Meeting Max

By Richard Brumer

MEETING MAX—A SUSPENSE THRILLER BY RICHARD BRUMER
Rick is immersed in the magical, sensuous culture he discovers in India when he travels there to search for his son, Eric, who was given up for adoption at birth. A chance meeting on a plane leads him to an exciting new love, but after a surprising number of twists and turns, a mystery unravels, and Rick finds himself in the middle of a violent terrorist plot. Rick continues his search for Eric, whom he learns is married and has a son, Max, but one lead after another turns cold, and the clues he follows disappear as quickly as footprints in the desert sand. Rick soon discovers new meaning in his life when he shares his love, affection and new adventures with his grandson—

• Language: English
• Publisher: Richard Brumer
• Release date: Mar 8, 2017
• ISBN: 9781370591343

Richard Brumer

A freelance writer of novellas and short stories

Book preview

Chapter 1

Rick never forgot the day Julie died. He sat, stunned, in the faculty mailroom at NYU as he skimmed the cold, black print of her obituary. It was the moment that brought him to India and changed his life forever.

A month later, after taking leave from his teaching position, he boarded a flight from New York to Delhi and sat comfortably in his window seat as others shuffled sideways down the narrow aisle, carrying their baggage. For him, India promised to be a journey into the unknown, an opportunity for the magic of a new place to overwhelm him and provide the fulfillment he craved, but it was more than that.

His purpose was to find the son he never met. Challenges excited him. It was his way of coming face- to-face with his fears, by proving to himself that he could do it. He had many sensitive and caring Indian friends in the States, and he loved spending time with introspective people who were seeking new beginnings—abstract thinkers in touch with their humanity.

Beginnings were fun and fascinating, especially in relationships. The excitement of first meetings, first conversations, were all harbingers of what would soon unfold. He viewed each new friendship as if it had an invisible timeline, divided by beginnings, middles, and endings. Beginnings, for him, were always the most exciting, but everything, at some point, had to have an ending.

Rick was a biology professor at NYU, but that didn’t define him. He was an adventurer too. He used long stretches of time away from the world of academia to ski down mountains and sail oceans, alone. Travel had taken him to exotic places such as the Galapagos, China, and the South Seas. Now, he would be off again. This time with a mission.

His window seat was a little forward of the middle of the aircraft, with one empty seat beside him. He hoped luck would play its part by giving him an interesting travel companion with whom he could share some sparkling conversations on his lengthy journey. A sixteen-hour flight from New York could be a long, lonely trip.

Rick was conscious of his age. He was forty-eight and time was passing him by. Through the scratched Plexiglas window, he watched the baggage handlers load the plane as darkness approached. He thought about his life, which seemed to flash by almost as fast as the plane would soon be soaring through the sky.

The years had not been unkind to him and he’d had his share of romances, some bittersweet, none everlasting. The lack of long-term love in his life left an ache in his chest. There was nothing as sweet as having someone with whom to share life’s adventures.

Did it matter, or did he only think it mattered? Maybe it was just bad luck. That was the easy answer and the only answer he had. In the long run, as with others, the randomness of chance made him who he was. It was those few unforeseen moments of right timing, chance meetings, and snap decisions that shaped his life more than anything else had.

Lady luck, where are you? Bring some good luck this time around.

He caught his first glimpse of her during the boarding procedure. As she navigated her way down the aisle, her blonde hair brushed gently against her narrow shoulders. The passengers ahead of her searched for their seats with unsmiling, anxious faces. They glanced at their seat numbers and rechecked their boarding passes as they ambled past Rick. As he watched each of them walk by, he hoped the beautiful woman he was focusing on would be the one to sit beside him.

Rick shifted his legs in different positions, trying to get comfortable as he kept his gaze forward. He watched the blonde’s hair swaying from side to side as she struggled with her carry-on baggage and he breathed a small sigh of relief as each person in front of her who approached his row continued on. As each person went by, he imagined what it would be like to spend the next sixteen hours with each of them.

An elderly white-haired woman clutched a book in her frail, wrinkled arm. Her pale blue sweater slipped along her shoulder. The man behind her, presumably her son, gently righted it for her. The book was The God of Small Things. Rick had never heard of it. The title led him to believe it was a religious book, and that would definitely not hold his interest.

If she sat next to him, they would most likely exchange a few pleasantries and nothing more. The rest of the time would be spent with his face buried in his book, The Lonely Planet Guide to India. But maybe his imagination was leading him the wrong way. Perhaps the elderly woman and Rick would share some good conversation, but the blonde was his first choice. She appeared to be younger than him, and she was beautiful.

Each person who passed his row triggered his imagination, but constant glances down the aisle kept him aware of the blonde’s progress. In the meantime, a few other passengers in front of her still had to find their way, and Rick focused on them. What did they do for fun? How did they look naked? What were their jobs?

Just behind the elderly woman and her son was a man about sixty. He was an Indian Sikh. Rick knew that because one of his friends, who wore a similar turban, was a Sikh.

The man had a graying beard held neatly in place with a net, similar to a hair net, which kept his beard close to his face. His head was covered with a turban made from a long, thin strip of orange material. He wore a pair of dark blue jeans and a thin, white cotton shirt, open at the collar and trimmed with blue and gold borders along the bottom of the short sleeves. Around his neck, almost buried in his hairy chest, was an elaborate chain which held a gold dolphin.

Rick knew that if he shared his trip with the Sikh, it would give him the opportunity to learn a lot about India and religion, but this would not be the time or place.

Rick was multitasking big time. His eyes were still focused farther down the aisle as he watched the blonde’s slow progress.

The passenger in front of her approached Rick’s row. He was a sweaty, overweight Indian man with a full head of black hair and a thick black mustache that stretched out below his nose and curved downward, toward his lips. His torso was bulging at his sides, showing open layers of fat stacked along his waist like rows of melting chocolate bars. In front of him, he lugged a large leather briefcase, which carelessly bounced along the armrests as he excused himself along the way. Rick looked at the man as he walked by in slow motion and then his eyes shifted back to the blonde, who still had not found her seat, but was now at his row.

Rick had his eyes half closed and tried to look cool, as if he had never noticed her. She stopped at his seat number, stretched her lean body upward to stow her carry-on in the luggage compartment, and sat down next to him. Rick noted there were no rings on her fingers. He thought that was a plus, but he wasn’t certain if it really had any significance. He didn’t say anything, but smiled and acknowledged her presence.

He waited until she settled in. She kicked off her shoes and planted a thick book in the mesh holder in front of her. It was a novel called Shantaram, a novel that Rick had already read.

At least we like the same reading material.

Why wouldn’t she have that book? He had his Lonely Planet Guide, and they were both heading to India, so bringing books about India while flying to India was a reasonable expectation, but something about the two of them having read the same book made him feel they had a connection. He often arrived at quick judgments, especially when women were involved.

Two other books were visible from a pocket in her handbag: 300 Most Difficult Sudoku Ever and The Collected Poems of Emily Dickinson. Another connection, except for the Sudoku book.

Rick turned toward her, smiling. Hi, I’m Rick.

Elena Weisz. Nice to meet you.

My pleasure, Elena, he replied, happy to finally have a name for the blonde.

She appeared to be in her late thirties or early forties. She was pretty, with a creamy complexion and deep blue eyes sparkling with life. She was about five-foot- six, slim, and curvaceous in all the right places. High fashion dark blue jeans with white stitching accentuated her long legs and a matching jacket loosely covered her white blouse. Everything about her appeared stylish but not overdone. Her soft hair fell around her face in loose curls, and when she smiled, her face sprang to life. Rick saw her as a wholesome, sweet person. It was a good beginning. The best kind.

As further announcements were broadcasted, a flight attendant checked to make sure all seatbelts were properly fastened, tray tables in place, and electronic devices shut down.

One man seated a few rows ahead, to the left of them, was making a loud fuss because he was in the middle of a competitive game of backgammon on the internet. He argued the plane was not even taxiing yet, so there was no reason for him to stop.

A burly looking steward came forward, leaned over, and whispered something to the irate man. That ended the disruption, and Elena and Rick watched as the passenger resolutely shut down his BlackBerry, placed it in the pocket in front of him, and slumped in his seat with an audible groan. Rick and Elena looked at each other and grinned. She rolled her eyes and placed her hand over her mouth to stifle a giggle.

Flight crew prepare for departure, was announced over the speakers as the plane taxied to the runway, braking momentarily with a squealing noise, until it made a gradual turn to the takeoff position and stopped. After a few minutes, the engines revved loudly, the flaps were lowered, and the plane shook nervously, as if it were trying to get up the courage to perform its dauntless task. Suddenly, a loud, dramatic burst of force pushed Rick and Elena back into their seats as the plane took off into the night.

It wasn’t long before they reached cruising altitude. The loudspeakers blared again.

Ladies and gentleman, the captain has turned off the fasten seatbelt sign. You are now free to move around the cabin.

A baby in the aisle across from them began to scream hysterically. The Indian mother put the baby over her shoulder and gently patted and rubbed the baby’s back. The woman sitting next to her was a middle-aged American. She looked up from her weighty book with her thick reading glasses perched on her thin nose. She appeared to be disturbed while the mother made the usual, but unsuccessful attempts to soothe her baby’s cries.

Oh, I feel so sorry for that baby and the mother, Elena said, her lips turned down in a frown. It’s not easy for her.

I feel the same way. I wonder what the bookworm sitting next to her is thinking. She must be irritated. If her plan was to sit quietly, she might be in for a surprise. Life does have those unexpected interruptions.

Yes, that is an uncomfortable situation. You never know what might unfold when you sit next to a stranger on a plane. Elena pointed at Rick and smiled.

The baby quieted down somewhat, worn out from crying. Its little body heaved as it took deep breaths and uttered brief sobs, finally falling asleep in its mother’s arms. The bookworm gave a quick smile to the Indian mother and continued reading.

The flight attendant took drink orders, and both Rick and Elena ordered red wine.

Rick turned toward Elena. Why India?

It’s simple. There are friends I want to see in Mumbai, and I love everything about India—the people, the food, the scenery, everything, she explained wistfully.

I don’t want this to come as a shock to you, but this plane is going to Delhi.

Elena laughed, snapped her fingers in the air, and shook her head. Why didn’t I know that? She chuckled again, showing her perfect teeth, and added, I have friends in Delhi and Jaipur as well.

You’ve been to India before? Why this love affair with India?

She turned to him, beaming. I’ve been to India many times. It’s a magical place. Just stepping out onto the hot pavement in the morning into a place with people wall-to-wall brings me to a world of the unexpected. Each day becomes a new adventure. I never know what will happen, who I will meet, or what I will do. Her voice softened and she leaned her head back. The last time I was in Delhi, a seventeen-year- old high school student named Pia stopped me and asked if I would answer some questions as part of her class assignment to interview foreigners.

Rick’s eyes widened. Nice. What did she ask? 

Well, some expected things, naturally, such as ‘Why India?’ and where I’m from and so on. I dazzled her with the little Hindi I knew. She thought it was an amazing accomplishment. I barely said anything in Hindi, really. She didn’t know that those few words were my entire Hindi vocabulary.

I listened to her questions as she read them off her assignment sheet and watched her put my answers down on a clipboard, but it was her last question that intrigued me the most.

Which was?

She asked if I would ever consider an Indian as my life partner. I answered ‘yes.’ There would be no question about it, if the situation presented itself and we loved each other. A difference in culture would never stand in my way.

The Indian people I know are intelligent and sensitive. When they talk to you, it’s from the heart. It’s all about the closeness of family because family is everything in India. Pia was a bright, young lady who was well-educated and very pretty. I wish I could see her again.

The flight attendant returned with the wine and vegetable mini-samosas. They sat back in their seats, sipped the wine, and enjoyed the appetizers. Rick wondered why Elena had travelled to India so many times. He noted that her eyes glimmered when she spoke about India, especially when describing Pia and other people she had met.

For Rick, it was better than hearing about the sights, though he didn’t belittle them by any means. They were all in the Lonely Planet Guide. Though he had yet to set foot in India, images such as the Taj Mahal had been embedded in his mind since childhood, but even the Taj paled in its importance when compared to the friendships he had with Indian friends back home. They shared their feelings and thoughts with him in a kind and sensitive manner. He felt there was something quite different about Indian people. Maybe it was the way they expressed themselves. He felt they were more open about their deeper feelings and Americans seemed more reserved.

"Let me ask you, Rick. Would you accept someone from another culture as your life’s partner?" Elena sipped her wine, her slender fingers holding the glass as though it were a delicate treasure.

I would, but I would at least want her to speak English, or enough English so we could have a conversation. He chuckled. Although I once met a couple who were married about a year. The man was from Thailand and spoke only Thai, and his wife was from Hong Kong and spoke Chinese and English. I asked her how they communicated and all she said was, ‘We manage.’

Ahh, true romantics, Elena answered, tilting her head.

You think that’s it? How would they communicate?

Have you ever heard of body language? Elena winked, glancing at Rick and raising her eyebrows.

Ahh, yes, the language of love. I remember it well.

Rick wondered how Elena interpreted his body language, and he hoped she wasn’t involved with anyone. Why was he so concerned? He reminded himself that Elena was merely a flight companion, and he would probably never see her again, but she was lovely, and something inside him said she was special. He thought again about luck. If Elena’s ticket had put her in the seat in front of him, he would have been frustrated as hell. She would be so close, and yet impossibly far, but here she was, next to him. Lady luck had played her hand quite well.

As Elena spoke about India, Rick swept her into his imagination. He conjured up quick glimpses of them together in Delhi, buying hot samosas from a street vendor and laughing as they ate them from newspaper wrappings soaked with oil. He saw them on a train riding through the dreary desert of Rajasthan, taking in the splashes of red and yellow from women in saris working in the fields. His imagination took him to the best places.

I’m thankful that my dreams allow me to experience romance that I can never have in reality.

The idea of Elena being in a relationship raced through his mind again, but he wasn’t ready to find out. He wanted to learn about her slowly, as if a sumptuous meal had been placed in front of him and he was savoring it. Rick avoided mundane questions, such as asking her what kind of work she did or where she grew up. There was time for that.

Elena is such a pretty name, Rick said, looking into her slate-blue eyes.

Thank you, she said, her cheeks flushing as she stretched out thank you, you’re very nice. My parents were born in Budapest. They considered calling me Ilona, a typical Hungarian name, but they liked Elena better, and I’m glad they did.

Your parents were born in Hungary? That’s fascinating.

Yes. They were activists and took part in the Hungarian revolution against the Soviets in the fifties.

Really? How did they get involved?

Elena took a deep breath and fumbled with the buttons on her cardigan, then turned to Rick. "My parents, Laszlo and Sylvia, felt compelled to act, so they rallied with other college students until the movement took hold. Their marches were peaceful, but spirited and loud. The students used bullhorns to shout for change and fought for the removal of the secret police and oppressive Soviet policies.

"Rick, you can’t believe what it was like. I can hardly imagine, and I’ve read so much about it. My parents carried signs saying, Russians Go Home. Before long, the secret police fired at the demonstrators and all hell broke loose. The uprising became a revolution. The rebels were called Freedom Fighters, and my father was one of them." She raised her head when she spoke, pride lacing her words.

Rick felt he was reliving a slice of history. Here I am, sitting next to the daughter of a genuine Freedom Fighter. Go on.

The rebels toppled and demolished a heavy, thirty-foot high bronze statue of Stalin. All that was left of it were its boots, and they stuck a Hungarian flag in each one! My father showed me a picture of him and a friend holding their rifles high in the air and smiling as they stood on top of a captured Russian tank.

They were true activists, more like revolutionaries. I’m not sure I would be willing to risk my life the way your parents did. Obviously, they were successful in getting out of Hungary, but how did that happen?

They left Budapest and fled to the countryside to a town close to the Austrian border. As luck would have it, a sympathetic elderly couple offered them food and lodging and told them about a few places where the barbed wire surrounding the area was not electrified. They hid my parents in their farmhouse and waited for a rainy night, when they knew the patrolling Soviet guards would take cover. When the time came, my mom and dad cut through the barbed wire in the darkness and crawled through the mud to Austria.

We do have something in common, Rick confessed, looking at Elena with a sheepish smile. My mother is Hungarian.

Oh my God! I’m amazed, Elena replied, covering her mouth. It must be kismet. I don’t meet many Hungarians. Do you speak the language?

Just the little I learned when I was a boy. I still remember most of it.

My parents would be impressed. She grinned. 

My mother and father, on the other hand, didn’t lead the exciting lives that yours did.

That’s okay. She placed a soft hand on his, causing a tremble to pass through his body. Sometimes it’s good to be average, she added, withdrawing her hand and sipping her wine again. Tell me about them.

There’s not much to tell. Rick shifted in his seat. They weren’t fighters or idealists, just normal people, but my dad was a criminal lawyer.

That can be exciting.

You’re right, depending on the case. My parents preferred a quiet life, though.

Rick looked at her with admiration. I can sense that activist spirit in you, Elena.

Oh? She smirked.

Rick felt there was something else behind her expression, something he couldn’t quite name.

Maybe we could meet in Delhi and have lunch, Rick suggested. I know I have a couple of years on you, but not that many. Rick laughed and added, I hope you have a soft spot for older gentlemen. I’m in my late forties.

A gentleman, are you now? She purred with a flirtatious glance. I was forty-one on July thirtieth. There’s not much difference in our ages, and besides, those things don’t matter to me. Lunch would be fine. Rick’s imagination ran off with him again as he imagined them together in India, visiting the Taj, the Gandhi Museum, the Red Fort, and all the other wonderful places he’d read about in Lonely Planet.

Rick had only just met Elena. He didn’t know much about her, and yet the romantic images in his head were undeniable. He knew he had to ground them. He didn’t know if she had a boyfriend or even a husband. It didn’t matter for now. All he knew was that he had sixteen hours to be with her, alone in their private paradise, thirty-thousand feet in the air.

Chapter 2

An Indian flight attendant, dressed in a flaming red uniform and a white blouse, came by to offer additional beverages. She retrieved two small bottles of Cabernet from her cart and presented a dinner menu. They put the menus aside as Elena noticed the flight attendant’s name tag, which simply said ‘Bubli.’

Where are you from, Ms. Bubli? Elena asked politely.

I am from Munnar, madam. Do you know it?

Oh, yes, I do. Elena turned to Rick. It’s a wonderful hill station high in the mountains with lots of tea plantations. When I was in Cochin, the heat was unbearable and I ran off to the cooler, spice scented mountain air, where I found Munnar and fell in love with it instantly. She turned back to Bubli. Did you go to school there?

Yes, madam. I went to the High Range High School at Mattupatti, just a few kilometers from Munnar. It was a wonderful school, the best in all of the state of Kerala. We had the mountains behind us and a large lake in front of the school. In my time away from school, I worked at a tea plantation, cutting tea leaves.

You are fortunate to have gone to a school high in the hills. Munnar is a special place for me. It was very nice meeting you.

"Nanni, madam. It was my pleasure."

Elena turned toward Rick. What a nice young lady. Munnar is one of the most beautiful places, springtime days and cold nights. During the Raj, the British officers spent a lot of time in the hill stations to enjoy the mountain air and get away from the heat.

I have to remember that, Rick said. Maybe I’ll go there while I’m in India. I used to fantasize that, in my next life, I would come back as a British officer in the Raj and live like a king! Either that, or be a Sultan in Istanbul with a harem of beautiful women at my beck and call.

Elena shook her head from side to side, rolled her eyes, and laughed. You men.

"What was that Nanni word that Bubli used? Did she call you grandmother?"

Ha-ha, funny, Rick. She used a word in Malayalam, a language used in Kerala in the southern part of India. It means thank you.

Don’t tell me you speak the Malay—um, uh, language.

Only a few words, just like my Hindi.

So, you’re a woman of few words? Rick smiled.

Yes, few words and strong sentiments, she answered, giggling. When I was in Munnar, I stayed at a lovely inn. There are no luxury hotels in Munnar, just cozy guesthouses up in the hills surrounded by spice trees and wild flowers. I had a cottage with a private bath and a small porch. I took tea in the afternoon, and all I could smell were cardamom, pepper, clove, and cinnamon trees. It was like meditating with my eyes open. There were only nine other guests, and breakfast and dinner was served in an open setting in the clean fresh air. It was so spiritual, and I felt so close to God. You would love it!

I’m sure I would. I don’t think of myself as a spiritual person anymore, but I miss the spirituality I felt when I was young. It made me feel good, like I wasn’t alone, but I had to believe the truth my mind told me was real, that there was no God.

That’s so sad, Elena replied. We’re different that way. I believe in God.

Maybe you and I are different, but just because you believe in something doesn’t mean it’s true. Rick hoped he didn’t sound too cocky. The last thing he wanted to do was disappoint the beautiful woman beside him. Tell me, Elena, where did you grow up? What was your education like?

I grew up in Forest Hills, New York and went to Kew-Forest High, which was a private school. I believed in reform Judaism and still do. I always go to the synagogue on the holidays, and I still remember Rabbi Math. Elena paused momentarily, as if reminiscing about the rabbi, and then continued. "He was a good man and a friend of our family.

"Let’s see…then I moved to Manhattan and went to Columbia University for my Bachelor’s and Master’s in Journalism. After graduation, I did some freelance advertising work, which I hated, and then landed a job with US News and World Report in DC, which I hated a lot less.

I left that job when they decided to reduce publishing to only once a month. I still do some freelance work that I have to get back to in the States. I traveled a lot for a while and became interested in the progressive movements in the subcontinents, and I have an idea for a book. You’re from New York, aren’t you?

You said a lot in a few words. I could hardly keep up. How did you know I was from New York?

I can spot a New York accent anywhere. Are you from the city?

Yes, the upper east side, but I grew up in the Bronx. After high school, I planned to study political science at NYU, but changed my major to the natural sciences. I got my PhD, and now I teach at my alma mater.

Ah, a purveyor of knowledge. How nice, she commented, giving him a thumbs-up. What subject do you teach?

Biology. I took a circuitous route to get there. I had to deal with some major personal challenges when I was a young student at NYU before I got my head straight.

Personal challenges? Do you mean you were a product of those mind-altering days of the seventies and eighties?

No, nothing like that, just a relationship issue. I examined my life from time to time, a suggestion that Plato espoused, Rick said, smiling. It sometimes made me see things in a new light.

Plato, eh? And how did this self-examination and new light change you?

"Well, among other things, I realized that political science was not for me. It never