The Kashmir Trap Read Online Free Page A

him?”
    Patterson just shrugged. “A ton of reasons, I suppose, and nothing to do with who he is or what he represents.”
    â€œWhat are these RCMP types saying?”
    â€œNot much for now, but they have a man there.”
    Juliette knew who it was: a heavyset guy with very short hair whom David had introduced at one of their soirées. He seemed nice enough, certainly discreet, but she couldn’t recall his name. Patterson said he’d be helping the Central Bureau of Investigation (CBI), India’s FBI.
    â€œHelping? Wait a minute, I don’t understand!” Juliette yelled. “Two employees of the High Commission in a bombed car, and the RCMP is just looking on?”
    â€œImagine if it was the other way round and an Indian diplomat in Ottawa got bombed on Elgin Street. What would people say if the Indian police took charge?”
    Juliette couldn’t care less what people thought. She remembered incidents with American or British diplomats and the squads of FBI or Scotland Yard that showed up. The Mounties, however, were just leaving one officer on site to get eaten alive by the CBI.
    â€œThat’s the way things are done, Juliette,” said Patterson.
    â€œThe way things are done?”
    Bernatchez had promised: “The Canadian government would not let these monsters get away with it.” Words, words, words. “You know people in the department. You could do something. I’m sure a call to the right person in Ottawa would get them more involved.”
    â€œLook, Juliette. It’s frustrating, I know, and I agree, but there are bilateral agreements …”
    â€œDo something.”
    â€œI’ve talked to the minister, and he’s not against the idea of offering, say, additional logistical help to the Indian police.”
    â€œAdditional logistical help? How about a pen-and - pencil set with John A. Macdonald on it?”
    Patterson sighed and made Juliette look at him. “Look, the important thing is for David to get better, stay alive. He’s going to need both of us for that. You especially.”
    Hallmark, Hallmark, Hallmark.
    She felt abandoned, coddled and silenced, cut off from reality.
    It was night again, and Juliette had hardly slept since her arrival in Montreal: just short periods of agitated sleep, awaking in sweat, stunned and disoriented. She wanted to be set up next to David, in the same room, at all times, but for both medical and security reasons, Patterson had explained, they couldn’t let her. She no longer felt like fighting and obediently followed Béatrice home.
    On her way out of the hospital, she chatted briefly with two Mounties from the airport who asked her the same questions as the Indian police before they left. What were they doing here anyway? Shouldn’t they be in New Delhi helping out their fellow officers?
    â€œLook at them pretending to be useful,” she yelled as she climbed into the taxi. “Good for what … raking in their pay?”
    â€œDo you remember those old films?” Béatrice replied, “The Indians. Not your kind, the others with feathers: Apache, Comanche, Cheyenne, who knows? When they attacked the pioneer wagon trains headed west, rows of them appeared on the mountaintops, menacing in their war paint, and fell on the poor settlers for no reason. We were never told why. No need. It just happened, like rain. No one justifies rain, do they?”
    What was she getting at? Juliette thought.
    â€œWell, terrorism is just the same, like Indians in the movies or rain in summertime. No need for a motive or a rationale. The goal of terrorists is to terrorize. That’s all there is. In other words, why even bother to investigate? What is there to find out? In any event, tomorrow or any moment now, three or four groups will claim responsibility for the attack, most likely Lashkar-e -Taiba . David was just one more statistic, and mere statistics don’t get