Sagramanda, a Novel of Near-Future India

by Alan Dean Foster

  "Now that I have let you choose the time and place of our meeting," the European was saying, "I am afraid that I must make a stipulation of my own." Both Sanjay and Taneer were immediately on guard.

  "What is it?" the scientist asked warily.

  Karlovy's tone turned even more serious than previously. "The down payment on the amount you have requested and that has been mutually agreed upon is considerable. I know that your preference is for a simple one-on-one, face-to-face exchange. While I was willing to agree to this, certain other members of the consortium I represent were not. You will please excuse their unseemly suspicion, but where a cash sum of this amount is involved, their demands were inflexible." His expression was somber. "They insist that for the duration of the exchange I be accompanied by an armed bodyguard."

  Taneer's first reaction was to break off the communication and instruct Sanjay to go back to Chhote Pandit and begin the negotiations all over again. But of course he couldn't do that. Not with trackers closing in on both him and the shopkeeper. Keeping his

  face out of range of the communicator's pickup, he licked his lips and exchanged an anxious glance with Depahli.

  Though he could not, for the moment, see the scientist, the European plainly sensed his unease. "I know this is counter to what you wished, Mr. Buthlahee. But I assure you that the point is not negotiable. I tried my best, but several important individuals were unshakable in their demand." He paused, then added with an almost-smile, "Think of it, despite your admirable assurance that all the odds are against such a thing happening, as real protection in the event the wandering animal should after all choose to put in an appearance at an inopportune moment."

  Taneer wasn't worried about some nomadic cat. The only thing he feared during the forthcoming transaction was the possible interpolation of a predator of the two-legged kind. Caught off guard for the first time since the exchange had commenced, he wavered and worried over what to do.

  Yet again, it was Depahli who provided a potential solution. She put her lips close to his left ear, whispering to him so her words would not be picked up.

  "If this funny Mr. Karlovy insists on bringing along a bodyguard, then you should have the right to bring one, too."

  "That's fine," he murmured tightly back to her as he pressed the audiovisual Mute button on the communicator, temporarily shutting them off from the expectant European, "except that I don't happen to know any professional killers, or bodyguards. I don't suppose that you happen to, either?"

  "No," she told him. "Besides, it has to be someone you can trust completely. Even if you had the time and the necessary sources, you couldn't just go out and hire somebody. Not for this. Fortunately, you already have someone who has not only already proven his trustworthiness, but who is intimately familiar with this entire business." Step ping back, she turned and gestured.

  "What…?" It took a moment for the import of her words to coalesce in the scientist's mystified mind.

  Seeing them both looking in his direction, Sanjay suddenly wished himself anywhere but there, on that warm, humid night in the Rama-park plaza by the left bank of the Hooghly.

  "Not to be in any way insulting, but-are you both crazy?" He spread his hands out in front of him. "Look at me. I am a shopkeeper, not a strongman. Before that, I was a farmer. I can handle a computer, and box access, and a hoe and a shovel. I have a gun in my shop, yes, but I have never had to use it, and if Krishna wills it, I never will." His gaze flicked back and forth between the perceptibly calculating Taneer and his delectable but evidently crazy consort. "You cannot possibly consider asking me to do this!"

  "Three percent." While mild as ever, Taneer's tone was implacable. "Three percent of a sum you could never have imagined accruing to you, Sanjay Ghosh."

  "Three percent of all the jewels in Rajasthan mean nothing to a dead man," the shopkeeper reasonably pointed out.

  Suddenly, fingers were running along his right arm, dancing up his shoulder, lightly stroking his cheek. He wanted to pull away, knew he should pull away, but could not. He might only be a shopkeeper and an ex-farmer, but he was human.

  "Dear Sanjay. Sweet, perceptive, clever Sanjay," Depahli cooed into his ear. "We have no time. No time to haggle, no time to go shopping for some great dim-witted hulk who might double-cross us in the end no matter how much care we take in our hiring. We need someone now. Someone we can trust. Someone who will not betray us because he has too much at stake." Her lips touched his ear. "We need you."

  Legs trembling slightly, and not entirely from fear, he heard a voice that must have been his saying, "All right, okay, very well. I will do it. At least, I will try to do it. But not for you, Mr. Taneer, sir." He finally managed to pull away from her. "And not for you, Ms. Depahli. I will do it for my family."

  She smiled at him as she stepped back. "She may be poor, Sanjay, but your wife is a fortunate woman. And if all goes as it should, she will soon no longer be poor. I know you can do this."

  He forced himself to still the shaking that threatened to overcome him. "Then you know more than I do, Depahli memsahib."

  Nodding at them both, Taneer unblocked the communicator. On the small screen, the European was visibly concerned. He relaxed when Taneer's visage appeared once more at his end of the link.

  "Ah, Mr. Buthlahee. For a moment there I was fearful that my small request might have caused you to act precipitously."

  Taneer recovered quickly. "On the contrary, Mr. Karlovy, upon reflection, not only do I not see a problem with your request, and understand the reasoning behind it, but I find it of sufficient merit to warrant imitation." He summoned up as ferocious a grin as he could manage. "In addition to a lady friend, who will be unarmed, I'll be bringing along a bodyguard of my own."

  Rather than unsettling the European, the older man reacted as if Taneer's announcement was nothing less than what he expected. "Of course you will. That is only natural. I personally will be glad of the additional security." He raised a hand. "Until tomorrow, then, at the agreed-upon place and time."

  "Tomorrow," Taneer concurred.

  The communicator went dark and silent as the link was mutually cut. Children dashed past the trio while fretful parents warned them not to run lest they trip and ruin their clothing. Autovendors continued to hawk foods whose primary ingredient was cane sugar, fructose, and assorted other artificial sweeteners. Music filled the air. The fireworks and laser show that featured three-dimensional virtuals enacting the climactic battle in the sky between Rama and Varan was about to begin.

  Events had been set in motion that could not be stopped.

  Of the three, Sanjay was breathing the hardest while showing the least enthusiasm. When Depahli moved to reassure him, he almost jumped back from her. "Please do not come any closer, Ms. Depahli! Out of my shop I have sold narcotics from Afghanistan and Nepal and Tibet that have less effect on men than you do."

  She smiled amiably. "What a flattering thing to say, Mr. Ghosh. I would blush, if I remembered how."

  "This cannot work," he muttered tersely. "How can this possibly work? I am no mercenary, no gunman." He looked back at them imploringly. "What do you expect me to do?"

  "Fake it," Depahli told him bluntly. Even Taneer looked at her doubtfully. Seeing both their uncertainty, she elaborated. "Sanjay, are you a fan of the cinema?"

  He was taken aback. "Every Indian is a fan of the cinema. It is in our blood, I believe."

  "Good. Think back to some of your favorite films. Which ones had the worst villains? The most vile, wicked bad guys? Bandits and robbers, murderers and revolutionaries? Every child plays at such things. When they grow up, those who are good at it become actors. We are all of us who go to the cinema actors, in our heads if not in our lives."

  "I see what you are proposing," he replied thoughtfully, "but if I go through with this I will not be acting in my head. What of this businessman's bodyguard? He will be a professional. He will see through this puppet-play in an instant."

  She laughed lig
htly. "Don't be so certain, Sanjay. And don't be in such a rush to sell yourself short. Every good shopkeeper knows how to act: poor, desperate, overworked, in desperate need of just one sale to keep food on the table and creditors from his door. I'm sure you do it every day, with your customers. Remember: we will be in a strange, dark place that will be unfamiliar to both these persons. In such circumstances everyone will be a little nervous, a little on edge. And both sides will be in a hurry to complete the business. If all goes as planned, the exchange will be over and done with before anyone has time to ponder individual suspicions about anyone else."

  Encouraged, Taneer stepped forward. "Depahli's right, Sanjay. You only have to be convincing for a couple of minutes. I bet you can do that."

  "A couple of minutes." Sanjay considered. Years ago, he and Chakra had splurged, had taken what few spare rupees they had man aged to accumulate and gone into the nearest sizable town to have dinner out and to see a film. Its title-he didn't remember the title. But the villain of the piece, a serpentine monster with a vast mustache and glittering eyes, had lied and cheated and slaughtered women and children with scene-chewing relish. He would never forget that face, that devil's expression, those unblinking eyes.

  He could do nothing about the mustache, but standing there, he widened his own much smaller one deliberately, flared his nostrils, swelled his chest, brought his arms slightly forward at the shoulders, and glared at each of his business partners in turn. Depahli almost broke out laughing, but fortunately managed to restrain herself.

  "That's very good, Sanjay. Very good! But remember that you are not on screen or in a vit, and that your audience will be both smaller and nearer. Don't breathe so hard-you're pretending to be a body guard, not a dragon."

  "You might consider keeping one hand close to your heart, as if it's ready to slide at any moment into your vest toward the gun you have holstered there," Taneer suggested thoughtfully, studying his new escort.

  Sanjay slumped slightly. "But I do not have a gun holstered there. Oh," he added quickly, a smile of understanding spreading across his face. "I understand. They will not know that." He frowned. "But I do

  not have a vest, either. At least, not one that would be suitable for such a deception."

  "Get one," Depahli suggested. "Black. With shirt, pants, and shoes to match-not sandals. You don't have time to train for the part, but you can at least look it."

  Around them, the shouts and yells of bouncing, delighted children and smiling adults convinced their money had been well spent turned their heads and craned their necks as noble Rama's chariot soared through lights and explosions to confront the evil Ravan's monstrous sky-carriage. Among those watching the display were two men and one woman who could only hope that their own looming, critical confrontation proceeded with considerably less in the way of actual fireworks.

  *14*

  Chal Schneemann leaned back in his chair and, for the first time in many days, relaxed. At least, he relaxed as much as he ever could while still on the job. Though the high-rise hotel he had chosen for his base of operations had excellent security of its own, he would not have felt completely safe without taking his own safety measures even if he had located in a suite next to one occupied by the president of the United States.

  He had taken all his normal precautions. To the consternation of the staff at the front desk and in contrast to the sweeping views offered by other rooms, he had insisted on a suite as high up as possible but with the smallest windows available, a seeming contradiction in desires. In addition, the excellent blackout curtains that covered those windows were kept permanently drawn. He slept on the side of the bed as far from the bedroom window as possible. Working in the suite's other room, he positioned his chair so that it was not directly in line with either the covered window or the second door that opened onto the hallway. And still he never felt completely secure.

  Such feelings had kept him alive in a profession where retirement was frequently prevented by means most violent.

  Two portable miniunits sat on the desk. One held nothing but information. The other was utilized for nothing but box access. The only link between the two devices was wireless and highly proprietary. In the event some exceedingly clever outside entity managed to pierce box security and tried to access the storage unit, number two would die. Should it fail to respond properly and the unauthorized link be made, number one would die. The loss of equipment would not bother him. Both units could be replaced, and the information they contained was backed up elsewhere and not linked to anything except an old-fashioned lock and key.

  While from the outside both units appeared relatively normal, their highly customized electronic viscera would have amazed any tech lucky enough to be granted a look at them. At considerable personal expense to their owner, they had been customized and put together with illegal and to a large extent military components. These enabled the pair, especially when operating in tandem, to perform operations no similar units outside a government entity ought to be able to do. Intercept and decode quantum-encrypted transmissions, for example.

  The success of such a procedure, which might best be likened to electronic surgery, was what was presently enabling Chal to ease back against the body-conforming hotel chair. Hands clasped behind his head, he murmured a soft verbal command that instructed the box unit to replay what it had just observed and recorded.

  The processing was not perfect. Constantly variable security receding during the process of transmission made it difficult for his interception software to keep up. There were skips and breaks. But enough had been snatched out of the ether to tell him what he needed to know.

  He had been monitoring the communications of Sanjay Ghosh ever since he had just missed catching the shopkeeper himself outside his establishment. The tip-off that had allowed him to locate the shop had given him all he needed to penetrate the enterprise's relevant utility and track down Ghosh's communications signatures. He planned to use these to try and locate the shopkeeper for questioning, even though Ghosh had been smart enough not to return to his place of business or to his residence ever since Schneemann's all-too-brief personal encounter with Taneer Buthlahee.

  But this was better. Much better.

  To his delight, Ghosh had not only met again with the tracker's real quarry, the truant scientist, but had used the same personal communicator to make contact with the representative of a consortium that planned to furtively purchase the discovery that rightly belonged to Mr. Nayari's company. It was hard to run down the location of a mobile communicator that was active only for short periods at a time and whose owner kept moving around, but with luck and persistence it could be done.

  How thoughtful, then, how kind of the simple shopkeeper to lend his compromised communicator to the real object of Chal's interest. And how considerate of the obstinate Mr. Buthlahee to provide specific instructions to his would-be buyer as to where and when the two of them should meet. Chal eyed his tandem electronics with satisfaction. Their cost had been astronomical-and worth every dollar. For the unique equipment, it was just as easy to intercept, capture, and down load video as audio. Already familiar with Buthlahee and Ghosh's appearance, he now also knew what the buyer Mr. Karlovy looked like, and had acquired a glimpse of Buthlahee's girlfriend as well. Another time, another assignment, he might have looked forward to a diversion, a bit of enforced dalliance with such an alluring creature, made all the spicier by having her paramour restrained nearby and forced to watch. Not this time. The stakes were too high. Sex, of whatever variety and fetish he preferred, could be indulged in later, with no risk and at far less expense.

  In addition to himself, Buthlahee had spoken of being accompanied to tomorrow night's meeting place by hired protection to match what the buyer insisted on bringing along with him. If both sides adhered to their guarantees, that made four potential adversaries to deal with, two of them professionals. Possibly five, if the scientist's consort chose to join him, though she did not really figure into his ca
lculations. For that matter, neither did the scientist or the buyer. Of those who planned to be in attendance, Chal knew he need only be concerned with the two pros.

  Provided he got the drop on them, to employ an ancient cliché that was no less valid for its age, it should not be a problem. He could hire and bring along temporary help of his own, of course. There was enough time between now and tomorrow night to make the necessary arrangements. But with only two real antagonists to worry about, he did not think it necessary. He had dealt with and on at least one occasion dispatched twice that number. Surprise was the key to success in such situations. That should not be a problem. No one would be expecting a third party to put in an appearance, least of all the two bodyguards on hand for the occasion. He anticipated no difficulty.

  While anticipating none, he would prepare for every possible eventuality. Obsession over detail was another character trait that had contributed mightily to his success and continued survival. Though always ready to extemporize, he never entered into a dangerous situation unprepared.

  Unquestionably, a great deal of money was involved. Nayari had implied as much on more than one occasion. The buyer, Mr. Karlovy, had spoken circumspectly of a "down payment" he was to hand over. As a matter of professional interest, Chal found himself speculating on the amount. After neutralizing the two bodyguards, he could easily steal it, of course. It never occurred to him to do so.

  Once, early in his career, he had been hired to deliver a sum of cash to ransom the son of an important Malaysian businessman. With time on his hands until he was due to turn the money over, he had peeked inside the carbon-fiber container that had been handed to him. It had contained, as near as he could hurriedly calculate, between five and seven million U.S. dollars. Concluding his examination, he had closed and resealed the case, and had not so much as looked inside again.

  Word swiftly made the relevant rounds about those in his line of work who reneged on their responsibilities. Five or seven million dollars would buy many things, but in a world linked by several modes of virtually instantaneous communication, it would not buy permanent anonymity. Recidivists in his profession inevitably tended to be found and terminated, often messily. Renege on his assignment, take the money and run, and he would be doing no more than switching places with the scientist Buthlahee. Ultimately, he would be found, and sooner or later his career as well as his life would be brought to an abrupt and brutal end by others of his own kind.