The Conor McBride Series Books 1-3

by Kathryn Guare

  Conor looked quickly away. The line of Irish was from a sentimental song their father had often played—“little brother of my heart.” It had a gentler sound now than in the days when Thomas had teased him with it.

  “No,” he said, curtly. “I haven’t had the fiddle with me for a long while.”

  “Ah, well.” Thomas sighed, and, standing upright, pulled Conor to his feet.

  “Progress. This is good,” Sedgwick remarked. “Next item. Do you know the Candlelight Bistro on the Causeway down near the Sassoon Docks?”

  Sedgwick directed the question to Thomas, who nodded. “Excellent. I’m going to fire a shot in the air, and you’re going to take off up the alley. It’ll be fine. They don’t even know who you are. I’ll pick you up in front of that restaurant in about an hour.”

  He stepped back and pulled the trigger. “Now, get the hell out of here,” he shouted and then called out to Khalil’s taporis. “Let him go. We don’t need him, and Mustafa, I told you to wait in your goddamned car.”

  As Thomas ran back up the alley, Sedgwick directed a cold, angry stare at Conor. “What the fuck is wrong with you? What were you thinking? Did you have any idea what kind of position you would put me in with your idiotic heroics?”

  “I didn’t,” Conor admitted. “I’m sorry. It seems obvious now, I suppose. It never occurred to me Khalil would hold you responsible. Is Raj all right?”

  “Oh, sure, Raj is fine,” Sedgwick snapped. “He was robbed at gunpoint and knocked unconscious and had to spend a few hours wondering if he’d be decapitated, but he’s great. Raj was smart. He reported you as soon as he woke up. Some of us have been looser with the rules. A little more soft-hearted, if you know what I mean.”

  “I know what you mean. I’m sorry,” Conor repeated.

  “Yeah, sorry, sorry,” Sedgwick mimicked. He grabbed his arm and yanked him forward, planting the gun at his back. “Let’s go.”

  At the end of the alley, he lifted the hatch of the SUV, revealing a large, bloodstained bundle lying across the back.

  “What the hell is that?” Conor looked at the bundle distastefully.

  “Your dead body,” Sedgwick said, with relish. “Trussed and ready for its disposal next to the Sassoon Dock. This evening, the part will be played by the fresh carcass of a young water buffalo.”

  “This is really the plan?”

  “Yeah, this is the plan. You still thought I was going to kill you, McBride?”

  “I’ve got to be honest, I thought you might try,” Conor admitted. “Or at least go on beating the crap out of me.”

  “It’s tempting.” Sedgwick smirked in sour amusement. “Now, get against the wall there. Once you’re down, I’ll heave you into the back. I’ll dick around for a while with the door open, looking like I’m wrapping you up. There’s a tarp on the floor of the back seat. By the time I shut the back, you need to have scrambled forward and moved under it. Are we clear?”

  “Clear.” Conor peered into the rear of the SUV and then walked over to the wall. “What do you want me to do?”

  “Fall down when I shoot you.”

  “Yeah, I get that,” Conor said patiently. “Any particular direction? Slumped against the wall? On my back, stomach?”

  “Oh.” Sedgwick chewed his lip. “On your back; easier to pick you up from that angle. I guess. Hell, I don’t know. I’ve never tried this before.”

  “Hmm. That’s a comfort.”

  Conor watched with an odd, watery feeling in his stomach as the agent chambered a round, took aim, and then hesitated. “I’m going to spray the wall to the right of you. Don’t fidget or jerk around, for God’s sake.”

  “I won’t.”

  “Okay.” Sedgwick raised the gun again.

  “Wait a minute. My right or your right?”

  “What difference does it make? Don’t fidget in either direction.”

  “Right.”

  In the next instant, the area next to his right ear and shoulder exploded in a fusillade of bullets. He closed his eyes as fragments of concrete flew out from the wall, and then, sinking to his knees, flopped onto his back and lay motionless.

  “Conor. Jesus, are you all right?”

  He opened his eyes to see Sedgwick crouched over him, rigid with alarm. Conor gave a slow, solemn wink, and the agent’s face relaxed.

  “That was—damn, that was pretty convincing. You really looked like something hit you.”

  “Something did. I think a few bits of concrete went into my arm.”

  Sedgwick leaned in for a closer look. “Yeah, you’re right. You’ll have to dig those out later.”

  After being unceremoniously dumped next to the bloody bundle in the rear, Conor fumbled his way forward as instructed until he was arranged awkwardly on the floor of the vehicle, under a tarp. A few minutes later, Sedgwick slid into the driver’s seat and started the engine. They rolled up the alley and then came to a stop, and he heard the window slide down. Sedgwick spoke gruffly to Khalil’s men. “We’re done here. Follow me to the docks.”

  The car began moving again, and although it would have been safe to talk, they rode to the southern end of the city in a tense, unbroken silence.

  The Sassoon Dock was the site of Mumbai’s largest fish market. It looked onto a large harbor on the city’s bay side, where fishing boats arrived daily to unload a variety of sea creatures that moved from baskets to handcarts to trucks, eventually making their way to plates in every corner of the city. At first light, the market would be busy, and by early morning, jammed. At this time of night, the area would be marginally quieter, with most of the activity centered on the main jetty, where boats would be arriving throughout the night and jostling for mooring space.

  The docks were located at the southernmost end of Mumbai, in the Colaba district, and although he could see nothing, Conor could tell by the smell when they had arrived. The SUV shuddered over the rutted roads of the harbor area for what seemed like miles before finally coming to a stop.

  “Shouldn’t be more than a few minutes,” Sedgwick said over his shoulder as he exited. A moment later, the rear hatch was lifted again.

  He listened to the grunts of effort as Khalil’s men lifted out the stiffening “body” and then heard their swearing fade into background sounds of lapping water and a clamor of fishing vessels. It might have been only a few minutes, but to Conor, perspiring heavily under the suffocating tarp, it felt like hours before he heard an engine revving and then speeding past. Shortly after, Sedgwick jumped back into the car, chortling.

  “Stupid bastards—thank God for that. It worked like a charm, at least for now. I got them to stuff it under a pile of fish guts, and they’re practically puking from the stench. Not anxious to hang around and chat.”

  “Glad to hear it,” Conor said, shifting uncomfortably. “Can I get up now? I could use a bit of fresh air myself.”

  24

  By the time they arrived to collect Thomas outside the Candlelight Bistro on the Colaba Causeway, he’d had ample opportunity to work up a towering rage. Barely waiting for the car to stop, he threw himself onto the front seat and shut the door with a violent slam.

  “What the hell have you been up to? ” he demanded, accosting Sedgwick with a vicious scowl.

  Conor saw the agent’s head pivot sharply toward his brother. At first, he appeared ready to meet the challenge with equal hostility but then took a deep breath and turned his eyes back to the road. Putting the car in gear, he transferred his aggression to the clutch, and the SUV lurched into traffic, heading north.

  “I think you’d better be asking Conor instead of me.”

  “Well I’m asking you,” Thomas said. “As I’ve asked for the past two months without a straight answer. You were going to come up with something simple. ‘Safe but scary’ you told me. You’d have him begging to go home within a couple of weeks, you said. Whatever happened to that plan?”

  “That plan,” Sedgwick said irritably, “became obsolete once I learned he
was a bloodless SOB who can see around corners and be a shrewd, deadly fucker when he feels like it. I brought him into the Khalil organization because it was easy, and I didn’t have time to be creative and then, to be honest, I unexpectedly—and rather foolishly as it turns out—got comfortable working with him.”

  He shot Thomas a sideways glance, and his anger relaxed into an affectionate grin. “This probably comes as a shock, but your little brother is possibly the most gifted recruit British intelligence has sent into the field in ten years or more. There aren’t too many with both the skill and the stones to cheat Ahmed Khalil and then vanish like a puff of smoke.”

  In the backseat, Conor slouched a little further into the shadows as his brother swiveled around, one eyebrow raised in astute observation.

  “It’s not as shocking as you might think,” Thomas said wearily. He peered at Conor. “Are you all right? You look like you’ve got a fever again.”

  “No, it’s just . . . ordinary, stress-induced sweat. I’m all right.” Conor pushed the damp hair from his forehead and tried shifting the conversation to a more practical topic. “Listen, can we discuss our next move, since the dumping of my remains is checked off the program? I can’t be flouncing around town, now that I’m dead, and I can’t hide at Kavita’s flat indefinitely.”

  “Nothing to discuss.” Thomas turned back to face the road with an air of finality. “You’ll be going back home.”

  “I’ll be doing no such thing,” Conor answered with equal resolve. “At least, not alone.”

  “Conor, there’s no point in arguing.”

  “I agree, no point at all in arguing, because I’ve—”

  “There’s no point in either of you arguing.” Sedgwick’s voice was pitched to command attention. “It’s not up to you. It’s Walker’s call.”

  Conor saw his brother’s back stiffen.

  “You’d better not be suggesting what I think you are.”

  “I’m not suggesting, or recommending. I’m informing.” Sedgwick paused to concentrate as he steered the SUV through a disordered intersection before continuing. “The decision’s made, and it’s not up for debate. Walker wants him dealt in on this.”

  “Walker can go to hell,” Thomas said angrily.

  “Who’s Walker?” Conor sat up and leaned forward.

  “Greg Walker,” Sedgwick said. “Introduced to you as Grigory Lipvin. He’s a counter-narcotics agent with the US Drug Enforcement Agency.”

  “The DEA?” He sat up even straighter. It was not especially illuminating information, but it did validate one technicality— Sedgwick had told the truth in swearing that he wasn’t working for the CIA.

  “Yep. Special Operations Division.”

  He looked at Conor in the rearview mirror, his cool, gray eyes indistinct in the darkness. He seemed prepared to reveal additional details but before he could, Thomas erupted. He sent a fist crashing onto the dashboard and bellowed a sound that seemed halfway between a sob and a roar.

  “Goddamn it, shut up! You promised me. You said you would keep him clear of it. I don’t care what Walker wants. We agreed a long time ago that he would never hear about any of this.”

  “He’s got to hear about it,” Sedgwick retorted. “He’s the one that forced the issue, so he’s got to hear it now. I have no options; the man is my boss.”

  “One of your bosses,” Conor interjected.

  “Yes, fine, one of them,” Sedgwick conceded. “Anyway, he’s the one calling the plays I have to roll with now, especially after the stunts you pulled this week. You managed to impress him and piss him off at the same time. He realizes now that it’s too risky to send you back to London, and we can’t leave you in Mumbai. We put on a show tonight for the two dumbest taporis in Mumbai, but it won’t hold up for long. Khalil will realize soon enough that he’s been tricked again. He’s also got an eager accomplice in your old friend Rohit Mehta, who wasn’t pleased to hear that he was holding wads of money stolen from his boss. Needless to say, he wasn’t allowed to keep it. We can’t even set you up to get arrested. With so many people wanting you dead, it’s too dangerous now to lock you up—they’d get to you in jail. There’d be hell to pay if word got around that we let a foreign agent go down when we knew he was compromised, particularly if he got killed by the gang we’d infiltrated ourselves.”

  “So, I’m not going to London, and I can’t stay in Mumbai. Where are you proposing that I go?”

  “North,” Sedgwick said, with a wary glance at Thomas. “The plan is to give Con the paramilitary monk a new assignment with a new outfit. You’re going to be attached to the DEA’s operation as the bodyguard for your brother, who is on his way north as well.”

  “Not a chance.” Thomas spat the words ferociously. “If that’s what you’ve in mind, then stop the car right now. You can count us both out of it. I’m done. I’ll take my chances with the feckin’ British before going along with any more of this horseshit.”

  To Conor’s surprise, Sedgwick abruptly brought his foot off the accelerator. They were on the MG Road near the main Fort campus of the University of Mumbai and not all that far from the Bombay Gymkhana. Braking to a stop on the side of the road, the agent turned to regard each of them in turn. His face looked tired and strained, but again he addressed Thomas with uncharacteristic restraint.

  “We’ve been together on this for a long time, Tom,” he said. “A few phone calls to the right people, and you could sabotage the whole thing, but that’s been true from the start. I somehow knew I could trust you, and after a shaky start, I’ve tried to be someone you could trust, too.” He indicated Conor with a nod. “I know what he means to you. I know what I promised, and . . . I know what I owe you. I can’t believe after coming this far and knowing what’s at stake that you’ll set this whole operation on fire; but if you want out of it, take him and go. I won’t stop you, but I can’t protect you, either. Or him.”

  Thomas stared ahead, and in the windshield’s ghostly reflection, Conor could see his features hardened in sullen indecision. He sat back in his seat and remained quiet. After a few tense minutes, his brother’s face crumpled.

  “What will you be doing, then?” Thomas asked, his voice grown hollow. “You were supposed to play the bodyguard.”

  Sedgwick released a long sigh of relief. He put the car back in gear, and they started forward again. “Don’t worry, there’s still plenty for me to do. Anyway, he’s better at it than I am. You’ll be safer with him.”

  Conor cleared his throat tentatively. “I don’t suppose anyone wants to explain what this DEA business is all about or what I’m meant to be guarding him from?”

  “All in due time,” Sedgwick assured him. “We’ve still got a long night ahead of us.”

  “He needs to be in bed,” Thomas objected. “The doctor says he’s got TB.”

  “I know.” Sedgwick again looked in the mirror at Conor. This time, the darkness did not obscure a sarcastic gleam creeping back into his eyes. “Kavita passed along that news earlier this week. She’s wracked with guilt for not making you get tested earlier, so she’s had me playing community health worker for the past few days, finding everyone who’s ever shaken hands with you to make sure they get a skin test. That’s made me even more popular with the goondas, as you can imagine. I assume you’re on antibiotics?”

  Conor nodded. “I’ve been pretty careful around people for the past few weeks. I sort of had a feeling . . . ” he trailed off with a self-conscious shrug.

  “Ah, yes, the McBrides and their famous intuitions,” Sedgwick said. “We’ll have to take our chances around you now. Where you’re going, you should get a couple more weeks of recuperation before your services will be required.”

  “And it looks like we’re going by train?” Conor observed that the SUV was rolling up to the main entrance of the rambling, Gothic pile formerly known as Victoria Terminus, now renamed Chatrapati Shivaji, the main railway station for Mumbai.

  “Correct,” Sedgwick confirmed. �
�You’ll be riding in style, too. Wait till you see it. You’re in for a treat.”

  “You said north. Care to narrow it down a bit?” Conor asked. “More than half the country is north of here.”

  “Rishikesh.” Thomas’s sepulchral, dispirited intonation made the word sound like a feeble expletive. “We’re going to Kavita Kotwal’s ashram in Rishikesh.”

  25

  “I’ve never known a cheaper bastard,” Thomas sighed.

  “He is pretty tight with the baksheesh,” Conor agreed. “I’ve noticed that.”

  “They’ll get it out of him eventually, but he always has to make a bleedin’ production of it. Probably still has his confirmation money, the mingy little blirt.”

  “Just part of his winsome charm.”

  Thomas aimed a skeptical squint at him, and they both chuckled. They were in one of the main halls inside the train station, dwarfed by vaulted ceilings and soaring cathedral-like arches, trying to hold their ground as the only bodies at rest in a swirling tide of motion. They were standing where they’d been told to and had no occupation other than to watch the American agent reveling in his element.

  He was arguing with a growing clutch of railway staff and curious onlookers, trying to confirm both a train and a departure platform for their journey. Apparently, they were traveling via the Kotwal family’s private carriage, and it was still parked on a siding somewhere, waiting to be hitched to one of the many trains in the station heading north that evening. Sedgwick was bargaining for the best route to Rishikesh.

  The city was located in the foothills of the Himalayas in the Indian state of Uttaranchal. Conor remembered Kavita had referred to the state as her “home region,” but how she came to have an ashram there and why they were going to it was just another mystery that remained to be explained.

  In fact, beyond the immediate prospect of a train ride, Conor had very little grasp of what was going on and thought he probably wouldn’t like it once he did. At one time, he would have found such ambiguity insufferable, but India had taught him patience, as had the surprisingly disheveled, bumbling universe of international espionage.