From a purely strategic view, keeping India stronger than Pakistan was sensible. But there were… trimmable edges. Pieces of territory small enough to carve away without creating a dozen petty states weaker than Pakistan.
Leaving the Nizam's palace, Alan Wilson brought John and Portuguese envoy Pedro back to the British compound. These gatherings were never wrapped up in a single evening — but they could hardly live in the Nizam's court.
"Tea, Commissioner?" Eliza's voice was warm, the porcelain cup already in her hands. She knew his habits by now — no milk, no sugar, just tea. Oriental style."Thank you, Eliza." Alan smiled faintly. "Years in Hong Kong will do that to a man."
"You work too hard," she said with a wry smile, crossing her legs primly. "The last Commissioner didn't dash about like lightning."
Alan's laugh was brief. "We don't have that luxury now." Then, as if remembering something, he set his briefcase on the table and drew out the Nizam's parting gift.
Eliza's eyes widened. Gold. Neatly cast bars, small enough to fit in the palm. Even with her comfortable upbringing, she'd never seen so much in one place. Alan was unmoved."Call Andy and the others. We'll divide it. We didn't come all the way from New Delhi to enrich the masses of South Asia. We came to avoid poverty in our own futures."
Each bar was ten tolas — about 117 grams. A trivial portion of the Nizam's wealth, but enough to make his assistants' eyes light up when they filed into the office.
"One each," Alan said, distributing them. "Better than rupees — gold spends anywhere." Smiles all round. A little personal profit made the colonial grind more bearable.
"Lightning Alan is far too generous," Andy grinned."Then don't complain behind my back," Alan shot back, half-joking.
When the others left, he was still alert — a mild haze of whisky sharpening rather than dulling his mind. South India slept in darkness; electricity was for the privileged few. In the lamplight, he unrolled a map of British India.
His gaze settled on the Andaman and Nicobar Islands. Too valuable to hand to Nehru.
Eight hundred kilometers from the Indian mainland, straddling the western approach to the Malacca Strait — every ship exiting the strait could be tracked from there. In wartime, it was a perfect listening post.
The Americans now had the largest navy in the world, but the Royal Navy was still unchallenged by anyone else. The Japanese fleet had been formidable — but their "far horizon" was Gibraltar, not Malacca.
Alan's idea crystallised: cut the islands out of India before independence. It would be easy. Nehru would have no navy to project power there in the early years. London would be convinced — after all, the Empire still held Malaya. Controlling both ends of Malacca was a strategic logic even Whitehall could grasp.
The Raj's end might be inevitable, but some pieces of it didn't have to go with India. And if those pieces happened to serve Britain's—and Alan Wilson's—interests… all the better.