The British Empire might no longer match America or the Soviet Union in raw power, but its sprawl was still vast. There was room to maneuver — in Malaya, the Middle East, Africa. India was only one board in a much larger game.
Alan Wilson had drifted to sleep without noticing, the day's schemes giving way to fatigue.
The talks in Hyderabad — binding the princely states together, with the Portuguese as discreet intermediaries — were almost concluded. But then came the summons.
The Nizam's thin, aristocratic face was unusually grave."It seems New Delhi will want you back in a few days," he said.
Alan blinked. "I've only just returned." If the Viceroy's office wanted him, they could have sent a telegram. Something else was at work.
The Nizam's tone sharpened. "Your gathering of the princely representatives — and the presence of the Portuguese — has drawn the attention of the Congress Party. Nehru has pressed the Viceroy's government."
Alan's mouth tightened. Of course Nehru would choose now. Pressure applied in a moment of British advantage was far more effective — and the Viceroy's office would be desperate to avoid disruption as the war drew to a close. Perhaps this was meant as a warning shot, a way to make an example.
"I've spoken to Sir Barron," the Nizam said. "He's impressed with your work here. The tone of his telegram suggests nothing too serious — just be ready to explain yourself. I'm sending a gift for him. That should help smooth matters."
Alan studied the Nizam for a moment. Genuine loyalty was rare in the Empire — rarer still from those who had every reason to mistrust it. "Your Highness… there's one man you mustn't ignore."
The Nizam's brow furrowed. "Who?"
"General Mountbatten." Alan's voice was firm. "You may think this is just a military matter, but Mountbatten is far more than a naval officer. Churchill trusts him — and Churchill's trust is a currency few possess. More importantly, Mountbatten will soon be Viceroy of India. The subcontinent's future will be in his hands."
The Nizam's expression shifted at Churchill's name. In much of the Empire, the Prime Minister's reputation still towered, unshadowed by the emerging power of Washington or Moscow.
Alan pressed on. "In Burma, the Allied armies were falling apart — mistrusting, refusing to cooperate. Mountbatten fixed that. He's a man who can make disparate powers work together. When the time comes, that talent will matter more than titles."
The telegram from New Delhi arrived. Polite in wording, careful in tone — but Alan had learned to read between the lines. Civil service 'courtesy' was a language of its own, as capable of concealing a knife as any diplomatic communiqué.
The Nizam's gift — a discreetly heavy package of gold — would accompany Alan to Delhi. Officially, he was still Commissioner for Hyderabad. Unofficially, he was walking into a test he could not predict.
As his staff gathered to see him off, they assumed it was a routine matter. They didn't see the undercurrent.
Beyond India, the war was shifting. In Europe, the Rhine had been breached; in Burma, Japanese forces were being squeezed into their final, hopeless positions.
The sun was bright when Alan stepped into the Viceroy's Palace in New Delhi. Sir Barron stood at the window, sunlight framing his shoulders, his voice edged with restrained irritation.
"Why," he asked, "did you assemble the princes — and invite the Portuguese? You do realise the Burma campaign still depends on Indian manpower and resources? You know the Congress Party's position as well as I do."
Alan smiled faintly, though his mind was already calculating. This was no simple summons. It was the opening move in another match — and I'd need to play it perfectly.