The Strength To Cry

“The Nataraja asana is a marriage of immense strength and pinpoint balance, Miss Emily,” Rajesh said to the slender woman before him. She sat in the lotus position, eyes closed, body stilled. “The Hindu god Shiva, Lord of Destruction, assumes this pose during his cosmic dance that ends all of creation,” he continued, gesturing broadly at the windows that formed one wall of his yoga studio. The hubbub of London carried on twenty storeys below. A studio in The Shard. Life was good. 

He observed Emily's posture, her measured breathing. She had the poise. Did she have the strength? 

Just then, the studio door swung open. A woman entered.

He had barely turned when Emily uncoiled and tackled him. He felt her shove him down as a muffled bang filled the room. What the hell was that? Rajesh lay there, mouth agape, paralysed by the shock. Time slowed for him as he watched Emily launch forward. She yanked the yoga mat which the woman had been standing on, causing her to fall. The two women struggled. Rajesh tried sitting up, still dazed and confused, when he saw Emily grasp the woman’s neck and jaw. There was a snap - a sickening wet sound - and the other woman went limp.

Waves of nausea hit Rajesh and he fell back to the floor. His thoughts churned. What was happening? He wanted to throw up. Who was she? He found himself turning towards Emily and asking, “Is she dead?” He glanced at the body and retched. “The police. Call the police.”

“Don’t be stupid.” Emily’s sharp voice cut through his daze. “Not till I figure out what’s going on. There might be others outside. I’ll need your help to get out of here.”

No, he shook his head, blinking back tears. No. He wanted no part of this. There was a dead body in his studio! A dead body! He retched again and the tears spilled onto his cheeks.

Deep breaths. Find your centre.

He would call the police, tell them what had happened. Then he would take the Jubilee Line back home, have a bath, and try to forget he had ever heard that horrible sound.

He brushed away the tears. Breathe in, breathe out.

“I understand how scared you are, Rajesh. But I just saved your life. The people trying to kill me don’t like witnesses.”

Just who was this Emily? She killed that woman! Killed her! He fell back to the floor, eyes shut tight.

Emily picked up the woman’s gun, slid the safety on, and put it in her gym bag. Rifling through the woman’s purse, she found a credit card. “Ekaterina Mirnova. So Rosneft knows I’m back in London.” Her eyes closed and, for a brief instant, she seemed at the end of her tether. Then she looked down at him and he saw that her gaze was clear and untroubled. In a voice that was all business she said, “I need your help to reach my suite in the Shangri-la Hotel upstairs. They’re less likely to move in on me if I’m with someone. Once I’m there, you’re free to go. These people don’t care about you. They just want me.”

Rajesh shook his head again. He didn’t want to help anyone. He glanced at the dead woman and quickly looked away. He just wanted to go home and have a bath. Please.

“You’ve seen what I can do. Don’t say no to me, Rajesh.”

The tears rushed back.  

No! Find your inner calm! He could do this. He sucked in a shuddering breath and stood up. “Are you on the good side?” he asked.

She snorted. “That’s what you need to hear? That you’re a good boy if you help me? Look, I don’t have the time to coddle your conscience. This is about oil. There’s no good or bad - there’s just money and more money. Rosneft is Russian oil. I work for… Do you know who owns all this?” She gestured around the room.

How could she talk so calmly?

“The State of Qatar owns 95% of The Shard. Oil money. My guys asked me to steal something,“ she shrugged, ”and I guess the other guys aren’t happy about it.”

None of this made sense. Russia. Qatar. He was a yoga teacher. How did they get here from the Nataraja asana? The police would know what to do.

“Look, I don’t need you to protect me, Rajesh. You’re not a muscled hero taking on trillion dollar oil companies and saving the girl. Wipe your snot, help me and then go live your cushy life. Understand? Now, move Miss Mirnova to that corner. I don’t want anyone looking in and raising the alarm till I’m safe.”

No. No! “I can’t. I can’t touch it. Her.”

“Fine, then change into your street clothes while I move her. We’ll pretend we're a couple till I reach my suite.” Emily turned towards the body.

Now. Could he? No. Yes. Now!

She never saw the blow coming. He hadn’t held back and she crumpled instantly.

Cradling his hand, Rajesh sank to the floor. “You were right,” he whispered to Emily’s prone form. “I am scared. So scared that I want nothing to do with you or your world.” His voice grew stronger. “And you said something about muscles? Didn’t I say that the Nataraja asana needs strength? I’ve been doing it for thirty years, Miss Emily.”

His hands shook as he took out his phone. His fingers were swelling up. It hurt to dial the number. “And the thing about heroes? The thing about heroes is that even heroes cry sometimes, Miss Emily.” He let out a long, ragged breath. “Hello, Police?”