“My point is,” Jehan began, interrupting the quarreling factions. “That even without the recent leaks of sensitive documents and financial records to the media, which are incriminating enough in and of themselves, this government will have a hard time justifying the extent of the negligence and oversight that allowed not one, but three major metro stations in the capital city to be attacked on the same day. A security breach that significant couldn’t have been planned and orchestrated in a day, or even a week. This attack had been in the works for a few months at the very least. That the Intelligence Bureau had no inkling of it could be attributed to one of two things – gross negligence or intentional blindness.”

“Are you suggesting that there was collusion with the terrorists, Dr. Fasih?” Ruqaiya asked, her voice so cold the temperature in the room dropped by a few degrees. “That somebody ‘on the inside’ colluded with separatist outfits to ensure the…success of the terror attacks?”

Jehan shrugged, sitting back and projecting nonchalance he did not feel. “You tell me, Madam. Because it was either that, or sheer – frankly ridiculous – incompetence on the part of our intelligence office.”

Diwakar Saini, the textile minister, interjected mildly. “Even if you believed that to the case, doctor, you could have brought the matter to the Cabinet before going to the media.” A popular Birhani leader who’d fought in the civil war, Saini had been one of Rajat’s principle opponents during the last parliamentary elections. The man was over seventy years old and that had been his last chance at the premiership. He had held the position of Transport Minister under Rajat’s predecessor, but had since been siphoned off to the textile ministry to live out the rest of his political career.

If Jehan played his hand carefully, Saini would not be hard to win over.

“I’m by no means the first person to have raised these issues, sir, although so far I have perhaps been the most successful in garnering the attention that the matter deserves. Perhaps that is because of the timing, or maybe because of my position as the lead scientist for the Amven project.

“But many NGOs and other institutions had previously tried to bring the matter to the government’s attention, only to be thwarted time and again. The transfer of funds from various institutions in Maralana to politicians and bureaucrats in the Naijani government has been documented by many individuals and organizations for more than a year now. And so far, no action has been taken.

“That wouldn’t have been the case if someone – or perhaps multiple individuals – at the highest levels of the administration hadn’t had a vested interest in brushing this whole thing under the rug. Going to the media, as you can see, seemed like the only way to get through to those in power.”

Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

“And I’m sure your ongoing quibble with the government over the Amven issue had nothing to do with it,” Ruqaiya all but sneered.

Crossing his legs, Jehan set his elbows on the table and favored the Science and Technology Minister with his sweetest smile. “Why, of course it’s got everything to do with that, Madam Dehran. My colleagues and I are being pressured to expedite the testing of a potentially dangerous drug despite our misgivings about the possible consequences of these clinical trials.

“I can’t believe it hasn’t occurred to you that testing this drug on the arrested terror suspects could hurt the investigation. We’re being told that it will help with the interrogation, and maybe it will. But as the original creator of the Amven formula, and one of the chief researchers responsible for its development in subsequent years, I can tell you that I’m far from being sure about how it’ll affect a human subject.

“It could make the suspects more docile and amenable to sharing vital information. It could also turn them into mindless puppets willing to say anything you want them to say. In which case, we’d lose any chance we ever had of getting the information we need out of them. Can you blame me for wanting to prevent that from happening?”

The discussion – if the constant bickering and finger-pointing could be called that – continued, the accusations flying as fast as the arguments. Jehan wasn’t paying attention, or at least no more than necessary to field the occasional questions thrown in his direction.

He was watching Rajat. The man looked livid, but it wasn’t enough. Jehan needed to make Rajat angry enough, disgusted enough with the proceedings, that he would resign voluntarily. Then there would be no need for an impeachment, for any further mud-slinging and character assassination.

Rajat could step down with the least amount of damage to his reputation – most of it behind closed doors – leaving the door open for a possible reinstatement in the future. Jehan didn’t know how he was going to manage any of that, but he’d be damned if he didn’t try.

And if flinging baseless accusations at his former mentor, at the closest thing to a real father he’d ever had, was the only way to achieve that…well, nobody had ever accused Jehan of being a sentimental man. Nobody who knew him, anyway.

In the end, it didn’t even take very long. Rajat was an honorable man, and one of the drawbacks of decency was that it made you susceptible to other people’s opinions. With a final, withering look at Jehan, Rajat slammed his hands down on the table and rose to his feet.

“That’s enough!” he thundered, glaring down at the squabbling ministers like they were misbehaving school children. “This disgraceful farce has continued for long enough. If I no longer have the trust of the people of this country, the unanimous support of my own Cabinet, then I will step down voluntarily.” He looked straight at Jehan, eyes burning with rage, and something else that Jehan tried not to read as betrayal. “My resignation will be tendered within the week. Have a good day, ladies and gentlemen.”

He stormed out, leaving a deafening silence behind him.