by Ronie Kendig
He slumped against the hull of his Ducati Monster, staring down the busy, jumbled chaos of the street. Maybe he was wrong. He double-checked the time. Maybe the watch was wrong. He tugged out his phone and scrolled the incoming calls.
Jaw out, he grunted. One-fifteen. Who would have guessed she’d hold out this long? Reece stared at the fiberglass body under him. His off -the-cuff bet with himself taunted him. I’ll give her my bike.
He palmed the black fairing of his bike. Get a grip. She didn’t even know about his private wager. No worries. The bike was still his.
When was the last time someone had outwitted him? The thought agitated, yet excited him. He admired the fact that she’d thought she could play his game. One thing was certain—he wouldn’t underestimate her again. After spotting her at that café—her ivory complexion a stark contrast against a tapestry of olive—he’d let her play cat and mouse with him.
His phone buzzed again. Was she that easy to play? One corner of his mouth curled, but his good mood fled at the ID. “Go ahead.”
“The meeting is set.”
He straddled the Monster and stuffed the key in the ignition. “When?”
“One hour.”
“One—” Reece stopped short. “Toby, that doesn’t give me time to prep your guy.”
“I know. I’m sorry. Abdul didn’t give me a choice. He's leaving the country tomorrow on a business trip.” Toby huffed. “I’m sending a car to your shack right now.”
Phone in his pocket, Reece tore through the city toward his house. Without time to rehearse their stories, there were so many things that could go wrong with this meeting. He wouldn’t have a chance to make sure the embassy grunt stuck to a script. One wrong word and the guy could put everyone's lives at risk. He revved the engine and eased back on the seat.
By the time the shiny black car slid to a stop along the curb, Reece had showered and changed into a slick Italian suit. He folded himself into the back passenger seat and shut the door. Attuned to the darkness, he resisted the urge to smile. “Couldn’t get one of your lackeys?”
Toby shifted. “Don’t give me any of your mouth. I knew you didn’t have time to prepare someone, so I came.”
“About time you got into the field.” Reece grinned and unbuttoned his jacket. He hated the way the heat turned the silk blend into a sauna suit. “I met with a friend. He has it on good authority that our Hindu deputy minister isn’t exactly loyal to his country.”
Toby shifted from the window. “What do you mean?”
“We need to buy some time. We’re just asking questions, performing a routine investigation into the deaths of the American college student and his professor.” Reece tugged at the noose around his neck.
“You’d better quit messing with your tie, or they’ll think you aren’t an embassy official.”
With a quirked eyebrow, Reece glanced at the man next to him. “But I am.”
“Yeah, whatever.”
Minutes later, they pulled up to the security checkpoint outside the walled, barbed-wired, sniper-protected government building. A team of guards allowed the car to enter but halted them just inside the compound. After the gate closed, the car was escorted to the porte cochere.
“Think they have enough snipers?” Toby asked.
“Keep it cool.” Reece stepped from the car and rebuttoned his jacket.
Two columns of armed soldiers protected the entrance to the building. Although Reece hung back to give the appearance that Toby was in charge, he memorized every detail. The mirrors behind the reception counter were new. Cameras? Security? As Toby gave the woman his card and waited for her to notify Abdul of their arrival, Reece eased away, studying the long corridor to the left.
Footsteps echoed from the other direction—two people in a hurry. Rubbing his jaw, Reece turned and drifted toward the paintings on the wall to get a look at the men, who hustled down the hall and disappeared around a corner.
“Ah, Mr. Roberts.”
Reece swung his attention to the minister as Toby and Abdul shook hands.
“Thank you for meeting with us so quickly,” Toby said. “This is my associate, Mr. Simon James.”
Reece nodded toward the much shorter Hindu. “Minister.”
“Mr. James.” Abdul gave a half bow. “If you’ll come this way, we can talk in private.”
Inside the office, Deputy Minister Abdul eased the door shut and pointed toward the chairs in front of a large desk. “Please, have a seat. Would you like a glass of water?”
“No, thank you.” Toby settled into a chair and looked a bit uncomfortable. “What we want will not take a lot of time, Minister.”
“Ah, right to business, is it? You Americans should relax.”
Lowering himself into the leather chair, Reece surreptitiously examined the office. A security camera lurked in the corner. The potted plant probably contained a hidden microphone. Or maybe it was in the desk lamp.
“I’m afraid a lot of time has already been wasted, Ali.” Toby swept his sandy-blonde hair from his forehead.
Seated behind his desk, Minister Abdul folded his hands over a pristine surface.
No clutter. No paperwork. Interesting for a man too busy to meet with American embassy officials. Where were the itinerary and files for his upcoming business trip?
“Yes, most unfortunate misunderstandings.” Abdul's smile seemed plastered on with determination. That is, until he looked at Reece, who gauged the minister with an unwavering stare.
Abdul pressed his glasses up the bridge of his nose; his lips pulled downward.
“Misunderstanding or not, we are here to secure your official approval for our investigators to inspect the crime scene and interview the witnesses.” Toby opened his briefcase and handed Abdul a piece of paper. “This is a persons-of-interest list.”
“Ah, yes, I see.” Abdul set the paper to the side, folded his hands, and returned his attention to Toby. “When I return, I will personally escort you to the diving boat and bring these people here for you to interview.”
Toby leaned forward. “When you return?”
Abdul shifted. “Yes.”
“And when will that be?”
Reece heard the edge creeping into Toby's voice. He prayed the guy could keep his cool.
“Two weeks.”
“I’m sorry.” Toby half laughed. “That simply won’t do.”
“That is the best I can offer.” Abdul dabbed his forehead with the back of his hand.
The overhead fan circled lazily, stirring the thick air.
“Ali, you do understand this is going to bring the anvil down on your head? My superiors are already displeased with your stalling tactics.”
“No stalling.” Ali shook his head. “President Chiranjivi and I leave in the morning. He thinks he can convince the French to help us. But no, we are not stalling. We have official business out of the country.”
Toby's brow knitted. “If you aren’t stalling, why can’t we see the boat right now? Let's get this out of the way.”
Ali scooted back his chair, swiping a hand over his mouth. “The boat has been stored and is not easy to access. We must bring it from dry dock so you can examine it. Not easy to do. And you have one student at Noor Hospital and another at St. George Hospital. We must interview them first to be sure they are not responsible for the crimes. Murders have happened at the hotel.”
Reece's heart stalled. St. George. He signaled Toby his readiness to leave.
Toby launched to his feet. “Minister, we have always had a kind and friendly association. Unfortunately, I must file a grievance with the U.N. and with our governments. This is unacceptable. Lives are at stake, and the murderers have no doubt escaped by now.”
With great care, Reece drew himself straight. He didn’t want to give away his hand and reveal that he knew without a doubt—whether directly or indirectly—that Ali Abdul was connected to the murders.
Shiloh tensed and braced herself to prevent banging her head on the c
ar's roof. Baseer's import seemed to aim for the endless potholes as he steered through the tangled streets. It had to be painful for Khalid. The thought pulled her attention to him. His head rested against the back of the seat. Were his eyes even open? Sneaking out of the hospital had been much easier than she would have imagined. She had simply wheeled a fully dressed Khalid through a side entrance to Baseer in the waiting car.
Each hole jarred her. But no more than the phone call to Brutus. When had she given herself away while following him? Her face flushed with anger at the memory of how he’d answered the phone. She gritted her teeth and chafed at the chaos of foot traffic swarming their car.
Don’t you know it's not nice to follow people? His words stoked her frustration. It wasn’t that he’d known she was on the other end of the line—but the way he seemed to enjoy it. It hit her—he knew. He had expected her call. How was he always one step ahead of her? Yet, she felt the spark of a smile crowding out the storm in her life. He had a sense of humor … and a nice voice.
But would she ever get ahead of him? She’d have to if she didn’t want the spy learning all her secrets. He and two other men were acutely interested in something she knew, or what they thought she knew. The coin in her possession was somehow a clue to this insanity.
The slowing car yanked to the right into an open courtyard cradled by a u-shaped hotel. Brick arched over the entrance to the cobblestone terrace. Littered with tables and fruit and vegetable vendors, the courtyard unfolded a warm welcome to the Taj Mahal Palace and Tower.
An uneasy tremor rippled through her. How could Baseer afford rooms in a high-end hotel?
Standing at the curb, Shiloh watched people flow in and out of the expensive hotel. Bellhops unloaded and hustled bags into the lobby. Blue-white waters rippled in slotted views beyond a wrought-iron gate. The hotel itself was nicer than most. Small squares below each window gave the promise of air-conditioning. Wasn’t this the site of the 2008 terrorist attack?
Why had Baseer chosen this place out of all the hotels in Mumbai? Sweeping aside her questions, she opened Khalid's door.
“I will take care of that.” Baseer rushed to her side as the trunk popped open. “I will help Khalid and then check in. You wait.”
In other words, he didn’t want Shiloh touching Khalid in a public building, nor carrying any of his belongings. While his archaic social customs grated on her, Shiloh knew they needed to appear as normal as possible. The less attention, the better. She’d yield … this time.
Baseer hooked his arms under Khalid's and drew his son out of the car. Although Khalid didn’t grimace, his flat lips and flaring nostrils told her the pain he suffered. After his father had propped him against the small rental, Khalid hobbled around and faced the hotel, his palms pressed against the car behind him.
“When you are ready.” Baseer reached into the car and withdrew a briefcase. Then he patted his son on the shoulder, met Shiloh's gaze, and headed into the hotel.
Shiloh took a step closer when Khalid didn’t move.
“I’ll be okay,” he mumbled, watching his father's receding back.
“In about six months.”
One side of his lips quirked upward. He flipped his hair from his face. “How many paces between here and the nearest chair?”
With a step back, Shiloh mentally measured the distance. “About fifty.”
With squared shoulders and fists balled, he took the first of the fifty steps toward the hotel. Shiloh swallowed. She dared not say anything. His pace was slow and pain-filled. She heard him suck in a breath every six steps or so. Her heart twisted, and she wished she could just wrap her arm around his waist and ease his burden.
“I have an idea.” Shiloh darted past him, grabbed a luggage dolly, and wheeled it back to him. “Grab the pole.”
Agony morphed to relief as he held the brass pole. No more than a dozen feet lay between them and the front door.
Ten minutes after Baseer had checked in, they rode the elevator up to the fourth floor.
“Get on.” Shiloh pointed to the dolly supporting Khalid. His eyes widened. “Get on and pretend you’re just goofing around. Your father can push you.”
His father scowled. “I will do—”
“Look at him, Mr. Khan. He either rests or keels over,” Shiloh pleaded with the two men.
“There is only one more hall,” Khalid mumbled as he slumped against the mirrored glass elevator. “Once I get to the room, I can rest.”
“Khalid! Pride isn’t worth the strain it's putting on you.”
“It is not pride; it's honor.”
Shiloh bit back her groan. This wasn’t a battle she could win. Why it had to be a battle in the first place, she didn’t know. Khalid would follow his father's wishes. He always had. Which made her wonder about his decision to turn from the Muslim faith and become a Christian. She knew it had rent his relationship with his father, but nobody spoke of it. It made her wonder how Khalid would ever get Baseer's blessing to marry her since the man seemed to resent her.
Shiloh stared at the shiny numbers on the black door as Baseer slid a key card through the reader on room 313. Was it an unlucky number? He pushed open the door and held it as Khalid stumbled into the suite. A table and chairs, small bar, and sofa welcomed them.
“Your room is there,” Baseer nodded his head and handed her a card. “You can access it from the hall or from here, and you may lock both doors. Tomorrow, I will go into the city and arrange our travel plans.” He seemed to hesitate, his mysterious eyes monitoring his son as Khalid eased onto the sofa with a groan. Baseer pivoted toward her. “While I am gone, I’d prefer if you stayed here in the hotel. You … stand out.”
Clearing her throat, she looked at Baseer. “When will we leave for Pakistan?”
The man's eyes darkened. “If Allah wills, in less than two days.”
She relaxed her face as she met Khalid's eyes. “Good night. Rest well.”
“Good night.”
Shiloh let herself into her room and flipped on the wall switch. Light flooded the room, and she nudged the door shut behind her. She locked the deadbolt and slid on the chain lock. Two red, tufted chairs sat before the gold brocade curtains. She dropped her pack in a chair on her way to the window. Drawing the thin material aside, she unlocked the glass door and stepped out on the tiny balcony. She leaned against the ledge. Sun-warmed plaster bathed her palms. Fewer people populated the tables and vendors below. A woman bent over her cart, stretching a tarp over her produce.
Knocking drew her around. She paused as another rap thudded on the adjoining door. Khalid! She unlocked it and yanked it open with a smile.
She froze. “Baseer.” A half-smile. “Did I forget something?”
Thick brows shadowed his dark eyes. His mouth turned downward, drawing his bearded face into a scowl. “Khalid is asleep. We should talk.”
He dragged a chair to the door and sat.
I guess this isn’t an invitation. She copied him and settled into a crimson chair. “Okay. Is something wrong?”
“I want to know what happened in the harbor.”
“I told Nisa.” Shiloh folded her hands to hide her agitation. “We were diving—the last leg of our assignment.”
“Right.” Baseer scratched his beard. “Why was Khalid shot?”
She blinked. “I have no idea.”
“Why weren’t you shot or killed?”
Although she tried to swallow, her tongue felt thicker than fried plantains. “I was underwater when it happened.”
He nodded.
“If I had been on the boat, I probably would’ve been shot.”
“You have no idea what these men wanted?”
Confusion draped her. “What men?”
His eyes widened.
“The men at the hospital?”
“Yes, yes. Tem.”
“I told you and Khalid, I don’t know what they wanted. It's my guess they want me dead because they think I saw or know something.” She lace
d her fingers and squeezed.
“Then you don’t know these men?”
Shiloh straightened. “Know them? How would I know them?”
“I am not sure. I would just like to understand what happened.”
“As would I, but—” A thought hit her. Her cheek under her left eye twitched. “You … you can’t possibly think I had anything to do with it, do you?”
“One wonders.”
Her mouth fell open. She stared, disbelieving. Finally, she hung her head and rose to her feet. If he thought her capable of the attack, then … “Do you intend to leave me behind?”
He sat for a minute without answering. By the look in his eyes, she could tell that very thought had crossed his mind. The affront stunned her.
“I see.” She knew Baseer had never liked her—or maybe it was more that he hadn’t ever been friendly to anyone—but to have him accuse her of the attack, of nearly killing Khalid, clawed at her soul.
“I am sorry.” Baseer looked down. “It is a path I must consider in the protection of my son.” His dark eyes came back to hers. “He intends to make you his bride, but I am not convinced you are willing or right for him. That makes one wonder if you would—”
She held her mouth tight against the trembling. “I may not be the most affectionate person, but I would never, ever hurt Khalid. It is insulting that you can equate that with murder.”
On his feet, he moved toward her.
Shiloh took a step back, bracing herself for an assault.
But he stopped short, his gaze darting to the bed. Was he remembering that propriety demanded he not be in an unmarried woman's bedroom? He averted his eyes and stepped back into his suite, pulling the door closed. “Good night.”
When the door clicked shut, Shiloh slapped the bolt into place. She whirled around, her chest pounding. How could he accuse her of murder … of intentionally harming Khalid? She stomped to her pack and jerked it onto the bed, where she plopped onto the stiff mattress. As she dug through her bag, she tried to think coherently. Her anger, frustration, and the weight of the last several days seemed to have smothered her ability to think clearly.