“Not a chance. I won’t tempt fate twice.”
“Then sell us the information.”
“It’s worth a lot.”
“It’s worth what we’re willing to pay. I’m thinking twenty-five thousand. Easiest money you’ll ever make.”
She could practically hear the wheels turning in Singh’s head. No hassles, just free cash for a few words. “Fifty, and I’ll meet you and tell you. Same mechanism as before. Bitcoin, and I’ll watch to ensure you aren’t followed.”
“How soon can you meet?”
“That’s a function of how long it takes you to get the payment together.”
“I already have it. You’re cleaning out my bank account,” Allie lied.
“I’ll call you back. I need to figure out a safe rendezvous spot and create another private key for you to send this payment to. You should do the same. You don’t want to use the same key twice — it increases the chance of you being traced, as you discovered with mine.”
“How did you know how we found you?”
“Your new friend at the magazine gave me a heads-up. I’m a valued customer. Apparently there was a security breach. At least, that’s how he framed it.” Singh paused. “How long have you been using this phone number?”
“I just got it… yesterday.”
“Who else have you called on it?”
“Why?”
“You can be tracked,” Singh said derisively.
“Only you… and a couple of other people.”
“Twenty-four hours is about the outside of how long I’d hold onto a burner phone. Toss it and buy another, and then call me back at this number,” he said.
The line went dead. She pocketed the phone and turned to Drake. “You heard the discussion. He’s pretty skittish.”
“As long as he’s willing to play ball, who cares?”
“I know. But… he still sounds scared. Greedy, obviously, but worried. And not about us. He’s terrified we’re going to lead someone to him inadvertently. I think he trusts us, as much as he trusts anyone. He’s afraid we’re being tailed.” She called out to the driver over the radio music he was humming along to. “Make this left, please,” she said, and turned to watch the vehicles behind her.
“This will take us out of the way,” the man protested, eyeing her in the rearview mirror.
“Just do it.”
The cabbie twisted the wheel and made a sharp turn, and both Drake and Allie turned to stare at the traffic, searching for any hint of pursuit. Several rickshaws made the turn, and then a white SUV swung into the lane behind them.
“Now take this right,” Allie said.
The driver pumped his brakes to slow, having to cut across oncoming traffic in order to follow her instructions. The rickshaws and SUV slowed behind them and much outraged honking ensued at the driver’s maneuver. The cabbie ignored the protests and careened ahead of an oncoming van, which missed taking off the taxi’s rear fender by a hairsbreadth. The taxi driver exhaled tensely and then accelerated away.
The SUV continued straight, as did the rickshaws. Allie and Drake exchanged a relieved look. “Would you care for some extra paranoid with your paranoid?” she whispered.
“No way we’re being followed after that.”
“I need to get rid of this phone and buy another one. He thinks it’s a liability. He may be right — we gave Helms the number, remember?”
“Damn. That’s right. Maybe he’s not so dumb after all.”
She pulled a pen from her purse and jotted down the numbers for Singh, Reynolds, and Spencer, as well as the professor’s office phone so she could give Divya her new contact info, and then removed the battery and SIM chip from the little phone and pocketed them.
“You should keep your regular phone off at all times, too. Just in case.”
“I’m way ahead of you. I’ve been taking the battery out when I’m not using it.”
“What now?” the driver asked, easing off the gas as he approached an ocean of brake lights.
“Change of plans.”
Chapter 33
The taxi dropped them off in the center of the business district. Buying a new phone proved as easy as the last two, and when it was activated and had a signal, she called Singh back.
“This is my new number,” Allie said.
“I put that together all by myself. Where are you?” he asked.
She glanced up at a street sign and told him. He thought for a moment and gave her instructions. She repeated them back to him and he hung up. Drake raised an eyebrow and looked to her expectantly.
“We have half an hour to get to the Delhi Junction Railway Station. We’re to find the train that arrives in forty minutes from Buxar and wait on the platform.”
“That’s it? Wait?”
“You heard me.” Allie whistled loudly at a green and yellow rickshaw, and the driver skidded to a halt beside them. “Delhi Junction train station,” she said as they climbed into the cab. The driver nodded and took off like a scared rabbit, cutting off another rickshaw, which earned several curses and the inevitable horn assault.
The railway station was typical Indian pandemonium: people milling about, blaring announcements from overhead speakers echoing off the stone slab floors, groups of bewildered tourists milling around like lost puppies as a never-ending rush of locals made their way to and from the platforms, dressed in a dizzying array of colors.
Drake checked his watch as Allie searched for a working monitor that announced arriving trains. She pointed at one mounted on the far end of the station, and they fought their way through the human tide.
“Our platform’s that way,” she said after a quick scan, gesturing to their right.
“I see it,” Drake said, and they set off, skirting a group of chanting religious celebrants all dressed in the same bright shade of orange. “We only have a couple of minutes.”
“We’ll make it.”
They arrived at the platform, where it seemed several hundred other passengers had the same idea, and waited as a distant spotlight neared from down the track. Drake shaded his eyes in order to see the train and nearly jumped when something tugged at the bottom of his shirt. He looked down at where a boy, no more than six years old, gazed up at him with eyes the size of golf balls, his clothes tattered and stained — the uniform of the city’s homeless.
“Sahib, sahib,” the boy said, his voice thin.
“No. Go away,” Drake said.
Allie’s new phone rang and she answered it. “Yes?”
It was Singh. “Follow the boy.”
Allie glanced down at the urchin and whispered to Drake, “Singh sent him.”
The boy’s face had the deadly serious cast of an old man, hardship having already aged him beyond his years. Drake nodded to him and the boy pirouetted and scampered away, pausing occasionally to look back to ensure they were still behind him. Drake took Allie’s hand and they edged through the press of locals until they were opposite the restrooms, where the boy ran outside through one of the arches and made for the street.
“Another goose chase,” Allie said, and they took off after him, dodging vendors and porters as they sped toward the cars.
Allie’s phone trilled. “Yes?”
“I don’t see anyone following you. Come back to the station. I’m outside the restaurant in my Sikh getup.”
They returned to the two-story red depot and spotted Singh, who was leaning against a wall, a pair of cheap knockoff sunglasses covering his eyes and his blue turban slightly askew. When they neared, he spoke under his breath. “Keep walking to the other end of the station. Wait for me outside.”
They did as instructed, and Singh joined them two minutes later. He led them around the corner and began walking quickly toward the main avenue, giving a dirt rotunda with several dozen unfortunates sleeping on towels and blankets a wide berth. “Transfer the bitcoin to this address,” he said, handing Allie a slip of paper. She did her best to enter the characters on the move, and when she’d verified they were correct, approved the transfer.