Chapter 17 - On the brink

Dear Readers

I mentioned about my personal emergency in my last update. I will be taking off next week instead of this week due to some shift in plans. Perhaps one or two more updates before I take a break.

To my silent readers, if you took the trouble to come this far, please do drop a note, word or a simple hello to let me know you are there. 
To those who are afraid to comment, yes, afraid, because of reasons you and i know very well, I do understand, although I would like you to hold an independent opinion. 

SJ

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Khushi sat on the chair and rested her head on the table. ASR stood over her, waiting for a response and regretting ever asking her about Shyam. The truth was obviously hurtful to her and he didn’t want to muddy the waters for them after their blissful night together. He cursed himself for feeling so possessive about her, she hadn’t exactly confessed undying love for him, leaving him fuddled why he felt entitled to know about Shyam and her. 

“Forget it, Khushi. Its alright, you don’t have to.” He patted her head, and tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. She wanted him to know even though her past for reasons unexplained. His approval was beginning to matter to her. She raised her head and tried to smile.

“No, I have to ASR. You have a right to know.” This was as close to an admission of intimacy he thought he could expect from her. She was opening her inner secret chambers and suddenly, he felt like a man who’d won a thousand wars – ecstatic. He pulled a chair across her and sat down, holding her hands.

“Shyam and I….we….well…ours is a fake engagement.” She warred with thousand emotions before sharing the dirty truth. ASR nodded, he’d figured as much. A girl like Khushi could never willingly or happily accept a jerk like Shyam.

“I figured that. But why?” he prodded.

She looked away and appeared embarrassed. She bit her chapped lower lip, peeling a bit of the chaffed tissue. He felt her hands grow cold and clammy. He squeezed them.

“Khushi, I am an FBI agent, I’ve seen it and heard it all. Nothing you would say to me would surprise me. You can tell me anything.” His voice carried the softness of a true lover and Khushi sensed the warmth of his presence. She drew her breath in and began.

“When I joined Northwestern, Shyam was the chief ER surgeon – a rising star, ambitious and coveted by all the female residents and nurses. I will admit I was attracted to him in the beginning. What I didn’t know was that Shyam served on the Board of Directors of St. Mercy Hospital were Dad worked as a senior doctor.”

Her face was pained as she recounted the next part of the past.

“Dad is a brilliant doctor, but he is human. He was slated to be promoted to the position of Chief executive officer of the hospital, being one of the most experience and respected doctors. But, Dad was operating on the floors in round the shift schedules. He was overworked, tired and bound to make mistakes.”

She was convincing herself with her words, unable to accept the fallibility of her dad, who was her role model. “It happened around that time…” she paused, gathering her courage to continue. ASR squeezed her hand and nodded, giving her a physical cue of support.

“Dad misdiagnosed a condition on one of his patients, Mrs. Sevilla, who had a heart condition typical of Hispanics. He didn’t realize it until she was on the hospital operating table and died of cardiac arrest. The hospital came under severe scrutiny by the local Hispanic population because Mrs. Sevilla’s son was the local union leader with a lot of political clout and influence.”

ASR began to form a picture of the elderly Dr. Gupta, an affable, gentle natured man who probably blamed himself more than warranted for the death of his patient. He knew where the story was leading at this point but he wanted Khushi to tell him, to give her a chance to cleanse her mind of the past.

“Shyam knew who my dad was and what he was going through. One day, he summoned me to his office and asked me out. I was naïve enough to think that he was interested in me and of course, my colleagues went green with envy at my lucky catch. Things went so for a month, we dated, we dined, and we hung out together. Shyam was a pleasant company, always, a bit pretentious but very agreeable before……”she coughed as her throat went dry. ASR got up and got her a glass of water. She sipped and continued.

“He had a proposition for me. He would fight the Board to drop all the charges on my Dad, get the Hispanic caucus off the back of the hospital, on one condition. I had to agree to get engaged to him as long as he wanted. He is so devious, he had everything figured out. We could stay engaged for a year and if the case on Dad did not disappear, then I had the choice to enter a fake marriage, should people raise questions about our prolonged engagement. He had pre-nuptials ready promising me a handsome alimony post our divorce. He had even planned the timeline of the divorce to not raise any suspicions.”

“I look back and it seems so shallow, like a joke. Gosh! What was I thinking! He threatened me and I couldn't say no.” she began sobbing, " I am such a loser,ain't I ?" she said more to herself than anyone.

ASR felt his chest constrict with rage and hatred for Shyam. He pulled her into a comforting hug and rubbed her back. The man was so cunning that he had figured out Khushi’s one weakness – her love for her family. He used that against her to get what he wanted. But what did he want? ASR didn’t think Shyam loved Khushi because the engagement was fake and so would the marriage be, if they ever went that far. What did Shyam want?

“Did he help your dad, as promised?” ASR decided his best bet was to peel the onion one layer at a time and break it down for Khushi, to help her see the irrationality of what she was doing.

“Well, sort of. He got the charges dropped, so Dad can continue to work at St. Mercy. The files have been sealed so it would never be used against him at the time of his review and promotion. But everytime I ask Shyam to break the engagement, he never fails to remind me that he can have the entire file reopened with the flick of a finger. You know like the sword of Damocles.”

ASR understood the reason for Shyam’s stronghold on Khushi. But it still did not explain why Shyam would want to remain engaged to Khushi and a fake one at that.

“Does he love you?” he asked the next question, on the off chance that Shyam was indeed motivated by a higher order of human emotions.

 “No!” Khushi snorted with incredulity. That settled it for him.

“Do you love him?” he continued, almost afraid to hear the answer, although after last night, he should’ve known Khushi’s answer would more than please him.

He struggled to keep an impassive face, his body tensing with anticipation. Khushi fought to keep a straight face as well, albeit for a totally different reason. She burst out laughing, despite the strange context of their conversation. ASR felt relief – like a man foolishly in love, he thanked his lucky stars for giving him Khushi – a thought his conscious mind did not register but his subconscious mind had accepted a long time ago.

He understood Khushi’s reasons. Now he needed to know Shyam’s.

***** 

                                                                                                                

He finished reading his emails and left NK a message confirming their meeting with Isaacson later in the day. He was about to take a shower when an alert popped up on his laptop. What he saw got his curiosity.

A $100,000 moved out of Khushi’s swiss account. This was interesting. Who could be moving money from her account? He called the office and set trace on the IP addresses from where the transaction was made and where the money was eventually deposited. He figured he had an hour before the information came back to him. He picked his towel and whistled into the bathroom.

When he returned, he found over twenty alerts on his laptop. Another $50,000 was transferred from her account and the traces led to a Western Union address in Tennessee. He read further and found the trace of the IP address from which the transactions were completed. It belonged to an IP address in the Chicago area…to a laptop belonging to Neil Kavanaugh! ASR’s face drained of color.

He dialed Kevin Calhoun.

“Hey Boss! Did you see the transactions?” ASR boomed frantically pacing the room.

“ASR, we need to talk.” Kevin seemed distant and tested ASR patience with his inability to understand the panic in ASR’s voice.

“You bet we do! Did you see the activity on Khushi’s Swiss account?” he thundered again, this time snapping a pencil in his hand into two.

“You need to stop, ASR. Right now! Come back to the office. We need to talk.” Kevin’s voice continued to be monotonous, missing any hint of surprise. ASR’s rage was beyond control at this point. He shouted with full might into the receiver.

“Listen you moron, you didn't hear me or have you lost your mind?” ASR shouted into the phone.

“ASR, watch your words. You need to come down to the office, NOW!” Kevin’s voice rose higher, responding to ASR with equally enraged measure.

“Fuck you! Kevin! This could mean life or death; this could be the lead we’ve been waiting for. Fuck you, man!” ASR was drawing a blank, he simply couldn’t understand Kevin. “Fuck everything, if you don’t care, I will take this up and follow it till I find out which motherfucker is behind It.” He continued with unmasked anger.

“ASR!” Kevin’s voice was certainly many decibels higher this time, stopping ASR mid-sentence. “STOP! Stop everything you are doing right now. I am taking you off this case. You are no longer chasing the Sabres. Do you understand?”

ASR felt the blow of a billion wrecking balls on him at once. Take me off the case?

“What the fuck are you talking about? I am the best agent you have on this case. You can’t take me off the case. Stop fucking around Kevin, and follow the lead.” ASR’s mind refused to believe the words.

“No, you stop fucking around. You are off the case. If you want to talk, see me at the office.” Kevin disconnected the call.

ASR’s ears were burning. He was confused and disoriented for a second, and began pacing up and down the room trying to rerun Kevin’s words in his head.

 I am off the case, how the fuck did this happen, off the case? How?

He stopped. Shyam! The motherfucker had spilled the beans to Kevin. And Kevin had warned him about getting too personal with the case, he couldn't complain about it now. He had spent the night with Khushi and it was breach of protocol. And now he was off the case.

He raked his hair in desperation. He could not cool his heels waiting for the case to be solved by other FBI agents. He could not see Khushi suffer any more than she had to, and after their brief encounter and her admission to him about Shyam, he felt strangely responsible for her and her happiness. He could not let anything happen to her. She was not going to be another Lana in his life.

He started brainstorming his options. He could play the role of a consultant but that would keep him off any meaningful action. He could ask for leave and be with Khushi as a friend but he would be of no use to her. He cursed Kevin and Shyam and he couldn’t even call NK, after the strange transaction from his machine. He picked a glass vase and threw it on the floor in frustration. The vase bounced off the carpet and rolled under the bed, without breaking. Even the vase was mocking his helplessness.

He opened his laptop. He had to get the case files on his computer before his access was blocked. He began downloading the files, the contacts, the reports and everything that was available in the FBI online repository. As he began the last downloads, his screen froze, his access was denied and shut. He slammed his laptop shut and cursed. Kevin was serious this time.

Another hour passed, as ASR strategized his next steps. He had his travel bag ready, his passports on him, and enough cash to see him through the next couple of months. He had to figure out how to break the news to Khushi without disappointing her. The very thought of telling her about this new development tore him apart; he couldn’t bear to see more pain in her face. It was imperative her security continue with the FBI, while he was off the case. He stood in the middle of the room and looked out the window. An idea occurred to him and he knew what he had to do. He grinned.

*****

Isaacson washed and prepared his best china. After his wife’s death, anyone rarely called for a house visit. The FBI agents should be here in a few hours and he couldn’t wait to tell them about the Sabre sculpture, its history and the strange encryptions he had found under the base of the statue in a hidden compartment. The combination of words and numbers hadn’t made any sense to him or his team of art historians but they were grateful to have the sculpture in their museum. He set the china on his cherry formal dining table.

The house in Oak Park was set in a handsome, architecturally rich neighborhood. Noam and David parked their car on the street several houses down and observed Isaacson’s house from a distance. The streets were full of parked cars but devoid of people, most of whom were probably huddled inside, preparing for Christmas Eve dinners. The dried ivy climbing the sides of Isaacson’s house hid a Frank Lloyd Wright prairie home, a style copied generously in this neighborhood.

“Do you think it’s an original?” David shifted in his seat and asked.

“What is original?” Noam had his eyes trained on the entrance to the house. He was waiting for the day to get darker before he paid the curator a visit.

“The house! Do you think its Frank Lloyd Wright masterpiece? The prairie style windows, the thick columns and angular cuts…”

“What the fuck is wrong with you, you idiot? Are you completely insane? I am not here to admire the architecture. Let’s get this done as soon as possible, nimrod!”

David bit his tongue. He had borne the brunt of Noam’s anger and frustration for far too long. Many times he had been tempted to take that gun of his and shoot it point blank at the bastard. The man was getting increasingly rabid with every passing day that the Sabres remained unattainable. David was afraid if they didn't get to the bottom of the last Sabre, Noam might do something so harsh, the two of them would not live to see the light of next day. David said a short prayer and dropped the conversation.

Dusk arrived sooner than usual, not yet helped by the passing of winter solstice. Noam geared up by opening the metallic box which hugged the sophisticated 9mm gun in its velvet compartments. He screwed on the Osprey silencer tip and inserted the magazine, clicking it in place. David took out his less expensive weapon, feeling less of a man and gangster.

“Let’s go.” Noam ordered as he checked the street for traffic. He got out and locked the door. His dark fedora and upturned coat collar played shadows on his face, hiding his gruff ugly looks. David followed in quick steps, keeping up with the determinedly striding Noam.

He ran up the short flight of steps to the entrance of the house and rang the bell.

Isaacson checked his watch. 3:30 pm.

He wasn’t expecting them so soon but he figured the men must have change of plans. He quickly cleaned the living room of scattered papers and notes. He checked the file folder of papers on the Sabre sculpture in his armoire and took it out. He set the folder on the piano next to the armoire and as he turned to lock the armoire, his shirt sleeve pushed the file behind the piano. He failed to notice it.

Isaacson opened the door with a smile but was shocked to see unfamiliar faces. Noam pushed Isaacson in as the old man stumbled to the floor. Noam pulled his gun out and shot two rounds. One went through the old man’s forehead leaving a hole, and the other pierced his heart. The old man convulsed for a few seconds as blood rushed out of his heart and oozed behind his head where the bullet had exited. Noam watched the man with perverse satisfaction.

When Isaacson stopped flailing and jerking about, Noam put his gun away.

“Get moving, look for the papers. We don’t have much time.”

Two hours later, the men left, with the house turned upside down but empty handed. Unknown to them, the file slipped further down the back wall of the upright piano, waiting to be discovered by the rightful owner.