“No, thank you,” Allie said as she followed him to his door.
“Well, then, how may I help you, Miss…?” he asked as she stepped inside the office. “Please,” he said, indicating one of two chairs in front of his desk, which was stacked high with folders. A standing fan blew a stream of warm air from the open window, and Allie sat in the closest while Pradhan rounded his desk and took a seat.
“Allie,” she said, smiling shyly at him. “I have a bitcoin address of someone I desperately need to contact. He’s sent a number of payments to your magazine. I’m hoping you have his contact information.”
The Indian’s expression hardened, any trace of friendliness gone. “I’m afraid that our advertiser information is most strictly confidential. I’m sorry I can’t help you.”
Allie opened her purse and removed a tissue, pausing long enough for Pradhan to get a good look at the wad of hundred-dollar bills in it. Just in case he’d missed the point, she set the bag, open, on his desk, and sat forward. “I would be extremely grateful if you could make an exception,” she said, sliding a piece of paper across the desk to him, the public key written across it.
Pradhan’s eyes darted to the side, and then he gave her a sad smile. “I’m really very sorry, young lady, but our rules are our rules. I’m afraid there’s nothing I can do for you. I’d suggest you look elsewhere. I’m in a bit of a rush to finish up my errands before I have lunch at the restaurant across the street. I hate to be late. Every day, same time.” He eyed his watch. “Oh, in twenty minutes.”
“Ah, I see. Well, it’s a shame you can’t bend the rules.”
“I would lose my job. I hope you understand — I am not of sufficient means to risk that.”
“Of course. Well, thank you for your time,” Allie said, rising.
Pradhan palmed the note and stood. “I trust you can find your own way out.”
“Yes. Enjoy your lunch,” she said, holding his stare.
“Oh, I most sincerely hope I do.”
Allie retraced her steps downstairs and reported on her meeting to Drake. They agreed that he would continue loitering nearby, and she crossed the street and entered the restaurant. The hostess seated her near the rear, at her request, and she busied herself on her phone while she waited.
Pradhan appeared right on time and slid into the booth across from her. “This is most unusual,” he began, and then seemed to run out of steam.
“Yes, but these are strange times. As I said, I’d be extremely grateful for any help you can offer.”
“How would that gratitude express itself?”
“I’d think five hundred dollars would be a reasonable token of my appreciation.”
“A thousand would be more in line with the risk involved, should I be caught.”
Allie knew that was probably double what the man earned per month, but she was uninterested in fighting too hard.
“It is a princely sum, but perhaps, depending on the information you shared, reasonable.”
“I must use the restroom. I will be back in a moment,” he said, and when he departed, her note was on the table, folded neatly in half. She opened it and read a name and telephone number, as well as a street address. She slipped it into her purse and surreptitiously counted ten hundred-dollar bills, which she folded into a small wedge.
Pradhan returned and sat down. Allie stood and placed her napkin on the table, and slid the money beneath it. “I’m sorry. I just got a call. I’m afraid I need to run,” she said.
The little man nodded sagely, his eyes on the napkin. Allie made her way to the entrance, Pradhan’s eyes burning holes through her back, and pulled it open, smiling in triumph. Drake was beside her in moments.
“I got it,” she said. “Phone and address. Name’s Gafur Singh.”
“Wonder why Carson didn’t have his information?”
“He could have. We never got a chance to look at his phone contacts.”
“Going to give ol’ Gafur a call?”
“Let’s pick up another phone. Call me paranoid, but I don’t want to use mine.”
“I’d say with a beheading and a manhunt in progress for Spencer, you can’t be paranoid enough.”
“Don’t forget that at some point it’s inevitable they’ll be after you.”
Drake frowned. “That hasn’t escaped me.”
They repeated their phone purchase with the same result — the merchant happily selling them one without identification, accepting their promise to return when they had their passports. Allie called Singh’s phone number, but it went straight to voice mail. She waited for the tone and left a message.
“Hello. I’m calling to let you know that the remainder of the fee is ready. Please call me as soon as possible so we can conclude the transaction.” She recited her new phone number and hung up. “No answer,” she said.
“Want to go by his place or stop in to see the professor first?”
She tapped an address into her phone and peered at the display. “Looks like he’s only a mile away, maybe less. The university’s farther. Let’s get a ride and check out Singh’s first and then hit the professor.”
“How much did it wind up costing?” Drake asked as they waved at a taxi.
“I’ll put it on your tab.”
“That much?”
“If it gets us out of this mess, it was a bargain at ten times the price.”
Chapter 22
The neighborhood degraded as the rickshaw sputtered along, the driver either blind or possessed of a death wish. The buildings changed from reasonably maintained to obviously neglected. Groups of slit-eyed youths loitered on the corners along with the ever-present beggars clogging the sidewalk.
They got out a few blocks from their destination, when the rickshaw stopped where traffic had coagulated into a dense clot as a symphony of horns blared impotently into the hot afternoon sky. Drake passed the driver a handful of bills, and the man gave him a toothless grin.
When they arrived at the address, they found themselves staring at the window of a small shop with a steel grid padlocked in place to protect its grimy picture window. They both stared at the iconic lettering across the top of the glass, with a hand-painted rendering of an exaggeratedly Indian-looking man wearing a distinctive explorer’s hat and cracking a whip. Allie turned to Drake, open-mouthed.
“Indiana Singh? This just went from tragedy to farce,” she said.
“Looks like a tour company. See? Adventure tours.” He gave her a small smile. “You have to admit, it’s a catchy name.”
“Carson bet the bank on a bad cartoon version of a movie? Maybe he was out of his mind…”
“I wonder what an adventure tour is here. I’m almost afraid to ask,” Drake said, moving closer to the shadowed entrance and looking through the window. “There are some brochures sitting out. The top one has a guy holding a cobra. I’d be out right there.”
“Looks closed.”
“He didn’t answer his phone, and his shop’s shut in the middle of the day. How do you spell flake?”
“Maybe he’s on a tour.”
“Yeah. Maybe.”
They were interrupted by a tall Caucasian man with receding gray hair, black slacks, and an immaculate loose white shirt. “Oh, that’s a bad break. Bugger’s not here, is he?” the man said, in a pronounced British accent.
“Looks like he hasn’t been for a few days,” Allie said, gesturing at mail scattered on the floor inside.
“Yes, evidently,” the man said, offering his hand. “Oliver Helms. And you are…?”
“Oh, we were interested in a tour,” Drake improvised as Allie shook hands with the Englishman. “I’m Drake. This is Allie.”
“Charmed. Well, it seems you’re out of luck today.” Helms’s brow beetled. “Not much to be done about it, is there? He does this every now and then.”