from the Mahatma and yet he still rips into the BJP and the Islamists every chance he gets — James Bond included. I wouldn’t be at all surprised if one day we found Khankashi stuck away in the country eating bread and water while he weaves the cotton threads of his charkha, like Mahatma. It would be just like that asshole to slide back into the old passive resistance number!
“David’s association with the holy man had tongues wagging among Bhargava Hindus, without a doubt; not that he made a point of publicizing it, but it was no secret either. I mean, tea out in public in Old Delhi. He had to be doing favours for the imam on the q.t., in the guise of diplomacy.”
Max came back to Vandana’s theory that James Bond had probably used David as an example to other diplomats that they had better play in their own sandbox. “Maybe, but if so, why didn’t they claim the attack? Terrorism has a marketing scheme all its own, but it’s been a whole week and nothing. Old news. There’s been Afghanistan, then Kashmir and the worsening situation between India and Pakistan took centre stage and stepped back into the general melee.”
“But getting back to Genghis Khan,” said Jayesh. “Whatever his Islamist reputation, especially among the papers loyal to the BJP, he denounced the World Trade Center and Pentagon attacks of September 11 — against the spirit of the Qur’an, he said.”
“I bet that put a chill on his Islamist buddies in Pakistan,” guessed Max.
“Precisely.”
“Yet the Indian cops are sure he’s hiding out in Karachi.”
“They have no idea where he is, so they dream up any old thing, as usual. I think he’s still in Delhi and laughing his ass off.”
“So, a fake ‘moderate,’ is that it?”
“That’s what the Durgas are saying. They’d do anything to get their hands on him. Bhargava would love to finish him off personally.”
“And where exactly is he? How do we get in touch, talk to him?”
“No one knows but his closest cronies.”
This was just getting better and better with both suspects disappearing into thin air: Genghis Khan to his lair and James Bond into clandestine retirement. One thing was certain, though. Dhaliwal and his team were going to have to treat this one with kid gloves. If they did tie the attack on David to his contacts with Khankashi, it would make waves that might drown them all, even Bernatchez and the High Commission. For instance, if Dhaliwal could prove that David had “privileged” connections with Muslim officials — already suspected of financing or protecting Kashmiri terrorists — Canada would be in hot water, just when its businessmen were about to break into this new market and important contracts were to be signed at the Montreal conference.
Was Bhargava the culprit? It was a sexy hypothesis, but it couldn’t withstand serious scrutiny. Hindu extremists didn’t give a damn about world opinion. Their country’s “Hinduization,” as they put it, was domestic business, a religio-nationalist delirium that knew no diplomatic scruples. What was it Vandana said? As recently as March, Prime Minister Vajpayee had crossed his arms while fascist groups in Gujarat staged pogroms against Muslims for two months without denouncing or forbidding them or even sending in the police. A government like that was not going to bother about a diplomat — Third Secretary to boot — being friends with the imam of a mosque.
Nope. The answer had to be somewhere else.
Summer 1984. Max was living in the U.S. under three different names and passports, still a Canadian citizen according to two other passports he hardly used anymore. Now he was in Hy’s Steak House in Toronto, specializing in T-bone, filet mignon, and surf ’n’ turf, sitting on a leather seat worn in by an army of clients every day at noon in the thrall of red meat. Philippe sat facing him; he was soon leaving for Bangkok with his small family. David was six and mischievous-looking in the photo his father had thumbed a million times. Philippe looked up with that winning smile he often showed. Max smiled back, but for different reasons.
“I found Stéphane Kavanagh,” Max said. This was the man who’d ruined their father. Philippe’s smile vanished, which surprised Max, who had also never heard his brother raise his voice. He was normally so calm and collected.
“Stay away from that guy!”
“He put us out on the street.”
“Ancient history, all of it. Forget it!”
“Forget it? He’s living a totally normal life as though nothing happened.”
“DON’T YOU LAY A FINGER ON HIM!”
Max didn’t get it. Since finding the piece of garbage, he was determined to clean his clock, and his own brother, who’d suffered as much as all of them, was telling him to sit on his hands. Max’s thirst for revenge had grown over the years and kept him awake at night, even in his cell, and now Philippe was telling him to forget it. He didn’t realize that vengeance was Max’s food and his fuel.
Deathly silence followed. A pall fell over their farewell dinner. Philippe was perturbed and only pretended to wrestle with his steak. Finally, he pushed his plate forward forcefully, the noise of clanging cutlery turning heads.
“Look, one wrecked family is enough. We don’t need two.”
“Who says he has a family?”
“You found him already. You knew where he was and didn’t tell me …”
Philippe had made his own inquiries at the same time as Max. Stéphane Kavanagh had a teenage daughter.
“I don’t give a damn about his family!” Max yelled.
Philippe looked around nervously as though searching for help. It was a reflex, an indication of deep discomfort left over from childhood.
“What is it, Philippe? What’s going on?”
“You don’t know?”
“Know what?”
“Who do you think he had his family with?”
Philippe didn’t need to say any more.
Solange.
Max had been content just to find the guy. Philippe had gone deeper into his life and stumbled on a marriage certificate with Solange’s signature. She’d started a new family with Gilbert’s banker. The rest was easy to figure out. She’d used Kavanagh to push the king of Roxboro over the edge to ruin. On purpose.
“She did it to punish the three of us.”
Now it was Max’s turn to push away his plate.
Solange.
No wonder Kavanagh had shown such interest in Gilbert after Solange left and urged him to “expand” the business and stretch his investments beyond his means. He’d done it simply to please his mistress. Now, though, it seemed she and Kavanagh were scraping the bottom of the barrel. In fact, the whole family was, Philippe told him.
“I don’t give a damn if they’re having problems!”
“I didn’t say you should, Max.”
“Then
