Two men stood in front of the huge bay window overlooking the world’s breathtaking Bay of Mumbai. They seemed to be in deep introspection. Mohit had reserved the magnificent suite for himself and Pascal, alias the Duke Louis de Maintenon, one of fake Belgium’s nobility. The ‘Duke’ was invited to an exclusive party ordered by Arun Kumar for the birthday of his daughter Sheela, a reputed beauty.
The two men whispered, afraid of being heard by spy devices.
“What about the microchip I sent to you Mohit? The Italian scientist, friend of the murdered Biologist mentioned it had been garbled by a virus, but I don’t believe that. I am convinced there is a very important message that we aren’t yet able to retrieve. Unfortunately The scientist and the biologist can’t tell us as they have both been assassinated by those bloody bastards.” I felel there is a way to decrypt this microchip. You are the expert Mohit; please try it to see if it works.”
“Well, I am not sure Pascal, but my IT team is smart and codification is my specialty, so I will rush it.”
“That microchip is the key to the operation; don’t lose any time deciphering it.
Now, let’s dress in our tuxedos for the party tonight,” said Pascal.
When Pascal arrived in front of Arun Kumar’s impressive building, he was impressed by the accuracy of his dream.
He was surprised, however, to see that the building was in darkness and seemed deserted. He immediately realised his mistake. Indians never host a party at home, especially in Mumbai. Whatever their caste, they cannot mix people at home; it just never happens, even if the host is the richest man on the planet!
He re-reads the invitation; The party was hosted in a huge luxury space next to the sea where thousands of guests were entertained.
Nevertheless, Pascal was very excited to see this building, knowing that he had the vision from here, in the penthouse. He was feeling Mayumi’s vibrations right now.
Before leaving he took a good look at the building and made a few pictures with his mobile phone. It was fifty floors of glass and steel in the chic district of Malabar Hills, overlooking the majestic Bay of the Seven Islands. This building, with its fantastic and innovative architecture, was made to impress.
It was designed to be the state-of-the-art with two helipads, an air traffic control station, a spa, swimming pools, elevated gardens and the ultimate earthquake-resistant technology, fireproof systems and bulletproof glass. Safety, comfort and luxury were guaranteed for all members of the extensive Kumar family.
The Harappan Tower, named after the famous civilisation that was probably destroyed by the Arians but recently re-discovered as a jewel of the world’s culture, was ‘the hub of the hub’ in Mumbai.
His friend who had some business contacts in the tower’s offices had briefed Pascal.
“Don’t try to break into Arun Kumar’s home; it is a virtual fortress.”
Direct access to the apartments and helipad was through a heavily guarded lobby. Visitors were only allowed entry after being given clearance from upstairs and an intensive check by the private bodyguards. If, on the rare occasion, Kumar agreed to receive someone unknown to him, that person would be searched then escorted by several security guards to the top floor where another team was waiting. This way in was out of the question for the time being; the party was the only way. Attending the party was a fantastic idea, but risky.
Tonight was a special night for Pascal, for his beloved Mayumi’s life was at stake. He was going to be her saviour and meet Arun Kumar, whom he knew held Mayumi.
Arun Kumar was celebrating the twentieth birthday of the pearl of all his belongings: the ravishing and gifted Sheela, his daughter. Her full picture was printed on the invitation; he had to admit she was beautiful.
His driver brought him to an immense piece of land magnificently planned to cater for more than ten thousand people. Torches transformed the party into a Scheherazade dream. Row after row of limousines—mostly Rolls Royce and Maserati—were delivering the most elegant and influential people from India and abroad.
Enormous diamonds glittered on the necks of fabulous beauties and heavy matrons. Extravagant saris embroidered with gold and silk tunics were competing with evening dresses from the best couturiers in the latest fashion. It was a festival of extravagant and expensive jewellery laden with precious stones; bracelets, necklaces and diadems flashed everywhere.
Of course the tuxedo was “de rigueur” for Mumbakai men and foreigners alike.
On the ground floor, the garden terraces were lit with torches and old-fashioned uniformed Gurkhas; their large turbans and tailored jackets with gold Brandenburg formed a guard of honour to welcome the guests.
Enormous flower arrangements were located in front of doors and bay windows and outside, on each side of the terrace, dancers and bands played in harmony.
Pascal was supposed to be Louis de Maintenon, Comte de Bourbon, a descendant of French royalty. He received an invitation because his family had ‘friendly ties with one of the rich guests whom his father, a diplomat, had entertained in the Forest of Fontainebleau’. As Pascal really was from a noble family from the French countryside, it was easy for him to play the ruse. His friend Mohit was ‘an important figure in Mumbai’.
The first security check, soft but consistent, was at the gage upon arrival. Credentials were asked for and cars were quickly observed. Chauffeurs had to park outside the gates in designated areas and they were also surveyed.
A very long carpet with flower bouquets along its sides ran to a large lobby next to the huge reception areas.
Men wearing black with discreet earphones personally accompanied each guest to that lobby, where dozens of beautiful girls relayed them to their allocated table with charming smiles.
These girls might be charming and their saris very sexy, but Pascal could see by their body attitude that they were part of a well-trained security team, expert in martial arts and security procedures. They were not to be underestimated, and were probably smarter, more intuitive and more dangerous than the men.
Having found their tables, guests were then invited to cocktails in one of the twin reception areas.
A large rotunda separated the two immense rooms: one for dining and one for cocktails. High ceilings, shimmering chandeliers and marble Florentines were specially designed for the occasion and Arun Kumar exhibited his personal art collection, showing famous and expensive paintings from The Renaissance to Picasso.
Buffet tables were offering champagne and liqueurs, and of course any drink and appetisers one could imagine. Hundreds of waiters passed among the crowd of more than five thousand guests with trays full of champagne glasses and small “en cas”.
Pascal’s immediate task was to figure out how to get close to the rich tycoon, as there were security men everywhere. He wanted to meet Arun Kumar in person to let him know exactly what was happening. Kumar had the reputation of being an extremely ambitious character, intransigent and determined, and sometimes insensitive and cunning, but he was not at all considered to be a gangster using criminal and mafia methods. He was better renowned for his straightforwardness.
This could not be said of Arocha, his private assistant, who was in charge of the Cosmos project and security. He was infamous for his cruelty and shrewd mind, taking pleasure to humiliate the people below him and always operating with merciless men who followed his orders blindly.
He had become the dark side of the group, and sometimes, even Arun Kumar, sensed a danger. But no one dared provoke Arocha, and Arun Kumar had never found anyone as efficient as him. He was so omnipresent and successful in all of Kumar’s enterprises. He was the naturally designated heir to the management of Arun Kumar’s empire.
And he had masterminded the development of the Cosmos Project.
Kumar had chosen Arocha when he was an orphaned, miserable monk in a lost temple. At that time, Kumar was practicing Tantric meditation and offering charity at the temple with his wife. He had noticed the young monk involved in martial art and ha
d talked to him for an hour. Kumar knew immediately that he had discovered a genius in operational and business management.
Unlike conventional tough businessmen and ambitious executives, Arocha had a very high level of spirituality, an encyclopaedic memory and a sharp intuition. He was a kind of philosopher, using human knowledge as a weapon against his competitors, who were often ignorant of spiritual matters.
Unfortunately, his formidable capacities were at the service of his infinite personal desire to control everyone, even his master.
Under such circumstances Pascal’s plan was hazardous. He had to convince Arun Kumar of the danger of continuing the Cosmos project as it was being developed as a weapon of mass mind control. It was particularly delicate having to denounce his assistant for wrongdoing.
Pascal knew intuitively his assistant Arocha was ignoring Kumar’s instructions for his own benefit and was taking a path his boss would never agree to, and this was an important point to make with him.
Everyone knew it was difficult to succeed in India and winners had to eliminate business competitors by any means and methods, including using relationships and hidden contributions to block their expansion. Bad manners were one thing, but to murder and kidnap was another and Pascal doubted that using criminal methods were on Arun Kumar’s agenda.
But as the Chinese say, ‘he had his head in the mouth of the tiger’ and he had no choice. If Kumar were a righteous man, he would listen.
During fifteen minutes of civilities and boring talks with uninteresting guests, Pascal sought out Kumar, but he hadn’t yet arrived.
Pascal also monitored the security procedures, the staff and bodyguards, and took note of the cameras hidden everywhere. He couldn’t see any obvious gaps in the system and couldn’t establish the protocols without going through the broad net of security. And since he wasn’t Indian, he was very easy to spot.
He exited to the garden terrace to check the perimeters and found himself enjoying the band and dancers. When he was a student in L.A. he would dream of a peaceful world and smoke ganja while listening to Ravi Shankar. He loved Indian music’s very subtle harmonies, but could now reach that spiritual elevation without smoking.
He was staring at the impressive French Colonial rotunda when a voice behind him almost made him jump.
“Are you interested in architecture?”
He turned swiftly to face a beautiful young Indian woman with long, black hair falling over her bare shoulder. Her dark blue eyes were set deep into an oval face; her pulpous lips contrasted her very pale complexion. She wasn’t very tall and a little plump, but her well-balanced body had a magnetic sensuality. She was dressed in the traditional Sari that was white with delicate embroidery and she wore only one diamond on one side of her nose.
Her movements were extremely gracious and she was moving as if she were dancing. She looked right into Pascal’s green eyes and stretched her hand to shake his.
“Please call me Sheela!”
Impressed, Pascal had to restrain himself from revealing his real name.
“I am Louis de Maintenon. Please call me Louis.”
“Ha!” said Sheela with crystalline laughter, “You mean like Louis the Fourteenth? He is my father’s favourite king.”
“Really?” Pascal had to play the game. “Well, he is one of my ancestors on the Belgian side.” He added his apology quickly, “But this is an insignificant matter; you are the important person here.”
“Then I am impressed,” she responded with an ironic smile. “I never met such nobility; a man who can speak French and English, and is so polite.”
“How do you know French is my mother tongue?”
More crystalline laughter as she joked.
“I don’t know!”
“Oh,” said Pascal, laughing as well. “After traveling around the world, I still can’t get rid of my terrible accent.”
“Oh, please don’t! It is charming. Isn’t it Docteur Cloussou?” At that they both burst out into laughter.
“May I ask what is your occupation?” she asked.
“You won’t believe me, but I am a doctor, in a non-profit organization called “help with no borders.” And I spend most of my time with miserable people who are often ignored.”
“Oh, now you are my hero. That is something I would love to do.” She made a sad movement with her sensual lips. “But my family would not let me.”
“So, why don’t you do it, anyway?” challenged Pascal.
“I see you are not familiar with Indian families. I cannot decide that. I cannot even decide whom I am going to marry! Of course I can refuse the parties introduced by my parents, but not all of them. Otherwise I would stay single.”
“That would be really a pity,” said Pascal with sincerity. “You seem to deserve better than that.”
“I know, I know. Traditions are very strong and respected, but I am not unhappy. That is just the way! It does not mean marriages are always badly arranged or even forced like the infamous Rakshasa vivah. We also have the love marriage, the Ghandarva vivah,” said Sheela defensively.
“And do you also have a social occupation?” asked Pascal.
“Yes, of course! I am studying psychology at the University. But I’m not yet advanced. I am passionate about people’s minds. Like my father, I would like to know how humans have perception; how they decide; how they remember; how they feel—what makes people do what they do.”
“Well, this seems a very serious occupation for such a beautiful young lady!”
“Thank you for the compliment,” Sheela said demurely, “but I hope ‘beautiful’ does not mean ‘idiot’.”
“Not at all! I believe the contrary in fact, and I am so impressed by your passion. To tell you the truth, I am very attracted by the spiritual teachings of your country. I have been told that Hinduism, with its six different philosophies, is the most ancient culture in the world that still practices its beliefs. Some people say they excavated remains dating 20,000 years ago that proved the use of Bhakti practice. Can you imagine? From the Neolithic period; that is even more ancient than the Chinese I Ching.”
“I did not know that!” said Sheela.
“The most impressive for me is the Sankya philosophy: the importance of the soul and the ability of man to progress through his karmic life.”
“Do you believe in karma?” asked Sheela, taken by this stranger with deep ideals.
“No, I don’t. I just think that it is the man’s own vital energy that recreates itself and his particles in another life without the help of a bearded God.”
“So, you mean Brahman does not exist?”
“I don’t say that. I feel he does exist as long as you consider him only as the life principle that pervades everything and not as a divine thing outside of us. As someone said, ‘we had to invent God to understand that man had created God’.
“So you do not believe in God?”
“Not the one from the religions,” answered Pascal. “In fact, we are all gods, because god is nature. We are part of it and we bear the responsibility of its progress; no one else... But this is only my opinion and it may change.”
“Really! You just said exactly what I do not dare to express openly. I want to be responsible and share.”
Pascal was fascinated with this young woman.
“Like all young people, I want to save the planet. I need the sense of urgency to persuade more people to get involved. I want to do something; to participate in projects; stay alert! Do you not think it is the way to solve the problem?”
“I don’t know either, but as the famous American architect Frank Lloyd Right said, ‘I think God is in details’. He could have been a good builder of minds as well as buildings. ‘The details’ means any small action towards a compassionate objective is more important anytime, anywhere, than fabulous theories and good wishes,” said Pascal.
“But how do you make it happen?” asked Sheela.
“It’s very simple! I try to focus on doin
g and not on thinking. When I take care of dejected children or rejected people in African deserts or along Burmese borders I feel my spirit is flying. I don’t do it for me but I do get a sense of personal achievement. And my best reward is the smile of a consoled mother.”
“Do you mean you are a good Christian or something?” she teased.
“No, I am neither good nor Christian, and I don’t believe in any legend created by men. Believing in dogma ‘or something’ as you said is for me a kind of refusal to think anymore. It might be wonderful and easy to embrace a belief, but I would stop searching for a personal answer and it would be the easy way to lose my real soul and become a follower I’m afraid.”
“At least you are not afraid to be frank,” the Indian princess quipped.
“Sorry if I sound too opinionated. It doesn’t mean I don’t respect people’s religions as long as they don’t harm others. Actually, I’m not sensitive to religion; it’s just not for me. Maybe I don’t have that gift. Unfortunately, my character is attracted by logic and concept. I wish I could practice more to forget the good ideas and immerse myself into a practical belief.”
“I have never heard anyone talk like you do,” whispered the young beauty. “Are you sure you are not lost here tonight?”
And they started to laugh again in harmony.
Suddenly Sheela made a decision.
“Let me introduce you to my father. He will certainly find you interesting. He is very busy with all his guests but it is my birthday, so he cannot refuse me.”
Good lord! Pascal suddenly realized that he was talking to Arun Kumar’s daughter and she was proposing to introduce him to the very man he was so eager to meet. Was there really a lucky god for those with good hearts?
“Oh I am so sorry. I was not aware that you were the daughter of Mister Kumar. I am so impolite! I didn’t even wish you a happy birthday or give you a present.”
“Oh forget that! My best present is our conversation. And I hope to have lots of others.”
Taking her mobile phone from a tiny silver purse that was engraved with her initials she said to Pascal, “Please call me if you are staying few days in Mumbai. I would like to show you around. The famous Walkeswar Temple, the Temple of Sand, is nearby, and I want to introduce you to my guru. And there are so many interesting things to see and people to meet; even at the railway station.”
Sheela took his hand and said, “But for the moment please come with me.” as she brought him back under the chandeliers, among the shining stars of Mumbai.
Neither of them paid attention to the man in the garden who was watching them. He constantly shadowed Sheela and now scrutinised the foreigner. He looked frustrated.
Arocha!
…
Still holding Pascal’s hand, Sheela pushed her way through the thousands of guests as she tried to find her father, who was somewhere in the crowd. She finally spotted him in the middle of the rotunda in an animated conversation with his close business friends.
“My dear Louis,” said Sheela, “you must understand that it is very difficult, even for me, to have the full attention of my father. So many people try to approach him. He never has enough time even for himself or to be alone. I have learned that to control big business is a hard life! But don’t worry; we are lucky tonight, as we have found him. Look over there!”
She started waving to a tall man, an elegant figure in his late forties who was wearing traditional Indian costume. His grey hair and harmonious features presented the image of an accomplished and balanced man. Only his deeply set eyes that were encircled with dark patches showed that he was a man with too many responsibilities.
He waved back with a childish grin; his body language saying ‘Sorry I am busy, but I would prefer to see you here’.
She understood the message and they walked faster to get to him.
Arun Kumar quickly excused himself to his guests and walked a few paces toward them. He embraced his daughter and wished her happy birthday.
Sheela introduced Pascal jokingly as ‘Louis the last; the saviour of the planet’.
“Ha ha! You have arrived too late,” laughed her father.
At the precise moment Pascal looked into Kumar’s eyes he perceived a strong emotion and a strong connection. Pascal read Kumar’s vibrations and felt a flick of deep anxiety and openness to a dark side that was unfolding and scary, but at the same time he also perceived a path to a colourful, transcendent light; to a universal beauty that had no boundaries.
This man was at the threshold of two worlds and was unable to choose.
Pascal sensed that Kumar was in deep spiritual trouble, unaware of its origin, and he needed help!
That connection was instantaneous, evanescent and disappeared immediately from Pascal’s awareness, but it led him for a very short time into a mystified alertness until he was back in the present world.
After few common conversational topics, Sheela asked, “Daddy, my new friend says he would like to talk to you in private. He has some important questions only you can answer. Can you do that for me?”
“I am very flattered replied Kumar, but at this moment it is impossible. I am leaving tomorrow for Beijing and it will be difficult to cancel my appointment with the Premier as it was arranged long ago, he said as a kind of excuse.
They were surrounded now by many important figures trying to catch Arun Kumar’s attention. He turned to Sheela, “I will be back next week; why don’t you remind me then?”
Pascal was suddenly afraid he had made a mistake. This was not the right way or the right time. Maybe the whole idea was wrong; a quiet conversation was impossible with such a busy man, but he had no choice. Almost drawn to the situation by chance, he recognised that there was a synchronicity, a mindful pattern, designed for him, so he had to catch this opportunity now. He had to turn the mistake to his advantage to make it a clever mistake. He intentionally addressed Arun Kumar in a loud voice.
“Sorry sir, I regret being impolite, when your wonderful daughter has made such an effort to introduce me on such a superb occasion, but it is very important. Under the circumstances I have no choice. There is a major problem with your Cosmos project!”
If a bomb had exploded in the middle of the room it would have had less affect on the man. He stopped smiling; looked livid, then seemed to make an enormous effort to regain his control. It took at least a second for him to digest the blow and then his face showed a cold rage as he calmly replied to Pascal.
“I don’t know what you are talking about young man. I am not in the business you mentioned. Cosmos project you said? I believe you must be mistaken as I don’t know such a project and your question is not my concern. Please don’t disturb me with trivial matters.”
He then seemed to make a quick decision.
“By the way who are you exactly? I don’t remember you as a friend of my daughter or any other family member. This is a private party!”
With that he took out his phone and touched ‘speed dial’.
“Arocha, would you please come and talk to this gentleman here; he may have come by mistake.”
It was a code; a way to tell Arocha to get rid of the unwanted visitor. Then, unwilling to be further disturbed, Arun focused his attention on his daughter.
“I have to talk to you for a minute.”
He turned his back on Pascal without excusing himself and instantly Arocha was there. Pascal had no choice but to follow the man, but just leaving he had the chance to whisper to Sheela.
“So sorry about that, but your father is in great danger as am I. Let me call you later as it is urgent, but please don’t tell him anything now. Happy birthday, anyway!”
Pascal’s plan was working! Or was it?
This exchange had just proved that Arun Kumar was involved in the Cosmos project. His reaction was too strong for it to be a trivial matter. Unknowingly, Kumar was directly involving his assistant into a further confrontation.
For Pascal, it seemed to be the only way to
take advantage of the situation and oblige Arocha to intervene face to face. He now had the possibility of setting up an ambush that he could monitor with his friends who were outside this heavily guarded compound.
The scheme to isolate Arocha had worked, but to catch him alone might become a dangerous trap for himself. Without even imagining he could be a target, Arocha ‘the Angel Face’ was smiling, looking friendly and understanding. What a pleasant man!
“My apologies for interfering,” he said, shaking hands like a car salesman. “I am Arocha, Mr. Kumar’s personal assistant. This is nothing personal, but my boss has to be very cautious about his safety. He is very afraid of meeting unknown faces that may disturb his tranquility. I am sure it is not the case, but you have to excuse such a busy man, who is always afraid of new encounters. Would you please follow me sir?”
Pascal was amazed by this man’s ability to deceive and had always noticed that such characters were not unusual in societies where the standard image of the ‘good guy’ resembles George Bush more than Ghadafi.
Criminals and dangerous guys must have a scary look. Neurologists say it is the same as the fear monkeys feel for snakes. It is not only a social emotion; it is in their genome. Pascal had a last look at Arun Kumar, who was vehemently talking to his daughter.
He turned and waved to Sheela and when she saw that he was leaving, as a challenge to her father, she waved back in an ostensible way.
Now, Pascal had to play smart. He replied politely to Arocha as if nothing had happened.
“I fully understand sir; I am just staying two days here at The Oberoi,” he said as he handed the Security Chief his invitation.
”This is my invitation. I am the Comte Louis de Maintenon. Let me call my driver so he can take me back to my hotel as I am tired anyway.”
And with a friendly wink at Arocha, he said, “In fact I am invited to another party, but thank you for the magnificent reception.”
“Don’t worry,” replied the inquisitive Arocha. Arun Kumar’s own car will take you there. I have already asked the driver from your hotel to return to the Oberoi. Feel free to use the car all night; the charge will be on us.”
And he added softly, “I will accompany you myself to be sure you are well attended.”
Arocha was falling into the trap.
They stood under the porch of the rotunda, surrounded by neoclassical columns. Many people were pressing in but were rejected, as they didn’t have a proper invitation.
“Please wait for one second,” said Arocha. He took out his phone and talked rapidly, appearing to be very efficient.
…
“Intelligence is a detour.”
Zazo, philosopher