How thoughtful, then, how kind of the simple shopkeeper to lend his compromised communicator to the real object of Chal's interest. And how considerate of the obstinate Mr. Buthlahee to provide specific instructions to his would-be buyer as to where and when the two of them should meet. Chal eyed his tandem electronics with satisfaction. Their cost had been astronomical-and worth every dollar. For the unique equipment, it was just as easy to intercept, capture, and down load video as audio. Already familiar with Buthlahee and Ghosh's appearance, he now also knew what the buyer Mr. Karlovy looked like, and had acquired a glimpse of Buthlahee's girlfriend as well. Another time, another assignment, he might have looked forward to a diversion, a bit of enforced dalliance with such an alluring creature, made all the spicier by having her paramour restrained nearby and forced to watch. Not this time. The stakes were too high. Sex, of whatever variety and fetish he preferred, could be indulged in later, with no risk and at far less expense.
In addition to himself, Buthlahee had spoken of being accompanied to tomorrow night's meeting place by hired protection to match what the buyer insisted on bringing along with him. If both sides adhered to their guarantees, that made four potential adversaries to deal with, two of them professionals. Possibly five, if the scientist's consort chose to join him, though she did not really figure into his calculations. For that matter, neither did the scientist or the buyer. Of those who planned to be in attendance, Chal knew he need only be concerned with the two pros.
Provided he got the drop on them, to employ an ancient cliché that was no less valid for its age, it should not be a problem. He could hire and bring along temporary help of his own, of course. There was enough time between now and tomorrow night to make the necessary arrangements. But with only two real antagonists to worry about, he did not think it necessary. He had dealt with and on at least one occasion dispatched twice that number. Surprise was the key to success in such situations. That should not be a problem. No one would be expecting a third party to put in an appearance, least of all the two bodyguards on hand for the occasion. He anticipated no difficulty.
While anticipating none, he would prepare for every possible eventuality. Obsession over detail was another character trait that had contributed mightily to his success and continued survival. Though always ready to extemporize, he never entered into a dangerous situation unprepared.
Unquestionably, a great deal of money was involved. Nayari had implied as much on more than one occasion. The buyer, Mr. Karlovy, had spoken circumspectly of a "down payment" he was to hand over. As a matter of professional interest, Chal found himself speculating on the amount. After neutralizing the two bodyguards, he could easily steal it, of course. It never occurred to him to do so.
Once, early in his career, he had been hired to deliver a sum of cash to ransom the son of an important Malaysian businessman. With time on his hands until he was due to turn the money over, he had peeked inside the carbon-fiber container that had been handed to him. It had contained, as near as he could hurriedly calculate, between five and seven million U.S. dollars. Concluding his examination, he had closed and resealed the case, and had not so much as looked inside again.
Word swiftly made the relevant rounds about those in his line of work who reneged on their responsibilities. Five or seven million dollars would buy many things, but in a world linked by several modes of virtually instantaneous communication, it would not buy permanent anonymity. Recidivists in his profession inevitably tended to be found and terminated, often messily. Renege on his assignment, take the money and run, and he would be doing no more than switching places with the scientist Buthlahee. Ultimately, he would be found, and sooner or later his career as well as his life would be brought to an abrupt and brutal end by others of his own kind.
Besides, he always had and still continued to take pride in being the best at his work. While it would not win him the Nobel Prize, or land him on the front of The Economist's box page, in certain important circles it did lend him a distinctive aura that was both feared and respected. He prized that. And it was not as if he didn't live well. Following the successful conclusion of this assignment, he would be able to live even better.
Unclasping his hands, he leaned forward and murmured instructions to the box unit. It took hardly a moment for it to generate a map, in relief and with accompanying reports on access routes, predicted weather, and assorted other pertinent factors, showing the exact location specified by Buthlahee for the clandestine meeting that was to take place at ten o'clock the following evening. Chal transferred it to his mated pocket unit and ran off a hardcopy as backup. Then he put both units in secure sleep mode, rose, and walked into the bedroom.
The lockable privacy closet held three sets of clothing, each hung equidistant from the other. One was for the street. One was for dining out in nice restaurants or attending meetings with individuals like Nayari. The third, a one-piece construct woven from special synthetics, could best be described as work clothes.
Whistling softly to himself, he removed the latter, hung it on the back of the bathroom door, and set about checking its pockets and specially embedded systems for gear that was not designed to aid in the execution of such mundane vocations as, say, plumbing or home electrical repair.
Keshu was on his way home in the shuttle chopper when his pocket communicator buzzed for attention. The tone indicated it was his official channel. Irritated, he considered deactivating the call and ignoring it. Most likely it was nothing that couldn't wait until morning. It was already after six, and even traffic in the carefully structured air above Sagramanda was busy. He was hungry and tired, and his wife was a superb cook. He was anxious to get home, enjoy one of her marvelous dinners, settle into his favorite massage chair, and pick up the history of Southwest Africa he had been reading. He definitely did not want to have to deal with business.
Maddeningly boorish, the communicator continued to trill at him. The chopper's constrained cockpit offered nowhere to run. Intent on his work, the shuttle pilot studiously ignored his passenger's incoming private message. As it always did, Keshu's damnable sense of duty overrode his personal desires. Grumbling a suitable phrase, he proceeded to acknowledge the incoming call.
He recognized the voice. Subrata from downstairs. The tireless bridge to, among other sections, Forensics. The individual who was invisible-except when he had something to say. The kind of man on whose hard work and back great works were raised. With a sigh, he muttered the command that would allow two-way communication.
"Chief Inspector Singh?"
"Yes, what is it, Mr. Subrata?" Keshu's annoyance increased as the shuttle slowed to give more room to a pair of air ambulances speeding past on their way to some unknown medical crisis. "I'm on my way home, you know."
"Yes, Chief Inspector. I know. I would not bother you, sir, if I-"
"-did not think this a matter of some importance," a prickly Keshu finished for him. "Get on with it, man."
"Yes, Chief Inspector." Though the communication was devoid of video, Keshu almost thought he could see the little man shuffling papers in front of him: mentally if not physically. "I, and those I am working with, believe we have identified a woman matching the description of the composite created by the department's visual facilitator."
Ignoring the crowded air lanes now, Keshu sat up a little straighter in his seat, the mandatory safety harness digging into his chest. "What woman?"