by Leslie Wolfe
She passed through Immigration and found ground transportation with ease. Her car and driver were supposed to pick her up there. Walking through the long corridor leading to the exit, she smelled musty air mixed with some menthol or camphor-based air fresheners. As she approached the exit, she started looking for her expected pickup, and there he was, holding a piece of cardboard with her name, misspelled, but still her name. She approached the man and introduced herself.
“Hi, I’m Alex Hoffmann,” she said, then pointed at the sign when the man didn’t respond the way she’d been anticipating.
“Oh, yes, ma’am, yes, ma’am,” the man said as soon as he understood. He grabbed her suitcase and started toward the exit in a hurry. She followed him, and as she stepped through the sliding doors of the airport exit, she had to stop, dizzy and shocked. It was hot. A humid and fierce kind of hot, reminding her of the rare times when she’d opened the oven to baste a roast. The wave of heat coming from that oven was very similar to what she was feeling just outside the airport terminal. She leaned against the wall, struggling to breathe. There was no way anyone could breathe in this. Instant sweat covered her from head to toe, her clothing sticking to her skin in a very unpleasant way. She felt her skin burning wherever the fabric touched her. Oh my God, she thought, what the hell am I gonna do?
“Welcome to Delhi,” her driver said in very badly accented English, smiling widely and showing several missing teeth under a moustache-covered upper lip. He was either being very nice with her, or he was just sarcastic and entertained by her reaction to the Delhi midsummer heat. It was hard to tell when she couldn’t breathe; her brain refused to process any information.
She looked at her watch and noticed sadly that the glass had cracked, most likely from the temperature shock when exiting the airplane’s climate-controlled environment. It was still working though, and she had to settle for that for now.
She started walking slowly, adjusting to the air she struggled to inhale and following her very alert driver. He led her to an SUV bearing the Toyota logo, but it wasn’t a model she had seen before. As he was loading her luggage, she went toward the right side of the car and opened the front door. Not gonna work, she thought as she saw the steering wheel on the right side. She went around the front and opened the left front door but delayed climbing in. Inside the car, although it seemed impossible to imagine, it was even hotter.
The drive to her hotel was long and interesting. Her driver, with the name of Pranav if she had understood him correctly, had very little concern with red lights. He seemed to take a red light as a personal challenge to see how he could pass through the intersection as the fastest and loudest of all cars. Alex was embarrassed to find herself screaming and covering her face a couple of times, until she finally acknowledged that Pranav had some serious driving skills. However, following traffic law didn’t seem to be one of them. The streets were a disorganized mess of small cars, SUVs, even some very expensive luxury vehicles from time to time, and some three-wheeled green and yellow contraptions built on the frames of motorcycles and meant to carry two passengers in the back.
“Red light,” Alex pointed out, “why aren’t we stopping?”
“No need, ma’am,” Pranav said, very amused by her question.
“What are these things?” Alex asked, pointing at one of the green contraptions on wheels. It carried five young men where two would have been the maximum load she thought they’d be able to take. The five young men were crammed together, a couple of them hanging from the sides almost entirely outside the vehicle, smiling widely as if this were great fun.
“Tuk-tuk, ma’am,” Pranav said.
Such a tuk-tuk had stopped at a traffic light, holding the Toyota behind it; although there was no one in front of that exotic vehicle. To Alex’s surprise, Pranav pushed the tuk-tuk with the Toyota’s bull bar, gently yet firmly enough to make room for their car to bolt and pass through yet another intersection, against red lights and cross traffic honking something terrible.
Finally at her hotel, she found herself thankful she had survived the drive and wondering if she should ask for a new driver. She chuckled, thinking that the drive had been so scary she had completely forgotten the mind-numbing heat. She entered through the front door of the Taj Palace, and, within seconds, the strong jets of air conditioning brought her back to a world of normality, with the faint smell of mildew being the only reminder of the humid hell outside.
Her room was one of the most elegant hotel rooms she had ever seen. Thick, plush, dark red carpeting covered it wall to wall. A wide, arched window, dressed with assorted thick velvet drapery and matching sheers, and a king-sized bed covered in top grade sheets and a feather-light comforter. The room was decorated with exquisite style, and her hosts had placed flowers and fruit in the small reading corner, where several armchairs were placed around a coffee table, with wall lighting above it. The bathroom was amazing, all done in marble, sparkling clean, and decorated with impeccable taste. She noticed with amusement a phone installed right next to the toilet, on the wall. Maybe it’s for the really bad Delhi Belly cases, she thought.
She pulled out her bug detector and started scanning the room, discreetly, wall to wall, making it appear as if she were texting on her cell phone while absently walking. A faint beep and a red dot on the device’s screen indicated the first audio bug, near her nightstand somewhere, probably in the phone. Fuck, she nearly said out loud. She paced some more, making a huge effort to refrain from looking right at the offending nightstand. A few steps more toward the window, and a different beep indicated a video bug. This is disgusting, she thought, fucking assholes.
She completed her walkthrough with the bathroom and found another audio bug. She took a deep breath, and, remembering what Sam had taught her, started to mentally organize her life as she wanted it to appear on the UNSUB’s surveillance. She’d have to change in the bathroom, where there was no video. She’d have to drop the AC settings a couple degrees, so she’d keep her comforter on while she slept. She didn’t want to put on an involuntary show for these fucking perverts. She shouldn’t be too proper though, or display too much restraint. She had to be seen doing things people normally do when they‘re completely on their own, like yawn without covering their mouths, belch loudly, go to the toilet without closing the door, scratch, swear, and so on.
She let herself fall on her bed, face up and arms spread to her sides, as if to enjoy the comfort of the mattress and fresh sheets. This was the way Sam had taught her to look discreetly for the video bug, because usually these were housed somewhere on the ceiling, in some fixture or vent. There were no fixtures, but there was an AC vent toward the window, and there it was, almost imperceptible. She braced herself, happy she was on to them, and hoping they were not on to her.
...62
...Saturday, July 23, 9:52AM EDT (UTC-4:00 hours)
...Fort Lauderdale Marina Parking Lot
...Fort Lauderdale, Florida
Muhammad Sadiq opened the trunk of his white Lexus LX 570 and took out a large cooler, putting it down on the heated asphalt of the parking lot with a groan. He was fully recovered after his hip replacement earlier in the year, but he wasn’t young anymore, and he felt that with every step. He stopped, straightened his back after putting down the heavy cooler, and wiped his sweaty brow with a napkin he took out of his pocket. He looked at the crystal blue sky and inhaled the salty sea air, enjoying the morning of what would be a gorgeous, yet very hot summer day. A great day to be on the water.
He took the rest of his luggage from the Lexus: a couple of telescopic fishing rods, a net and a gaff, both with telescopic handles, and a bucket of fresh bait. From the back seat of his car, he took a small duffel bag with personal items for his journey: sunscreen, a couple of fresh towels, things he didn’t already have on his boat.
He started pushing and pulling all his cargo toward the Sea Ray, struggling at every step and straining from the effort. His strife didn’t go unnoticed, as he
dragged his paraphernalia at a painfully slow speed right under the Harbor Administration Office window. The office door opened, and the familiar face of the harbormaster greeted him joyfully.
“Good morning, Mr. Sadiq, going out today?”
“Yes, yes, if I can make it to my boat.”
“Let me help you,” he offered, grabbing the handle of the cooler. “Whoa, this is heavy,” he commented.
“There’s no need. I can pull this on my own eventually,” Sadiq answered.
“It’s not a problem, Mr. Sadiq; it’s my pleasure to help you. But it is heavy. What do you have in there?” The harbormaster’s curiosity overcame his manners, a glint of suspicion lighting his eyes from behind the thick-rimmed glasses.
“I can tell you,” Sadiq answered between labored breaths, “but you have to promise me you won’t say a word to anyone.”
“I promise,” the harbormaster said. He wasn’t smiling anymore.
“Well, you see, I am a Muslim,” Sadiq started to say. “By the holy letter of the Quran, this,” he pointed to the cooler, “is the mother of evil.”
The harbormaster’s eyebrows raised in surprise. They had made it to the Sea Ray, and Sadiq took his fishing gear onboard, then came back to the cooler. He lifted the lid and extracted a can of Bud Light from the ice inside, offering it to the harbormaster.
“Beer?”
“My sin, for which Islam fanatics would have me killed. Please do not tell a soul,” Sadiq said pleadingly.
“Don’t worry, Mr. Sadiq,” the harbormaster said, relieved, popping the can open and taking a long, thirsty gulp. “Your secret is safe with me.”
Judging by the harbormaster’s demeanor, he seemed to like him better once he had learned of his sin. It was a helpful cover to have. His plan had worked quite well; he was pleased.
Finally aboard the Sea Ray, engines running smoothly, Sadiq pushed the throttle gently, leaving the harbor at no wake speed. Once outside the harbor, he programmed his GPS to take him to the Bahamas and pushed the throttle almost 80 percent in. The Sea Ray cut the waves majestically, leaving the shore behind, and within minutes, Sadiq was far enough from the shore to lose sight of it completely.
He put the throttle in neutral and cut the engines. He then dragged the cooler toward the edge of the boat, opened it, and started opening cans of beer and spilling the contents into the ocean. After emptying a few, he crushed them somewhat, just as a beer drinker would when finishing one. He set the crushed cans next to the cooler. Then threw overboard the rest of the unopened cans and all the remaining ice. He wiped the cooler dry, carefully with one of the towels he had brought onboard. He closed the cooler lid, and then resumed his high-speed trip to the Bahamas. He would make it there on time, he thought, after checking his watch. The bank would still be open, even if it was a Saturday.
...63
...Monday, July 25, 9:12AM Local Time (UTC+5:30 hours)
...ERamSys Headquarters
...New Delhi, India
Pranav had somehow managed to drive Alex to her destination without having them both killed, and she was grateful for that. She wasn’t very sure his English included more than a few words, because his reaction to her firm demands to slow down was to hit the gas, smiling widely and repeating, “Yes, ma’am, yes, ma’am.”
She looked at the building before entering, the morning air still hot and humid, yet somehow more bearable than it had been the day before. The building was modern, six stories of metal and glass structures built as two separate sections and united by a central tower that went up eight stories high. All three sections of the building had some activity happening on their flat roofs, people walking, looking down, using them as terraces to sit and relax, or places where they could smoke. The central section seemed to have trees planted on the roof.
There wasn’t much green in New Delhi. Vegetation was rare, and trees were scarce, at least in the areas where she had traveled. Everything was concrete and asphalt, radiating in the scorching heat. The sun was there, but then again, it wasn’t. A layer of thick yellow smog covered every inch of the sky even when it was clear, and the sun appeared as a dim yellow disc that she could look straight into without even squinting. She extended her arm and looked at the pavement. No, there was no real shadow in this dimmed sunlight, just a trace of it. She suddenly felt better about having to take her car for smog checks every two years.
She entered the building, the strong AC in the lobby making her dizzy for a few seconds until she adjusted. She was getting used to these shocks, coming indoors from the intense heat and going through a fifty-degree drop in temperature just by opening a door.
In the lobby was a small blackboard displaying, “Welcome, Alex Hoffmann” written in green chalk. She asked the receptionist for directions, and she learned that DCBI had its own floor, in Building A on the fifth floor, reserved for its project only, with high-security access cards limiting the access to the project team and executive leadership only. Her own security access card was ready for her.
Alex got off the elevator on the fifth floor and accessed the secure door. Entering the floor, she noticed the open concept layout, with numerous cubicles lined up, with tens of workers typing on their computers quietly. The separation walls between the cubicles were low, making it possible for floor supervisors to see all across the floor. It was vast, clean, and well organized. On each side of the floor were podiums, where several other cubicles had a higher position, allowing supervisors good vantage points across the floor without having to leave their desks. Along the walls there were several offices, most of them with their doors closed.
“Hey, welcome,” a man said, touching her shoulder gently. “I’m Brent Rieker. I work for Eddie Swanson at DCBI. Scott, our on-site analyst, and I are the only American faces you’re gonna see on this floor. Scott reports to Ellen Butler.”
“Ah, I see, thanks.” She shook his hand enthusiastically. “Good to meet you.”
“So, how do you like it so far?”
“I haven’t had time to like or dislike anything yet, just got here. Where can I put my gear?”
“You have your own office,” he said, showing her to one of the offices with closed doors. She dropped her laptop bag in there, glad to see the office had a glass wall, so she could keep her eye on the bag.
“When can I see the software? I want to get to work as soon as possible. Do you or Scott have access to the modules in the staging environment?”
“Well, it’s not that simple, or hasn’t been so far,” Brent said. “We see demos of several components on a sprint schedule every two weeks. Scott can run reports for productivity, hours worked, progress made, and so on. But neither of us is charged with inspecting the code per se. We’re not qualified; we’re not programmers. Scott is an analyst whose job is to generate reports and interpret them and hold the vendor accountable against the SLA. I’m in charge of the vendor engagement. I answer all their questions, point them in the right direction if they need more info, and make sure they don’t misunderstand anything, that kind of stuff. But we were not told we needed access to the actual product.”
“We’ll have to gain that access ASAP; this is what I’m here for. I can’t sign off on the quality of the software without getting my hands on it and in it,” she said, smiling casually.
Her smile froze when she encountered the gaze of a man staring at her from across the floor. The man, wearing a white cap she later learned was called a taqiyah, was looking at her with immense contempt. His beard was very short and neatly trimmed, making him appear unshaven rather than wearing an actual beard. His mouth, slightly open, showed pearly white teeth, quite uncommon for India. He wasn’t smiling though. It was more like a snarl. The man’s eyes were vicious and sharp, making Alex feel their stark gaze like knives stabbing her. She repressed a shudder.
“Who is that?” Alex whispered, nodding discreetly with a head movement toward the man.
“Oh, that is Abid Bal, a ray of sunshine, no less,” Brent
answered. “He’s the leader of the DCBI project for ERamSys. Everything you need and do goes through him.”
“Oh, fantastic,” Alex said with a sigh.
Bal continued to stare, his contempt even more visible, tangible, like she was a leper or something. She decided to deal with the issue immediately. She stepped courageously toward Bal, controlling her posture and gait to project self-confidence and authority, a self-confidence she didn’t really feel.
“Hi, I am Alex Hoffmann from DCBI,” she said, extending her hand to greet Bal.
“I know who you are,” he said harshly, taking her hand and shaking it briefly, only the tip of his fingers touching hers. The contempt in his gaze did not go away as he looked at her from up close. “Tell me if there is anything you need.”
“Yes, there is,” she answered promptly. She was regaining her assertiveness, almost defiant in the face of his contempt. “I would like to gain access to the software modules as soon as possible to begin my quality assessment. If we do this immediately I can sign off on the product faster, literally days after you finish with the last module.”
The man frowned, his contempt mixed with anger, his jaws clenched. She looked into his eyes and saw the violence Bal was capable of.
“We will set some appointments up for you. In the meantime, you have some materials to review in your office about the quality standards of ERamSys, our practices, our people, our mission. Please review and tell me if you have questions.”
He abruptly turned away and left, not waiting for her reply.
This wasn’t going to be easy, but at least she knew she was on to something. Finally, she had a lead she could follow. Regardless of how intimidating or dangerous Bal proved to be, there was something in those software modules she needed to find.