"I'd love to work with you on that, Professor Rao."
Two allies, Vikram thought. Not enough to win, but enough to fight. And the fight is what matters — every day that Nehru spends considering alternatives to pure socialism is a day where India's economic future improves.
As the session broke up and guests began to leave, Nehru approached Vikram privately.
"Walk with ," the future Pri Minister said, leading Vikram into the garden.
They strolled among the roses — Nehru's famous roses, tended with the care he gave to few things outside politics and literature.
"Rathore, I want to ask you sothing that I couldn't ask inside."
"Of course, sir."
"Your morandum contains projections and analysis that are extraordinary.
The agricultural section describes techniques that our best scientists are only beginning to research.
The industrial strategy references patterns of economic developnt that no country has yet demonstrated at scale.
The technology section anticipates innovations that are still theoretical."
He stopped walking and faced Vikram directly. "Where does this knowledge co from? And please don't tell you read widely.
I read widely too. What you know goes beyond reading."
Vikram stood in Nehru's garden, surrounded by roses, facing the most intellectually formidable leader India would ever produce, and felt the full weight of his impossible situation.
He couldn't tell the truth. Not to Nehru — a rationalist, a scientific mind, a man who would dismiss ti travel as superstitious nonsense.
But he couldn't lie convincingly either. Nehru was too sharp, too perceptive, too accustod to seeing through political deceptions.
So he told a version of the truth that was as close to honest as he could manage.
"Sir, I have what I can only describe as an unusually vivid intuition about the future.
I see patterns — in economics, in politics, in technology — and I can extrapolate from those patterns with a degree of clarity that I cannot fully explain.
It's not mystical. It's not supernatural. It's simply... a way of thinking that cos naturally to .
I see where things are heading, and I work backward from there to determine what needs to be done now."
Nehru studied him for a long, penetrating mont. "You know, Rathore, Gandhi ji often speaks of intuitive knowledge — knowledge that cos from a source beyond rational analysis.
I've always been skeptical of such claims. But I've also learned never to dismiss sothing simply because I can't explain it."
He picked a rose from the nearest bush — a deep red bloom, perfect and fragrant — and tucked it into his buttonhole beside the one already there.
"Three months," Nehru said. "Convince with data and analysis.
If your intuition is as good as you believe it is, the evidence will speak for itself."
"It will, sir."
Nehru smiled — the warm, genuine smile that made millions love him despite his flaws. "I hope so, Rathore. For India's sake, I truly hope so."
Vikram left Nehru's residence and walked through the Delhi afternoon, his mind churning with the implications of the morning's debate.
He had not won. Not yet. Nehru was intrigued but unconvinced. Mahalanobis was hostile.
The three-month study was both an opportunity and a trap — if Mahalanobis produced a more polished analysis, Nehru would default to the comfortable socialist position.
I need data, Vikram thought. Not projections, not theories — empirical data from countries that are already implenting market-oriented policies.
Japan, especially. Their post-war recovery is the closest parallel to what India could achieve.
And I need allies. Matthai and Rao are a start, but I need more. Businessn, industrialists, agricultural scientists — people who understand from practical experience that markets work better than bureaucracies.
And I need ti. Which is the one thing I don't have enough of.
He reached the Connaught Place chai stall where Kao was waiting for the evening briefing.
The intelligence officer was sitting with his usual cup of tea, his expression carrying the subtle tension that Vikram had learned to read as significant news.
"How was the debate?" Kao asked.
"Productive. Nehru is thinking. He hasn't committed to planning yet — I've bought three months."
"Good. Because you may need those three months for sothing else."
Vikram's attention sharpened. "What happened?"
Kao set down his tea. "Two developnts.
First: our Kashmir network reports that Pakistani military officers have been seen in the Waziristan tribal areas, eting with Pashtun tribal leaders.
The etings are ostensibly about frontier security, but our operative reports that the discussions include references to 'a northern operation' and 'liberating Muslim brothers.' The tribal invasion is being planned, Mr. Rathore.
And it may be coming sooner than we estimated."
Vikram felt the familiar cold weight of strategic urgency settling on his shoulders. "How soon?"
"Our operative couldn't determine a specific tiline. But the fact that active planning is underway suggests months, not years.
If they're eting with tribal leaders now, they could be ready to launch by late sumr — August or September, possibly even before independence."
"That accelerates everything. The Maharaja approach, the military positioning, the Abdullah release — all of it needs to happen faster."
"Agreed. Which brings to the second developnt." Kao paused. "Blackwood."
"What about him?"
"I've discovered sothing about Colonel Blackwood that changes our assessnt of him entirely." Kao's voice dropped.
"He's not here to investigate Indian intelligence activities. That's his cover assignnt. His real mission is sothing else."
"What?"
"He's been tasked by MI6 to ensure that Kashmir goes to Pakistan."
The words hit Vikram like a physical blow. He set down his chai and stared at Kao.
"Explain."
"My investigation into Blackwood's background revealed sothing I initially overlooked.
His 1935-1938 posting in India wasn't just Northwest Frontier work. He spent six months in Gilgit — the northern Kashmir region.
He developed personal relationships with the Gilgit Scouts' British officers and with local leaders in the northern areas.
And his MI6 file — which I obtained fragnts of through a contact in the IB — includes a strategic assessnt he wrote in 1944 recomnding that post-independence Kashmir should be attached to Pakistan to serve as a buffer against Soviet expansion into South Asia."
"He wrote a policy paper arguing for Pakistani Kashmir."
"More than that. He's implenting it. His etings in Delhi aren't about investigating RAW — they're about coordinating with Pakistani-sympathetic elents in the IB and the British military to ensure that the tribal invasion succeeds.
Or at the very least, that India's response is delayed long enough for Pakistan to secure the northern territories."
Vikram's mind was racing. This changed everything.
Blackwood wasn't just an intelligence officer investigating an anomaly — he was an active adversary working against Indian interests in Kashmir.
"Does Patel know?"
"Not yet. I wanted to verify before reporting. I'm now confident in the assessnt."
"Brief Patel tonight. This is the highest priority. And Kao —"
"Yes?"
"Blackwood isn't just a surveillance target anymore. He's an enemy combatant operating on Indian soil.
I want him neutralized — not violently, but completely.
His networks disrupted, his plans exposed, his ability to influence the Kashmir situation destroyed."
Kao's eyes were cold and steady. "That will require moving against British intelligence officers on British-controlled territory.
In May 1947, that's technically treason against the Crown."
Vikram t his gaze. "In August 1947, there won't be a Crown. We're five months from independence.
What happens in those five months determines whether India is born with Kashmir or without it. Act accordingly."
"Understood."
They finished their tea in silence — two n contemplating the weight of what they were about to undertake.
Around them, Delhi continued its endless, oblivious cycle — vendors calling, traffic moving, life flowing through the ancient city like water through a riverbed.
But beneath the surface, invisible currents were shifting. The ga for Kashmir had entered a new and dangerous phase.
And the pieces were moving toward a confrontation that would determine the shape of South Asia for generations to co.
To be continued..
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[END OF CHAPTER 36]
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