After another harrowing rickshaw ride across town to a seedy neighborhood on the east side of New Delhi, they found themselves in a crowded street, a small river of muddy fluid coursing down the center. The pedestrians moved slowly due to the heat, colorful umbrellas bobbing above heads to provide the slim relief of portable shade.
“What do you think?” Drake asked as they eyed the building.
“I’ll go in and you wait out here.”
“Why don’t we do this together?”
“A lone woman will be far less threatening than a couple.”
“It’s not like we’re going to rob the place.”
“Just let me do this my way.”
Drake parked himself in a shop across the street as Allie made her way to the building entry. An ancient doorman seated on a barstool just outside waved her through without question. Allie glanced around once inside and spotted a directory to her right, with the magazine offices identified as being on the third floor.
She mounted the stairs, the air stifling in the enclosed area, and exhaled in relief when she reached the third landing. The magazine had the entire level, and Allie paused at the door, the publication’s stenciled name partially peeled off, the paint in desperate need of repair.
Allie approached a heavyset woman seated behind a reception desk that, like the offices, had seen better days. After a brief discussion, the woman called the assistant managing director. Allie took a seat on a stained sofa and surveyed the large room, counting seven workers, all female, typing away furiously on computers, half of them wearing telephone headsets.
Ten minutes later a short man with all of ten strands of hair combed over a shining pate emerged from an office at the rear of the area and walked to the reception desk with the air of a man at home in his fiefdom. Allie stood, and his eyes roved over her before gracing her with a lupine grin. He offered his hand and she shook it, ignoring how his fingers lingered uncomfortably long on hers.
“Vikram Pradhan, at your service,” he announced. “Come back to my office. May I offer you a refreshment?” he said, his voice a musical purr.
“No, thank you,” Allie said as she followed him to his door.
“Well, then, how may I help you, Miss…?” he asked as she stepped inside the office. “Please,” he said, indicating one of two chairs in front of his desk, which was stacked high with folders. A standing fan blew a stream of warm air from the open window, and Allie sat in the closest while Pradhan rounded his desk and took a seat.
“Allie,” she said, smiling shyly at him. “I have a bitcoin address of someone I desperately need to contact. He’s sent a number of payments to your magazine. I’m hoping you have his contact information.”
The Indian’s expression hardened, any trace of friendliness gone. “I’m afraid that our advertiser information is most strictly confidential. I’m sorry I can’t help you.”
Allie opened her purse and removed a tissue, pausing long enough for Pradhan to get a good look at the wad of hundred-dollar bills in it. Just in case he’d missed the point, she set the bag, open, on his desk, and sat forward. “I would be extremely grateful if you could make an exception,” she said, sliding a piece of paper across the desk to him, the public key written across it.
Pradhan’s eyes darted to the side, and then he gave her a sad smile. “I’m really very sorry, young lady, but our rules are our rules. I’m afraid there’s nothing I can do for you. I’d suggest you look elsewhere. I’m in a bit of a rush to finish up my errands before I have lunch at the restaurant across the street. I hate to be late. Every day, same time.” He eyed his watch. “Oh, in twenty minutes.”
“Ah, I see. Well, it’s a shame you can’t bend the rules.”
“I would lose my job. I hope you understand – I am not of sufficient means to risk that.”
“Of course. Well, thank you for your time,” Allie said, rising.
Pradhan palmed the note and stood. “I trust you can find your own way out.”
“Yes. Enjoy your lunch,” she said, holding his stare.
“Oh, I most sincerely hope I do.”
Allie retraced her steps downstairs and reported on her meeting to Drake. They agreed that he would continue loitering nearby, and she crossed the street and entered the restaurant. The hostess seated her near the rear, at her request, and she busied herself on her phone while she waited.
Pradhan appeared right on time and slid into the booth across from her. “This is most unusual,” he began, and then seemed to run out of steam.
“Yes, but these are strange times. As I said, I’d be extremely grateful for any help you can offer.”
“How would that gratitude express itself?”
“I’d think five hundred dollars would be a reasonable token of my appreciation.”
“A thousand would be more in line with the risk involved, should I be caught.”
Allie knew that was probably double what the man earned per month, but she was uninterested in fighting too hard.
“It is a princely sum, but perhaps, depending on the information you shared, reasonable.”
“I must use the restroom. I will be back in a moment,” he said, and when he departed, her note was on the table, folded neatly in half. She opened it and read a name and telephone number, as well as a street address. She slipped it into her purse and surreptitiously counted ten hundred-dollar bills, which she folded into a small wedge.
Pradhan returned and sat down. Allie stood and placed her napkin on the table, and slid the money beneath it. “I’m sorry. I just got a call. I’m afraid I need to run,” she said.
The little man nodded sagely, his eyes on the napkin. Allie made her way to the entrance, Pradhan’s eyes burning holes through her back, and pulled it open, smiling in triumph. Drake was beside her in moments.
“I got it,” she said. “Phone and address. Name’s Gafur Singh.”
“Wonder why Carson didn’t have his information?”
“He could have. We never got a chance to look at his phone contacts.”
“Going to give ol’ Gafur a call?”
“Let’s pick up another phone. Call me paranoid, but I don’t want to use mine.”
“I’d say with a beheading and a manhunt in progress for Spencer, you can’t be paranoid enough.”
“Don’t forget that at some point it’s inevitable they’ll be after you.”
Drake frowned. “That hasn’t escaped me.”
They repeated their phone purchase with the same result – the merchant happily selling them one without identification, accepting their promise to return when they had their passports. Allie called Singh’s phone number, but it went straight to voice mail. She waited for the tone and left a message.
“Hello. I’m calling to let you know that the remainder of the fee is ready. Please call me as soon as possible so we can conclude the transaction.” She recited her new phone number and hung up. “No answer,” she said.
“Want to go by his place or stop in to see the professor first?”
She tapped an address into her phone and peered at the display. “Looks like he’s only a mile away, maybe less. The university’s farther. Let’s get a ride and check out Singh’s first and then hit the professor.”
“How much did it wind up costing?” Drake asked as they waved at a taxi.
“I’ll put it on your tab.”
“That much?”
“If it gets us out of this mess, it was a bargain at ten times the price.”
Chapter 22
The neighborhood degraded as the rickshaw sputtered along, the driver either blind or possessed of a death wish. The buildings changed from reasonably maintained to obviously neglected. Groups of slit-eyed youths loitered on the corners along with the ever-present beggars clogging the sidewalk.
They got out a few blocks from their destination, when the rickshaw stopped where traffic had coagulated into a dense clot as a symphony of horns blared
impotently into the hot afternoon sky. Drake passed the driver a handful of bills, and the man gave him a toothless grin.
When they arrived at the address, they found themselves staring at the window of a small shop with a steel grid padlocked in place to protect its grimy picture window. They both stared at the iconic lettering across the top of the glass, with a hand-painted rendering of an exaggeratedly Indian-looking man wearing a distinctive explorer’s hat and cracking a whip. Allie turned to Drake, open-mouthed.
“Indiana Singh? This just went from tragedy to farce,” she said.
“Looks like a tour company. See? Adventure tours.” He gave her a small smile. “You have to admit, it’s a catchy name.”
“Carson bet the bank on a bad cartoon version of a movie? Maybe he was out of his mind…”
“I wonder what an adventure tour is here. I’m almost afraid to ask,” Drake said, moving closer to the shadowed entrance and looking through the window. “There are some brochures sitting out. The top one has a guy holding a cobra. I’d be out right there.”
“Looks closed.”
“He didn’t answer his phone, and his shop’s shut in the middle of the day. How do you spell flake?”
“Maybe he’s on a tour.”
“Yeah. Maybe.”
They were interrupted by a tall Caucasian man with receding gray hair, black slacks, and an immaculate loose white shirt. “Oh, that’s a bad break. Bugger’s not here, is he?” the man said, in a pronounced British accent.
“Looks like he hasn’t been for a few days,” Allie said, gesturing at mail scattered on the floor inside.
“Yes, evidently,” the man said, offering his hand. “Oliver Helms. And you are…?”
“Oh, we were interested in a tour,” Drake improvised as Allie shook hands with the Englishman. “I’m Drake. This is Allie.”
“Charmed. Well, it seems you’re out of luck today.” Helms’s brow beetled. “Not much to be done about it, is there? He does this every now and then.”
“You know him, obviously,” Allie said.
“Yes. We’re…colleagues, of a sort. I operate a tour company as well – for my sins – along with many other endeavors.”
“Same sort of tours?” Drake asked, pretending interest.
“Actually, mine are a tad more upmarket. Nothing like as lurid. Our good Mr. Singh leans more to the slumdog side of the fence, if you follow my meaning.”
“They tour the slums here?” Allie said, surprised.
“Indeed they do. Tawdry though it may seem, they have a certain fascinating quality for a particular type of client. At least, that’s what I’m led to believe – though I have no interest in seeing any more abject poverty than I already do on a daily basis.” Helms paused and considered the sky. “Bloody mare of a day again, isn’t it? Always is during the sticky season. Expect I should have become acclimatized by now, but one never really does.”
“You live here, I take it?” Allie asked.
“Since the dawn of time, or thereabouts. Actually, more like thirty years, if one cares to keep tally. I’ve yet to go completely native, though, which is why I’m open for business while our friend Mr. Singh is nowhere to be seen.”
“Do you have any way of getting in touch with him?”
“You’re looking at it. He rarely answers a call. Bloody mystery how he stays in business, yet he does, so what would I know…” Helms gave them a fatigued grin. “I suppose I’ll have to trawl around his itinerary of seedy haunts to track him down. You can give me your phone number if you like, and I’ll see to it that he calls you, if and when he’s sober. How long are you in town for?”
“A few more days,” Drake said as Allie scribbled their new cell phone number on a slip of paper from her purse.
“We really appreciate it,” she said, handing him the number. “Tell him that we’d like to speak with him as soon as possible.”
“Will do. Well, there’s not a lot of use in hanging about here. You watch yourselves, now – some of these areas can cut up a little rough without warning.”
“We’ve noticed,” Drake said.
“Yes,” Allie said. “Thanks again.”
They watched as the gangly Englishman sauntered away and, when he’d rounded the corner, returned to peering through the window. “Maybe he’ll find Singh,” Allie said.
“Can’t hurt to have more lines in the water.”
“Any point staying here?”
“None that I can see. Let’s get a ride and head over to the university. Hopefully the professor is there.”
“We can try calling his office.”
“I’d rather not give him a chance to brush us off. Harder to do in person, and I want to watch his face when we ask about Carson.”
She nodded. “Now who’s being paranoid?”
“Not at all. But we have no idea who the good guys are in this, so the safe position is to assume everyone’s bad until proven otherwise.”
They walked to the curb and waited as vehicle after vehicle rolled by, all jammed with humanity, lunch hour now in full swing. Even the bicycle rickshaws were occupied, their pilots thin as rails, the muscles of their legs like steel cables beneath tobacco skin, shirts soaked through with sweat.
Eventually they attracted the attention of a taxi, which pulled to the curb amid frenzied honks, and they climbed inside, relieved to be on their way. Allie gave the driver the address of the university and he nodded silently before sticking his arm out to signal his intention to merge into the tide of vehicles. Drake eyed the numerous photographs of a woman, children, what were probably grandparents, and great-grandparents, and then leaned back and closed his eyes, the day and the exhaust fumes wearing at him.
Neither he nor Allie saw the brown Nissan sedan take up position four cars behind them, Helms’s distinctive profile masked by a beige straw fedora and dark glasses.
Chapter 23
The University of Delhi South Campus covered sixty-nine acres of lush expanse adjacent to Jheel Park, five miles from the airport, whose regular flights thundered overhead with the regularity of a metronome. The grounds were crawling with students when the rickshaw deposited Drake and Allie at the main entrance police outpost, and after asking for directions to the administration building, they set off. Plentiful mature trees provided much-appreciated shade along the pedestrian lanes.
“So many people,” Allie observed as they walked. “Hard to grasp the size of the population if you haven’t been here. I mean, a billion’s just a number, you know? Until you see it…”
“Over three times the population of the U.S., the majority living a sustenance existence.” Allie glanced at him, and he shrugged. “I read it in the in-flight magazine.”
Their destination was a multistory edifice with an imposing façade near the center of the grounds. They entered the lobby and approached an information desk and asked where the linguistics department was located. The clerk told them that it had been recently moved to the fourth floor, and gave them an involved description of how to find it in the labyrinthine building.
They climbed the wide stairway and followed the clerk’s directions until they arrived at a foyer, where a stern woman in a blue collegiate uniform sat behind a counter.
“We’re looking for Dr. Rakesh Sharma,” Allie explained, Drake standing silently behind her.
The woman looked them over and didn’t like what she saw, judging by her expression. “Yes? May I ask why?”
“We need to consult with him on a matter of professional interest,” Allie said, hoping the declaration would suffice.
“Really. And what might that be?”
“It’s confidential.”
“Hmm, I see, a confidential consultation on a matter of professional interest,” the woman declared, her tone saying she didn’t buy a word of it. “And whom do I have the pleasure of speaking with?”
“My name’s Allie Brody. I’m an archeologist from the United States
,” she said with as much self-importance as she could muster. The woman’s no-nonsense expression didn’t change.
“Is Professor Sharma expecting you?”
A reasonable question, and one that caused Drake’s stomach to somersault as he watched the exchange.
“Not specifically,” Allie said. “But I’m sure he’ll want to–”
A male voice interrupted her from behind them. “I couldn’t help but overhear, Sahima. These young people are looking for me?”
Drake and Allie spun to find an Indian man in a beige lightweight suit, with a pale blue shirt and a yellow bow tie, smiling at them. He was in his fifties and as tall as Drake, his eyes quick with intelligence and good humor. Allie stepped forward with her hand extended, but froze when she saw the prosthetic device where his fingers should have been.
“Oh, yes, Professor, but they don’t have an appointment…” the woman announced.
“Well, I’m not so busy that I can’t spare a moment for someone who’s traveled all the way from America just to see me, am I?” Sharma motioned to them. “I was just taking a break between classes. Let’s talk on the way to my office. I’m afraid I haven’t got much time.”
Allie made her pitch as they tailed the professor down the hall. “We’re colleagues of Elliott Carson,” she began.
He slowed. “Oh, yes. Nice chap.”
“Then you remember him?”
“Of course. How could I not?”
“We have a photograph of a relic that we could use some help translating…” Allie said as they entered the professor’s office. A young woman with round steel spectacles looked up at them from a desk in the corner, piled high with texts, an ancient PC monitor occupying one side.
“Professor! I have your messages,” she said, waving several yellow slips at him.
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