Invisible Armies

Chapter 10

"Are you the police?" Danielle asks.

She can barely hear her own voice, but she seems to have been understood. "Railway police," the younger man says. "Tickets and passports."

"Tickets. Of course." She starts fumbling with her backpack, stalling.

"Honey, do you have the tickets, or do I?"

"I'm not sure," Laurent says, unstrapping his own backpack, pretending to search within.

Danielle tries to think. They haven't been arrested, so they haven't been identified, and the tickets are in Johann and Suzanne's names. But they have no passports. That will look suspicious. The more suspicious they look, the less chance they have of ever leaving Bangalore. Stalling won't work, their train doesn't leave for another fifteen minutes. But there must be some way out of this.

Inspiration hits. "You're very late," she says loudly, making her tone that of angry complaint. "We asked for you ten minutes ago. What's wrong with you people? What if we were in danger? How can it take you so long to get here?" She glares at them, pulls out their tickets, and waves them in their faces confrontationally. "There you go. Now what are you going to do about it? We demand full compensation. I'm an American. I'm not going to let you people cheat me like this."

Their stupefaction is exceeded only by Laurent's.

"Excuse me," the older policeman says warily, "I do not understand."

"You don't understand? It's not complicated. Don't you speak English? Do. You. Speak. English?" she asks shrilly, her voice growing louder with every word. People in a twenty-foot radius turn to stare at them.

"Yes, ma'am, of course I speak English," the older policeman says, with barely concealed annoyance. "I do not understand the nature of your complaint."

"I already told the boy I sent to get you. We paid for a full-price first-class ticket, and they gave us these!" She waves the tickets again. "Second-class! I demand the tickets we paid for and financial compensation for our trouble! Just because we're white doesn't mean you can cheat us like this! I want our first-class tickets right now!"

"Ma'am, I think there has been some misunderstanding –"

"You're goddamn right there's a been a misunderstanding! And it's your job to fix things up and make us happy! Now are you going to do that or are we going to have to go to your manager?"

"Ma'am –"

"What's your name? You and your assistant both, I want your names!"

"Ma'am, perhaps you should come to the ticket office with us," the younger policeman says, his voice soothing. "Perhaps we can sort this out there."

"You certainly better," Danielle huffs.

Laurent gives her a slightly stunned look as they fall into step behind the police. Danielle puts on her best flouncing Ugly American walk, and glares at every Indian they pass. Some of them shrink away. Danielle has to fight to conceal a smile. She feels giddy, like she is on some kind of drug, dancing on the edge of a cliff.

In the ticket office they cut to the front of the line reserved for 'FOREIGN PASSPORT HOLDERS, RAILWAY OFFICERS, VIPS, AND FREEDOM FIGHTERS', earning themselves a glare from those next in line, a half-dozen Overseas Indians clutching British passports. The older policeman has a brief Hindi conversation with the sour-faced woman behind the counter, whose wrinkled face is adorned with a bright red dot on her forehead.

Then he turns to Danielle. "Tickets, passports, and receipt."

Danielle blinks, then turns to Laurent. "The receipt."