Counterfeit (The Jim Slater series Book 2)

by Stanley Salmons

  “So I was perfectly safe.”

  “You were running bigger risks back in Medellín than you were today.”

  She sipped her beer thoughtfully, then shrugged.

  “Well, I’m glad we did it your way. If we’d just taken the tourist bus I’d have seen the sights, but I wouldn’t have had a clue about the rest of it. It would have been a totally unbalanced view. There’s some magnificent architecture; it’s just a shame about the stink and the squalor.”

  “The problem’s insoluble. The wealthier the city gets, the more the people pour in from the countryside. Another?”

  She put down her empty glass. “Please.”

  I signalled a waiter and ordered two more beers. While we were waiting I said:

  “I see you’re wearing it.”

  She fingered the circular brooch at the neck of her blouse. A large red gem was set in gold at its centre, surrounded by a ring of pearls. She smiled.

  “Nice. Your friend at the CIA has good taste.”

  “Jack said it needed to be an antique design to give it enough depth for the camera. Have you practised with the ring?”

  She flicked a thumb over the back of the ring she was wearing on her right hand.

  “Yes. It’s only supposed to transmit when I squeeze the sides but it’s very sensitive. I’m sure I’ve taken loads of photos already without meaning to.”

  “Doesn’t matter, there’s plenty of storage capacity. Remember, you don’t need to have line of sight between the two – the infrared from the ring will bounce off any reasonably light surface so you can be quite discreet about it.”

  “What about bug detectors?”

  “They won’t pick it up. You’re not transmitting radiofrequencies.”

  She nodded, then smiled. “It’s very pretty. Can I keep it when this is over?”

  “Ah, I’m afraid not, it’s only on loan. If this little venture is successful I’ll buy you a real one.”

  She raised an eyebrow. “Is that a promise?”

  “It certainly is. And you know I keep my promises.”

  “I’ll hold you to that.” She looked around. “Do you think Quilter’s come in yet?”

  “Should have arrived a couple of hours ago.”

  She pointed to the short staircase that led down from the ground floor.

  “Are you sure he meant us to meet here? There is a bar up there as well.”

  “No, Quilter’s used this hotel before and he said the restaurant bar would be more private, and it is.”

  Apart from a few big potted plants, the ground floor was open plan right to the reception desk. This was much better. I looked round.

  “Ah, what did I tell you, here’s the man himself…”

  We stood as he came over to shake hands.

  “Abby, Jim.”

  He collapsed into an armchair, a little breathless.

  The waiter arrived with a tray and set the beers on mats in front of us. He was only a boy and the white jacket looked like it was a couple of sizes too large for him.

  “You want a beer, Craig?”

  “Could kill for one.”

  “Have one of these.” I pushed my glass over to Quilter and held up a finger to the boy. “Can you bring one more?”

  He nodded “Sir” and left.

  “So. Good trip?”

  I waited as he took a deep draught of the beer, swallowed, and wiped the back of his hand across his lips.

  “Oh man, I needed that. Yeah, the flights were tedious but at least there weren’t any delays.” He turned from me to Abby. “When did you get in?”

  “In the early hours. Jim’s been showing me the sights.”

  “I must do that properly some time. This is my fourth trip to Delhi and I’m sure you’ve seen more than I have. Schedule’s always so tight.”

  “Well thanks for arranging this.”

  “No problem. I was due to make a tour in about six weeks anyway, so I just brought it forward. Are you planning to come with for the whole ride?”

  “Probably not,” I said. “Just Nissim Laboratories.”

  He lowered his voice. “You think they’re making counterfeit drugs?”

  “We have our suspicions. But we can’t just march in there. That’s why we wanted it to look like a routine inspection.”

  Abby added, “Jim and I discussed it. I think it’s best if we don’t say anything about me being a PHSCC officer. If it’s all right with you, I’ll pose as your PA.”

  “Sure, that’s fine. What about Jim?”

  She smiled. “Jim’s a military man, and with that haircut and the way he holds himself it rather shows. We’d never pass him off as a company employee. We thought he could be our chauffeur-bodyguard.”

  “Ah,” he said, turning to me. “Is that why you said you’d arrange transport?”

  “Yes. I’ve laid on a rather nice car with a local rental outfit. I’ll be driving you to the factory.”

  Quilter looked alarmed. “In this traffic?”

  I laughed. “No way! We’ll take a taxi out to the rental firm. They’re on the edge of town. That’s if this town has an edge. It seems to go on for ever.”

  “Okay, sounds good. The factory’s expecting us at about eleven in the morning.”

  I glanced at Abby and our eyes met. Her lips compressed slightly. She turned slowly back to him.

  “They’re expecting us?”

  “Yes, I contacted Rajendra Chowdhury. He’s the CEO.” He must have read her expression. “It’s a courtesy, Abby. It would be bad for our working relationship if I dropped in without any warning. I’d need a real good reason for doing something like that. Oh, here’s your beer, Jim.”

  The boy presented the tray and I took the glass. “Thanks.”

  When the boy had withdrawn, Quilter said to me:

  “So what are you going to do while we’re touring the works with Rajendra?”

  “I’ll just knock around. May have a chat with his chauffeur.”

  “How do you know he has one?”

  “They all have one. I read something about it. Apparently a chauffeur’s an essential status symbol for a CEO these days. If you don’t have one, people think the company’s going down the tube.”

  “Well, what you’ve read is quite right. I know that because Rajendra usually gets his man to drive me back to the airport.” He stretched. “I’d like to make an early night. Shall we eat?”

  “Sure, why not. After you.”

  As we got up to follow Quilter to the tables, Abby clutched at my sleeve, holding me back.

  “Don’t trust him,” she hissed. “He tipped them off.”

  I winked at her. “It’s okay. I expected him to.”

  21

  When we emerged from the hotel the following morning Abby was wearing a trouser suit in palest cream silk which moved easily over her body. I thought about the contrast it made to the stiff, unforgiving fabric of her naval uniform. There was nothing matronly about her now. She looked taller, somehow, and very shapely. I tried not to register my admiration and probably failed miserably.

  The taxi ride was hair-raising. She kept her eyes closed for the entire journey, opening them only when we arrived at the rental company on the outskirts of Delhi. I smiled brightly as I held the door open for her and got a very tight look in return.

  The car I’d rented was occupying pride of place in the showroom, and the manager himself took us over it. Quilter was quite impressed. That was just before he found out he was going to foot the bill – I figured his expense account could take it more easily than mine. He accepted with good grace, although his smile looked a little frayed around the edges.

  It was shortly before eleven o’clock when I drew up at a signboard with the words “Nissim Laboratories” and a company logo which wove together the “N” and the “L”. The factory lay behind a high wire fence, with a uniformed security man at the gate. Quilter did the talking and the man directed us to the main building.

  “Where can I
leave the car?” I asked the security man.

  “Sir, there are spaces across from the entrance.”

  “No, I want to take it out of the sun.”

  “The garages are up there, sir. Turn left at the end.”

  “Thanks.”

  As we moved off I saw the security man pick up a phone.

  Nissim Laboratories consisted of a long, low building constructed of pale bricks that scintillated a little in the sun; I guessed they were made of compacted spoil from the local quartz mines. The windows had a blue reflective finish. I stopped the car at a short flight of steps leading up to a pair of glass sliding doors and, in keeping with my role, got out and opened the door for Quilter and Abby. I watched them go inside. Dressed as she was, and with a notepad in one hand, there was nothing to suggest that Abby was other than a smart, efficient PA. Quilter was carrying a leather brief case. If he had anything to give to this guy Rajendra Chowdhury it would be in there.

  Abby’s a smart girl. She’ll keep an eye on him.

  The thought made me smile and at the same time tugged a little at my chest.

  I got back in the car and drove round to park slightly beyond the garage. Then I locked the car and made for the garage. One door was open and I strolled in.

  A skinny young man was polishing a burgundy Daimler-General that didn’t need it. He jumped when he saw me. I could hardly blame him because I’d taken a little trouble with my appearance. I had the haircut already; the dark glasses and black suit completed the picture. For good measure I’d tucked part of a glossy magazine into the inside jacket pocket to make it bulge suggestively. I’d never use a shoulder holster and neither, I guessed, would any self-respecting hit man; it would be a concealment holster inside the waistband. Still, most people didn’t know that.

  I smiled at him and laid on the American drawl. I’d lived in the States long enough for it to come easily.

  “Hi. How’re ya doing?”

  “I am doing well, thank you, sir,” the young man replied nervously, fiddling with the duster.

  “Boss’s car?” I did a full circuit around the car, trailing my fingers along the body.

  “Yes, sir.”

  I saw him eyeing the big rings on my fingers, dangerously close to that gleaming coachwork. It would all add to his anxiety and keep him off-balance.

  “I guess you drive up to Delhi a lot. I have to get back there. How long’s it going to take me?”

  “The city or the airport, sir?”

  “The city.”

  “It will take one hour to one-and-a-half hours, sir. It is depending on how fast you drive.”

  “Pretty damned fast. I’m driving that.”

  I pointed out of the garage door and he came over to have a look. His jaw slackened as he saw the Bentley Trihydrogen. It shone in the sun, despite a slight dusting of wind-blown sand.

  “That is a most beautiful vehicle, sir.”

  “Not bad. Quick, quiet.” I turned to him. “Wanna try it?”

  He turned liquid black eyes on me and ran his tongue around his lips.

  “Go ahead.” I handed him the proximity key.

  He walked uncertainly over to the car. I watched him get in and look over the controls. A few minutes later a faint cough told me he’d started the engine. It moved very slowly to the end of the paving, turned and came back. I strolled over and he lowered the electric window. Even under that dark skin I could see a flush of excitement.

  “Jeezus,” I said. “You drive it like my grandma. Go on, give it some boot.”

  His eyebrows lifted, and he swallowed hard. Then he moved off again, a bit faster this time, and accelerated down to the main building. He turned round at the gate and came back. He switched off the engine and got out, breathless.

  “That is a most wonderful vehicle, sir.”

  I grinned at him and took back the proximity key.

  “About an hour, you say?” I looked at my watch. “Okay, that’s cool. See, after I drop these people off, there’s a pub I’m heading for in New Friends Colony. What’s your name?”

  “Deepak, sir.”

  “Steve,” I said, shaking his hand too firmly. Then I strolled back into the shade of the garage – the suit was altogether too hot in this sun. Deepak trotted beside me, now well in tow.

  “Well, Deepak, this is kind of a special pub I’m talking about. You should try it some time. Get some real sweet ass in there, know what I mean? You like girls?”

  “Yes indeed, sir,” he said. “But such things cost too much for me.”

  I stopped and faced him. “Oh, they don’t do it for money! These are nice girls – clean, you know. They just want some fun. You show them a good time and by the end of the evening they’re ready to tumble into bed with you. Doesn’t cost – they want it just as bad as you do.”

  I noticed the tongue was now making regular tours of his lips and decided to pursue this line further.

  “There was a girl there, last time – Sunitha. Jeez, I’d like to meet up with her again. I’m telling you, she had muscles where I didn’t know girls had muscles.”

  “Such girls would not look at me,” he said sadly.

  I appraised him – the stringy build, the ears, the two large front teeth resting on his lower lip – and I could believe he had a few problems in that department.

  “You try rolling up in one of these,” I jerked my thumb towards the Bentley, “and see how quick they change their minds.”

  He shook his head.

  “You don’t believe me?” I paused, as if an idea had occurred to me. “Say, why don’t you string along and I can show you.”

  He looked startled, then confused. “I cannot leave my post, sir. This is my job.”

  “Ah. Well, when are you next up that way?”

  He thought for a moment. “This Wednesday, sir. I will be driving Mr. Chowdhury to the airport.”

  “What time?”

  “About three o’clock, sir.”

  “There y’are. You drop him off, then come over and we’ll hit the town.”

  “Ah no, sir. He will not be taking an aeroplane. He will need me to be driving him back.”

  “Oh… that’s too bad. Well, I’ll tell you what, I’ll give you my cell number and next time he actually gets on a plane you give me a buzz. Okay?”

  I pulled a scrap of paper and a gel pen out of my pocket, scribbled down my phone number with several digits judiciously altered, and handed it over.

  “Thank you, sir. That is most generous of you, sir.”

  “No problem. Well, I guess I’d better be getting over to reception, see if my people are all through. So long, Deepak.”

  “Goodbye, sir.”

  *

  At Quilter’s request I dropped him off at Indira Gandhi Airport.

  “See what I mean about the schedule, Jim?” he said. “I never get a chance to see the country.”

  “Too bad. Maybe you’ll get a better opportunity some other time.”

  “Sure you don’t want to come with on the next leg? There’s a later flight if you want to change your minds.”

  “Where are you going?”

  “Kerala.”

  “No thanks. Abby and I will stick around. See a little more of Delhi.”

  “Okay. Sorry I can’t join you for dinner tonight but actually I prefer the cuisine in Kerala. All that lovely coconut milk and fish.”

  “Sounds good to me. Enjoy.”

  He got out of the car. I opened the boot and handed his suitcase to him.

  “Thanks for the lift, Jim. You have my number if you need anything more from me.”

  “Sure do. Safe trip, Craig.”

  As we cruised out of the airport heads turned and people stopped to stare at the Bentley. They couldn’t see us through the smoked glass and they probably thought we were diplomats or major celebs. We turned onto the national highway. After about a mile I gave the rear-view mirror another glance and nodded slightly. Then I reached over to the console to select sport mo
de and planted my foot. The Bentley gathered its skirts and took off. Deepak was right: it really was a wonderful vehicle. We accelerated to a hundred miles an hour in a few seconds.

  Abby clutched her seat and looked across at me. “What on earth are you doing? Jim, have you gone mad? You’re going to kill us both! Slow down, for God’s sake!”

  “In a bit.”

  I continued to push the speedometer to a hundred-and-eighty miles an hour, then held it. The countryside and other vehicles whizzed by in a blur. It was quite exciting.

  Abby sat rigidly in her seat, gasping with horror and astonishment as each fresh obstacle materialised ahead and shot behind us.

  After five minutes I slowed down to a normal speed and I sensed her subsiding into her seat. She took a deep breath.

  “Well, I hope you’re satisfied,” she said. “You scared the living daylights out of me.”

  “Sorry about that.”

  “You men are all the same. Put you in charge of a fast car and you come over all macho.”

  I grinned at her. “Got rid of him, though, didn’t I?”

  “Who?”

  “The guy who was tailing us from the airport.”

  “I don’t believe you.”

  “Believe me. I was trained in countersurveillance.”

  I could feel her eyes boring into me. She said, “That’s a funny thing for a soldier to be trained in.”

  “I’ve had a funny sort of career.”

  “Are you sure he was following us?”

  “Oh yeah. I was pretty sure even before I put my foot down. He did his best to keep up but he ran out of puff or nerve when I topped a hundred-and-ten. I wanted to stretch the distance before I slowed down.”

  “But who—?”

  “Quilter tipped off Chowdhury, told him who we were and why we were coming. Chances are, Chowdhury has a number to call if things get sticky. Whoever’s overseeing this operation must have a local infrastructure. They’ll be doing other things – girls, drugs, protection rackets, money-laundering. Based in Delhi, like as not. I should think they set that tail on us.”