Read the chilling excerpt from The Babel Murders—a thriller where every word could be fatal.
Neel tried walking but missed a step and fell on the woman, who helped him up with strong arms.
‘It’s all right, sir. Come with me. Careful. We’ll go slowly.’
The woman pulled one of Neel’s arms across her shoulders and held him up, walking down the stairs. In front of him, he saw the limp body of Dr Pankaj being taken away on the stretcher.
‘Is he alive?’
The policewoman yelled his question to the white-clad paramedics.
‘I think they found a faint pulse. Do you know him?’
Neel nodded, and then it dawned on him. ‘Was there a woman? American? I didn’t see her. Did you find a woman near me?’ Neel asked, suddenly remembering about Devin.
‘Many of the casualties are women. But American? No.’
‘No, no! She must have been near me, where I was lying, next to the professor.’
‘No, sir. We just found you, the professor, and three other bodies here. The three looked American, but not sure . . . but no woman. Do you remember if she was last with you before you lost consciousness?’ She remained patient, trying to support Neel.
‘No—or yes. She was. I think I saw her. I don’t know!’
They had reached the bottom of the staircase. The tube lights on the ceiling illuminated the hallway in a soothing white light, blocking out the red flashers from the emergency vehicles outside. Outside, Neel saw hordes of people, some paramedics, some police officers, some dressed in vests and carrying guns, looking a lot like commandos. All stood in front of scores of vans and trucks—from fire engines to ambulances to armoured police vehicles. Behind them, Neel saw modified vans with large dishes and mounted antennas—the press. Journalists were clamouring to get through, bristling with microphones and large video cameras, but were blocked by a wall of khaki-clad police officers.
The woman handed Neel over to two paramedics. ‘They’ll take you to one of the ambulances. They’ll check the bruise on your head. Don’t worry, we’ll find your friend. I’m sorry . . . you had to go through this.’ She pursed her lips. Then, she turned and went back into the university building.
#
The ambulance dampened the clamour and noise outside. The vibration of the engine was comforting, and he could track the almost inaudible sound of some pieces of equipment rattling in their brackets beneath the cot. Neel sat there, a saline drip in his arm, cocooned in a warm blanket. He clenched his fists, closed his eyes, and calmed his nerves. This was a rare moment, he realized, a brief period of quiet in the storm. He felt exhausted and clueless.
Did I dive into the deep end?
Cambridge, Venice, Hong Kong, somehow . . . his efforts hadn’t been enough. Somehow, whoever was behind this had always been two steps ahead. It weighed on him like corrosive rust on metal. Neel collected himself, breathing slowly. He had to calm down; worrying wouldn’t help his headache, or his pineal gland.
He assured himself that the answers would come in due time. Right now, he just wanted to go back home, curl up in his blankets, and sleep between his parents like he used to as a child. Everything was falling apart, and he didn’t know if he could save it—or if it was even up to him.
Thanatos . . .
What was Thanatos? Who was Thanatos? The Greek god of death? Neel remembered what Maggie Lau had told him, about her associating Thanatos with Freud. He remembered reading about Thanatos in that context, the self-destructive drive that Freud posited every human had. Thanatos was the death drive opposing Eros, the drive for sex or life. It could be that, but . . . had he seen it somewhere before? In Hong Kong? In Dubai? In Venice? In Cambridge? In . . .
‘I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve read that.’
Cooper. The pile of books on his desk. Freud’s essays. Beyond the Pleasure Principle, one of his hallmark essays describing these drives.
‘Some of Freud’s essays I inherited from my father, the rest I collected over the years.’
Cooper even taught a class in psycholinguistics. Thanatos. Could it be related to him? How could it be possible? Were these the ruminations of a worked-up brain? Neel remembered Devin in Venice saying she suspected Cooper was hiding something, that until they found out the truth, they couldn’t cross off anybody from the list of potential moles in the Mertongue Project.
But he had died, hadn’t he?
With everything he thought, he was reminded of Devin. He couldn’t lose her.
***
Get your copy of The Babel Murders on Amazon or wherever books are sold.
