Alpha Force: Blood Money

by Chris Ryan

  A little way up the road, a small crowd had formed. A policeman was loading a wrapped figure into the back of a car. It looked like a body.

  Li waded towards it. She felt something touch the back of her leg. The clammy remains of a discarded chapatti were clinging to her skin. She shook it off in disgust, wondering what else she might be treading on in the filthy water.

  She reached the crowd. The policeman closed the doors of the van and went to get into the driver’s seat.

  Li picked her way through the water to get a better look. A middle-aged man standing next to her told her, ‘It’s a young girl. Found in the canal. Such a shame.’

  Li’s heart skipped a beat. She asked breathlessly, ‘Did you see her?’

  The man nodded. ‘I saw her before they covered her face. She was so young. Such a shame.’ He splashed away.

  Li waded back. Never mind breakfast, she had to tell the others. Had someone stolen Bina’s kidney and dumped her?

  There was only one place to find out.

  As they walked up the steps into the police station Alex was relieved to see that a different policeman was on duty. Maybe we’ll actually get somewhere this time, he thought.

  ‘We came in yesterday to report a friend of ours as missing,’ he began.

  ‘If you will just wait,’ said the officer on duty, ‘I’ll fetch Sergeant Chopra. He deals with missing persons.’

  Alex groaned inwardly. That was just what he didn’t want to hear.

  An untouchable shuffled by, a scrubby broom in his hands, and then Sergeant Chopra came out from a back room.

  ‘Hello,’ said Alex. ‘Have you had any news of our missing friend?’

  Sergeant Chopra looked at him without interest. ‘We haven’t found her.’

  Amber tried a different approach. ‘We saw a body pulled out of the canal this morning. We’re very worried that it might be her.’

  ‘It’s not your friend.’

  ‘Have you identified it?’ said Li. ‘One of the witnesses said it was a young girl.’

  ‘It was an untouchable. It doesn’t need to be identified.’ The sergeant mopped his brow with a crisp white handkerchief.

  Alex looked at the man’s large, blubbery belly and wasn’t surprised he was hot with that much insulation. Even his neck was fat.

  Sergeant Chopra turned away from them and picked up the phone. The five friends got a good view of his ample rear. His tight khaki trousers had back pockets, and something made an oblong bump in the stretched material. An oblong bump that was dirty at the top.

  It was Paulo who realized what it was: banknotes.

  The sergeant turned back to face them. ‘Someone is coming from the crematorium,’ he said.

  Li couldn’t believe it. ‘You’re not going to do a post mortem?’

  ‘Post mortems are for VIPs. Not street scum. I will call you if there is any news of your friend.’

  They turned to go, but the sergeant had one more thing to say. ‘Be careful. Lots of people go missing in Chennai. It’s a big place. They often go missing in the monsoon. It’s a dangerous time. You should be careful.’ The small eyes glittered in the fat face.

  ‘There’s something about him that makes me very angry,’ Alex said as they came down the steps and splashed back into the street.

  ‘And very suspicious,’ said Hex. ‘I hope that isn’t how he deals with all missing persons – having them burned.’

  ‘Did you see that roll of money he had in his pocket?’ said Paulo. ‘Very dodgy.’

  The road was busier now. Alongside the taxis, cars and motorbikes, men in soaked loincloths pushed carts to the market.

  Hex got out his palmtop. ‘Hey, let’s stop here. I want to try something.’ He flipped up the website that allowed him to track Trilok’s mobile.

  Amber peered over his shoulder, recognizing the image on the screen. ‘What’s the kidney man up to now?’

  ‘It’s not what he’s up to now,’ said Hex. ‘It’s what he’s been up to. This is a list of numbers he’s called recently – there are a lot to the same one. And – get this – they were all made since we went and looked for Bina in the safe house.’

  ‘Now that is interesting,’ said Paulo.

  Hex asked, ‘Alex, can you see into the police station from here?’

  ‘Yeah. I can see that fat sergeant.’

  ‘What’s he doing?’

  ‘Eating. Now there’s a surprise.’

  ‘Well he’s got to keep his figure,’ said Amber.

  Hex took out his mobile, keyed in the number he had identified from the website and pressed CALL.

  In the window, the policeman put down his snack, wiped his hands, picked up his phone and answered.

  Hex heard Chopra’s voice say hello. He cancelled the call, his face shocked.

  ‘Dios,’ whispered Paulo.

  ‘Come on,’ said Alex. ‘We can talk while we’re walking.’

  They plodded through the water until they were well away from the police station. Amber was the first to speak.

  ‘So Trilok calls the policeman a lot. A policeman’s a rather unusual friend for a man with an illegal trade.’

  ‘Exactly,’ said Hex. ‘Why are they such close buddies?’

  ‘Because,’ said Alex, ‘Chopra’s watching Trilok’s back and keeping him out of trouble.’

  ‘And,’ said Paulo, ‘he just got paid this morning – that money in his pocket.’

  Hex tucked his palmtop away. ‘He certainly didn’t get as fat as that on a normal policeman’s wage.’

  Amber snorted. ‘I’d bet my bottom dollar Sergeant Chopra knows where Bina is.’

  ‘We’ve got to look at that body,’ said Alex. ‘I just know there’s something up about that body.’

  ‘They’ve got a cleaner who’s an untouchable,’ said Paulo. ‘They won’t notice another.’

  ‘Especially if it’s someone really small,’ said Li.

  22

  INTO THE MORGUE

  The desk was unmanned. Li had her chance to sneak in. The turban was like cardboard, stiff with unmentionable stains. She had wrapped part of it around the lower half of her face and the rough material chafed against her cheek. Every breath she took it touched her lips. The smell made her want to gag. How had Paulo managed to wear this? There was a fresh streak of fruit and vegetable slime on the loincloth where he had wiped his hands after delving into the bin. Flies stuck to it.

  She went behind the desk and into the corridor behind. She passed an office. The walls were covered with notices and photos in varying stages of yellowing age. Two officers sat at desks reading paperwork. They didn’t notice her.

  There was the sound of a toilet flushing. Sergeant Chopra flung open the bathroom door. He was standing right beside her. Sweat ran down his face and he mopped his brow.

  The next second a blow to her head set her ears ringing. Li steeled herself not to respond. Normally she would have had him on the floor in an instant but she had to be appear submissive.

  Chopra shouted something at her in rapid Hindi and motioned towards the bathroom, then pushed past her into the office.

  Li stood at the open door of the bathroom. A row of white urinals was surrounded by dingy green tiles. A powerful, sharp smell made her throat clench. Even the fetid turban in front of her nose was preferable. Holding it to her face, she trudged into the room.

  A pool of vomit lay on the floor. Li took one look and then turned away, her stomach churning.

  At least she had gained access. She only had to do this and then she could go where she wanted. She went to find a mop and bucket.

  Five minutes after Li went in, a motorbike pulled up in the waterlogged street. Its rider, who wore no helmet, cut the engine, kicked the stand down and got off. He took a blue plastic cool box off the back of the bike and went into the police station.

  Alex, Amber, Paulo and Hex, watching from the library opposite, had an excellent view.

  ‘Is that Sergeant Chopra’s lunch?’ s
aid Alex.

  ‘No,’ said Amber. ‘Look at what he’s wearing – that white shirt and tie. He’s not a street hawker. He’s a professional.’

  ‘A professional what?’ said Paulo.

  ‘A professional who’s come to see the fat sergeant,’ said Alex. ‘Look.’

  Sure enough, Sergeant Chopra greeted the man and guided him into the station and out of their view.

  ‘He seems to get better treatment than normal members of the public,’ said Alex.

  ‘Could be from the crematorium,’ said Hex. ‘Chopra made a call to them.’

  ‘I hope Li’s all right in there,’ said Amber.

  It was the most revolting thing Li had ever had to do. She tried not to look at the mess she was clearing up but she’d seen pieces of undigested bhaji. She doubted she’d ever eat another of those.

  She didn’t try to make a thorough job of it, just threw down some disinfectant and swilled up the worst of it. Afterwards, she decided to keep the bucket and mop with her as part of her disguise.

  She checked no one was coming, then slipped out into the corridor. Where was the morgue? To her left was a stairwell. Morgues were more likely to be below ground. Hoisting mop and bucket, she went down.

  Sergeant Chopra was coming up. She hid her face, but he pushed past her as though she wasn’t there. She caught a glimpse of his ample backside. Was it her imagination, or had the wad of money got bigger? Had Trilok just been there? Or was someone else paying him?

  At the bottom of the stairs, she stepped into dark water. The basement had flooded. The cracked tiles were pale, like plants starved of light. In one direction was a barred gate: the cells. Reflected in the black water, the bars looked as though they extended down for ever.

  In the other direction was an open door leading to a tiled room. Li caught a powerful zing of disinfectant and something else that it couldn’t hide: a sickly, heavy odour of death. That must be the mortuary.

  Li waded slowly towards the room, making the water lap against the tiles. She turned round – was she being followed? No, it was just the water, beating like a live thing around her. The river Styx, flowing towards the dead. Her heart was pounding. What would she find in the mortuary?

  Four porcelain benches stood in the middle of the room. The three furthest away from her were occupied by still figures under grubby sheets. At least they were covered; Li was thankful for that. The slab nearest to her was empty. Its surface was worn and yellowed with years of bleach, chemicals and blood. Rusty stains showed where excretions from dead bodies had been hosed away.

  There was a man in the room, pulling a sheet over one of the bodies. He wore a white shirt and a tie, a green plastic apron, and surgical gloves and mask. It was impossible for Li to move quietly through the water, but he ignored her anyway and fastened the lid on a blue cool box. He took off his apron and mask, peeled off his gloves with a snap, and threw them at her, saying something sharp in Hindi. Then he picked up the cool box and waded to the door. The discarded mask, gloves and apron turned slowly on the surface of the inky water.

  Li was alone. She moved towards the body. She could see contours under the sheet – the silhouette of a nose and chin, the rise of a girlish pair of breasts, long legs, feet. It could be Bina. Maybe she could tell without having to lift the sheet. For instance, was this girl the right height?

  Next to the head was an odd-looking tool. Li picked it up. It was like a long slender pair of scissors, with a pair of curved paddles instead of blades. It might be evidence. She put it in her pocket. The shrouded body waited. She would have to inspect it. She picked the gloves out of the black water and put them on.

  She gripped the corner of the shroud but something stopped her moving it. A thin red substance was trickling around the head, like watery blood. It was like a warning not to look.

  Li looked at the sink behind her. There was a crumpled pile of yellow sponges, with wrappers from the gloves. What had been done to the body? That man had obviously cut something out. She envisaged bloodied holes. The strange scissors in her pocket dug cruelly into her hip.

  Maybe she could just look at the face and see if it was Bina. She pulled back the sheet.

  She moved back immediately and looked away but the image persisted on her retinas. Where the eyes should have been were two empty red hollows.

  That man had taken out the eyes.

  23

  THE COURIER

  Li looked anywhere but at the eyeless face. Reflections from the water threw giddy patterns on the walls and ceiling. She would have to look again. The first glimpse had told her it was a female, but she had to know if it was Bina.

  Li put her hands over her eyes and lowered her head. She opened her fingers a crack and looked at the face again.

  It wasn’t Bina.

  She quickly pulled the sheet over the face, hiding the horrible disfigurement. She moved further down the body and lifted the sheet again. The dead girl wore a dirty green shift. Her wrists were emaciated, the bones showing clearly, the skin shrunken – probably she died of malnutrition in the slums and ended up in the canal because her family couldn’t afford a funeral. Li felt sad for her. What a horrible life. No foul play, anyway – at least not while she was living. Until someone stole her eyes.

  Li looked across to the other two bodies. The water shadows lapped over their shrouds but they were like rock. It was hard to believe that something of flesh and blood could be so still.

  Li decided she’d better check those too. One of them could still be Bina. She paddled through the murky water to the next one and pulled back the sheet.

  The same horror awaited her: the eyes had gone. But this time Li was better prepared. It was a man, quite old and thin – probably one of the many beggars who’d died in the streets. Li covered him quickly. On a hunch she had a quick look at his abdomen in case his kidney had been removed, but the thin body was intact.

  She moved onto the third corpse. This one was younger and had a large gash on his head, his hair matted with congealed blood. In amongst the mess of that, the eyes had been carefully removed – taken out neatly, the eyelids left intact, even the eyelashes undisturbed. Not a single cut had been made anywhere else. It was a neat, professional job, surgical and precise.

  A professional job. Someone who took out eyes all the time. Was it legal to take them from unidentified bodies in a police station? No, she decided, it probably wasn’t. That was probably why Sergeant Chopra’s roll of banknotes was looking bigger than before. He had sold these people’s eyes.

  Li got out her phone and keyed in a text.

  Alex got the message just as the man with the cool box was padding down the steps of the police station. By the time he had fixed the box onto the back of his bike and started the engine, Alex was out in the street. A motorized rickshaw was pulling in to the side of the flooded road. With no taxis in sight, Alex flagged it down.

  The rickshaw driver got off. Alex splashed up to him. ‘How much to hire?’

  The driver shook his head. ‘Lunch.’

  Alex wondered whether it was a negotiating tactic, but he didn’t have time to play games. The bike was getting away, weaving between the traffic that churned through the dirty water. Alex got a roll of notes out of his pocket. ‘I’ll drive it myself. How much?’

  The driver took a samosa out of a battered plastic container and took a bite.

  ‘How much to hire?’ said Alex again.

  The man spoke through a mouthful of samosa. ‘Four hundred rupees.’ He held up four fingers.

  It sounded like a lot, but it was about four pounds. Alex handed over the money. The man gave him the ignition keys, grinning broadly, and tucked the money into his top pocket.

  Alex got on, gunned the engine and moved off.

  Hex, Amber and Paulo were still in the library, waiting for Li.

  ‘What was the rush?’ said Hex.

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Amber. ‘Li just told us to follow that man.’

  They wa
tched Alex steering through the traffic, beeping like crazy. The rickshaw was a peculiar vehicle: the front end a single motorbike wheel, the back wheel replaced by two bicycle wheels and a wide seat. The handlebars were great tall things that forced him to sit back as though he was waterskiing.

  ‘I wouldn’t have picked that as a pursuit vehicle,’ said Paulo. ‘It’s going to be a nightmare to ride.’

  Alex heard honking behind him. He turned and the bonnet of a brown Honda swerved past him, drenching him with filthy water. Alex ducked and one of the back wheels left the ground. He sat up again, wrestling with the huge handlebars. The bike was really unstable. He’d have thought three wheels would have been better than two.

  The controls weren’t that different from the quad bikes he had driven. But that was on dry land; riding in a virtual lake was very different. Alex tried to get up more speed, but the drag was so strong, it was like trying to move through treacle. He reached forty-five k.p.h. and the front wheel started to wobble like crazy. He began to wonder why the owner had been so willing to hire it out to him. Perhaps he hadn’t hired it; he’d sold it.

  The motorbike was now crawling, so Alex was able to catch up. A cow stood dozing in the road, and cars, bikes and pedestrians were going every which way like a watery dodgem ride. The courier slipped past and sped away.

  Alex revved his engine. The gap between them mustn’t widen. The rickshaw merely chugged along. Alex glanced down at the petrol tank as if to remonstrate with it – and did a double-take. There was a Harley Davidson logo. The classic American bike. Even Alex, who wasn’t much of a bike junkie, knew he was sitting on a collector’s piece. Paulo, a real petrol-head, would be green with envy.

  The bike ahead had slowed and Alex tried to close the gap again. He gunned the engine, but it responded sluggishly. If this was a classic machine it was a bit disappointing. He looked at the logo again. It said Hardley Davidson. An Indian-made copy.