Chapter 2

Leverage. That's what it came down to. You needed leverage to get people to do what you wanted, when you wanted them to do it.

But the damnedest thing about leverage was that you never knew where it lay. Not really. For one man it might be money; for another it could be fame, or pride; the desire for glory or the fear of rejection. It could be anything as long as it tapped into one of the two basic sources of human motivation – the desire to get what you don't have or the fear of losing what you do.

Jehan had minored in psychology back in college; not that they taught you anything useful in the undergraduate classes. As Sinya liked to say, the only useful thing you learn in the first three years of university, is how to survive the next three years of university.

Kind of a cynical thing for a professor to say. But Sinya had never been a glass-half-full kind of girl, despite her mother's repeated warnings that no one would marry her if she kept up with that attitude.

Sinya was the first person who hadn't looked at him with a mixture of fear and pity when he had told her about his theories on leverage. In fact, she had looked positively fascinated. Which probably didn't bode well for her mental health. But Jehan would be forever grateful to her for that first rush of relief, the feeling of belonging that his seven-year-old self had felt when Sinya asked him to tell her more.

Twenty years later, Sinya was still the first person Jehan called when he had a new idea or reached a breakthrough on an old one. Not that she'd been particularly happy with his latest idea. But then, he didn't need her to be happy. He needed her to be helpful. Leverage. And Sinya had played her part to perfection, as had her husband.

She and Dileep had both had a very dramatic – and very public – falling out with Jehan. Voices had been raised and insults had been hurled. And hundreds of cheap cell-phone cameras belonging to students and research scholars had captured the incident for the benefit of the Internet.

It had all gone off without a hitch. And now it was time for the next part. Jehan closed his eyes and breathed. God, how he wished he could have Sinya beside him right now.

***

The room was large and bright and official-looking. That was really all Jehan registered. He had a piercing headache and there were probably dark-circles under his eyes. Which wasn't a bad thing if it made him look appropriately distraught. He was about to drop a bombshell on national TV. A little sympathy from the reporters asking the questions wouldn't hurt.

This press conference had been meticulously planned and carefully timed. Over the past few weeks, his team at the Institute had been carefully leaking bank records and financial reports to the press. They all showed suspicious fund transfers originating from various organizations in Maralana, to a select few ministers in Rajat's Cabinet.

None of it could be traced back to Jehan or any of his associates. He had called in every favor with the IT department at the Institute to make sure of that.

And the reports were genuine enough, collected over the years by Jehan and various other people and organizations that had an axe to grind, or were just good Samaritans trying to hold politicians accountable and keep track of the actions of the government.

There certainly was corruption at the highest levels of the government, though Jehan was almost completely sure Rajat didn't know about it. Or at least he didn't know the specific people involved. The man was upstanding to a fault. But that didn't matter. Facts were only important insofar as they could create and corroborate a narrative.

And the narrative that Jehan was about to create was one of corruption and subterfuge, of egregious neglect at best and deliberate duplicity at worst. He was about to drag Rajat's reputation through the mud and hang him out to dry at the end of it. He would paint the Prime Minister as the national villain, working against the interests of the common people for personal gain.

Because it would get Rajat to resign. And while Rajat may not appreciate the gesture, it was better than an official impeachment.

Jehan sighed, offering up a prayer to the God he didn't believe in.

***

Rows upon rows of journalists and reporters looked expectantly up at the podium where Jehan sat, flanked on either side by his colleagues and team members. None of them were happy about being dragged into this, and were probably cursing the day they had met Jehan. He supposed he should feel sorry for putting them in this position. But his capacity for guilt was already exhausted for the day.

Besides, it wasn't as if he had asked them to lie for him. All they had to do was tell the truth – or what they knew of the truth – about recent events at the Institute. The media would draw its own conclusions after that. None of them would have to say a thing.

Sitting up straight, Jehan pulled the microphone closer to his lips. He cleared his throat, wishing he had a deeper voice, or at least one that didn't make him sound like he was fifteen. Looking like a college freshman had its advantages in certain situations, but this wasn't one of them.

In fact, this was one of the reasons why he had always left the administrative side of things to Dileep, and when possible, even to Rajat. People who had never worked with him often had a hard time taking Jehan seriously. Not that he blamed them. He had spent a considerable amount of time and effort cultivating an image that would be hard to take seriously. A task that was made infinitely easier by the fact that, at twenty-seven, Jehan could easily pass for eighteen.

Being underestimated and patronized had its uses, not the least of which was the fact that people always felt compelled to pay for his meals at dinner meetings. But there were times when it could be a drawback too. And a press conference where he was to accuse several high-ranking ministers, not to mention the Prime Minister of the country, of corruption and negligence, was one of those times.

Oh well, no point in breaking character now. In his experience, it always paid to play to your strengths. Inhaling deeply – and making sure that the microphone caught the shakiness of his breath – Jehan began. "Good morning ladies and gentlemen. I would like to thank you all for joining us here today.

"My colleagues and I at the Qayit Research Institute have, after long deliberation, decided to call this meeting because we feel that some things are happening at the Institute, as well as in the country at large, that should be shared with the people of the nation…"

He let his voice trail off, allowing his nervousness and discomfort to shine through. He wasn't a public speaker, he was a scientist. Nobody expected him to be good at this. Too much confidence right now would do more harm than good. The best lies, after all, had a basis in truth.

"As you all know, we have been working on a high priority project for the central government for quite a few years now. The development of the Amven drug has been underway for almost a decade at this point, although details about the project have been kept from the public…for security reasons."

He let that hang in the air for a few seconds, letting them wonder whether or not he was telling the truth. Then he continued. "After the heinous terror attacks at the metro last month, the government has been putting tremendous pressure on me and my colleagues to get the Amven drug ready for clinical trials. From what I understand, the first batch of the drug is to be used on the terror suspects who have been apprehended so far. Of course, we have done everything in our power to cooperate.

"However, despite our best efforts, the fact of the matter is that Amven is not ready for testing yet. At its present stage of development, the drug is quite volatile and its effects are unpredictable. As the lead scientist working on the project, I can say that testing the Amven drug, in its current state, on human subjects can be incredibly dangerous, and not just for the subjects themselves.

"Based on our research so far, we have reason to believe that the drug could bring about psychological and uh…physiological changes in the subject that might prove dangerous to those around them. As my colleagues will tell you," he paused to glance at Ehsana and Saket, both of whom were sitting stiffly to his right. "We have tried time and again to explain our concerns to the relevant authorities. However, our attempts at a discussion have been repeatedly thwarted, blocked, and ignored at the highest levels of the administration.

"And with the leaked financial reports and bank records, the corruption that has come to light recently, implicating some of the highest ranked ministers in the Prime Minister's Cabinet…" Jehan sighed, carefully emphasizing the last few words. "We feel that we must inform the public about our concerns, not only regarding the use of the Amven drug, but also about the fact that there might be individuals in the government who have a…vested interest, shall we say, in having this volatile drug used on suspects who might have vital information about those who planned and funded these attacks on our soil…"

Jehan stopped talking, and all hell broke loose. Reporters jumped forward with their questions, talking over each other in their bid to be heard. Cameras flashed and clicked from various corners of the room. On either side of him, Ehsana, Saket, Navis, and Rayani were bombarded with questions, even as many of their answers were drowned out by the questions that followed.

Jehan answered some of the questions directed at him, while ignoring others with a smile. Did he think there was an international conspiracy against Naijan? Was the Prime Minister in on the conspiracy? Were there traitors in the Cabinet? Would there be an impeachment? What role would the Institute play in it all?

He answered some of their questions, but his task for the day was already over. The board had been set. All that was left now was for the players to assemble.

All that was left was for him to face Rajat and see the betrayal in his eyes.

***

Jehan walked through the labyrinthine hallways of the Parliament House in a daze. Some of his colleagues at the Institute had offered to accompany him to the meeting, albeit halfheartedly, but he'd refused. He hadn't asked their permission before he put this thing in motion; it wouldn't be fair to drag them into it now that it was time to face the music.

Besides, he might need their help yet. No point in burning bridges he might soon need to cross. He'd incinerated enough of them already.

Jehan shook his head, trying to pull his mind out of the funk it seemed to be sinking into with every passing day. He hoped he looked presentable. Too much caffeine and too little sleep had taken their toll on his appearance; not that he had ever looked particularly healthy to begin with.

He could count on his fingers the number of hours he had slept in the past week, and Dileep kept telling him he was losing weight he couldn't afford to lose. He was probably right. His favorite cardigan hung off him like the rags off a scarecrow, and he'd had to punch an extra hole in his belt so his trousers wouldn't fall off.

Jehan clutched at his sleeves and pulled them down over his fingers. He needed to buy a pair of gloves. Was it colder than usual this year, or was he coming down with something? God, please let it be global warming wrecking the planet's weather cycle. He couldn't afford to be sick right now.

And then his feet froze mid-step and refused to move any further. Across the corridor, he could see Rajat step into the elevator hall and press the call button for one of the lifts.

For a few seconds, Jehan couldn't make himself move. He stood there, biting his lip, feeling like a boy who had been summoned to the principal's office for hiding in the library during sports class. Every instinct told him to turn away and make a run for it.

Or to run to Rajat and apologize. Explain everything, and ask his mentor for the help and guidance he had always so generously provided. Jehan didn't think he had ever needed Rajat more than he did now.

The elevator pinged, a tinny voice announcing the floor. Jehan forced himself into a brisk walk, stepping into the lift just as the doors were about to close. He was panting, and he realized a moment later that his hands were shaking. He clenched them into fists and shoved them into his pockets.

When he finally looked up, Rajat was staring at him like he had seen a ghost.

Seconds passed and neither of them said a word. Jehan parted his lips, tried to make his tongue form a greeting. But there was a stone lodged in his throat and nothing came out but a broken gasp. Fuck. What was he doing? Why on earth had he thought it would be a good idea to get on this lift with Rajat?

At length, Rajat raised an eyebrow. Jehan thought he must practice that look in a mirror. It wasn't possible to convey that much contempt and disgust with a single expression without considerable practice.

He forced himself to hold the other man's gaze, waiting for him to speak. Whatever he said, Jehan was sure he would have deserved it.

"Why?"

Jehan looked away. God, how he wished there'd been some curses and expletives attached to that question. Anything to distract from that sense of naked betrayal.

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you."

Rajat hit the little red emergency stop button so hard Jehan was vaguely surprised it didn't break. "You're right, I probably wouldn't. Even I'm not stupid enough to believe the same lies over and over again. Or maybe I am. You've certainly proved to me that I'm far more gullible than I ever suspected."

"Rajat–"

"Why are you here, Jehan?" The rage seemed to go out of Rajat almost as quickly as it had arrived, leaving behind a tired old man who looked like he had aged ten years in the few weeks since Jehan had seen him last. "Why did you board this lift? You could easily have gotten another one. What, you want to gloat about how clever you've been? Well, I'll give you that. You were clever. And helpful, wittingly or otherwise. You exposed people in my own Cabinet that I myself would never have suspected of being corrupt. I suppose I should thank you for that. But the game isn't over yet, my boy," he spat the words like they'd burned his tongue. "And the final scores might not be what you imagined."

"I…" Jehan glanced down at his feet, trying to keep himself from fidgeting. "I just wanted to talk to you before…" he gave a half-shrug, glancing in the general direction of the east wing, where the meeting was to convene. "Before it all begins."

Rajat laughed, but there was no humor in his voice. "It began when you called that press conference, Jehan. This is where it ends." He pressed the red button again, restarting the lift. "I don't know why you're doing this, or who put you up to it. But you should know that I will find out, and I'll never forget what you've done."

The elevator grunted to a halt at their floor and the doors pinged open. Jehan stepped out, turned around, and forced himself to meet Rajat's eyes one last time. "Then I hope with all my heart that a day will come when you'll be able to exact your revenge, sir."

***

The room was well-lit to the point of being painfully bright. Jehan counted twelve lamps and five wall-mounted tube lights, and those were just the ones he could see without turning his head.

Turning his head, of course, was not an option.

Seven quibbling Zanyar and Birhani ministers sat on either side of him, all around the long, rectangular table at the center of the room, snapping and jeering at each other. The meeting had descended into chaos more than thirty minutes ago, and it had been almost a quarter of an hour since Jehan's vision had begun to swim.

Boredom and sleep deprivation, he was beginning to realize, could be a lethal combination.

The wood-paneled room had the kind of understated opulence that old, important government buildings usually possessed. There was an exquisite marble statue mounted on a platform near the back, presumably of some civil-war hero whom Jehan didn't immediately recognize.

Which wasn't surprising, because Jehan had never really cared about the civil war or its heroes. And it wasn't just because his father kept screaming and wailing about how the civil war had brought ruin to their family. The war had been over for more than ten years by the time Jehan was born, and the only ruin he had ever seen had been brought about by his father himself. Jehan just didn't think much of wars in general, including the people who fought them.

At the center of the room was a huge twelve-seater oak table. Rajat sat directly opposite him at the head of the table. To his right sat Badal, the Zanyar representative and the current Deputy Prime Minister. And to Rajat's left sat Ruqaiya Dehran, the Prime Minister's protégé and the Minister for Science and Technology. Last year she'd been the Minister for Agriculture.

Jehan was reasonably sure that Ruqaiya knew nothing of science or agriculture, and had no particular interest in either. But she did know a hell of a lot about politics, and had connections with almost every power-player in the capital. She was also one of Rajat's most loyal supporters, and the would-be successor to his post as the Birhani representative. If Rajat were to resign, it would hurt her prospects terribly.

Jehan closed his eyes and tried to focus, which was easier said than done amidst all the quibbling.

One of the good things about the civil war was that it had made everything so much simpler and more streamlined. The Birhanis and the Zanyars had been fighting to go their separate ways and form their own countries. You would think that wouldn't require much fighting, since both parties agreed on the basic premise of the idea.

Problem was, nobody could figure out where to put the damn border. It wasn't as if all the Zanyars lived on one side of the island and all the Birhanis on the other. Both the groups had been spread out throughout the island, living in small communities at the time the war broke out. And while both parties wanted their own country, nobody could agree on which parts of the island were to be the Zanyar nation and which were to be the Birhani state.

And so they decided to try and kill each other to reach a consensus. The side with the highest body count to their credit would get to decide. Or at least Jehan guessed that must have been the plan. Nothing else could explain why two million people needed to die to draw borders on a map.

In the end, some of the most prominent Zanyar and Birhani leaders had gotten together and come to the conclusion that a country inhabited by corpses wasn't much use to anybody, and maybe living together was better than not living at all.

So the predominantly Zanyar territories of Zanya and Ishfana had come together with Birhan, Sien, and Eraon, all of which were populated largely by Birhanis. And the five states together had formed the nation of Naijan, with its capital in Qayit.

And to ensure that neither of the communities would wield undue power over the other and spark another civil war, the founders had decided that at any given time the country would be ruled by one representative from each community.

Thus, every ten years, an election was held to elect a chief representative for the Birhanis and one for the Zanyars. For the first five years after the election, the Birhani representative held the post of Prime Minister while the Zanyar representative acted as his deputy. This was reversed during the last five years of their term, with the Zanyar representative taking up the mantle of the PM and his Birhani counterpart serving as his deputy.

This system worked well, or at least it had, so far. Not just because it ensured equality of power between the two communities, but also because it forced them to work together in order to survive.

And it wasn't just that the Prime Minister and his Deputy had to work together to run the country, which of course they did. But the entire nation voted to elect both the Birhani and Zanyar representatives they wanted to send to Qayit Hall, the official residence of the Prime Minister.

So every politician aspiring to the premiership had to ensure that he or she was popular with both the communities. Divisive rhetoric might get you the votes of your own community, but nobody could be elected to the position of chief representative without a substantial support base amongst both the Zanyars and the Birhanis.

If nothing else, this system ensured that no warmongering demagogues got themselves elected to the highest position in the government. In Jehan's opinion, whichever political scientist had come up with this system was the only true hero of the civil war.

***

"My point is," Jehan began, interrupting the quarreling factions. "That even without the recent leaks of sensitive documents and financial records to the media, which are incriminating enough in and of themselves, this government will have a hard time justifying the extent of the negligence and oversight that allowed not one, but three major metro stations in the capital city to be attacked on the same day. A security breach that significant couldn't have been planned and orchestrated in a day, or even a week. This attack had been in the works for a few months at the very least. That the Intelligence Bureau had no inkling of it could be attributed to one of two things – gross negligence or intentional blindness."

"Are you suggesting that there was collusion with the terrorists, Dr. Fasih?" Ruqaiya asked, her voice so cold the temperature in the room dropped by a few degrees. "That somebody 'on the inside' colluded with separatist outfits to ensure the…success of the terror attacks?"

Jehan shrugged, sitting back and projecting nonchalance he did not feel. "You tell me, Madam. Because it was either that, or sheer – frankly ridiculous – incompetence on the part of our intelligence office."

Diwakar Saini, the textile minister, interjected mildly. "Even if you believed that to the case, doctor, you could have brought the matter to the Cabinet before going to the media." A popular Birhani leader who'd fought in the civil war, Saini had been one of Rajat's principle opponents during the last parliamentary elections. The man was over seventy years old and that had been his last chance at the premiership. He had held the position of Transport Minister under Rajat's predecessor, but had since been siphoned off to the textile ministry to live out the rest of his political career.

If Jehan played his hand carefully, Saini would not be hard to win over.

"I'm by no means the first person to have raised these issues, sir, although so far I have perhaps been the most successful in garnering the attention that the matter deserves. Perhaps that is because of the timing, or maybe because of my position as the lead scientist for the Amven project.

"But many NGOs and other institutions had previously tried to bring the matter to the government's attention, only to be thwarted time and again. The transfer of funds from various institutions in Maralana to politicians and bureaucrats in the Naijani government has been documented by many individuals and organizations for more than a year now. And so far, no action has been taken.

"That wouldn't have been the case if someone – or perhaps multiple individuals – at the highest levels of the administration hadn't had a vested interest in brushing this whole thing under the rug. Going to the media, as you can see, seemed like the only way to get through to those in power."

"And I'm sure your ongoing quibble with the government over the Amven issue had nothing to do with it," Ruqaiya all but sneered.

Crossing his legs, Jehan set his elbows on the table and favored the Science and Technology Minister with his sweetest smile. "Why, of course it's got everything to do with that, Madam Dehran. My colleagues and I are being pressured to expedite the testing of a potentially dangerous drug despite our misgivings about the possible consequences of these clinical trials.

"I can't believe it hasn't occurred to you that testing this drug on the arrested terror suspects could hurt the investigation. We're being told that it will help with the interrogation, and maybe it will. But as the original creator of the Amven formula, and one of the chief researchers responsible for its development in subsequent years, I can tell you that I'm far from being sure about how it'll affect a human subject.

"It could make the suspects more docile and amenable to sharing vital information. It could also turn them into mindless puppets willing to say anything you want them to say. In which case, we'd lose any chance we ever had of getting the information we need out of them. Can you blame me for wanting to prevent that from happening?"

The discussion – if the constant bickering and finger-pointing could be called that – continued, the accusations flying as fast as the arguments. Jehan wasn't paying attention, or at least no more than necessary to field the occasional questions thrown in his direction.

He was watching Rajat. The man looked livid, but it wasn't enough. Jehan needed to make Rajat angry enough, disgusted enough with the proceedings, that he would resign voluntarily. Then there would be no need for an impeachment, for any further mud-slinging and character assassination.

Rajat could step down with the least amount of damage to his reputation – most of it behind closed doors – leaving the door open for a possible reinstatement in the future. Jehan didn't know how he was going to manage any of that, but he'd be damned if he didn't try.

And if flinging baseless accusations at his former mentor, at the closest thing to a real father he'd ever had, was the only way to achieve that…well, nobody had ever accused Jehan of being a sentimental man. Nobody who knew him, anyway.

In the end, it didn't even take very long. Rajat was an honorable man, and one of the drawbacks of decency was that it made you susceptible to other people's opinions. With a final, withering look at Jehan, Rajat slammed his hands down on the table and rose to his feet.

"That's enough!" he thundered, glaring down at the squabbling ministers like they were misbehaving school children. "This disgraceful farce has continued for long enough. If I no longer have the trust of the people of this country, the unanimous support of my own Cabinet, then I will step down voluntarily." He looked straight at Jehan, eyes burning with rage, and something else that Jehan tried not to read as betrayal. "My resignation will be tendered within the week. Have a good day, ladies and gentlemen."

He stormed out, leaving a deafening silence behind him.

***

"It won't be easy to find someone who can effectively deal with this situation without further alienating the media and the people. As it is, our approval ratings have gone down the drain over the last few weeks," Badal sighed, looking thoughtful. "We no longer have the trust of the people. Moreover, I think I can safely say that none of us truly understands the intricacies of the Amven drug, or has the required scientific knowhow, to make the decisions that need to be made. Well, except for Dr. Fasih, of course."

Badal raised a brow, as if asking Jehan for his input. Jehan bit his lip to keep himself from laughing. The man didn't want to take over as acting Prime Minister after Rajat resigned, because that would mean he would only be PM for the remainder of Rajat's term. After the remaining two years were over and the initial crisis had passed, an election would be called and new representatives would be chosen from both the communities.

But if only Badal could stall for another two years, avoid the premiership until his term began, he'd be able to rule for five years as the Zanyar Prime Minister, the entirety of his official tenure.

Of course, he couldn't say any of that himself. So he was hoping Jehan would do the dirty work for him. Not least because, of all the people in the room, Jehan was the least likely to attempt a power-grab at the end of his two-year tenure.

Jehan's eyes passed over Ruqaiya, who was bristling with barely concealed fury. If looks could kill, he and Badal would both be dead by now.

Finally, his gaze settled on Aheli Mehrin, a firebrand Zanyar leader who had once been suspected of having links to separatist groups in Ishfana. She had since adopted a more moderate stance and softened her rhetoric, in an attempt to go mainstream and garner popular support. But Jehan could see her salivating at the prospect of having a Zanyar Prime Minister and Deputy at the same time.

He tilted his head, as if waiting for her to speak.

Without missing a beat, she nodded emphatically, her eyes wide and sincere. "Of course, who can be better suited to lead the country through these perilous times than Dr. Fasih? I don't think there's a man or woman in Naijan who can claim to have a better understanding of the Amven drug than him.

"Plus, as a scientist, he's perhaps the only person in this room who doesn't have a vested interest in any political affairs, and therefore the best candidate to deal with the current crisis. At least until we've found the masterminds behind the metro blasts and brought them to justice."

"I agree," said Badal, nodding gravely. "I think that, for the safety and welfare of this country and her people, it would be best if Dr. Fasih were to take over as acting Prime Minister for the remainder of Shian's term. I know it is…unusual, to appoint someone who is not a Cabinet Minister to this role. However, the safety of Naijan must take precedence over all other considerations. So I, for one, will wholeheartedly support Dr. Fasih if he chooses to accept the role of our new PM. The welfare of the country must be prioritized over anybody's personal interests, including my own."

Most of the Zanyar ministers nodded in agreement, either because they genuinely cared about Jehan's ethnicity and supported him solely for that reason, or because they wanted to get into Badal's good books so he would support them during future elections. Jehan had a feeling most of them were motivated by the latter possibility.

He had expected the Birhanis to be harder to convince, so he had taken precautionary measures. The information that hadn't been leaked to the media already, had been held in reserve for just such an occasion. It wasn't that he had dirt on all of them, or even most of them. But he had enough to ensure a simple majority if it came down to a vote.

Of course, the entirety of the Cabinet was only half his problem. The other half constituted solely of Ruqaiya Dehran.

The minister of science and technology did not disappoint. With a frigid smile, she nodded at Badal. "I agree with everything the honorable Deputy Prime Minister has said. And I do believe that he has our country's best interests at heart. However, being a representative of the people, I can't in good conscience go against the national constitution, even in a time of crisis such as this."

Some of the gathered ministers gasped, others started muttering to themselves and to each other. Jehan knew what they were all thinking. He had thought about it too. Still, he wanted to see how it played out without his interference. At least for a while. He pressed his lips together, feigning consternation, and sat back in his chair.

Ruqaiya leaned forward, eyes shining with triumph. "According to Article Three of the constitution, as I'm sure you're all aware, two individuals from the same community can never be elected to the positions of Prime Minister and Deputy Prime Minister at the same time."

"But Dr. Fasih is not being elected, is he?" Mehrin chimed in, her brow furrowing. "He's being appointed by the Cabinet to the role of acting Prime Minister until the Birhani Prime Minister's term ends."

Jehan bit back a smile. It wasn't the most fool-proof argument, but he gave her points for trying.

Ruqaiya arched a brow and said scathingly, "By your own logic, my dear Mehrin, we cannot appoint a Zanyar representative – an unelected representative, might I add – to replace the Birhani Prime Minister, while his Deputy still retains his office. Not only will that violate the constitution, it'll further erode the public's confidence in this government and help the cause of the separatists. It'll prove what they've been saying all along, that this system of compromise and cohabitation between Zanyars and Birhanis isn't sustainable, that it cannot work. That the founding of Naijan was a mistake."

Neer Lal, the Commerce Minister and a long-time friend of Rajat's, nodded in agreement. "Having a Zanyar Prime Minister and Deputy at the same time could very well cause insecurity amongst the Birhani population. Best case scenario, this government will lose support and credibility. Worst case scenario, we'll be sending disenchanted young men and women right into the arms of the separatist groups."

"That's my point exactly," Ruqaiya said, sounding satisfied.

Jehan took a moment to congratulate himself on a wager well made.

A few seconds passed. Then Badal muttered under his breath and began with some reluctance, "I mean, if that's the case, I suppose I would be willing to–"

"What the Honorable Deputy Prime Minister means to say," Jehan interjected smoothly, his voice slightly louder than usual, though perfectly calm. He needed to make his point before Badal could recuperate from the blow of being outmaneuvered by Ruqaiya. "Is that, if that's how the Cabinet feels, then Madam Dehran should accept the role of Deputy Prime Minister for the remainder of the current PM's term, at least until this crisis has passed and the next election can be organized."

Jehan smiled guilelessly at Badal, ignoring his shocked expression. One of the benefits of looking like a teenager was that it made it easier to feign innocence. "As Mr. Badal said only moments ago, the welfare of the country must take precedence over anybody's personal interests.

"And you said it yourself, Madam Dehran, that I'm not an elected representative. I'm not even a politician. I'm a scientist. And while I can direct the testing of the Amven drug and ensure that it's not misused against the interests of the nation, I know next to nothing of governance. I'll need guidance from someone who is experienced in these matters, and who has the trust of the common people, both Birhanis and Zanyars. And that being the case, who can possibly be better suited to this task than you?"

Ruqaiya paled, beads of sweat appearing on her wide forehead. Her lips were pressed into a thin line and she looked like she had swallowed something vile.

Jehan knew it then. He had her exactly where he wanted her, and there was nowhere left for her to escape. She had made it abundantly clear that she distrusted him and was suspicious of his motives. Now, he was offering her the position of Deputy PM on a silver platter. He was offering her a position of power from where she could have direct influence over him and every decision he made. A position from which she could keep an eye on him and ensure that he didn't do anything counterproductive to the interests of Naijan and the Birhani people.

He had essentially shackled himself and was now handing her the key. To refuse it, after everything she'd said, would make her look like a hypocrite who was only opposing him out of loyalty to her friend Rajat. It would make her look weak, indecisive, and self-serving. It would be political suicide.

Taking his eyes off Ruqaiya, Jehan glanced over at Badal. The man looked like a fish that'd been left thrashing on the shore. His face had lost all color and his lips were slightly parted, as if unable to decide whether to say something or not. He didn't even look angry, just flabbergasted. Like he was still unsure about what had happened, and who exactly was responsible for it.

No one was paying attention to him anymore, and Jehan wondered vaguely if Badal was about to have a stroke. That would be inconvenient. He sighed and turned his attention back to Ruqaiya.

For a moment, she said nothing. Lips pursed and eyes narrowed into slits, she stared at him across the room as if trying to read his mind through the power of determination alone.

Jehan wondered if she was going to try and finagle her way out of it. He hoped not, for both their sakes. He hadn't been lying when he said he needed someone to guide him through the finer points of governance.

He wasn't as clueless about politics or administration as he had led them to believe, but he was far from being an expert. Having someone by his side who knew what she was doing, and whose integrity he could rely on, wouldn't hurt.

Plus, Ruqaiya was a known quantity in political circles, and very popular with the masses. If nothing else, her presence would grant some stability and credibility to his rule, and would go a long way in smoothing out the ripples he was about to cause.

He didn't need her on his side, but it sure as hell was preferable to having her against him.

"Alright. I accept," Ruqaiya said at last, her voice loud and steady, without a hint of hesitation in her tone. She rose to her feet, gathered her papers, nodded to no one in particular, and strode out of the room.

Jehan forced himself not to sigh in relief.

***