Life of Doctors – Patients, Medicine and Beyond…

Dr Suresh Venkita, our Group Medical Director, a senior cardiologist and an avid writer, has yet again shared this lovely story from his desk.

The Foreign Correspondent

There was a couple sitting in the cafe when I walked in. As the light was low, I didn’t know who they were until the woman turned around, and I saw it was my wife.

She was a remarkable woman. We were married long ago, but my heart always leapt when I saw her. The period we were separated never mattered, it could be an hour or many days as she was often away for long, on her work. On that day, I had kissed her good bye in the morning before I left for work, which was Security. It was afternoon when I saw her again at the café. I had missed her.

‘Hello sweetheart, good to see you,’ I said.

‘Good to see you too,’ she said softly.

Her voice was always special, it sounded like little bells that rang, while swinging in the breeze.

‘Who is this man?’ rasped a voice suddenly across the table. It was thick and guttural and suggested an eastern European accent which sounded entirely out of place in Chennai, south India.

I had ignored this man who was seated opposite her, still and silent till then. I had eyes only for my wife. How could a woman look so perennially young, a perfect picture of beauty and brains and so utterly calm and professional?!

‘What is this man doing here?’ the man rasped again, impatient, insistent, rude and crude.

I dimly perceived the man at the periphery of my vision, like a dark shadow. He had a low light behind him but I sensed size, strength and stealth.

My wife also ignored him and said, in a matter of fact way ‘Mahesh, this man has come to threaten me.’

She turned to the man very slowly, looked him straight in the eye, and spoke; her words were cold and sharp as an icicle’ You should have known who he is. He will take care of your problem.’

Now that I was close to him and had got used to the dim light, I saw that his hooded eyes alone turned to me. Rest of his big body was absolutely still. Clearly, this man was unpleasant.

‘I have come to get rid of this woman,’ he told me.

‘In which case, you do not know her too,’ I observed.,/

‘She is an enemy of the state. I have a mandate to liquidate her,’ He continued to be rasping in his conversation.

His rasp and his breath suggested smoking and Vodka. Now that I was seeing him better I saw him in a dark suit and wearing a dark hat. The former was ill –fitting and the latter was misshapen. His attire was inappropriate for this hot city and he stuck out like a sore thumb in an environment where folks wore light and bright cotton fabrics. This was a dark man who had not changed with time, he was straight out of John LeCarre’s brooding books about the cold war. Le Carre’s protagonist George Smiley would have recognized his antecedents straightaway.

‘For interfering in the missions carried out in the best interests of the State,’ he added, almost as an afterthought.

While watching him, I stole a glance at my wife. She was supremely unconcerned; actually she appeared amused, with a shadow of a smile hovering over her face. This was a cool cat, my admiration for her went up by several notches. I could hear her thinking ‘What do we do with this 300-pound Gorilla?’

‘You are not compelled to, but would you care to state your case against her?’ I queried.

What he said was not what I expected to hear. But then, this was not the first time my wife surprised me with the fireworks that occasionally erupted from her work.

He began his indictment.

‘Our investigations revealed that this woman was present at many sites where my government had neutralized enemies of the State. Initially we suspected that she worked for either MI6 or the CIA.

Then we learnt that she was a foreign correspondent for Reuters who specialized in instances where poisons were suspected as the tools of extermination of traitors to our state.’

I stole a glance at her. She wasn’t listening, and was examining her nails.

He also seemed puzzled by her distraction, but continued.

‘Among the many instances of her investigations into either death or serious illness to traitors I refer in particular to her investigation into the incident on 4 March 2018, when a former military officer of our State but a treacherous double agent for the UK’s intelligence services, and his daughter were alleged to have been poisoned by our agents at Salisbury, England, with a Novichok nerve agent known as A-234, an allegation which we refused to accept.’

‘Go on,’ I said, while my wife, after she was satisfied with the state of her nails, had taken a tiny mirror out of her handbag and was verifying the state of the lipstick on her lips, and freshening it.

I could see that the man was getting irritated by her inattention. I could discern that her intention was deliberate, to disturb his chain of thoughts.

He went on ‘We believe that her extensive research lead to the events that occurred on 5 September 2018 when British authorities identified two of our nationals as suspects in this case of alleged poisoning, and announced that they were active officers in our military intelligence. She went on to publish a statement on 26 September 2018 that she had positively identified their actual identities.’

She interjected very casually, while still engaged with the mirror’ Listen, you give me far too much credit. I was just a tourist, visiting western and eastern European countries. I was more interested in Bolshoi ballet than the bull shit you are talking about.’

I could see that she was provoking him; people who get angry commit mistakes they later regret.

He was about to erupt, but controlled his temper and doggedly went on ‘We also know she had earlier investigated the case of one of our defectors to UK, who was also alleged to have been poisoned to death in November 2006 by our State, with the radioactive isotope Polonium-210.’

I saw through the corner of my eyes that she was nonchalantly playing Solitaire on her smart phone.

His temper was rising, and he went on piling up the accusations’ She was also engaged in addressing the question of who ordered or carried out the poisoning of a prominent pro-Western politician, in September 2004 and directed suspicion that immediately fell on our security services.’

He concluded his indictment’ We suspect that she was probably also involved in the instance of a democracy campaigner who alleged multiple attempts to poison him.’

She had switched by then to playing Bridge on the phone. Her concentration was absolute and his frustration was now very acute.

Roughly he pronounced the verdict’ These crimes against the state are punishable with death.’

Silence prevailed for a few minutes. She continued playing Bridge, oblivious to the proceedings around her, and I watched in fascination. My admiration of her resilience and courage climbed into the stratosphere. She was a maestro.

‘But,’ he began and then halted, unsure how to progress.

I quickly noticed that her attention had swiftly changed to her Apple watch. I knew that her watch was a very versatile instrument that instantly connected her to many agencies in the world. She was putting him on the air, his fate was now sealed.

‘We could make a deal,’ he said.

‘Of what sort?’ I queried. She was not interested.

‘For 500,000 Dollars U.S, I could look the other way and not find her.’

She snapped ‘500 Grand can be put to better use than that.’

He spoke in anger ‘In which case, I close this case.’

He reached for his gun, cocked it, screwed on a silencer and lowered his hand onto the table, the gun pointing at my wife.

It took me only a fraction of a second to throw the table napkin on his hand, grab it with the gun, turn it around, ram it into his mouth now open from surprise, pull the trigger and shoot him through the roof of his mouth.

My wife began to shake my shoulder and shout ’wake up, wake up!’

I opened my eyes to see my 65 yrs. aged wife, the light and love of my life, talking to me’ You were restless in your sleep. I almost thought you were shooting someone.

Here is your coffee and newspaper, I am stepping out to tend to the roses.’ She was a devoted and a talented gardener. She loved plants and flowers, and they loved her right back. I sold Insurance all my life but my clients did not love me, and hated me if their claims were rejected.

I reached for the coffee pretty quickly for a 75 yrs. old because my dear wife had placed it on the cover of the hardbound edition of my newest acquisition, John Le Carre’s latest book A legacy of spies which I finished reading last night. I liked my precious books intact, with a gleaming cover.