"On the inside?" Mishti repeated.
He nodded, "Getting close to him would maybe get me something of substance. He keeps a very tight circle though. just his family and a handful of outsiders."
Malishka's face flashed once again in her mind. Her pretty cheekbones and seductive demeanor. Mishti didn't know her as well as Ruhaan did but she knew that the woman didn't deserve to die.
That night Mishti read all she could about Ronobir Chatterjee over a dinner of fried rice and dumplings. He had four siblings, three brothers, and a sister. One brother had died from cancer when they were younger. It was the reason he funded lymphoma research and donated close to twenty million dollars to the candidate over the years. His net worth was around thirty billion. He lived between London and Kolkata. He graduated from Eton with a first-class degree in Economics and Business Management and then went to the London School of Economics. He was divorced with no children. His ex-wife was Swati Singh, a former model. They were an attractive couple from the pictures she saw of them together. There were articles from gossip magazines mourning the end of their fairy tale romance while others were more focused on the paltry alimony she'd received after the divorce. It seemed one hundred thousand dollars a month was a chicken change to a man like him.
She clicked on a video of him in 2015. It was a Ted Talk. He wore casual black jeans and a grey sweater turtleneck in some bastard imitation of Steve Jobs. He glided around the stage as though it were another possession of his. The man had a charm in spades, unfortunately. The audience soaked up every word he said, mesmerized and eager for more. He smiled that half smile of his again effortlessly explaining how financial security was tied to academic growth. Even though Mishti could feel herself slipping under his spell, it was easy to recognize that he was a predator. His strength was not in large claws and jaws of steel able to test flesh but in words and gestures. The ability to manipulate others to do his bidding. To make them feel happy while doing it. The next video showed him getting a humanitarian award for his work in Haiti and Kashmir. Mishti felt her dinner threatening to eject from her stomach.
The next day she woke up to her laptop dead on her lap and her mouth dry. The plates from dinner were scattered around her. Ruhaan had left her with his phone number in case anything came up. She studied the numbers unsure of what to do with them before getting into the shower. The cold spray was a welcome relief on her aching body.
Her part in this was over. She was free from this. But it didn't feel like freedom knowing that what Mallishka had died for made no real difference. Ronobir Chatterjee wasn't in jail. Mallishka Sherawat was six feet under. The bastard was the only real winner here.
When she got to work Joy was beaming far too brightly to ignore. So Mishti had no choice but to ask what got her so happy.
"Oh my niece Nadia just got into medical school," Joy replied giddily.
"That's wonderful," Mishti congratulated genuinely. She'd been treated to stories about Joy's favorite niece since she started working there. She knew the girl had been waiting to hear back from Duke and Colombia. Joy patted a copy of Faulkner, "I'm just so happy she's making a difference. She's going to help people you know? I remember wanting to do that a long time ago before life got in the way,"
Her expression was wistful. It stirred something within Mishti.
"We all contribute in our way I guess," She said packing up their newest order to shelve leaving Mishti alone with her thoughts.
Ruhaan was enjoying the contents of his hotel room minibar when he got a call from Mishti Khanna asking to meet with him. It had been three days since the time at the diner. His flight to Langley was the next day and he was looking forward to heading back even if he dreaded his next meeting in DC. Say what you will about Kolkata but the city has character. All kinds flourished in relative harmony and organized chaos. DC, on the other hand, was a shark pool if sharks wore suits and breakfast at the Roosevelt. Politicians and the like. Dangerous people. Almost in the same league as sociopathic billionaires.
Her call was a surprise. His business with her was done as far as he was concerned. After the news of Mallishka's death, he threw himself into work hoping to find something, just anything to nail down the Chatterjee bastard.
Shakti was an old friend from the military. They had both served two tours in Afghanistan. Ruhaan had decided to break off and enter the world of intelligence hoping to serve his country in another capacity. Shakti took the opposite direction and went into diplomacy. It was after the funeral when Arohi had gone to stay with her parents for a while that he received the call from Shakti that a hotel manager had given him files from Mallishka. At first, it seemed too good to be true but Intel had confirmed what he long suspected.
He went to Berlin but unfortunately the manager who got the documents resigned shortly after. He looked into her and found nothing of real consequence about her. Normal jobs, no criminal record or suspicious associations. So he bided his time watching Mishti Khanna before making a move. Her stay in Kolkata before his subsequent move to Kolkata.
He was convinced that she must have known something, anything. A final word or clue from Mallishka. What he got wasn't nearly as satisfying but he took it as a sign that there wasn't more to look for. The poor woman was still shaken up by the experience months later.
Ruhaan blamed himself for Mallishka. Arohi had told him time and time again that it wasn't his fault but she didn't exactly know the whole story. How it was his actions that had pushed Malishka away in the first place. The reason she left and found herself working for Ronobir Chatterjee in the first place.
There was a knock on the door. He jumped off the bed peering into the peep home before opening the door. Mishti entered looking frazzled in a crème coat and pink flats.
"I'm sorry for disturbing you like this," She apologized. He noticed she was a very apologetic person.
Ruhaan waved her off, "I gave you my number for a reason. What did you want to speak to me about?"
Mishti glanced around the room taking in the decor. Nothing that wasn't expected from a Garden Inn.
She was merely stalling, unable to voice the mad thought that had come to her head.
"I want to go undercover with Ronobir Chatterjee."
Ruhaan stared at her in disbelief before bursting into loud, obnoxious laughter. Mishti pursed her lips together, irritated. "I'm serious."
"No honey you are not," He said patronizing "because you cannot even begin to understand everything associated with what you just said."
"You said you needed someone on the inside. I can be that person," She argued.
His expression hardened, "I meant an agent with field experience and not a 26-year-old bookstore translator. Do you have amnesia? You were there to witness what happened to Mallishka and I assure you that she was not a girl scout. That man will smell out your weakness like a drop of blood and kill you for it. Is that what you want?"
"I have nothing to lose," She nearly shouted. Her talk with Joy opened her eyes to a truth she'd been reluctant to confront. She had no one or nothing to lose. Mishti had no mother; she only spoke to her father once a year at most. Her grandmother who was the only person that gave a shit about her was dead and gone. She had no friends. In other words, Mishti was the perfect asset. All her life she'd been floating around merely existing. Looking for a purpose that couldn't be found in hotel lobbies or corporate offices. Everyone should have the chance to do something great, something to make a difference. Perhaps hers was to stop a dangerous man from adding more chaos to the world.
Ruhaan ran his hands through his hair in frustration, "Look, you're probably having a quarter-life crisis. Go home, get a puppy, a boyfriend, anything to get your mind off this because I assure you that once you get in, there's no going back. This is a burden you cannot come back from."
"A burden you've been carrying for five years," She taunted. He bristled at the fierceness in her voice, "You said to yourself that he brushes off the trail before you can get to it. What you need is someone to pick them off as he drops it. I can be that person."
Ruhaan shook his head going to grab a mini bottle of tequila from the mini bar throwing it back. The sweet burn did nothing to help him deal with the crazy woman in his hotel room. He dropped unceremoniously onto the edge of the bed. Mishti still stood stiffly.
He regarded her after a few moments of silence, "Even if I were to agree to this, tell me, how do you expect to get in? Last I checked you don't have any experience managing a multi-million dollar company or working in one for that matter. What do you have to offer Ronobir to let you into his circle?"
"His sister," She stated confidently. "I've read all about her." Avantika Chatterjee was the quintessential party girl. She was wild and rebellious but her brother kept a close eye on her. Ruhaan could see the merit in such a plan as the girl had no real friends of her own. It was difficult with a brother like hers who scrutinized everyone around her to an uncomfortable degree until they ran away. Getting close to her could give access to the rest of the family. He couldn't believe he was entertaining such an idea.
"Ok let's say you two become besties for life, then what?" He challenged.
"Then we can plan further because at least we'll have an in," Mishti persuaded. "I'm a clean slate. No attachments or liabilities. You need someone like me."
Ruhaan rubbed the back of his neck, sighing. The absolute worst part was that it was so tempting. She was the perfect candidate to become an asset. It burned through him to agree, to take her offer and use her as yet another tool. His hatred for Ronobir Chatterjee had become a slow poison festering over the years.
Every failed attempt, every smooth evasion, every trapped skipped over added another dose. Like luck had been woven into his birth. The man skipped over bombs without effort leaving everyone else as mere debris in his path. Ruhaan remembered the first instance that made his investigation begin.
A shootout in Colombia between the paramilitaries and cartels that he'd been sent to investigate since the agency was backing the paramilitaries. The collateral damage was the villagers who'd tried to run away for safety only to get cut down. He'd seen dead women and children piled up and burned. The smell of burning flesh penetrated his steel gut. The weapons used were sold by a non-existent corporation in Guatemala. After bouncing off-shore accounts he found one associated with a subsidiary of Grey conglomerate.
The subsidiary was dissolved long by then leaving nothing but shredded paper. His bosses refused to look further.
Not long after the Chatterjee foundation donated ten million dollars to a charity that brought children affected by cartel violence to the States to set them up with adopted families and Piers Morgan called him a hero.
From then on he made it his life's mission to take him down. Ruhaan had told himself that no matter the cost he would take whatever avenue he could with hesitation. Or so he thought. He'd never felt more conflicted until this moment when a young woman was willing to risk her life to help him.
"Ruhaan," Mishti walked closer and sat down next to him on the bed. Her body heat was welcome warmth from the blasting cold of the AC. She smelled faintly of lavender. "If we do this, you can avenge Mallishka and take him down. I can have meaning in my life and do something good for once."
Ruhaan sighed, turning to look at her. He couldn't deny she was pretty. Clear porcelain skin, startling brown eyes, and a sweet smile from what he'd been able to see. He twisted his wedding ring. This woman should have been curled up in the arms of some nameless loving man and sticky-fingered children. Living a carefree life where the only concern was whatever mundane dinner or family visit she was planning. Not sitting next to him willing to pimp out herself for Uncle Sam. Not ready to sacrifice it all as though her life didn't matter.
"Mishti," his voice was rough, "If you do this, there's no going back. Until that son of a bitch is tucked away in Tihar Jail your life might never return to normal. Is that what you want?"
Was it what she wanted? Of course not, but neither did she want the milquetoast existence she'd been merely enduring.
"Then I'll do my very best to make sure he ends up there," Mishti spoke quietly but the determination was there. From where it came she wasn't sure but there it was.
Ruhaan pinched the bridge of his nose standing up from the bed, "In about a week call me. If there's a way to make it possible then I'll let you know." Part of him hoped that in a week she'd come to her senses and forget about it. But the other half saw the glint in her brown eyes and knew it was all for naught. She'd already made her choice.