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April 6th
The Raigun Herald
New Delhi, India
Fifty-seven people, mostly women and children, were burned alive yesterday when a train loaded with passengers was torched by a mob in Northern India, authorities said. Police across India are braced for outbreaks of retaliatory violence.
Shortly after the train attack, two men were stabbed to death and shops, buses, and cars were set ablaze by angry mobs.
Twenty-five women and fifteen children are confirmed dead after mobs armed with stones and kerosene descended on the Red Fort Express at Dholakpur. The train carried hundreds of tourists homebound from the northern town of Mansali.
About sixty-five other passengers were injured, thirty-eight critically, in the inferno that gutted four coaches and charred some victims beyond recognition.
The train’s emergency brake was engaged as it started to pull away from Dholakpur, and attackers, described by a state official as religious activists, swarmed the passenger cars. They jammed the doors from the outside before setting fire to the coaches.
April 6th
The Imperial Hotel
New Delhi, India
Rakesh paced the hotel’s conference room as he twirled a pencil, his heart pounding.
The Dhanraj & Son board members who occupied half of the thirty-seater, rectangular meeting table waited in silence.
A drop of sweat ran down Rakesh’s neck. He traced the line of dampness with an index finger, but the drop had reached the collar of his shirt and disappeared.
Like Sheetal. He tightened his grip on the pencil. She had betrayed him. Taken their son.
Rot.
“Rakesh?”
In.
“Rakesh?”
Hell.
A weight pressed his left shoulder. He stopped, tensed, took a breath, and turned. Vipul Sahib stood before him. The board members of Dhanraj & Son, prim and pristine in formal business attire, watched him as if waiting for a cue.
“You don’t look well. I think you should go home,” Vipul Sahib said.
Home? Rakesh snapped the pencil in two.
“We can handle the meeting. The whole team is here.”
Rakesh straighten. He had told Vipul Sahib that his family had been kidnapped, taken aboard a train, and they’d been missing since.
“I’m so sorry.”
Rakesh stepped back.
“All of us understand. You just lost your family. I can’t imagine what you’re going through.”
Rakesh tightened his grip, but the pencil was gone. So is Yash.
She took my son.
“It’s all over the news. Go home, son. I’ve explained the situation to the Japanese. They understand. There’s a flight to Raigun in four hours. You have time—”
“I’m staying. We need to wrap this up.”
“I don’t think you’re in any condition to—”
“It’s my decision, Uncle. Not yours.” He faced the board members and cleared his throat. “This deal is crucial. The entire company is at stake. I’m sure we’re all aware we have to close this deal swiftly. No mistakes. No excuses.”
What excuse would he give the Saxenas? Megha had been waiting for an answer and she was going to hate him after tomorrow’s call when he’d say no. On the phone, Janvi had described Pushpa as a nervous wreck. Since Naina’s death, Pushpa couldn’t handle herself, much less Megha’s delivery. Now, he’d have to handle Pushpa, too. How? Show her to Dr. Kishore? Put her on antidepressants? Or something else?
As if he didn’t have enough to deal with.
He winced. With Naina declared dead on arrival at the hospital and Sheetal and Yash missing, The Raigun Herald would have a field day. If the Japanese found out, they might bail, and then he’d lose everything.
Vipul Sahib signaled, then took a seat beside Rakesh’s empty chair. The assistant opened the door and a string of Japanese men filed into the room and took their places on the vacant half of the table. Crystal pitchers of water surrounded by glasses, positioned at regular intervals along the length of the polished tabletop, divided the representatives of each country.
Daichi Tanaka shook hands with Rakesh. “Good to be here, Mr. Dhanraj.” He bowed. “I am so sorry to hear what happened. Is there any news of your family?”
Naina dead. Pushpa gone mad. Sheetal and Yash runaways— No, dead. Probably dead. “Nothing so far. But thank you for your concern. I appreciate you agreeing to the change in plans.”
“Not at all. This is most unfortunate. I do not have the words to say how sorry I am. But we all at Tashukomo Electronics hope to hear good news soon.”
Rakesh nodded and gestured for him to have a seat.
Tanaka remained standing. “Before we begin, I want you to understand that we at Tashukomo Electronics are in agreement with the proposal. But we have some conditions of our own.”
Rakesh stiffened. “And they are?”
“We understand we must go through an Indian company to sell to your people. But we want our people to speak on our behalf before the media. Also, we want a stake in marketing.”
Rakesh stepped to the table’s edge, closer to his vacant chair. “That’s our job.”
“You need us. Our sales total eight hundred million worldwide.”
“You need us more. Our population totals one billion. Domestic.”
“You don’t know our products the way we do.”
“You don’t know our people the way we do.”
“Yes, you are right. We don’t. Which is why we hired a consultant from your country to lead our marketing team and work with you. Unite. One. Hai.” He nodded. “In the right direction, of course.”
Rakesh tensed. Pain welled up his chest. He leaned against the table’s edge. “Of course. And this someone is—”
“Not to worry,” Tanaka smiled. “First, we should sign the papers and get all the official matters out of the way. Then move on to more trivial matters. Don’t you agree?”
Rakesh gestured toward Tanaka’s seat but remained standing.
“I understand how worried you must be.” Tanaka pulled out the chair. “With all that has happened to you and your family, everyone understands. If you want, we can reschedule—”
“No.” Rakesh turned to a small stack of papers Vipul Sahib placed on the table. “Let’s go ahead.”
Rakesh and Tanaka signed papers for the next five minutes. After the formalities concluded, they shook hands as attendees filled the room with applause. The pain in his chest lessened.
“We look forward to working with you and making waves in the Indian market,” Tanaka said. “An exciting moment for all of us.”
Rakesh took a deep breath. “Yes. I—my team—all of us at Dhanraj & Son feel the same way.”
“You are looking very unsure.” Tanaka frowned. “Perhaps it is the surprise? The stake in marketing? Believe me, you and your people will be comfortable working with our new hire. He mentioned that you two go way back.” Tanaka leaned closer and whispered. “He is...uh...what you call in Hindi, jordar.” He meant one of a kind. “You won’t be sorry.” Then he addressed the board members. “I present to you the marketing team of Tashukomo Electronics.”
The door was opened again and a group of Japanese men and women dressed in formal business attire filed in and stood in a line before the audience. A man in the center curled the fingers of his right hand into a fist, rammed it into his open left palm, and curled the fingers around the closed knuckles. Then he bowed.
The button pusher. Rakesh’s knees weakened. He scanned the faces of people standing on either side of the man and clamped his jaw, molar pressing molar.
“We seem to be missing someone. Our Indian consultant.” Tanaka shook his head. “Perhaps he is delayed.” He walked to the door and was about to close it when the front curve of a black leather shoe halted the closing door.
“I’m sorry.” Crisp r’s thickened the consultant’s accent and the scent of a lemony aftershave filled the air.
Rakesh froze.
He strutted in, dressed in a soft gray Zara suit. “Hello, everyone! Namaste.” Blond and brown highlights tinted the wavy black hair that sparkled in the harsh yellow lighting. Kartik approached Rakesh, shook hands, and leaned in to whisper, “It was good while it lasted—no strings attached. I always thought you more of a man.” He tightened his grip. “But we need to move on for old time’s sake.”
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