Chapter 9

"I have to admit, he's good." Ruqaiya sat back in her chair, bringing a steaming cup of coffee to her lips. "Rinisa looks like she's swallowed a frog and can't throw it back up."

They sat together in her spacious office at the Parliament House, surrounded by pristine white furniture littered with multi-colored writing pads. She offered him a coffee, but Abhijat declined, his gaze fixed on the wall-mounted television opposite her desk.

A news anchor was talking brightly to the camera, explaining the intricacies of the settlement reached between the governments of Eraon and Ishfana, ending a decade-long dispute over the ownership of the Vanya dam.

The scene shifted, the camera zooming in on the site of the dam, where the prime minister stood on a makeshift podium, along with the chief ministers and deputy chief ministers of both the states.

He was talking into a microphone, pausing every now and then to smile beatifically down at the press corps gathered a few feet away. He was not the best public speaker, but Abhijat had the sneaking suspicion that he was playing up his natural shyness for the benefit of the cameras. And it was working.

The hesitance and awkwardness that might've been off-putting in an older, more experienced politician, just made him look sincere and earnest. If Fasih was playing the role of the reluctant academic dragged into the world of politics, he was playing it beautifully.

A stone-faced Rinisa stood beside him, next to a stoned-looking Henna Sameen. The CM of Ishfana, along with his deputy, stood on the other side of Jehan, looking disgruntled, yet vaguely impressed.

A round of applause greeted the end of Fasih's speech. The camera panned out to show a huge gathering of the citizenry, beyond the cluster of reporters who stood closest to the politicians, trying to get their attention.

Jehan leaned in once again – almost awkwardly – to thank those who had come out to witness the official signing and ratification of the Vanya water-sharing agreement, prompting the crowd to cheer even louder than before. Rinisa looked like she was itching to punch him.

"Didn't think he had it in him," Ruqaiya said, looking away from the TV screen to settle her piercing gaze on Abhijat. "But I have to say, he's managed something in less than three months which we couldn't accomplish in over three years."

"Only because he doesn't give a damn about the consequences of his actions," Abhijat ground out, turning off the TV with a flick of the remote.

She smirked. "You know, the more I see him in action, the more I think that that mightn't be such a bad thing after all."

"You want him to do your bidding, then take the fall when consequences come knocking on the door?"

"Well, he seems to be doing that anyway, doesn't he?" she shrugged. "With or without my input. I just believe in the optimization of resources."

Abhijat shook his head. "Fasih isn't a hammer in your toolkit, Qia. He's a fucking loose cannon. Just 'cause he's hitting your enemies now, doesn't mean he's in your control. As likely as not, he'd take a shot at us first chance he gets."

"Is this about what happened in Weritlan?" she raised an enquiring eyebrow.

He braced himself, breathing deeply. "You knew he was developing the Amven drug...you and my father."

"Of course we did. It's public knowledge."

"Is it? Which parts of it exactly, Qia? The fact that he was testing the drug on himself, building up resistance to it? Or the fact that it can be used to basically hypnotize people, turning them into puppets that'd follow orders without question?"

Ruqaiya shook her head, leaving her seat to pace along the length of the office. "Don't be ridiculous, Abhijat. No drug can turn a person into a puppet."

"Can't it? Tell that to the kids being sold to the highest bidder at the La Fantome club. They're using the drug to make prostitutes now, what's to say they won't use it to make soldiers next? Start another civil war–"

"That's not possible."

"Why? Because you say so?"

"Because the Amven drug was specifically designed to curb the instinct for violence. To make people less aggressive, more affable, more…benevolent."

"What? That makes no sense. How's that even possible?"

"It's not. Or, at least, it hasn't been, so far." She sighed, perching on the edge of her desk, gazing down at him. "Look, I know what you're thinking. You've been kept in the dark and you don't like it. You feel like you can't trust us anymore–"

"It's a little more than a feeling–"

"But," she cut him off, pressing her hands down on the off-white tabletop and leaning into his space. "It wasn't my intention to mislead you. And it's not like I know all of it myself. This is classified information, buried over the years under layers upon layers of red tape and PR drivel. But I do know this. Amven can never be used to inflict violence.

"And as for Jehan testing the drug on himself," she bit her lip, looking away. "I suppose I wouldn't put it past him to have an agenda behind that. I guess you might've noticed by now, he has an agenda behind everything he does, and most of the things he doesn't do. But…he was fifteen when he started developing Amven."

"And it never occurred to any of you to ask yourselves, why a fifteen-year-old would want a drug that can turn people into mindless robots?"

"Because that's not what it did. Or not what it was meant to do, at least. Tell me, Abhijat, have you ever tried shouting at Fasih?"

"What?"

"Or made any aggressive movements when he wasn't expecting it?"

"I'm not in the mood for mind games, Qia. What does that have to do with anything?"

"Humor me, Abhi. In those situations, how does Fasih typically react?"

Abhijat groaned. "Steps back. Recoils. Cringes away. As any civilian with a modicum of sense would do. It's called self-preservation. What does this have to do with anything?"

"Preserving himself from what, though? Fasih may be an anorexic weakling with the body mass of a sixteen-year-old schoolgirl, but he's not an idiot. He's the prime minister of the country, surrounded by bodyguards at all times. He can't really think you'd hit him. If you injured him in any way, you'd be in prison in the blink of an eye. And he knows that as well as you do."

"What're you getting at?"

"Back when we first got to know about Jehan, the first iterations of the Amven drug we saw…all it did was lower the urge for aggression, heighten empathy. Or at least that's what it was meant to do. It was very weak, barely effective at all. Slightly heady, but not addictive."

"And how does that change what I saw with my own eyes at the La Fantome?"

"It doesn't. You're right about the fact that Jehan was testing the drug on himself. He'd basically developed the formula in his own backyard; with no proper lab, no facilities. And apparently, he hadn't wanted to test a new, potentially unstable compound on animals."

"Yes, he told me that." Abhijat frowned. "So you're saying, that's why he's so sensitive to aggression? The effects of the drug?"

"Of long-term exposure to Amven, yes. It made him hyper-sensitive to violence, averse to aggression in any form. Not that I can believe he was ever much of a fighter to begin with, but prolonged exposure to the early prototypes of the drug further compromised his ability to deal with aggression or violence of any kind.

"He doesn't recoil from you because he's scared of you on a rational level, not because he really thinks you'd attack him. That reaction is instinctive. That's what Amven does to you, over a period of time. And why it can never be used for violent purposes – to start a war, for example."

"But…that doesn't make sense. Those children at the La Fantome…they weren't just averse to violence. They were…"

"Obliging? Compliant?" She looked him in the eyes. "Submissive?"

"Y-yes," he stammered, trying to remember the dreary hours they'd spent at that godforsaken club. "Something like that."

She sighed. "That's because, as we learned over the years, manufacturing benevolence and empathy through pharmaceutical means is easier said than done. The closest we could come…the closest we've come in the last ten years…is a kind of passive obedience.

"From the very beginning, the Amven project showed immense promise. Your father believed in it, he believed in Jehan. We all did. I mean, can you imagine the implications of a drug that could enhance empathy and lower aggression across the population? We'd wipe out violent crime in a matter of months.

"But it wasn't just about what Amven could do for us if it was successful. It was also about what it could do if it fell into the hands of our enemies. Imagine a vaporous version of the drug – something like tear gas – dropped into the midst of a military camp."

"It'd render the soldiers useless," Abhijat murmured. "Unable to fight."

"Exactly. Something like that, once discovered…" she shook her head. "There was no going back, no getting rid of it now. Amven…it was a miracle drug. And it could either work for us, or against us.

"Jehan was inducted into the QRI, given world class facilities to work with. The best minds in the field were transferred to work on the Amven project."

"So how did this 'miracle drug' mutate into this," he grimaced. "This twisted thing that can rob people of their free will."

"Because we needed results. We were spending millions on this project annually. And the taxpayers wanted to know what the fuck they were paying for. The media hounded us for tangible results; the opposition smelt blood and spared no opportunity to bring up the matter of the Amven project during campaign speeches and televised debates."

"And so, you pressured the researchers to deliver results." Abhijat pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes. This was all too much for one day.

Ruqaiya nodded. "Results that could be used to justify the expenditure; to prove to the media that the money was being invested wisely, for the benefit of the nation as a whole.

"And if we didn't yet have the miracle drug that could wipe out violent crime, we could at least have a drug that could be used to effectively interrogate captured criminals and terrorists. That would compel them to cooperate with the authorities and reveal the whereabouts of their accomplices and associates."

"A drug that enforced passive obedience, encouraged aversion to conflict," finished Abhijat, comprehension dawning in his mind.

His companion nodded, her lips pressed into a thin line. "Jehan wasn't happy about it; almost left the QRI. Would have, I'm pretty sure, if it weren't for your father." She sighed, shaking her head. "But it was only supposed to be temporary, a placeholder until the drug could be perfected, Fasih's original vision realized. We never meant to…it was never even supposed to be used–"

"Until the metro attacks changed all that."

She smiled bitterly. "Yes. That's what forced our hand. The nation was in uproar. Everyone wanted someone to blame for what had happened. People wanted revenge.

"We couldn't be seen sitting on our hands, doing nothing. Justice by any means necessary, the press demanded. Well, what better means could there be than the Amven drug we'd been crowing about all these years? Even members of our own party campaigned for its use on the captured suspects. We didn't have a choice."

"Fasih was thrilled about that, I'm sure," Abhijat snorted. "Tell me, was Badal one of the people who favored the use of the drug?"

"One of the most vocal of them, yes. Why do you ask?"

He shrugged. "That boy, Laihan…"

"Your sister's friend?"

"Yes, him. He said the La Fantome was owned by Badal's daughter and son-in-law, through some offshore subsidiaries."

She frowned. "We can have that checked out. Shouldn't be hard to confirm, if it's true."

"It's not just that, though. Vyas called me this morning about that electrician–"

"You said he wasn't talking."

"He wasn't, last time I spoke to him. I guess he finally caved under the NIA's more…sophisticated interrogation techniques."

"And?"

"He's confessed to tampering with the electrical wiring in the balcony of the prime minister's office. Back when he was working as an independent contractor with Dixit's company."

"But, I don't understand. The last time any electrical maintenance work happened around here…"

"My father was in office," Abhijat said grimly, meeting her eyes.

"But that was ages ago. How–"

"I don't know all the details yet. I'm meeting Vyas tomorrow, so hopefully I'll know more then. But from what I understand, the exact timing of the fire was ensured by a plumbing trick. The pipes were being cleaned that day, remember? Somehow, it affected the wiring, which in turn started the fire. And it gave Sajal enough time to leave the city and hope that his involvement wasn't suspected."

Ruqaiya frowned. "Was the plumbing crew involved?"

"I don't know. I'll ask Vyas when I see him. They don't hire independent contractors, but one of the employees could've been bought off. If so, he wouldn't be hard to catch. My men have been keeping tabs on that company ever since the day of the fire. Small fish, Qia. They aren't the ones we need to worry about."

She tilted her head to one side, her eyes curious. "Did he name any names? Your electrician, I mean."

"Not in so many words. Not to me, anyway. But the house he was staying at in Weritlan? Beautiful property, three bedrooms, huge bath, far beyond anything he should've been able to afford." He pulled up a photo of the place on his phone and handed it to Ruqaiya. "Located inside a quaint little gated community developed by a real estate company owned by Badal's second cousin."

Ruqaiya groaned, flicking through the photographs. "God, if this is true, it's worse than anything I expected. If this thing was set up before Rajat resigned…"

"Call it what it is, Qia," Abhijat snapped. "An assassination attempt."

"Meant for whom? If your father was the target, why not call the whole thing off after he resigned? And if the target was Jehan, well, how could Badal possibly have known that he would become prime minister months before the metro attacks? You think they planned this little power grab together?" she sounded skeptical.

"Nope. Because if they'd been in on it together, Badal would've had no reason to try and kill Fasih back then. He hadn't yet lost the position of deputy prime minister or his seat in the Cabinet."

"I never trusted Badal, but I'd never have pegged him for a killer. Didn't think he had the balls," Ruqaiya shook her head. "Why would he want to kill Rajat anyway? Becoming PM a couple of years early hardly seems worth the risk. Besides, he was right there when Rajat resigned. Why not change the plan?"

"Maybe because he couldn't. I mean, he lost access to that office almost at the same time Papa did. And with Sajal living it up in Weritlan, maybe there was no one left to undo what had already been done. Or maybe he figured one dead prime minister's as good as another."

Ruqaiya nodded, looking thoughtful. "You know, if what you say is true, there is something we can do about it."

"And what is that?"

"The Maralanese New Year is coming up next month. Luminaries from around the world will be attending that gala. Celebrities and politicians from every major country will be there. And you know who's invited?"

Abhijat raised a questioning eyebrow, ignoring her dramatic tone.

"Badal and his family. They received a personal invitation from none other than Maganti himself. Or at least that's what I've heard through the political grapevine."

"But why? He was expelled from the Cabinet. He's not even a minister anymore."

"Good question." She smirked. "That's precisely what I've been wondering. But that's not the point. The point, my naïve young friend, is that the Gods themselves couldn't have presented you with a better opportunity for reconnaissance.

"Fasih will be there too, of course, as our new PM. And you'll have them all in the same room – Badal, Maganti, Rinisa, and Fasih. You can go as part of Jehan's delegation, nothing unnatural about that. Once there, you can maybe find out what Badal's been up to, follow him around and see where he leads you. At the very least, you'll learn more than you would here in Qayit."

"I'll think about it. Although I don't know how happy Fasih will be about me tagging along with him to Maralana."

"Trouble in paradise?"

He scowled. "If hanging out with that scheming, devious little shit is your idea of paradise, Qia, I'm worried about you."

She shrugged. "Well, you have to admit it's interesting. How does he fit into all this? What's his angle here? What's the endgame for this elaborate set-up he's been weaving these past few months?"

"Believe me, I'd give an arm and a leg to know just what Fasih's motives are."