by Chris Ryan
They reached their first turning. ‘There’s someone behind us,’ said Paulo. ‘He’s been there since we came out of the clinic.’
Li kept her voice quiet. ‘Do you think he’s following?’ They kept walking at the same unhurried pace.
‘Might be.’
They went past a café with a big smeared window. They paused and glanced in, pretending to read the menu but using the glass as a mirror. They could see him, three metres behind them – a man in a dark red shirt and fawn linen trousers.
‘He didn’t stop when we stopped,’ said Li.
‘That doesn’t mean he’s not following,’ said Paulo.
‘I might be being paranoid,’ said Li, ‘but I think we should lose him before we meet the others. We mustn’t bust their cover.’
‘Let’s go round the block here,’ said Paulo.
They turned down the road. Li took out her phone and pretended to make a call, but she was using the polished screen as a rear-view mirror. The red-shirted man turned too. ‘He’s still behind.’
Paulo chose another turning and Li watched in the screen. The man carried straight on. ‘We’ve lost him. All clear.’
Paulo grinned at her. ‘Just paranoia. We’ve been doing this job too long.’
Li shook her head. ‘That nurse looked paranoid enough to do anything. If I were her I’d have tailed us.’ She hit a speed-dial key and called Alex. ‘No joy. They say they don’t know her, but they’re hiding something, big time. Before we left we saw a friendship bracelet thrown in the bin – it looked like Bina’s. I think we should go to the police, get them looking for her. There’s something fishy going on at that clinic.’
‘We’ll see you at the police station,’ said Alex.
‘I want to report a kidnapping,’ said Alex. Alpha Force stood in the reception area of the police station – a poky corridor bounded on one side by a long counter. A floor-mounted fan stirred a faint breeze that fluttered the notices yellowing on the notice board. At the end of the corridor a tiny woman dressed in rags was lugging along a huge bucket of water and a mop.
An officer stood behind the counter, shuffling papers. His khaki uniform showed dark flowers of sweat under each arm. He carried on shuffling as Alex spoke – until he heard the word ‘kidnapping’.
‘You want to report a missing person?’
‘Yes,’ said Alex. ‘She’s—’
‘Wait, please. I fetch Sergeant Chopra. He looks after missing persons.’ The man disappeared through an arched doorway.
A minute later another officer came through. Unlike his colleague he obviously wasn’t confined to desk work. With his khaki uniform he wore a gun belt and holster in leather the colour of ox blood. But whatever he did, it couldn’t have been very active: a large paunch protruded over his waistband like a balloon. Not for the first time, the five friends couldn’t help but notice the contrast with the lean villagers.
Sergeant Chopra spoke. ‘You want to report a missing person.’
Paulo gave a brief description. ‘She’s just turned thirteen years old – went missing last night from the village of Nayla—’ He got no further.
‘Nayla? That’s not in our district.’
Li leaned on the counter and looked at him earnestly. ‘We have strong reasons to believe she’s been brought here. We think she’s been kidnapped to steal her kidneys.’
Sergeant Chopra turned his back on her before she had finished. Li looked at his solid bulk disbelievingly.
He turned round again and put some papers on the desk. ‘Start by filling in these forms. We need your names, addresses, address of your parents or guardians, relationship to the missing girl . . .’ He spread the forms out in a fan shape. There were several pages to each.
Li looked at the paperwork with mounting incredulity.
Alex knew that expression; soon it would change to impatience. Li wasn’t the most diplomatic person in the world. He stepped in. ‘We’ll give you all the details we can. Can I borrow a pen?’
Li spotted a biro beside the telephone. ‘There’s one.’ The policeman picked it up, slowly took the cap off and handed it over. Then he disappeared through the door again. Li glared at his sweat-marked back.
Alex took charge of the form and they filled it in. A short time later the sergeant returned. ‘Have you finished?’
Alex handed the papers over in a neat pile. The sergeant put them straight into a basket on the desk.
‘What will happen now?’ said Alex.
Sergeant Chopra folded his hands in front of him on the counter. He looked like a Buddha. ‘We’ll look into it.’
Li butted in. ‘There’s somewhere you could look right now. We think she’s here in Chennai. We saw something belonging to her at St Thomas’s Clinic – a friendship bracelet we gave to her. We think that’s where she is.’
Sergeant Chopra maintained his implacable pose. ‘We’ll get someone onto it,’ he said. ‘Thank you. You can go now.’
The five friends were all dying to talk, but they made sure they were well away and out of earshot before they let rip.
Hex got his comment in first. ‘Ever had the feeling that someone wasn’t very interested?’
Li practically exploded. ‘He didn’t even look at the forms we filled in.’
‘Do you know what else is odd?’ said Alex. ‘He never asked if we had a picture of her.’
‘That’s right!’ added Amber. ‘I was just about to show him the picture and then I got this hunch. I thought I’d wait and see if he asked for it. Don’t you think there was something really odd about him? He gave me the creeps.’
Paulo was a little more laid back. ‘Maybe that’s just the way they operate in this country.’
Li snorted. ‘Perhaps we interrupted his morning nap, but if we don’t find Bina fast, someone else is going to be operating.’
Alpha Force weren’t the only people who didn’t want to be overheard. Sergeant Chopra watched them disappear, had a quick look around the station to make sure no one else was nearby, then got out his mobile and pressed a speed-dial key.
The phone was answered briskly. ‘Yes?’ It was the kind of ‘yes’ that says the speaker already knows who the caller is.
‘Trilok,’ said the sergeant, ‘you’ll have to move the girl.’
14
UNDERCOVER
‘We have to go back to the clinic,’ said Li. ‘Bina’s friendship bracelet was in the bin outside, and yet they’re denying they’ve seen her. Paulo and I have already been there, so it’ll have to be one of you guys.’
They sat in a large formal garden – Alex’s original RV point. Behind them a big domed building gleamed like a white meringue in the sun.
Paulo was lying on his back, eyes closed. He looked as if he was asleep, but he was thinking as hard as anyone else. ‘We need to get further than reception. There’s nothing there. We need to really search the place; go where Mootama went.’
‘They’ve got those bars on the windows,’ said Alex. ‘That’s going to make a covert approach tricky.’
‘And I bet there are alarms too,’ added Hex. He was lying on his side, looking at the manicured grass and picking out stray long bits the mower had missed.
‘Why don’t we take the bull by the horns?’ said Amber. ‘Ask if we can see someone about selling a kidney? They might show us around.’
‘Whoa, whoa.’ Hex put his hands up to stop the runaway thought before it became too bizarre. ‘Reality check: only poor villagers sell kidneys. None of us look remotely like one of those.’
‘Good point,’ said Alex. ‘No matter what we do we’ll look like tourists. Although there are quite a lot of those around.’
‘I’ve got it!’ said Amber. ‘Backpackers. They’re all over the place. We could be backpackers in trouble – run out of money or something.’
Alex nodded slowly. ‘That sounds good.’
‘Better if it’s just one backpacker on their own,’ said Hex. ‘Stranded or robbed after months of travel
ling. And therefore desperate.’
The others murmured in agreement.
Paulo spoke without even opening his eyes. ‘So which of us will make the most convincing backpacker?’
Li prodded him. ‘Now who might pass for a lazy oaf who fell asleep and lost his wallet? If it wasn’t for the fact we’ve already been identified, I’d say it had to be you.’
Paulo grinned. He started to croon the old Frank Sinatra song, echoing her words back to her.
The others put their hands over their ears and groaned loudly.
‘Eek, stop!’ protested Amber.
Paulo opened his eyes. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I was singing in my sleep.’
‘I vote we send him to donate his organs,’ said Li. ‘All of them.’
Amber leaned down and unzipped what looked like a pocket in the thigh of her black trousers. The whole leg came off, turning them into shorts. She had been wearing long trousers out of respect for the villagers and to keep mosquitoes away, but the backpackers they had seen wore shorts and T-shirts. ‘Voilà,’ said Amber. ‘And since I’m American the clinic won’t connect me with you and Li.’ She unzipped the other leg, then folded both of them into a pocket in the back of the trousers.
‘What about the backpack?’ said Li.
Hex took off the small rucksack he’d brought their tracers in and held it out. ‘A backpack.’
‘That’s not big enough.’ Amber curled her lip. ‘It’s supposed to carry all my worldly goods. That wouldn’t even carry my make-up.’
‘Say your main one is in the left luggage at the station,’ said Hex. ‘This is your shopping gear.’
‘Or better still,’ said Alex, ‘you left it there and it’s been stolen. You’ve lost everything and that’s why you need to sell a kidney.’
Amber slipped the backpack onto her shoulders.
Paulo sat up. He looked at her critically. ‘It still isn’t enough. You need more gear. You should look like a beast of burden.’
She put her hand on her insulin kit. ‘I’ve got this too.’
He unclipped his toolkit from his belt and handed it to her. ‘You can’t have too many bits and pieces. That should look like a money belt.’
‘She’s not supposed to have any money,’ said Hex.
‘Well, act like it hasn’t got money in it,’ said Alex. ‘Put it on, Amber.’
Amber took her belt off, threaded the toolkit onto it and fastened it again.
The others nodded. ‘Yeah, that looks better,’ said Li.
Amber knew how much the kit meant to Paulo. He had made many of the tools himself. ‘Thanks, Paulo,’ she said. ‘I’ll take good care of it.’ She eyed Hex’s palmtop in its belt-mounted carrying case and a big grin spread across her face. ‘Perhaps I need another—’
Hex’s hand immediately flew to his most treasured possession. ‘Forget it!’ he said firmly. ‘You’re not having that.’
Amber hit him gently on the shoulder. ‘Keep your hair on. I was only asking.’
‘See if they can give you a personality transplant while you’re in there,’ rejoined Hex.
Meanwhile, Alex had been working out a plan. ‘Amber, you go in, have a good look around the clinic and the safe house behind it. That’s your priority. I’ll be your backup. I’ll wait outside, across the road. Check in every half hour. If I don’t hear from you, I’ll get Hex to dial up your tracer and we’ll come looking. OK?’
Amber nodded.
Hex grinned at her. ‘Of course, they might surgically remove it.’
‘Gee,’ said Amber, ‘you really know how to keep up morale in a nasty situation.’
15
THE CLINIC
Amber was nervous; her blood was pounding like her heart wanted to jump into her throat. She waited in the yellow-painted reception of the clinic, under the fan that turned slowly in the yellow ceiling. On the counter was a list of services the clinic offered, like a menu in a hotel. Perhaps reading it would keep her calm: dialysis from 1,700 rupees; blood tests 100 rupees per test; dialysis plus tests 2,500 rupees; assessment for transplant by arrangement.
It made her feel even more as though she was venturing into the lion’s den.
Stay objective, she told herself. What do we notice from this? The clinic specializes in kidney disease. And there were no prices listed for an actual transplant.
A nurse came out and addressed her briskly. ‘Yes?’
Amber opened her mouth, began to speak, and shut it again. She’d thought she would have to pretend to be a bit nervous, not her usual confident self. But she actually was quite scared. She was going to invite these people to buy her kidney and they were going to take her seriously. Knives and scalpels flashed in her mind’s eye like warnings. She wanted to turn round and leave. She swallowed and began to speak again. ‘I wonder if I could have a quiet word?’
‘What about?’
Amber swallowed. She had no trouble making it sound as though she had come to a difficult decision. Her voice was almost a whisper. She couldn’t have spoken louder if she’d tried. ‘I’ve been backpacking for four months and I’ve run out of money. I can’t get home.’ She bowed her head. The nurse leaned closer to hear. Amber had to force herself to say the words. ‘I heard there are people who need kidneys. Do you know who I could talk to about helping them?’
The nurse straightened up. Her expression was flinty. Oh my God, Amber thought. She’s not falling for it. It’s illegal, isn’t it? She’s going to call the police. I’ll be arrested.
But the nurse said, ‘Have a seat through there.’ She indicated a doorway separated from the reception area by a row of hanging strips of plastic, like ribbons.
Amber went through. Well, that was the first hurdle. But she didn’t feel triumphant; she felt sick.
As she walked through the ribbon curtain, she saw a woman sitting on a plastic chair, reading a newspaper. The woman glanced briefly at Amber, then turned back to her paper. She looked very tired.
Amber remembered how she used to feel before her diabetes was diagnosed: tired and listless; unable to concentrate. It was horrible, not being well. It made you an unhappy, unfriendly person. Along with that memory came another warning: diabetes could lead to major diseases; a likely one was kidney failure. This could be a glimpse into the future. If Amber had been nervous before, she now felt as though someone had shaken her hard.
She forced herself to think positive. I’m fine, she said to herself. I’m going to look after myself and stay healthy. Now, she went on firmly, do your job.
The rest of the room was divided up by hospital screens. One was not quite closed, and Amber managed to glimpse a man lying on a bed, tubes going into his arms and snaking under his shirt; the other ends of the tubes fed into a tall machine. It was then that Amber became aware that there was a noise in the room, louder than the sound of the traffic outside and the fan beating overhead. It was a sort of liquid gurgle. It must be the sound of blood circulating through a dialysis machine.
A nurse came through and looked at the woman on the chair. ‘Mrs Chaudhuri,’ she said, ‘this way, please.’ The woman got up stiffly and followed the nurse to one of the trolleys. She levered herself onto it slowly and lay down.
The nurse took some needles out of a wrapping and lifted the woman’s shirt.
Amber looked away. She wasn’t squeamish about needles; far from it as she had to inject herself twice a day. But this was a private moment she shouldn’t see. Then the nurse remembered to close the screens.
There was a door opposite where Amber was sitting. It had a numerical keypad: a security lock. Whatever they had in there, they wanted to keep people out. What had Mootama said? She was taken through a locked door into another part of the clinic. Well, there it was.
Another nurse bustled through from reception and approached the door. She pressed five keys, opened it, went through and made sure it closed behind her.
From her seat Amber counted the number of keys on the pad – numbers 0 to 9,
plus the letters A to D. That made fourteen keys – and over half a million possible five-figure combinations. Too many to guess.
Someone else sat down beside her. Amber remained wrapped in her own thoughts until a voice broke through.
‘You’re new. You don’t look ill like me. You can’t be coming for dialysis.’
Amber turned round. She had a shock when she saw her new companion. The voice was male but at first glance Amber could have sworn it was a woman; a heavily pregnant woman. His entire belly was swollen, from the chest downwards. Thin arms and legs poked out from his sleeves and trousers like sticks. His face was greyish under the brown skin, the eyes sunken.
‘Today is my day for dialysis,’ he said. ‘That’s why I look like this. If you had seen me earlier in the week I would have been smaller. Everything I drink, all the water I take in, it stays in my body because my kidneys don’t work any more. Are you here for tests?’
Amber nodded.
‘Good,’ said the man. ‘That is better than being ill. I used to be well.’
Amber felt like a fraud. How could she pretend she was going to sell a kidney when the people who needed them were this ill? She should walk out of there right now and not deceive him any longer. But he seemed to want to talk to her, so she said the only thing she could. ‘Where will you get a new kidney?’
‘There’s an agent who is looking for a donor.’
The man would probably tell her so many things that would be useful. But squeezing him for information seemed callous. Do your job, she had to tell herself. You might not find anyone else to ask. It’s for Bina.
She took a deep breath. ‘I would like to talk to the agent. Do you know where I can find him?’ She couldn’t meet his eyes as she asked the question, in case she saw a flare of hope.
‘He visits the clinic. I don’t call him, he comes and finds me when he has a possible donor.’ The man shrugged. ‘After all, he knows where to find me.’