Dead Reckoning

by Ronie Kendig

  Hunger. She sighed. That was the least of her worries.

  She’d always had strong instincts that kept her edgy … competitive … at the top of the academic food chain. In fact, she often ended up being the butt of jokes. Some at UCSD had given her character nicknames. There was a reason they were graphic novel superheroes—they weren’t real.

  Today reality smacked hard, and those graphic novels sprang to life. At the hospital the inconsistencies about those two men screamed, imposters! She’d followed her gut instinct then, and they’d pursued her through the city.

  Her mind snapped to Brownbeard. With those muscles and his uncanny ability to appear out of nowhere, he could’ve easily overtaken her, but he hadn’t. As a matter of fact, now that she thought about it, he seemed more intent on following her. The thought forced her to scan the beach for him, and she felt relieved when she didn’t spot his large frame. Was he expecting her to lead him to something? Perhaps the same thing as the other two?

  From her pocket, she slid out the object that Dr. Kuntz had given her just before he died. She sighed. What was it? A coin? An electronic device? She’d considered washing it, but what if it had some kind of sensitive circuitry? Water could destroy it. Then again, the blood probably had done that. Still, she didn’t want to risk damaging the piece any further. Somehow, it was a part of what happened today.

  Wait a minute. Where was the lamp, the piece she lifted from the sea bottom this morning? She searched her other pocket. Empty. Had she left it in the scrubs with the choli vendor? She cocked her head to the side and realized when she removed the tunic, the lamp hadn’t been there. Had she lost it while running between the hospital and the shop?

  Dusk settled quickly on the beach. Shadows skittered here and there like spirits in a ceremonial dance. Shiloh shook her head. Soon the last of the families would be gone, and she could attempt to clean up in the rank bathroom and maybe even lap water from the faucet. Disgusting, but her burning lips demanded hydration.

  But then what? There had to be something she could do, someone she could contact. Yet, as she ran through a mental checklist, she came up blank.

  “Oh, Khalid,” she whispered, rocking herself in the sand. “What happened? I wish you were here.” A knot welled in her throat. Eyes on the stars glinting against the black, she whispered, “Please don’t die. I need you.”

  Drained, she stared at the swollen waves that tumbled onto the sandy beach. A pulsing headache throbbed through her skull and pulled at the back of her corneas.

  Less than a dozen feet away, masked in the dusky light, a father shouted to his children squishing the remnants of a sandcastle. Still laughing from their play, they picked up their things. The deep-throated sound of a nearby motorcycle coated the air as the family strolled out of sight, heading for the parking lot behind her.

  One down, one to go. Shiloh closed her eyes, waiting to hear the purr of their vehicle. Almost in sync with the starting engine, the other family that had lingered on this sandy stretch of beach headed for the parking lot.

  Sand crunched and rocks popped against the undercarriage of their car as they drove away. Finally, she was alone. Dusting off her legs and backside, she plodded toward the bathroom. She weaved a little, her coordination partially thrown off in the fight for her life, but also caused by stiffness left over from her seizure at the marketplace.

  Swarms of thick, foul odors assaulted her as she stepped into the bathroom and switched on the one dangling lightbulb. Though she tried not to take in the smell, she couldn’t avoid it. She coughed and rushed into the first stall. After relieving herself she stood before the badly scratched and dulled mirror, water trickling over her hands. A smile threatened her dour mood at the sight of the pink and white bindi adorning the middle of her forehead and settling between her eyes. Absently, she traced a finger over the crystal pieces, surprised at the way they felt. Cold. Lifeless. Why did everything remind her of death?

  She tossed off the thoughts and washed her hands. After noticing the rusty hue of the water, she opted against sipping it. She would need to find another source of hydration. She could sleep tucked between the retaining wall and rocky beach. Hopefully, the police wouldn’t notice her.

  Warm sand squished between her toes and welcomed her into the quiet air and chilly breezes. Once again, she pulled the sari around her shoulders, quickly surveyed the beach, and started back to her hiding place.

  With her options limited, she had to find a way to get information on Khalid's condition. Since certain fake cops scouted the hospital and the hostel, she’d have to sneak in through the back tomorrow. If she needed to stay with Khalid until his father arrived in a couple of days, she would find a way. Somehow, she would.

  A dolphin lurched out of the water less than twenty meters from shore, arched, and then dove back in. Shiloh walked to the edge of the rippling liquid and slipped off her shoes, letting the cool seawater tease the tips of her toes. She drew in a deep breath and slowly let it out.

  God … The prayer lodged in her throat. Would He care about Khalid, about this insanity gripping her life? Surely He would. Khalid was a Christian. Granted, a new Christian, but he believed in Christ, the Messiah.

  Yeshua. She could hear him speaking the name he preferred to the Anglicized “Jesus,” saying it gave him peace. And she had to admit that peace rose in her even now. She ached for the soft whisper of Khalid's voice. To hear him lecture her about her relationship with God—or lack thereof. Guilt hung around her heart. She had always rebuffed Khalid. He couldn’t understand. Her life had been marred by cruel and unusual punishment—punishment for her parents’ mistakes. She wasn’t the average American college girl, even though that's what she’d longed for with all that was Shiloh Blake.

  She pivoted and started back to the rocky outcropping. As she neared, her heart skipped a beat. Then another.

  My pack! The bag sat on the ledge with a bottle of water.

  Stopping cold, she attuned her senses to the surroundings. Shadows flickered across the sandy terrain. Shiloh pushed forward cautiously. Suddenly, the lapping ocean sounded deafening, drowning out everything but itself. Nothing seemed out of place … except for the unexplained appearance of her backpack.

  Her mind worked the labyrinth of details. One family had left. A motorcycle went by. Another family left. Even in the bathroom, she’d not heard anything or anyone approach.

  She scanned the beach as she closed the last few feet between her and the pack. Was it really hers? Black and tan with a star-fish keychain her mother had given her hanging from the zipper tab. Definitely hers. From her hotel.

  Somebody had brought the pack and water. Somebody aware not only of her location and needs but of her identity. Her stomach plummeted.

  There! To her immediate right. Metal or glass glinted.

  As she stood in front of her pack, she let her hands wrap around the strap and then hoisted it up, testing the weight. The nylon bottom bulged outward. Hopefully, it would be enough if she needed it as a weapon. She shifted one foot back to brace herself against an attack.

  “Planning to use that on me?” Amusement radiated through a man's tone.

  Shiloh shrank from the deep voice. No, don’t pull away.

  It took several seconds for her eyes to adjust, to spot him. In shock, she saw that he sat right in front of her on the rocks. Dressed head-to-toe in black, he had been camouflaged directly under her nose. Shoulders broad, neck thick … the guy was nobody to mess with. Brownbeard.

  Would he toy with her first, then torture, rape, and kill her? Leave her body for the sand spiders and vultures?

  “Who are you?” She lifted the pack and held it close. It weighed at least twenty pounds. Had he packed all of her belongings?

  “Sit down. Let's talk.”

  The undulating sea sparkled under the caress of the moon, forming a silhouette of her figure. Nice. He’d never paid attention before. He wished he hadn’t now.

  “I don’t think so.” She dr
ew herself straight, moving the bag away from him.

  Her defensive posture didn’t worry Reece. He’d have been disappointed if she wasn’t ready to fight. “You’re alone. Your sponsor and a colleague are dead—murdered.”

  “So you speak Marathi and listen to police scanners. Should I be impressed?”

  “As of an hour ago, Khalid was still alive.” He tossed the bait and waited.

  Gradually, her shoulders lowered as she set the bag back on the rock. “What do you want?”

  “To talk.”

  “Alone, in the dark, on a deserted beach?” Sarcasm coated her words, but he heard the uncertainty there too.

  “I had to be sure of a few things.” He nudged the bottled water toward her with his booted foot. “It's spring water. Untampered.”

  “Says you.”

  The corners of his lips quirked, but he stopped the smile. “You’re dehydrated and weak.”

  “Says you.”

  “You’re wasting time, Shiloh.”

  She drew in a quick breath.

  Reece scooted to the edge of the rock and rested his elbows on his knees. “A lot happened today.” He looked to the sea. “I imagine you want some answers.”

  “And you have them?”

  “Some.” Tempted to stand, he opted to give her the appearance of control and remained seated. He lifted the water, took a sip, and handed it to her. “If you want to live to see your boyfriend, you might want to start with this.”

  She snatched it from his hand, glaring down her straight nose at him. “You know a lot about me. I’m at a disadvantage.”

  Nice try. He wouldn’t let her drag information out of him.

  The wind kicked up, tossing long strands of hair off her shoulders. She lifted her jaw as she pushed her gaze to the street. “How do you know who I am?”

  “That's not important. That you have a powerful terrorist organization after you is. As you witnessed today, they aren’t afraid to kill.”

  With a sidelong glance, she twisted the lid off the water. “That was you on the Indian Coast Guard boat. The hospital. Then on Market Lane.”

  He shrugged his acknowledgement and held out the small artifact he’d lifted from her pocket in the sterile environment.

  She took the piece without a word and stuffed it into her pack. Cool as a cucumber. All the same, he had seen the wariness and surprise in her eyes moments ago. He had taken her by surprise. Now with the lamp, he had her undivided attention. An ounce of disappointment clung to him at how easily she’d been ensnared by his advantage. Then again, she wasn’t trained to hide what piqued her curiosity. But it wouldn’t take much to make her a top-notch agent.

  Reece controlled his thoughts. That wasn’t why he had intentionally crossed their paths. Her safety was.

  “You shaved,” she said.

  “You changed clothes.”

  “I thought it was fitting.”

  “And smart.”

  This time she turned her head. “My father taught me not to talk to strangers.” She dumped the water out in front of him, tugged up the pack, and started toward the street.

  “He taught you more than that.”

  She flinched but kept walking.

  Reece shoved to his feet. “Where are you going, Shiloh? Too many people are scouring the city for you.”

  “They won’t find me.”

  “I found you.”

  She stopped, her head tilted back as she stared at the sky. “I suppose you put a tracking device on me or something.” Slowly, she turned toward him, her face bathed in the pale blue of moon glow. The eerie hue made her appear vulnerable.

  He shoved a hand into his jacket pocket and withdrew a phone. With a flick of his wrist, he tossed it to her. “When you’re ready to talk, use that.”

  Defiance hardened her face. “Do you really think I’d want anything to do with you? It's not like you’ve helped …” Her words faded. Her eyes dropped.

  No, keep your head up. Always keep your head up. Reece bit his tongue. He couldn’t guide her, although her skills outshone most he’d trained. “I’ve put a lakh of rupees in your pack. Find a hotel and food for the night, then call me.”

  Shiloh studied the phone. Finally, she glanced back at him. “What makes you think I will?”

  “A guy can hope.”

  She bounced the phone in her hand.

  By the look on her face, the questions screaming through her mind begged to be released. Who was he? Why was he helping her? Why had he intervened earlier? Could she trust him? Without those answers, she didn’t have control. And it would eat at her until morning. He bent and lifted his helmet then strutted down the beach away from Shiloh.

  Noon. At the latest.

  If she can wait that long to call, I’ll give her my bike.

  6

  A BOMB? SHILOH STARED AT THE PHONE SITTING ON THE CHARPOY. HAD he rigged the thing to blow when she used it? No, if that man wanted to kill her, he’d make sure they were face-to-face. Still, better safe than sorry. She slowly slid off the back cover and removed the battery. Everything looked normal. As normal, she supposed, as the circuitry of a cell phone could look.

  What did she know about defusing a bomb? Had there really been one, she probably would’ve been splattered on the walls by now. Brownbeard had helped her with the …

  Shiloh gripped her stomach. You have a terrorist organization after you, he had said. What on earth did terrorists want with her? With the archeological dig? The cylinder flashed into her mind. She frowned. What was that thing? Is that what they were after?

  Battery replaced, she dialed the number of the American consulate. She’d memorized it before she ever stepped on the jetliner. The lights on the pad blinked and then flicked off .

  She frowned. The thing had completely powered down. Shiloh turned it on, pressed the buttons, and waited as the keypad once again glowed blue. With a huff , she punched in the numbers again. It died again.

  Mashing the keys, she powered it back on. This time she scrolled to the programmed numbers and groaned. Only one number was in the registry. The name simply read: Me.

  Shiloh tossed the phone onto the charpoy and slumped against the thin mattress. With the toe of one shoe, she pried off the other and rubbed her feet on the dusty, frayed rug. A lone light hung from the middle of the ceiling, casting odd shadows along the walls. She grabbed her pack by the bottom, upended it, and stared at the contents splayed across the thin blanket.

  Jeans, T-shirts, tanks, boots … Heat fanned her cheeks. Underwear. Bras.

  Indignation welled within her. How dare he? The thought of anyone going through her unmentionables nauseated her, but to think of that oversized … She lifted the sock stuffed with money. It had paid for the room.

  A lakh of rupees—two thousand American dollars. Did he realize how far she could get on that?

  She sighed. Yes, he knew exactly how far—a hotel room, food, supplies, and a visit to the hospital. She couldn’t— wouldn’t—leave while Khalid lay injured. Did the big guy realize that? Somehow he knew she had a special connection to Khalid.

  Who was the brute? What did he want?

  To talk.

  “Not in this lifetime.” A quick glance at the clock sent her scurrying. If she wanted to see Khalid, she needed to get moving. She shoved her clothes and belongings into the backpack and carted it to the small bathroom. With fewer guards and staff on duty, darkness also would aid her in sneaking into the hospital unnoticed.

  She turned on the shower, and a tiny stream of warm water trickled out. Her muscles ached for a hot, pelting spray, one that kneaded the kinks and knots from her shoulders and neck. At least she could wash her hair and slip into clean clothes. After she snuck in to see Khalid, she might manage to come back here for a couple hours of sleep.

  Her mind drifted back to the man with the brown beard. She guessed since he shaved, she’d have to find a new name for him. Brutus. If she encountered him again, it would be one lifetime too soon.

/>   Yet she could feel herself crumbling, piece-by-piece. Life had spun out of control. Fear tracked her through the desert of isolation like a starving lion. Her shoulders sagged. She felt vulnerable, and she didn’t like it. Shivering, she clenched her fists.

  Enough. Get dressed. Find Khalid.

  Shrugging into her black T-shirt, she rehearsed what she remembered of the hospital. Double front doors with Noor labels. Yellow-hued vinyl, highly polished. Slick. Forty feet to the information desk. Surgery to the right. Waiting area immediately to the left of the entrance. Side exit. She’d have to use that. No doubt Kodiyeri would be watching for her. Was there a back entrance? She had to find a way in that wouldn’t arouse attention or suspicion.

  Shirt tucked into her jeans, she bent to retrieve her boots. Silently, she thanked Brutus—she couldn’t live without her Columbias. They supported her ankles, which were throbbing from all the trotting around town avoiding terrorists. The word still sat bitter on her tongue. Brutus had to be wrong. He wanted to frighten her, knock her off balance. She gritted her teeth as she secured her hair in a French twist.

  Well, she had a lakh of rupees. In the morning, when life in the city rose to a boisterous level, she’d venture to Market Lane, buy back her bracelet, then head to Crawford Market and stock up.

  Keeping to the shadows and with her pack slung over her shoulder, Shiloh wound her way through town to the hospital. Alert for her pursuers, she pulled into hiding places when cars whizzed by and tucked her chin when strangers appeared on the sidewalks. Scattered and lonely cars sat in the parking lot as she cased the medical facility. Bright lights illuminated the emergency and front entrances. Her hand trailed over the wall as she crouched along the perimeter of the building. Finally, she spied a steel door at the back and watched for a few moments. No foot traffic. Confident the coast was clear, she hustled to the entrance.

  Suddenly, the door swung out and hit the wall with a bang. Shiloh pressed herself against the cement siding. Adrenaline exploded through every vein.