I guess, Fred said. What’s the other option?
I’m sorry, did I suggest there was another option?
Fred smiled and blew cigarette smoke in his face. I have no idea who you are or what you’re about, she said. But I have some business here today that cannot be interrupted. Can you stay out of it for today?
Or I could just shoot you now, Eskia said.
I’m a downwinder and a freak, she said. That means I’ve been paranoid and driven my whole life.
I don’t know what that means, Eskia said, smiling and adjusting his glasses.
Fred watched his finger tighten slowly on the trigger and thought, What a fucker, he is one of those sick puppies who loves killing.
Look at your shirt. It looks like you spilled something, she said.
Eskia looked down and saw the red dot of a laser scope.
Oh no wait, Fred continued, that’s my sniper. Silly me. Told you I was paranoid. Now, my advice is to lay low and forget your business here for today. Okay?
With that she was gone, headed for the main entrance to the institute, leaving Eskia to wonder who she was and how she could have one-upped him.
Across the lot, in a blue Volkswagen borrowed from a rookie, Salazar watched Fred. Who is that guy, he thought, and what the fuck was going on? He called in a favor with an old friend in the FBI to run the tags for him. Same guy he had looking into Sunil. He liked Sunil, but something was off about him. Something Salazar couldn’t ignore.
Salazar adjusted the telephoto lens of the camera. Was that a targeting dot on the driver’s shirt? He swung the camera around, scanning the rows of parked cars for the source. Sure enough, in a black SUV, a midget with a rifle pointed at the silver car was visible in the window. He guessed that was one of Fred’s fighting midgets. Why she needed this kind of backup was unclear, but there was nothing he could do about it without compromising his cover in some way. Best to wait. He returned to looking at the rental just in time to see Fred disappear into the institute.
Salazar put down the camera with the telescopic and reached for his coffee. It could be a while. With the air off in the car, he was getting a little too hot. Fuck.
• • •
Dr. Singh is expecting you, Janice said, handing Fred her pass. John over here will escort you to his office.
Fred turned to look at John. Clearly security, she thought — black suit, black T-shirt, all a tad too obvious.
Hi, John said. Before we go, I need to look in your bag. Is that okay?
Sure, Fred said, handing over her snakeskin bag. While John expertly went through the bag, Janice tried to make small talk.
On the form Dr. Singh filled out it says you run a carnival, she said.
Yes, Fred said, smiling. That was the snake boy until he displeased me, she said, pointing to her bag.
Janice winced and smiled tightly. John didn’t pause in his search. Fred noticed the look on Janice’s face and smiled at her sweetly.
This way, please, John said, handing her back her bag. Fred took it, glad that John hadn’t thought to take her cell phone apart. If he had, in the place where the battery should be he would have found a small wedge of Semtex flattened and a small detonator that was activated by pushing the Call and pound-sign buttons simultaneously.
The elevator ride up was fast and silent. Like bad sex, Fred thought. The door opened up on the sixth floor.
This way, John said.
Soon they were outside Sunil’s door. John knocked.
Enter, Sunil called.
Your guest, John said, leaving them alone.
Sunil crossed from behind his desk.
Welcome, he said, offering Fred his hand. How are you? Good trip?
Yeah, sure, thanks. Hey, nice office.
Thank you. Can I offer you a drink? Coffee?
Something stronger?
Yes, of course, he said, going to fetch the single malt from the sideboard. As he poured, Fred crossed to the wall of photographs.
Why cows, she asked, touching their hides through the frames.
Sunil looked up. Just something from my childhood, he said, handing her a glass.
She clinked it against his and took a swig. Good stuff, she said, very good. Is it single malt?
Yes.
So tell me about the cows, she said.
They’re nothing, he said.
They take up a whole lot of wall space to be nothing, she said.
They’re good photos. That’s all it is sometimes, he said.
Yes, she said. Sometimes.
Please sit down, he said.
She sat in an armchair and crossed her legs. In jeans, knee-high boots, white shirt, and a simple necklace of turquoise, pale blue against her tanned chest, she looked casual, relaxed.
Are you married, Dr. Singh, she asked.
Sunil was taken aback by the question, and he mumbled his answer. No, he said, holding up his ring finger as proof, absently wondering to himself why he had bothered to do that.
Why not?
I don’t know, he said. Work?
She smiled. Me too. Work.
Why do you ask?
Just making small talk, she said, finishing her drink in one gulp and holding out her glass for a refill.
Of course, he said, taking her glass and getting up. It wasn’t clear if he meant of course I’ll get you a refill, or of course you’re making small talk.
I’m quite anxious to see the twins, she said as he handed her the refilled glass.
Yes. I’ll have them brought up. This is going to be my last interview with them. If I sign them out you’ll be able to take them home tomorrow. You might want to find a place to stay for the night.
Are you offering?
That would be inappropriate, Sunil said.
Of course, she said, and laughed.
Sunil went to his desk and picked up the telephone and dialed. Bring Fire and Water to my office now, he said.
Fifty-two
Asia was heading west, to the King of Siam, a bordello way out in the desert. The King of Siam looked like an ordinary low-sprawling ranch house nestled among twelve acres of green oasis in the desert. The place boasted a world-class spa; a stable with horse-riding lessons, where the exclusive clientele could ride bareback while fucking, if their tastes ran that way; a Tantra teacher; an Olympic-size swimming pool; tennis courts; and a private airstrip. What wasn’t immediately obvious were the guards, who were everywhere.
The King of Siam was an exclusive establishment, a members-only cathouse with a membership fee in the high five figures. Its clientele included senators, congressmen, and CEOs. In addition to a selection of the most gifted, diverse escorts, it prided itself on its discretion. Most of the escorts were well educated, many with graduate degrees, and most spoke at least two languages, a necessity since many clients were international.
In a good week, even with the house taking its percentage, some girls could earn up to twenty thousand dollars. Even girls like Asia who didn’t have college degrees and spoke only English could still average five thousand a week. Girls couldn’t apply or audition for the King of Siam; Big Bill Brown, the owner, chose each girl usually after a chance encounter and a careful background check. In the ten years that they had been open, no one had ever breached the grounds, not even the most committed paparazzi. The joke was that only Area 51 had better security.
Asia had a standing invitation from Big Bill, ever since she’d spent a night with him in Vegas when she first got there. She had taken him up on the offer only once, for just a week, but she found it difficult to follow the house rules.
Even before Sunil had called her, pretty much as soon as she left his place, she ditched her phone and headed for this sanctuary where she knew she would not only be safe but could earn six figures easily in six months. She had every intention of calling Sunil, in a week or two. She wouldn’t give up on him but she couldn’t deal with the baggage in his life right now.