by Ronie Kendig
She was stranded. Without her visa. Without money. Even with a Consulate here—it was the weekend. And she was more than forty minutes away by car—a car she didn’t have. Which meant at least two hours on foot. Besides, she couldn’t trust anyone here. Whatever had happened on the water, someone wanted it kept quiet. Deadly quiet.
Behind her, she heard rhythmic clopping. Two sets of feet. One a bit heavier than the other. She hurried toward the emergency room corridor.
The pursuers quickened their pace.
Shiloh slipped through a door and burst right. A team of doctors stood nearby. She darted toward them. “Excuse me? Is there any news on the shooting patient?”
A female, her gaze roaming over Shiloh, broke away from the group. “You are relative?” With an easy smile, the woman wrapped an arm around Shiloh and led her to the side, out of sight of the two pursuers.
Shiloh tucked her hair behind her ear. “A friend. I came in with him.”
“Ah.” The woman's smile flattened. “He in surgery. That all I can say.”
In surgery meant still alive. “Dhanyavaad.” With her thanks, Shiloh moved back.
Light shattered the dull illumination as the back doors swung open. The ambulatory team entered, and with them, Dr. Kuntz.
At the sight of the professor the tension drained from Shiloh's body. Her muscles ached.
His thick brow drew together. “You look dreadful. Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.” She directed his attention down the narrow hall. “They won’t tell me anything about Khalid except that he's in surgery.”
“Well, we shall see about that.” Dr. Kuntz pulled his shoulders straight and stomped toward the doctors.
In the glass of the surgical theater doors, Shiloh caught the reflections of the two police officers standing behind her. Then she focused her thoughts on the long hall just beyond the surgery doors where several bays appeared to jut off. Somewhere down that stretch of glaring white sterility Khalid clung to life. He had to live. Had to.
Mikhail had been murdered. The somber thought tightened her chest. Would he have lived if she had tried to save him too? Had she played favorites in saving one and not the other? No—Mikhail was dead when he hit the water.
And what of Edie? How convenient the Brit had left only minutes before the attack. Coincidence? Shiloh gave herself a mental shake. Of course it was. The petite, five-foot-two girl didn’t have a mean cell in her body. Her claws only came out when she spotted a good-looking guy and tried to sink those sharp hooks into him.
Dr. Kuntz returned with a long sigh. “He's touch-and-go, but he is fighting.” His gentle tone did nothing to ease the brutal words. “I’ll call his family.”
“No.” Shiloh caught his arm. “I’ll call. He was my friend—I know his parents.”
“Are you sure?” Even when she nodded, Dr. Kuntz hesitated, but then deferred and handed her his cell. “Very well. Once you’re done, I can take you back to the hotel, and you can rest. You saved his life, you know.”
“He isn’t out of the water yet.” She wanted to slap herself for the insensitive, unintentional pun. “I’m going to step outside to make the call.”
Again, clicking shoes followed her down the hall. She stopped just outside the door and hoped her close proximity to help would keep them at bay. It did. Humidity blanketed her as she scrolled through Dr. Kuntz's contacts to locate the number for Khalid's family.
Her heart sank. How could she tell his parents that he might not make it? They had readily welcomed her and treated her as one of their own. Even his mother had embraced Shiloh with her very large heart. Of course, the vast difference in their beliefs remained a wedge in the family. His parents refused to talk about his newfound Christian faith.
The connection went through. A woman answered.
“Nisa? This is Shiloh …”
“Ah, beautiful Shiloh. How is it with you? You are well?”
“Yes—no.” She swallowed the conch-sized lump in her throat. “I have bad news. There was an … attack.” In the minutes it took to explain the situation and comfort Khalid's mother, Shiloh struggled with her own raw emotions. After promising to remain by his side for as long as she could, Shiloh clicked off .
A dull ache pulsed at the center of her forehead. Kneading the spot with two fingers, Shiloh closed her eyes. Was this really happening? Although her life had never been quite in sync, it seemed wildly insane at the moment. What would happen to Khalid?
She heaved a sigh and opened her eyes—and sucked in a harsh breath.
A man in tan pants and tunic half-bowed before her. “You are American woman from boat? Yes?”
Shiloh stiffened. How could he possibly know that?
“A man, he ask me give this you. You lost it.” He held out his hand.
The lamp. The one she’d retrieved from the site just before the attack—the one she’d passed to Khalid—sat in the man's palm.
She stared at the artifact, unable to move.
“It is yours, yes?” His hand bounced closer.
She blinked as she lifted the piece. “Yes. Dhanyavaad.” The man shuffled away even as she offered her thanks. Her gaze skated around the parking lot, searching for whoever had sent him. Who could have retrieved the artifact from the rig … from Khalid? Only someone involved in the murders.
A sickening weight pressed against her stomach. They knew where she was. They knew she was an American.
Yet here she stood out in the open with nothing to protect her. The realization sent her sailing back into the air-conditioned hall. She quickly spotted Dr. Kuntz talking with the two officers.
Stuffing the small lamp into the pocket of her scrub tunic, she walked toward the professor. She could only pray Dr. Kuntz hadn’t given them her entire life's story. He was too trusting. Far too trusting. Urgency leapt within her to get the professor away from these men. Steadying her heart, she straightened her shoulders.
“… at the Mumbai Palace.” Dr. Kuntz shook Kodiyeri's hand.
She could strangle the professor for telling these imposters what hotel the team was using. Dr. Kuntz's thick, dark brow furrowed against the white wisps of hair that hung over his forehead. “Shiloh, is everything okay?”
“Fine.” She cast her gaze to the police. “If you’re through …”
Kodiyeri nodded. “For now.”
Without another word, Shiloh stepped away with Dr. Kuntz but kept her eyes on the men hovering in the background like a bad storm.
“How did Khalid's parents take the news?”
“Not well.” She handed over the phone. It took a concerted effort to concentrate on relaying the phone call to Dr. Kuntz. Between the imposters in the corner and the lamp in her pocket, she felt dizzy. “Khalid's father is going to come. His mother is shaken up. They don’t have—”
The weight of a large man knocked Shiloh off step as he swept past them. Head down, he mumbled, “Kshama keejeeae.”
Despite his excusing himself to pass by, she glared after him. He had half the hall and—
Familiarity dashed through her. Her mind spun. Those broad shoulders. She strained to see if he had a scraggly—beard !
“Shiloh?” Dr Kuntz caught her arm as he looked after the stranger. “What's wrong?”
The man, at least from the back, looked like the one from the Coast Guard boat. But it couldn’t be.
“Nothing.” Pulling her eyes back to her professor, she fixed a smile on her face. “I’m good, just a bit tired.” Again she searched for the big guy. Was it really him? Was she being followed?
Get out. Get out now. She bit back the warning that seared her mind. Be calm, be reasonable. Her father had taught her those life-saving skills. At least she could be grateful for that despite her deep-seated resentment of him. Ten again, those skills had her standing here making spook and ghoul out of every person who crossed her path.
Concern wrinkled Dr. Kuntz's face. “I think I should take you back to the hotel.”
“N
-no.” The hotel, where their names could be accessed by anyone searching the hotel registry, was the last place she’d go. Shiloh calmed her voice. “I’m going to stay here with Khalid. Hopefully, they’ll let me see him once he's out of surgery.” The opportunity to get the professor to safety presented itself. Shiloh patted his arm. “Why don’t you go to the embassy? Tell them about the attack and work out arrangements to fly Mikhail's body back to the States. See if you can find Edie.”
“Oh yes. I wonder where she is now.” Dr. Kuntz wiped his brow with a handkerchief. “I can’t believe Mikhail's dead. That wasn’t—what infidel would do such a thing? Incomprehensible!”
“I know. There's probably a lot of legal red tape to work through.” Shiloh urged him toward the exit. “You could get a head start. Maybe even arrange for the team to head home early.” Did he hear the quiver in her voice?
She breathed easier once he was gone. At least with him heading away from here, he was out of danger. Hopefully. But then … her pulse raced in protest. Once again, she’d be alone. What if the two police officers made their move now?
Olive suits rounded the corner, looking in the other direction.
Shiloh dove into a darkened room. Click. The handle caught just as harried voices dashed past her in the hall.
“Where is she? The woman?”
“Maaf kijiye,” a man mumbled his apology. “I didn’t see.”
She gripped her temples. None of this made sense. Why were they targeting her? Surely those men were only posing as officers. Or they’d have known their own names and worn clothes that actually fit.
Safety, like the ebbing tide, seemed out of reach. The embassy was too far away. Her only ride had just left. If she ventured onto the streets of Mumbai, she’d be noticed right away with her fair skin and auburn hair. Obviously, a foreigner. No money. Dressed in hospital scrubs.
“Did you find her?” the Marathi words grew frantic.
The noisy rumble of a gurney and medical staff rushing through the corridor drowned out the voices. Shiloh craned her neck to the side and peered through the small, square window. The hall looked empty. But looks were often deceptive, especially since she could only see a few feet in either direction.
Tick. Tick. Tick. The noise drew her attention to a wall clock. She’d wait ten minutes and try to slip out unnoticed. Until then she needed a better hiding spot.
Lockers lined both walls and split the room in two. Chairs huddled around a table in the far corner. A white lab jacket hung on a hook by the door. To her right, a bed lay cordoned off by a ceiling curtain. Shiloh hurried to a locker. She chose number 24—her age—and opened it, stuffing the dive suit inside. After spotting a paper clip, she picked a lock on one door and used it to secure “her” locker.
“Check every room. We must find her.”
Shiloh spun and searched for an exit. Her gaze fastened on the window at the far side of the room. She ran back to the door and peered through the portal. Her pulse spiked as a man and woman strode toward the seemingly thin barrier. She turned and darted to the windows. Hands on the sill, she paused. What if she was overreacting?
Your mind registers an inconsistency, an incongruence. Go with it, Shi. Always go with it. Had her father's espionage tactics made her paranoid?
No, she wasn’t overreacting. Two of her friends had been shot. One dead. The other—
Her heart skidded into her ribs. She had told Khalid's father she’d wait here until his arrival. But if she stayed, she might end up as dead as Mikhail. Could she leave Khalid here, alone? What if the killers came back to finish him off ?
And what would you do, genius?
Shiloh reached for the latch.
Forgive me, Khalid.
“We’ve got complications,” Reece said into his secure phone as he sat in his Jeep.
“You always do.”
He ground his teeth. “A group of college kids got messed up in the drop site. Americans. Three dead. A student and two locals—the boat captain and his son. One student injured and in the hospital.”
“What part of clandestine don’t you get, Jaxon?”
“Do you want this information or not?” Reece growled. His eyes darted to the hospital at the far end of the parking lot. “There are three stragglers: Professor Daniel Kuntz, Edie Valliant, and Shiloh Blake. I think the others are in shock, but this Blake girl, she—”
A gasp burst over the line. “What did you say?”
Reece stilled.
“What was that name?” Nielsen prompted. “Reece? Are you there?”
Since when did Nielsen get excited?
“Reece?”
“Go ahead.”
“Give me those names again.”
What was going on? He’d submitted the data on the American college students last week. Nothing flagged. “Daniel Kuntz, Edie Valliant, and Shiloh Blake.”
A curse hissed into his ear. The director's voice muffled, and then Reece heard a loud bang like a door being slammed. “Okay, listen …”
The ensuing static grated on Reece's unsettled nerves.
“This Blake girl, you’ve got to stay with her. I mean it.”
Staring through the windshield, Reece squinted up at the hospital. Shiloh had snagged his attention from the start. If any of the dive team knew anything about the dead drop, it would be her. She was smart … alert … fearless.
Was she the contact he’d been trying to nail for the last six months? Is that why Nielsen wanted her tagged? That was insane. No young, attractive American woman like her would betray her own country and risk her life for a nuclear compromise. She didn’t have the earmarks.
“Can you get a biometric to confirm her identity?”
Glancing at his multi-purpose watch, Reece transmitted the data. “On its way.”
“Okay, um … listen.” That was the second time Nielsen had used the word “listen.” But again, only quiet pervaded the line.
Reece hitched an eyebrow. “I’m baking out here. If you have something to say, spit it out.”
“I can’t. Not yet. Just don’t let her out of your sight. Consider her your new target and don’t show your hand. Got it?”
“Whoa, wait. No way.” Reece straightened. “I’ve got bigger fish to fry, remember? A dead drop that could unseat international peace relations between a half-dozen countries. Several suspicious money transactions. Evidence that someone is transporting missile material and technology out of here. I’m not about to spend my time tracking some preppie around Mumbai.”
“You will if you want to keep your job.”
Reece clenched his eyes and bit back a retort to tell his supervisor where exactly he could stick this job.
“I want to know anyone she comes into contact with. Locals, good guys, bad guys. Everyone. Got it?”
How had his day gone from intriguing to fire-and-brimstone torture? “Fine. Start with the two men posing as Maharashtra police and tailing her. Also, a floater who delivered an artifact to the target.”
Another curse stabbed the line. “Intervene only if necessary. If anything happens to this girl—if she's who I think she is and she gets hurt? You can kiss your sorry job good-bye. We don’t need another disaster like the Taj. Capiche?”
Reece hung up and threw the phone onto the passenger seat, staring at the device as if it had somehow infected Nielsen with stupidity. Why did he have to bring up the Taj?
He snatched the scanner and waited for Shiloh's signal to register. If he guessed right … He glanced up at Noor Hospital, ignoring the traffic that buzzed along Mohammed Ali Road. With his thermal imaging binoculars, he scanned the building. There! Alone in a room, her signatures raised and red.
The colorful silhouette showed her at a window, but casting a glance over her shoulder, staring at a door. On the other side, three signatures. Two males and a female.
“Follow your instincts, girl.” Whoever she was, she had better gut-level reactions than most trainees he’d drilled. Better than Chloe.
Her image turned back to the door.
“No. Get out of there.” His muscles constricted under tension for the first time in years. He lowered the binoculars and slumped against his seat. He couldn’t have read her wrong. She's a smart girl—why would she go back? Maybe he should take the initiative.
Intervene only if necessary.
“Life in danger” definitely qualified. He reached for the door handle.
3
SHILOH'S FEET HIT THE SOFT GREEN GRASS. SHE SPRINTED TOWARD A line of Neem trees that acted as sentries guarding the hospital from the street. When she slipped between two of them to catch her breath, the pinnate leaves tickled her cheek. She shrugged the branches aside and scanned the area. No movement in the sparsely populated parking lot except a man folding himself into his car. Pale blue scrubs probably served as a homing beacon against the dark bark. She’d need to remedy that.
Am I losing it? Playing spy girl in the middle of India. Hiding in the hospital. Climbing out a window. Leaving Khalid.
“I’ll be back,” she whispered and stepped from beneath the teasing foliage.
“Rukho!”
The shout to stop made her plow through the parking lot. Never look back, her father had always said. Run until you can’t run, then run some more.
Rocks dug through the thin material of the hospital shoes. Pain shot into her foot. Heedless of the sensation, she wove around cars and headed for the street. Get lost, find a way to scrounge some money, then …
Then what? Shiloh blanched. She had no clue what to do, where to go, who to talk to. Could she hoof it to the American Consulate? Impossible—a two-hour trip by car, which she didn’t have.
Sirens screamed behind her. They were closer than she thought. She pushed harder.
Cars zipped past. Honking and shouting assailed her. The piercing noises propelled her down busy streets. If she could reach Yusef Meherali Road, she could lose the tail, possibly even herself, in the insanity of the markets. She was too far to make it to Crawford Market, but the smaller ones would work. The thought spurred her on.