Venom, page 34
‘Perhaps now?’
‘No, this doesn't seem like a good time either.’ They sat in embarrassed silence while Valentine sipped her tea.
‘Is that the only reason you wanted to see me?’
Budjinski got up and went to stand on the balcony. ‘Look, I don't know how to say this … but … what happened to you ...’
‘You want absolution?’
‘I was never a very good Catholic, Valentine. I just wanted you to know I was sorry. It was all my fault. It will haunt me till the day I die.’
‘You know, when I was in Nepal the monks there tried to explain to me about this thing called karma. It is like a debt that must be paid. Sometimes it is our debt, sometimes it is a debt from another lifetime. It can even be a debt we inherit from our parents. Whatever debt there is, I have now paid mine.’ She stood up and put a hand on his shoulder. ‘Don’t torment yourself. What I did was my decision, and my destiny. If I had not gone after him in Varanasi, he would have followed me back to France. He told me once that our destinies were entwined. He was right.’
‘Just say you forgive me.’
‘There’s nothing to forgive. I never blamed you in the first place.’ She turned and went to the door. ‘Au revoir, Captain.’
‘Where will you go now?’
‘I don't know. That depends on what happens to Michel.’
‘By the way ... did you know the Paris police have reopened the file on your father's death?’
Valentine seemed to sway on her feet. For a moment Budjinski thought she was going to faint. He moved to help her, but she held up her hand. ‘I'm all right.’
‘I thought you ought to know.’
‘Michel?’
He nodded. ‘Can you still love him now?’
‘I cannot ever explain to you what I feel for Michel,’ she said.
The door closed gently behind her. The taxi cab was still waiting for her in the street. He wondered if he would ever see her again.
Chapter 51
Michel was ushered into the empty cell. A guard pushed him on to a bench in the middle of the room. They had chained him in the dandaberi again so that he could receive his visitor. For the past year he had lived and slept in a cramped cell, three paces wide and five deep, on a starvation diet. Each day he received one chapati, a half cup of soured milk, a dish of watery green dahl, and some mashed bean soup. He had been allowed no visitors, no radio, no newspapers. He slept on a hard stone floor with just a greasy woolen blanket to cover him, enduring by day the moans and babbles of those driven insane by their incarceration; and by night coping with the ravages of hordes of large black rats.
A rusty pipe jutted from one wall, and brownish water occasionally belched from it. But it was the only water he had so he cupped his hands for this meager and infrequent offering, whatever hour of the day or night.
His cell flooded during the monsoon.
His legs and wrists were raw and festering from the scraping of the steel manacles that he was made to wear whenever they took him from his cell. His body was covered in sores where lice and flea bites had become infected.
Privately, he had hoped the court would convict him. They would sentence him to seven years, perhaps ten, it didn't matter. Meanwhile he would have received the advance on the ridiculous book the American publisher wanted him to write and with that he could buy his way out of Tihar.
But if he was extradited to Singapore or even Thailand might convene a quick trial and execute him before he had the chance to plan a way out.
He needed a miracle.
The door opened, and Valentine entered, flanked by two guards. She sat down at the table opposite him.
She drew back her veil. She regarded him coolly, though the left eye stared from a shapeless putty of scar tissue. One side of her mouth was frozen with scar tissue, the other curled in a smile of regret.
‘Hello Michel,’ she said in English.
‘You're the last person I expected to see.’
‘Why? There's a bond between you and me, chèri. You said that yourself.’
‘Have you come to gloat?’
‘No. I've come ... to say I'm sorry.’
‘For Bangkok? Or for yesterday?’
‘Yesterday? But ... I helped you. I saved you.’
‘Saved me? For what? For the Thais?’
‘The Thais?’
‘I'm to be extradited.’
She switched quickly from English to French, so the guards would not understand. ‘It's all right. That's why I came. I have a plan.’
Michel blinked. ‘Go on.’
‘It's my fault you're here. So it's up to me to get you out.’
‘How?’
‘I can get you a uniform and a disguise. And some money to bribe the guards. I will pay one of the guards to bring it into Tihar. Then you can walk out.’
‘You're crazy.’
‘Am I? The warden here earns three hundred rupees a month. How much do you think it will cost to make it all sound a little less crazy?’
‘You can organize all this?’
‘Of course.’
‘What happens when ... if I get outside the walls?’
‘I'll be waiting near the front gate. I'll have transport and we'll drive straight to the Nepalese border at Raxaul. I’ll hide you in the back until we get out of the city.’
‘When?’
‘Tomorrow night.’
‘What time?’
‘Eleven o'clock. No one will know you are gone till the next morning. From Nepal we will fly to South America. I've arranged it all - a passport, new clothes, everything. In two days you will be safe, and we can start our life again.’
Her eyes were bright, like a small child hoping for his approval.
‘I've underestimated you,’ Michel said.
‘Time is up,’ one of the guards said.
Valentine stood up to leave.
‘Why are you doing this?’ Michel asked her.
‘You don't know?’
‘I thought you hated me.’
‘I did. For a long time, when I was in the hospital, all I did was dream of a thousand different ways for you to die. But then I realized that if I killed you, I'd be killing a part of myself. I want you, Michel. I want you back.’
The door shut behind her.
Michel stared after her. My God. She actually thinks I'd take her back. After all she's done. And looking like that. He shuddered at the thought of making love to such a horror. It was a pity she had not died that morning in Varanasi.
Now he would have to kill her all over again.
♦ ♦ ♦
Valentine made her way to the Chandni Chowk, the famous flea bazaar between the Jama Masjid mosque and the Red Fort, a maze of covered arcades and winding alleys where you could buy anything from parts for a 1956 Austin Healey to ammunition for a .38 Smith and Wesson revolver. Small green snakes were charmed from brass spittoons and sacred cows ambled past the painted doors of tiny shops. There was a pervading fug of spice and excrement.
She purchased a khaki uniform, gold braid, a wig, a false beard and the khaki turban separately. She found military insignia, ribbons and medals in a small jewelry shop near the Jama Masjid. It was the last item on her list that caused her most trouble.
She finally found what she was looking for in a crumbling haveli at the end of a deserted alleyway. The purchase was an expensive one and impossible to carry. She would have to collect it later.
The van was obtained at considerably less expense from a gold-toothed Jain. Valentine guessed that it was stolen. It was of no importance. It would only be required for a few hours.
Finally everything was ready. She paid five hundred rupees to one of the guards at the Tihar to have the cardboard box delivered to Michel in his cell.
Soon he would be free. She could barely contain her excitement.
♦ ♦ ♦
The guard unlocked the door and pushed Andy Rosen inside. It slammed shut again behind him.
The only light came from the kerosene lantern that hung on the wall outside the barred window. Michel lay slumped in the corner, sleeping.
Andy crept towards him.
‘Michel!’
There was no answer. He moved closer.
‘Michel!’
There was a blur of movement and Andy found himself on his back, Michel's elbow pressed on his throat. ‘How do you want me to kill you? Shall I snap your neck or choke you slowly with my fingers?’
Andy tore desperately at the arm that was choking him.
‘No, please … got something …woman ...’
Suddenly he could breathe again. Michel grabbed his hair and jerked his head up from the floor. ‘Talk.’
‘One of the guards … gave me something from the woman … Valentine ... a box.’
‘Where is it?’
Andy scrabbled on the floor in the darkness. He pushed it towards him. ‘I haven't opened it. I swear.’
Michel tore open the string bindings in the tiny square of yellow light under the window. He sorted through the contents. There was everything Valentine had promised. Even a cheap watch.
There was a note scribbled in Valentine's hand: ‘Main gate. Eleven o'clock. Listen for horn. One long, two short.’
‘Michel, I'm sorry about what happened in court,’ Andy said somewhere in the darkness, ‘I had to do it. I can't take any more in here. Anyway, I knew you'd find a way out.’
Michel didn't answer.
‘I did okay, huh? I told the woman I'd get these things to you.’
Michel's fist came out of the shadows and sent Andy sprawling across the cell.
‘Get out.’
Andy shrieked for the guard. The cell door slammed behind him.
♦ ♦ ♦
Michel checked the time on the watch that Valentine had smuggled in. At ten minutes to eleven he slipped out of his filthy white T-shirt and jeans and put on the khaki tunic and shorts.
They had a curious smell. Michel wondered where Valentine had found them. Down some stinking bazaar, probably.
He emptied the rest of the contents and grinned. There was even a little glue to fit the wig and the beard. She had thought of everything. He put on the turban, fitting the elastic strap tight under his chin and then the khaki puttees and sandals.
He was ready.
He waited.
A few minutes later, he heard it. A car horn. One long blast, followed by two short ones. It was his signal.
Michel yelled for the guard to fetch the chief head warden. When they were alone in the cell he gave him the twenty thousand rupees that Valentine had wrapped in the uniform jacket at the bottom of the box.
The warden had been suitably impressed. The money was equivalent to almost six years' pay. ‘Come with me,’ he said.
He led him outside to the exercise yard. It was quiet. A heavy moon hung low over the prison walls, fat and yellow. Michel placed the military swagger stick under one arm. A nice touch that, he thought.
Now to brazen it out.
He marched across the compound, tapping the swagger stick against his thigh. Two guards lounged by the inner gate, silhouetted by an oil-lamp. They snatched up their rifles and saluted when they saw him.
Michel barked in Hindi: ‘Open the gate! Come on. Hurry it up!’
One of them fumbled with a set of keys and the iron gate creaked open. Michel waited. He didn't want to appear to be in too much of a hurry.
He grabbed the other guard, snatched his rifle away and made a show of examining the it under the light. Then he slammed it back into the startled soldier's arms.
‘This rifle's filthy. Clean it!’
‘Yes, Sahib.’
He marched out
It was all so easy. So very, very easy.
♦ ♦ ♦
There was another compound between the inner and outer walls. A stone archway housed the main gates, which were iron-studded and massive, each forty feet high and ten feet across. They were rarely opened. A small door had been cut into one of the larger ones, and it was through here that new prisoners were brought in and - more rarely - released.
A single guard lounged in the shadows. Michel spotted the glow of his cigarette.
‘Attention!’ he bellowed.
The man gasped and dropped the cigarette. His rifle clattered to the ground. He scrambled to retrieve it.
‘What's your name?’ Michel barked.
‘Corporal Shastri,’ the man stammered.
‘Report to the warden's office first thing in the morning. You are a disgrace to your uniform! Now open this gate!’ The guard did as he was told. Michel walked through.
A moment later he heard the door slam behind him.
He had done it.
He was free.
He looked along the deserted street. The van was parked about fifty yards away. It flashed its headlights at him. He ran towards it, spinning the swagger stick into the air in triumph. It clattered into the gutter.
The van was similar to the jungle green bus he had ridden each day to the Tis Hizari courthouse, an ancient Bedford, with no windows. Valentine jumped out and stood by the rear door, holding it open for him.
‘Quick!’ she hissed at him. ‘Inside!’
He leapt in, heard her slam the door shut behind him. He ripped off the fake beard and started to laugh.
♦ ♦ ♦
‘Are you going back to Paris now?’ Engineer asked.
‘Not until he's dead.’
Engineer poured the rest of the beer into Budjinski's glass. ‘They won't let him go. He'll be extradited in the next couple of days.’
‘I just can't believe it. How could she still love him?’
‘A lot simpler in our country, old boy. We generally don't let women have their own way in things. Except Indira, of course.’
‘I wonder what Noelle would say if she was here. Perhaps she'd forgive him too: 'Oh, let him be, Papa. He didn't mean to kill me. He's just got a little too excited.' Perhaps I'm the only one who really cares about what he's done. Do you think so, Ravi?’
‘I would never attempt to understand a woman’s thoughts. But I cannot help thinking it is a great shame about that girl. She must have been very beautiful once.’
‘Yes,’ Budjinski agreed. ‘She was.’
Chapter 52
The van lurched through the old Delhi traffic, there was the usual din of taxis and trucks and motor rickshaws even at this time of night. You're a genius, chèrie, he thought. It's a pity you’re not beautiful anymore.
I'll have to kill you.
He heard something move in the darkness. It was pitch-black back here and he couldn’t see. There it was again, a slithering, rustling noise, like something heavy and very wet dragging itself across the metal floor.
‘Who's there?’ Michel said.
He panicked and reached for the back door, looking for a handle. There wasn't one. He pushed against the door. Locked.
He heard the slithering noise again, and he threw himself into the corner, making himself as small a target as possible.
What the hell was that?
‘Valentine!’
Don't panic. She wouldn’t do anything to you, she just got you out of Tihar, for God's sake. He crawled to the front of the van and beat his fist against the metal partition that separated him from the driver's cabin.
‘Valentine!’
That noise again. It was getting closer.
He threw himself away from it, his body hammering into the other corner of the van. Merde alors! Whatever it was, it was stalking him.
He beat his fist against the side of the van again. Valentine must have heard him by now.
‘I want you, Michel. I want you back.’ She loved him, she needed him, that was why she had refused to testify against him.
‘Valentine! Stop the van!’
Why didn't she answer him?
‘VALENTINE!’
♦ ♦ ♦
The serpent had been taken in Burma. It was a reticulate python, one of the largest of the python family, thirty feet of thick sinuous coils. Normally it was timid of man.
It could not see Michel. It was the heat-sensitive organs in its facial pits that sensed him first, and then the darting tongue picked up the scent particles of the pork grease that had been smeared on the tunic. Pigs were a favorite prey. It moved in to attack.
Its hunger was excited by the strong vibrations that it picked up through the metal floor of the van. The sounds were transmitted to its ear drum through the huge bone of its lower jaw and it knew that its quarry was helpless and terrified.
Its massive jaws opened, revealing over a hundred needle-sharp teeth, angled back towards its throat in six shining rows. But the teeth were not intended for biting or for chewing; they were intended to anchor the victim while it used its coils to crush it.
Michel felt something bite into his leg and he screamed.
Something wrapped itself around his shoulders, a massive tentacle as strong as a man's arm. He tried to pull away, but it was useless. A cold band of muscle gripped him in a merciless vice.
It pulled him across the floor and he heard himself scream again. Another coil went around his waist. He tried to shout out but there was no breath in his lungs. The steel bands were suffocating him.
He heard one of his ribs crack.
He heard Valentine saying, ‘I want you, I need you,’ when she came to visit him in prison and now he knew with absolute clarity what she had done.
Bright lights flashed in his head. He couldn't believe it was going to end this way.
He closed his eyes and saw Adrienne, dressed in white, beckoning him with a scarlet-painted fingernail, wanting him to follow her down the wooden steps into the Saigon streets. This time she wasn’t going to leave him behind.
Michel tried to scream: ‘Adrienne!’ but no sound would come.
She had betrayed him for the last time.
♦ ♦ ♦
Valentine listened to him die. His death throes gave her no satisfaction. She had thought it would be a moment to savor. She was wrong.
It was simply justice, perfect justice.
She thought about the burns unit in the Hôpital des Invalides; a quiet and secluded world where everyone wore masks and long green sterile robes and even the air was clean and filtered and purified. For the first two weeks she had floated on the soft white clouds of the morphine.
