Drake sank onto the bed next to Allie, his eyes glued to the screen. A night shot outside of the professor’s house filled the background as a journalist echoed the newscaster’s paucity of information. When the report shifted back to the newscast and the headline switched to a bus strike, Spencer lowered the volume and turned to them.
“I don’t know about you, but I’m going to hose off and hit it. We’ve got our work cut out for us tomorrow, and I’m beat,” he said, rising from his chair.
“Sounds like a plan. If I can sleep at all, that is,” Allie said, switching her tablet off and standing. She placed it in her duffel and held out her hand to Drake. “Can I have your key?”
“Oh. Sure,” he said, retrieving it from his pocket. He placed it in her hand and there was an awkward moment when he debated kissing her, but with Spencer standing there and Allie looking exhausted, he thought better of it at the last second. To his surprise, she leaned forward and planted one on his lips, and then pulled back and smiled ruefully. “See you bright and early.”
“Sleep well.”
“I’ll be counting sheep all night at this rate, but I’ll do my best.”
“More like roaches in this place.”
“Thanks for planting that visual as your parting shot,” Allie said.
Drake smiled. “Don’t worry. The rats probably keep them at bay.”
“Much better. Good night,” she said before turning and moving to the door. When she’d gone, Spencer grinned at Drake.
“Love’s in the air. I told you this trip would be a good idea. Look at how close it’s brought you two.”
“I’ll try to think of a suitable way to thank you,” Drake volleyed back. “Don’t slip in the shower or hit your head or anything.”
“Oh. That’s right. You haven’t seen the bathroom.”
Drake took a deep breath. “That bad?”
“Let’s just say the mold has mold.”
“But there’s a toilet, right?”
Spencer’s face could have been carved from stone. “I won’t spoil the surprise.”
Chapter 30
The next morning Drake and Spencer were up early, the strident protests of vehicles in the street below serving as their alarm clock, the light filtering through the moth-eaten curtains already heating the air. Drake walked down the hall to Allie’s room and knocked on the door, and she called that she would be ready in a few minutes and would meet them in theirs.
Spencer applied another coating of makeup and inspected himself in the hazy mirror as Drake watched TV. He leaned from the bathroom doorway when he was done.
“What do you think? Does it look convincing?”
Drake glanced at him and shrugged. “Sure. Better than nothing, right?”
“That’s very reassuring.”
“It looks fine. Really,” Drake said, his tone glum.
“Dude, what’s wrong?”
“Oh, nothing. We’re on the lam, Carson and the professor are dead, we have no way to translate the second half of the script, and we’re that DOD guy’s bitch. Other than that, everything’s awesome-sauce.”
Spencer nodded sagely. “Someone woke up grumpy. Turn that frown upside down, Mr. Downer.”
“Seriously. How much worse could it get?”
“We could be broke.”
“Money’s not really helping, is it?”
Allie’s knock interrupted them, and Spencer pulled his shirt over his head while Drake moved to open the door. When she entered the room, a heady scent of vanilla and flowers preceded her, and Drake almost swooned, it smelled so good. She gave him a peck on the cheek, set her bag on the floor and her purse on the postage-stamp table, and then sat with a bounce on Drake’s bed and beamed a high-wattage smile at them.
“Good morning. Ready to hit the ground running?” she asked.
“Whatever you’re smoking, Drake needs some,” Spencer said.
“I know how to cheer him up,” she said knowingly.
Spencer rolled his eyes. “Want me to leave?”
She ignored the innuendo. “I have an idea how to get the script translated.”
“How?” Drake asked.
“The professor isn’t the only linguistics expert in Delhi. He can’t be. We can head over to the university and ask his grad student who else might be able to help us. She should know.”
“What about me?” Spencer asked.
“You can hang out here or find a cyber café and keep researching the mosaic.”
“There are thousands of images of mosaics. Thousands. I only got through a few hundred yesterday.”
“He wouldn’t have had a picture of the thing if it didn’t mean something,” Allie countered.
“Maybe, but that won’t help me locate it.”
“Do you have anything better to do?” Drake asked.
“I’d say sleep in, but it’s a little late for that now.”
They agreed to meet up after Drake and Allie were finished at the university, and within minutes were on the street, which was already clogged with pedestrians and vehicles on their way to work. They found a coffee shop and had breakfast, and then Spencer went in search of an Internet café while Allie and Drake headed to see Divya. Allie convinced Drake to remain outside with her bag while she spoke with the grad student, figuring that two young women would more easily establish rapport without him acting as a third wheel.
When they arrived at the administration building, Allie beelined for the professor’s office, but hesitated at the end of the hall when she saw two uniformed police standing by the door while what looked to Allie like a plainclothes inspector questioned Divya, who paused occasionally to blot tears. Allie turned away and busied herself with her cell phone while watching them, easily blending with the dozens of students and faculty roaming the corridor. After a half hour the police left, and she waited until they’d descended the stairs to the lobby level before approaching Sharma’s office.
Divya was in an obvious state of shock when Allie knocked softly on the doorjamb. She looked up through puffy eyes and took several seconds to register Allie’s presence. Recognition spread across her face and she struggled to compose herself, but ultimately failed and began crying again.
“What’s wrong, Divya?” Allie asked. She had decided to feign ignorance of the professor’s untimely demise.
“Oh, you haven’t heard? It’s Dr. Sharma. He… he’s dead.”
“What? Oh, my God. I just saw him yesterday! What was it?” Allie’s face darkened. “Car accident? Heart attack?”
“No. He was… murdered,” she said, and stifled another sob.
“You’re joking!”
Divya’s shuddering shoulders confirmed that she wasn’t, and Allie gave her time to work through the grief. She took a seat across from the Indian woman and shook her head, and then fished out a packet of tissues and offered her one. Divya took it with a nod, and Allie sat silently, grateful that the police obviously hadn’t connected them with the murder or, if they had, were staying quiet about it. There was no way Divya suspected her; nobody was a good enough actress to pull her response off — it was genuine.
Eventually Divya dried her tears and fixed Allie with a stare over her thick spectacles.
“I’m sorry. It’s been a terrible shock, as you can imagine,” she said. “Is there any way I can help you?”
“Oh, it seems so unimportant now,” Allie said.
“What?”
“Dr. Sharma had helped our colleague with an inscription on an old dagger, and he offered to finish the job if we were ever able to locate an image of the other side.”
“Yes. I remember the script. An archaic substitution cipher. Trickier than many I’ve worked on, but no match for my computer.”
“You worked on it?”
She looked away. “The professor was a very busy man and didn’t have time for the project, so he asked me to translate it. I’ve developed software as part of my doctoral thesis that helps decrypt these types of codes. It took a year to program it, but it’s the only one of its kind I know of for Sanskrit.”