“Just walk up to her and ask?” Spencer said. “That doesn’t seem weird to you?”
“Dude, tell her you and your friends want to party. Where’s the best place around here to find some fun — that sort of thing. Wherever they’re selling drugs, there’ll be someone who can get us whatever we want. You know how it works.”
“I think guns are illegal here,” Allie said.
“Which is why we’ll have to buy them from criminals,” Drake shot back. “Criminals never have any problems getting guns.”
“Is that what you are now?” Allie asked.
“That’s what they’ve made us,” Spencer said, rising and walking over to the waitress, who brightened as he neared.
Oliver Helms placed a call from his car parked fifty yards down the street from the Internet café, where he’d followed Drake and Allie.
“Yes?” a male voice answered.
“I met two Americans who were looking for Singh. They went to Delhi University and met with a professor of linguistics, and now they’re in a cyber café. I’m parked outside.”
“A professor? That’s got to be connected to our item.”
“I figured the same. It’s too coincidental that they would appear, looking for Singh, and then speak with the professor.” Helms gave the man the professor’s name to research.
“But there’s no sign of it? Or of this Carson’s colleague?”
“No,” Helms said. “It’s too large to fit in her purse. But they’re not going anywhere. What is the priority?”
“The same. Retrieve it. Let nothing stand in your way.”
“And the Americans? The professor?”
“Do what you feel you must. But get it back at all costs.”
“Should I just concentrate on the professor?”
The line hissed with static as an uncomfortable silence stretched. “No. Your instincts are probably right. We know that Singh was planning to sell it to Carson. This pair was probably working with him. That’s the assumption.”
“I got the woman’s phone number. Can you have it tracked?”
“Give it to me and I’ll see what I can do. But I thought you had them in sight?”
“I do. I can’t see inside the shop, but they’re in there. Still, it would be nice in case they split up.”
“I’ll make some calls.”
Helms gave him the number and then started the engine. “I have to go — they’re on the move. With a tall local,” he said, fooled by Spencer’s black hair and darkened complexion.
“Very well. I’ll get back to you on this professor and the phone.”
Chapter 26
Two hours of talking to lowlifes in the tourist section of New Delhi later, it had become obvious that nobody wanted to sell an illegal weapon to foreigners. Most clearly suspected some sort of trap and simply walked away when asked. A few intimated that they knew a guy who knew a guy, but after a few dead ends and attempts by several dealers to get an advance in order to secure a gun, after which they’d no doubt vanish, the Americans were empty-handed.
“That went well,” Spencer said as they made their way to a line of taxis.
“If it had been L.A., we’d have had one in minutes,” Drake said.
“Apparently they’re a little harder to come by here,” Allie said, checking her watch. She looked at Spencer. “You want me to carry that for a while?” she asked, eyeing her bag.
“Nah, I’m fine. It’s a good workout.”
Drake sniffed at his shirt. “We should find someplace to spend the night. I’d pay just about anything for a shower.”
“And a change of clothes,” Spencer said, glancing at a curio shop. “Let’s pick up a couple of shirts for the road.”
They entered the shop and overpaid for two long-sleeved T-shirts, one black for Spencer with a depiction of the Taj Mahal on the back, the other dark gray with Delhi screaming from it in yellow below a rendering of a smiling sun beaming down on a silhouette of the city.
“Too bad they don’t sell underwear and socks, too,” Drake said.
“We can deal with that later. There are enough clothes stores around,” Spencer said. “For now, let’s hit the fort. I want to scope it out in advance.”
They piled into a taxi and crossed the city. The driver dropped them off near the Delhi Gate, where crowds of tourists swarmed in the fading light, dusk bruising the sky with hues of purple and pink. Hundreds of vendors milled around the area, along with a few police, who eyed the crowd with the flat stares of the terminally bored.
Spencer surveyed the throng as Allie and Drake stood by, and after a few minutes he spoke quietly to Allie. “I’m going walkabout. You won’t see me anymore. Move over to the police checkpoint at the gate in about half an hour. I’ll call you if I smell a rat. If all is clear, you won’t hear from me. Just call when you want me to do the transfer, and remember to use the safeword.”
“Right. ‘Relic.’ Piece of cake,” she said.
“I don’t hear ‘relic,’ game over. I’ll follow you at a reasonable distance in case I need to come running.”
“Whatever you do, don’t get spotted, Spencer,” Allie warned.
“For the tenth time, I won’t. Now let me go to work.”
Spencer melted into the crowd, leaving Drake and Allie surrounded by urchins. Allie passed out coins, which had the effect of tossing bread crumbs to pigeons, and Drake had to help her fight her way past the children, her hand clutching her purse. “Bad idea, huh?” she said.
“You have a good heart.”
“It’s just endless, though. You could never make a dent.”
“You can’t fix everything, Allie. Let’s stay focused.” Drake checked the time. They still had forty-five minutes until Singh would call.
Allie eyed a large family, the women in colorful saris, the men laughing as they played tag with their delighted offspring, peals of glee rising into the salmon sky. The fort’s magnificent red façade glowed like an ember in the gloaming, and tourists took photographs with the edifice in the background, the landmark as singular as any in India. Allie took Drake’s hand, and they strolled like lovers with no destination in mind.
They ambled past a group of musicians packing up their instruments as the sun set, and watched a magician make objects appear and disappear to delighted applause. When he was finished with his act, they made their way toward the gate, where a group of uniformed police were chatting, two of them directing new arrivals through a primitive airport scanner.
The minutes ticked by, and at precisely seven thirty Allie’s phone rang. When she answered, Indiana Singh sounded like he was standing beside her.
“That’s your boyfriend in the gray shirt?” he asked.
“Correct.”
“Did you get the money?”
“Yes. It’s in my bitcoin account.”
“Wallet. Your bitcoin wallet,” Singh corrected.
“Whatever. You have the dagger?”
“Of course. Now listen closely. Walk to the road, and make a left. At the corner of the Nishad Raj Marg, you’ll see a motorcycle rickshaw with a red and orange top. Get in. Don’t wait or delay. I’m watching every move you make.”
“Is this spy stuff really necessary?” Allie asked.
“I need to ensure you aren’t being followed. It’s for your protection, too.”
“From what?”
“Move. Now.” Singh disconnected.
“Let’s go,” Allie said, and they walked quickly away from the police barrier toward the main boulevard. Three minutes later they were nearing the rickshaw, the driver a bearded Sikh with a blue turban. They got in and the man twisted the throttle, pulled away with a jerk, and accelerated into traffic, missing a lorry by inches.
“Yikes,” Allie said, gripping Drake’s arm as the little cart raced forward unsteadily, the driver apparently having difficulty with the clutch and shifter.