotiations with Ishfana, of course.

"I told her I'd bring the dam under the jurisdiction of the central government if Eraon and Ishfana didn't figure out a way to play nice and share the water like civilized people." He sighed, shaking his head. "But we all know that's easier said than done. It'd entail years of litigation, and a further drain on Qayit's treasury that we really can't afford.

"Anyway, I don't think she'd oppose me outright, but she might try to stall the negotiations or undermine Eraon's claim to the dam; allow Ishfana to get away with unfair terms in the final agreement. Eraon needs someone to argue impartially on its behalf. And Henna Sameen certainly isn't going to be any use in that department."

"Henna Sameen isn't any use in any department," Ruqaiya muttered through gritted teeth.

"My thoughts exactly," Jehan nodded. "And Rinisa, of course, will do everything in her power to ensure that Eraon gets the worst possible deal. The higher she can drive the price of drinking water in that state, the happier she'll be."

"And so you want to go there and play mediator?"

"Well, somebody has to. I could set up a committee, but you know as well as I do committees never solve anything. And I could send you, but then they might say you're supporting Eraon 'cause you're Birhani. If Rinisa manages to raise enough of a racket about political bias in the media, the whole thing could prove counterproductive and put us back in square one.

"Besides, I'm hoping my presence would smooth any ruffled political feathers in Weritlan. The government in Ishfana wouldn't be happy about having to share their precious dam with Eraon. That'd be hard enough to sell to the voters, without us making them look like losers.

"The people of Ishfana need to feel like they're doing a favor to their neighbors, not like their leaders are being arm-twisted into compliance. I'll visit Weritlan first, before Waimar. Give a few rousing speeches about interstate solidarity and national unity. Make them feel appreciated, like their sacrifice is being recognized by the central government and their fellow countrymen. That'll mellow them; give both sides something to feel good about, a line to sell to the electorate. Which will in turn make the negotiations less contentious when they begin."

Ruqaiya was looking at him with a combination of surprise and skepticism. "I can see where you're going with this. Of course, a lot will depend on the execution. Rinisa has a support base in both the states, that damnable wretch! And you're almost completely unknown outside of the capital. Going up against her on her home turf won't be easy."

"Who said anything about going against Rinisa? I wouldn't dream of doing any such thing. I'm on her side; anyone with half a brain can see that. She's the Deputy CM of Eraon. Surely, she must want only the best for her state. Well, that's what I'm offering.

"Central backing for a mutually beneficial settlement between Ishfana and Eraon, ensuring that her state will never fall into a water crisis. Exactly what she's been trying to achieve all these years, if her campaign speeches are to be believed. What more could she possibly want?"

Ruqaiya snorted. "Well, who do you want to take with you on this glorious mission to hoodwink your taxpayers?"

"Doesn't matter who. What matters is how many. Handpick the best negotiators we have. But the delegation must remain as small as possible. I don't want to make this visit look like a big deal and draw undue attention from the media.

"If the press takes too much of an interest, the governments of both Eraon and Ishfana will feel the need to prove a point, and become uncooperative and confrontational. Nobody likes to look weak when there's an audience watching."

Ruqaiya nodded, looking satisfied, though her eyes still bored into Jehan as if she thought she could read his mind, if only she looked hard enough. "Fine, I'll do what I can. When do you leave?"

"As soon as possible. I was hoping…in a couple of days, maybe?"

She frowned. "Not undoable. But what's the rush? You've waited this long. Wait two more weeks and I'll get you the best team of negotiators and arbitrators Naijan has to offer. We have time on our side."

"Time," Jehan smiled ruefully. "That's the only thing that's never been on my side, isn't it? And the only thing I've ever needed."

He stood abruptly, walking over to the window without a backward glance at his companion. "Make the arrangements, Ruqaiya. I'll be leaving in two days."

***

Ritadrija Shian was a lot of things, but she was not a morning person. Rito blinked blearily at the cup of piping hot coffee the canteen lady set in front of her. Then, she wrapped her fingers around it and took a grateful sip.

"Like liquid energy," her father always said. She could see his point. Liquid energy was exactly what one needed when prepping for class at 9:30 in the morning.

What was the point of 10 am lectures anyway? It's not like anybody attended them. She certainly never had, and she'd always been relatively studious.

But Sinya Haval had asked her to take the morning lecture with the second years. And Rito would rather bite off her own tongue than disappoint Mrs. Haval. She had never been inclined to hero-worship, but if she had been, Mrs. Haval would've been pretty high on her list of potential heroes.

She reached into her handbag to retrieve the sheaf of test papers she would be returning to the students during class. She wasn't looking forward to explaining to Priya Parekh for the hundredth time why the hermeneutic circle could be thought of as an ontological issue as well as an interpretative one. Sinya thought she did it for the grades, but Rito had a sneaking suspicion that the girl just got a kick out of riling up the professors. She sighed. Morning classes were bad enough without drama.

Her fingers bumped against her phone as she laboriously pulled the test papers out of the embroidered cloth bag Nikita had given her for her last birthday. She'd thought of throwing it out; but it really was a very pretty bag...

The phone was vibrating. Rito frowned. Who on earth would be calling her this early in the morning? She swiped the green icon and pressed the device to her ear.

"Rito? Rito! Oh, thank God you picked up!" Falguni's panicked voice rang in her ears. She was sobbing. Before Rito could say anything, Falguni wailed into the phone, "Rito, please, you've got to do something. Afreen's gone!"

***

Priya gave her a dirty look on her way out of the classroom. Rito ignored her. She hadn't meant to snap at her, but she had more important things to worry about right now than Priya's hurt feelings.

For the first ten minutes of her conversation with Falguni, Rito had had no idea what she was talking about. The girl had been weeping, nearly hysterical. Rito fished an aspirin from her bag and popped it into her mouth. This was going to be a long day.

She had met Afreen while volunteering at the anti-trafficking nonprofit Pragati, during her time at the University of Weritlan. It had been one of the highlights of her stay in that city, the most fulfilling and interesting work she had ever done.

Falguni was one of the girls Pragati had rescued from an inner-city brothel they had raided during Rito's stint at the organization. She had been fourteen or fifteen at the time, and had already spent more than two years at the brothel. She'd been sold to the traffickers by her father, and had no home to return to after being rescued.

Rito and Afreen had taken her under their wing, enrolled her in a residential school close to Pragati's headquarters, and signed up as her local guardians.

When Rito left Weritlan, she had promised to send Afreen the money for Falguni's school fees and other expenses every other month. She was due to make the first transfer next week.

And now, Afreen was gone. Disappeared without a trace while investigating some goddamn club in the downtown district. While trying to rescue more children like Falguni.

Rito took her head into her hands and tried to get her breathing under control. During the phone call, she barely had time to process what she was hearing. She was too busy trying to calm Falguni down and make her stop crying.

She closed her eyes. Her heart ached to think of Falguni. To lose the only friend, the only anchor she had in the city that'd taken everything from her. God…as if she hadn't gone through enough already.

She had to go to Weritlan. If for no other reason than to check up on Falguni, to comfort her and let her know she still had someone who was looking out for her.

But moreover, she needed to know what had happened to Afreen. She was her friend, and she had spent her life trying to rescue and rehabilitate lost and forgotten children like Falguni. Rito would be damned if she let her be forgotten, without doing everything in her power to find her and get her back.

Sucking in a deep breath, she rose from her chair. She needed to talk to Mrs. Haval, ask for some time off. How she would justify it so soon after starting a new job, she had no idea. But it had to be done. Steeling herself for the conversation, she headed for the HOD's office.

***

Rito knocked on the door and pushed it open without waiting for a response. Sinya rarely responded when she was reading or grading papers. On Rito's first day at work, she'd told her to let herself in if she needed anything.

The room was empty, but a bunch of papers littered the ground, as if they had just fallen off the desk. Rito frowned. This was strange. It was a quarter past eleven. It wasn't like Sinya to be this late.

She crouched near the desk and started collecting the fallen papers. As she arranged them into a pile, a dark blue letterhead on one of the sheets caught her eye.

She pulled it out. The familiar logo of two doves with their beaks touching, along with the stylized letters of the word 'Pragati', adorned the top of the page. Below was a grainy photograph of Afreen. The words 'La Fantome' were scribbled untidily below the picture, along with an address in downtown Weritlan.

Rito stared dumbstruck at the piece of paper. It didn't make any sense. Why would Sinya have Afreen's photo? How could she possibly know…

Footsteps echoed down the corridor. Rito jumped to her feet, arranged the fallen papers as neatly on the desk as her shaking hands would allow, and pocketed the one with her friend's picture on it. Then she hurried out of the office, barely allowing herself to breathe until she had locked the door behind her in the ladies' room.

Pulling her phone out of her pocket, she typed the words 'La Fantome' into the browser. As expected, the first few results told her that it was a high end, 'exclusive' club that had opened recently in downtown Weritlan. Their website was gorgeous, dynamic and intuitive, and completely devoid of any relevant information. Rito growled, frustration gnawing at the pit of her stomach.

Sitting down on the toilet seat, she backed out of La Fantome's fancy website and scrolled down, looking at the other search results. Most of them were bland PR pieces about the club's inauguration party and the celebrities who had attended it.

On the second and third pages, she found some articles – published by obscure local newspapers and small-time e-zines – about rumours of illegal drug use and trafficking activities in the club. Some of the articles even contained anonymous eyewitness reports claiming that children as young as eight and nine had been spotted in and around the club, looking dazed and lost.

No wonder Afreen had tried to infiltrate the club. Helping trafficked children had always been one of her greatest passions. Rito gritted her teeth. Whoever was behind this was both cunning and influential. These reports were few and far-between, and had only been published by obscure papers and zines with a non-existent readership.

Even then, many of them had published retractions in later editions, even apologized for the 'defamation' they had unintentionally caused. The whole thing stank of political maneuvering and interference.

By the time she reached the fourth article on the topic, the details had begun to solidify in her mind. She didn't have anything definite yet, but she was beginning to understand what she would be dealing with once she arrived in Weritlan.

As she scrolled down to get to the meat of the article, her eyes caught the name of the website. The Loquacious Laihan.

Despite the situation, Rito giggled. If there was one person she knew who would ridicule himself on his own website, it was Laihan Ajera. She scrolled up quickly to see the name of the author. It simply said 'admin'. He didn't have the revenue to hire employees yet, she supposed.

The Loquacious Laihan was one of the few publications that had neither taken down the article, nor published a retraction or apology of any kind.

Rito smiled, pulling up her contacts and scrolling until she found the phone number she was looking for. Laihan Ajera – her old classmate, friend, and co-conspirator. And one of the most interesting people she had ever met.

It was time for a reunion.

***

"Have you been smoking?" Rito demanded of the gruff voice that greeted her.

"Uh...no?" Laihan's tone was defensive, his voice rough and husky.

Rito smirked. "Well, in that case you've been kissing. I'm not even sure which I'd prefer."

"Jealous?" She could hear the laughter in his voice.

She rolled her eyes. "Don't flatter yourself, Ajera. What d'you know about the La Fantome club?"

Laihan chuckled. "And here I thought you missed me."

"Aww my poor baby. I'll buy you ice cream when I get to Weritlan."

"You're coming to Weritlan?" His tone was sharp. "What for?"

"It's still a free country last I checked. I can go wherever I want. What's gotten you so riled up?"

"Listen, Rito." Laihan cleared his throat. "It's just...this isn't the best time, okay? There's stuff going on around here...nasty stuff you don't wanna be involved in."

"Well, it's too late for second thoughts. I'm coming. Now tell me what you know about that damned club!"

"Why're you so interested in La Fantome anyway? You left the city the week before it opened for business."

Rito sighed, stepping out of the cramped restroom and heading for the campus lawn. She needed some fresh air. "Remember Falguni? The girl I told you about, whom we'd rescued when I was volunteering at Pragati?"

"Of course. The kid you always went to visit at that fancy boarding school uptown. She okay?"

"For now," Rito said grimly. "She called me earlier today, terrified out of her mind 'cause Afreen, one of the social workers who helped rescue her, disappeared while investigating that godforsaken club of yours.

"She's my friend, Laihan. I need to find her. If she's still alive, I wouldn't be able to live with myself if I didn't at least try to help her. And I need to know what the hell is going on at that club."

After a moment of silence, Laihan said, "So I'm guessing you read that article, huh?"

"I did. And I need you to tell me everything you know about La Fantome. Anything you left out of that article that I should know about?"

"What?" He laughed. "Like the fact that the place is owned by the daughter and son-in-law of the former deputy PM?"

Rito gasped. "You mean...Let me get this straight. You're talking about Badal?"

"Yep. He's your guy. His only daughter and her husband happen to be the owners of La Fantome."

"Fuck."

"The feeling is mutual," Laihan chuckled.

"Well, you sit tight and don't do anything stupid till I get there. I'll be in Weritlan by tomorrow evening."

"I'll pick you up at the airport. But tell me, does your family know you're playing detective and poking your nose where it doesn't belong?"

"Why would they care? It's not like we've got a reputation to lose anymore, is it? Can't stain a black coat and all that." She snorted. "You know, it's oddly freeing. To be able to do things without having to worry about what people will think, what the press will say, all that sort of crap. It's been years since I've felt so...wonderfully anonymous."

"Well, so long as your newfound anonymity doesn't land me in a gutter with my throat slit, I'm cool with it. See you tomorrow, Shian. What're you gonna tell your folks, anyway?"

Rito hummed, stretching out under a tree with a sigh of contentment. "I've yet to collect my transfer certificate from the University of Weritlan. It's as good an excuse as any, I suppose. Oh, and Laihan, do me a favor, won't you?"

"Yeah?"

"Do some digging on Sinya Haval. She's the HOD of the Comparative Lit department here at Qayit University. See if you can find any connections between her and our club."