"What is it?" Archie asked, straining to see.
Tom looked up, his eyes shining. "A key, I think."
The drawer, like the main compartment, was lined in red velvet. Under the restaurant's dimmed lighting the object it contained glinted like tarnished silver. Archie reached in and grasped it, the metal fat and solid in his square fingers.
"Funny sort of key."
About two inches long, the key was square rather than flat, and it had no teeth. Instead, each of its gleaming surfaces was engraved with a series of small hexagonal marks.
"I think it's for a digital lock. You know, like the one in that private bank in Monte Carlo."
"And what do you make of this…?"
The key's sleek steel shaft was housed in an ugly triangular handle made of molded rubber. On one side of the handle was a small button, but nothing happened when Archie pressed it. The other side had been stamped with a series of interlocking calligraphic letters. Tom thought he could make out a V and a C, but it was hard to tell. "Owner's initials? Maker's logo? Could be anything."
"How are we going to find out?" Archie asked, returning the key to the secret drawer and shutting it again.
"We're in Zurich — how do you think I'm going to find out?" Tom asked with a smile.
"You're not serious."
"Why not?"
"Raj?" Archie sounded deeply suspicious.
"Who else?"
"Can we trust him?"
"I guess there's only one way to find out," Tom said with a shrug.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
Away from the town center, the river Limmat flexes its way northwest into Zurich's industrial zone, an uninspiring agglomeration of low-level warehouses and soaring concrete factories, black slate tiles slung over oppressive cinder grey walls, chimneys and heating vents coughing smoke.
Tom and Archie made their way across the Wipkingen bridge, along Breitensteinstrasse and finally left down Am-perestrasse, then negotiated the steep steps leading down to a poorly lit path that ran parallel to the river.
"Are you sure it's down here?" Archie asked, his tone suggesting that he found it highly unlikely. An embankment loomed nearly thirty feet above their heads, its brickwork obscured at ground level by decades of graffiti and flyer posting. On the opposite bank a few dull and greasy windows punctuated the blank gaze of a factory's rear elevation like embrasures in a castle wall.
"It was, last time I came," Tom answered.
"You've been here before? When?"
"Three, four years ago. When we did that job in Venice, remember?"
"Oh yeah." Archie chuckled. "If only they were all like that."
"If it hadn't been for Raj, I'd have had to drill my way into that safe."
"All right, all right," Archie conceded. "So he's a good locksmith."
"He's the best in the business and you know it."
"Mmm…" Archie shrugged noncommittally.
Tom sighed. Six months out of the game had done little to dull Archie's natural wariness toward almost every other living being he came across — especially when money was involved. Dhutta still owed them a couple thousand bucks for some information they had supplied him a few years before, and he had proven remarkably elusive ever since, hence Archie's misgivings. To Archie, debtors — especially anyone in debt to him — were to be treated with the utmost caution.
Tom stopped beside a steel door set into the embankment, its original black paint barely visible under a thick collage of posters advertising raves, DJ nights, and various other local events. Above the door was a bright yellow sign showing a lightning bolt within a black triangle.
"You must be joking!" Archie gave an impatient laugh.
"Here?"
"You know what he's like about personal security. This helps keep most people at a safe distance."
Tom ran his hand over the brickwork to the right of the door at about waist height. Eventually he found what he was looking for, a single brick that protruded a little beyond those around it. It sank slightly under his touch, then sprang back to its original position. From somewhere deep within the embankment, they heard a bell ring.
"I want you on your best behavior, Archie. Don't get started. Raj is jumpy enough without you stirring things up."
Archie growled a response that was interrupted by the hum of an invisible intercom.
"Yes, hello?" A high-pitched, almost feminine voice.
"Raj? It's Tom Kirk and Archie Connolly."
There was a long silence, then: "What do you want?"
"To talk."
"Look, I haven't got the money, if that's what this is about. I can get it. Tomorrow. I can get it tomorrow. Today's no good. I'm busy. I've been very, very busy. Tomorrow, okay?" Dhutta spoke quickly with a strong Indian accent, barely pausing between sentences.
"Forget the money, Raj," Tom said, earning himself an angry look from Archie. "We need your help. Let's just call it quits on what you owe us."
There was another, even longer pause, then the door buzzed open.
"Half that money's mine, don't forget," Archie reminded Tom as they stepped inside. "Next time, you might want to ask me before just giving it away."
"You drop more than that every time you pick up a hand of cards," Tom said quietly. "I don't think you'll miss it."
They found themselves in a steel cage, half blinded by the powerful lights trained on them from the far side of the room. Several dark shapes loomed on either side of them, none of them moving, while the smell of decay rose from the damp concrete floor.
"Raj?" Tom called, holding his hand up to his face and peering through his fingers in an attempt to see beyond the glare. A silhouette appeared in front of the lights.
"Quits?" came the voice again.
"That's right," said Tom. "We're not here to make any trouble, Raj. Just to get some advice."
The lights snapped off and Tom made out a slight figure approaching the cage, fumbling with a huge bunch of keys. Raj Dhutta was a willowy five foot four, with slender arms and skinny wrists. He had wavy black hair with a knife-edge part on the left-hand side, and a narrow, feline face, his eyes furtively skipping between them, his black mustache quivering nervously.
He selected a key and inserted it into a lock. Then he repeated the action with a second and then a third lock, pausing before the final turn of the key.
"We have a gentleman's agreement?" said Dhutta, his tone still disbelieving.
"Yes, we've got an agreement," Tom confirmed.
"Excellent!" Dhutta's face broke into a broad smile. "Excellent." The cage door finally swung open and Tom and Archie were able to step into the room, Dhutta immediately slamming the cage shut behind them and sliding the dead-bolts into place.
"Let's shake on it." He grabbed Tom's hand and pumped it up and down vigorously, his grip surprisingly fierce.
"This is the first time you two have actually met, isn't it?" asked Tom, retrieving his hand.
"Yes, indeed." Dhutta turned his smile on Archie. "It is a pleasure to meet you finally, Mr. Connolly."
They shook hands awkwardly, as if renewing a dimly remembered acquaintance.
"Is there somewhere we can talk?" Tom asked.
"My apologies." Dhutta gave a half bow. "I am indeed a poor host. Come, come."
He scampered across to the far side of the room, Tom and Archie now able to see that the dark shapes they had noticed previously were large pieces of rusting industrial equipment, long since decommissioned.
"What is this place?" Archie asked, watching where he was stepping. "Or rather, what was it?"