Even on this December day, it was still over seventy degrees Fahrenheit. Eddie wound down the window of Kit’s non-air-conditioned car, but the pollution from the congested highway immediately encouraged him to put it back up. ‘Is traffic always this bad?’
‘Almost,’ said Kit as they crawled towards central Delhi. ‘But it’s worse than usual right now because of the preparations for the G20 summit. Several main roads have been closed.’
‘Politicians always have to inconvenience everybody else, don’t they?’
It took close to forty minutes to traverse the last mile of their journey, accompanied the entire way by a chorus of blaring horns and screeching brakes. As Kit had warned, closed streets forced them into a lengthy diversion before they reached the Orchard hotel, a mile from the central government district of Vijay Chowk. Someone was waiting for them in the lobby - but not, to Eddie’s relief, another of Khoil’s henchmen. ‘What kept you?’ asked Mac.
Eddie grinned and shook his hand. ‘Little problem at customs. How’d you get here so fast?’
‘I took the Metro. Less than a pound to get from the airport right into the centre of Delhi. I wish the Tube in London was that cheap.’ He regarded Kit. ‘And I thought you didn’t have any friends in India.’
Eddie made the introductions. ‘Kit’s been checking out the Khoils,’ he went on. ‘And he thinks he’s got something.’
‘Nothing definite,’ Kit said apologetically. ‘But enough to catch my interest regarding the art thefts. All I need is proof.’
‘We’ll get some for you,’ said Eddie. ‘Proof of kidnapping, too. And we’ve got the perfect bait. At least, I hope we have. Mac?’
‘Let’s find out.’ He went to the reception desk. ‘Do you have a package for me? The name’s McCrimmon, Jim McCrimmon.’
The receptionist tapped at her computer. ‘Yes, we do. I’ll bring it for you.’ She went into a back room, returning with a large and heavy cardboard box.
‘What is it?’ Kit asked.
‘What I’m wanted for,’ Eddie told him. As well as shipping labels for an overnight courier company, the box also bore a United Nations customs waiver and numerous Do Not X-Ray stickers arranged by Lola, allowing it to be transported without the usual checks - a trick Eddie had used before to get items that would otherwise raise a lot of questions into other countries. ‘That Codex thing - and also my new Wildey.’
Kit gave him a questioning look. ‘Your what?’
‘A gun. A big gun. Thought it might be handy.’
Mac shook his head. ‘You haven’t bought another of those ridiculous things, have you?’
Eddie snorted. ‘It’s a good gun, and anyone who makes jokes about me compensating for something can fuck right off. We’ve got other things to think about - like how we’re going to rescue Nina.’
They retreated to a quiet corner of the hotel bar. ‘Can’t you get them to make the exchange in Delhi rather than Bangalore?’ asked Kit, after Eddie explained the situation. ‘I can arrange backup more easily.’
‘Khoil demanded it,’ said Eddie. ‘Or rather, his wife did. Probably shouldn’t have said yes, but we’re stuck with it now.’
‘It does give him the home advantage,’ noted Mac. ‘Wherever we choose for the actual handover, he’ll be able to have his people in place beforehand.’
‘I wasn’t planning on giving him much advance warning. Ring him up, tell him to meet us at such and such a place in an hour. We can keep an eye on anyone who turns up.’ He looked at Kit. ‘But we’ve got to pick a place first. Do you know Bangalore?’
Kit nodded. ‘I go there quite often. There are a lot of new millionaires in Bangalore from all the technology companies . . . several of them have tried to build up art collections, without caring where the art came from.’
‘Do you know any local police?’ Mac asked.
‘Some, but they may not be willing to act against the Khoils without very solid evidence. But I can ask for help, at least.’
‘Great,’ said Eddie. ‘What about a place to make the exchange? Somewhere very public, preferably with security around.’
Kit thought for a moment, then smiled broadly. ‘Do you like cricket?’
17
Bangalore
‘I don’t like cricket,’ Eddie muttered as he entered the grandstand.
‘That’s because you lack taste and class,’ Mac joked, coming through the gate behind him.
‘I don’t know why you like it. I mean, you’re Scottish. It’s not exactly your national sport.’
‘Scotland has a fine cricket team.’
‘Yeah, and when was the last time they won anything?’
Mac made a faintly irritated sound. ‘It’s about the sportsmanship, not the winning.’
‘Bet you don’t say that when England lose, do you? And it’s the most boring sport imaginable. Give me footie or Formula One any day.’
‘I don’t think you’ll find this boring,’ Kit said, catching up to them with a heavy bag - a flash of his ID had allowed it to be brought into Bangalore’s M. Chinnaswamy stadium without being searched. ‘Indian matches aren’t like yours.’
Mac raised an eyebrow as he took in the scene. ‘You’re not joking.’
If British cricket events were staid and reserved, this was more like a carnival that happened to have a cricket match going on in the middle of it. Music blasted from loudspeakers, the crowd singing along, clapping and even pounding out beats on makeshift drums. Flags and banners waved, and in front of the grandstand was a display that would have left any blazer-wearing member of the Marylebone Cricket Club choking on his gin and tonic as a trio of cheerleaders danced and gyrated.
Eddie grinned. ‘Okay, Kit, you’re right - this is already a hundred times better than any other cricket match I’ve ever seen.’
Mac huffed, then continued along the grandstand towards his seat while Eddie and Kit descended the steps to find theirs. They had chosen their positions carefully; Eddie was in the front row with a couple of empty seats around him where Khoil - and Nina - could sit when they arrived, with Kit a couple of rows behind so he could observe events, and if necessary make a rapid exit with the Codex. Mac was further round, equipped with binoculars to give Eddie advance warning of potential trouble.
Eddie sat, watching the people filing into the grandstand around him. Most were male, displaying a mixture of ages and clothing styles; none seemed remotely interested in the balding Caucasian in the front row, the cheerleaders dominating their attention.
He glanced back at Kit, who responded with a small nod. Further away, he saw Mac in his seat, more men taking their places around him. So far, so good. He took out his phone and attached a Bluetooth headset to one ear, then entered a number. ‘Okay, Mac. Give me a check.’
‘I see you,’ said Mac, ‘and I see Kit. No sign of Nina or this Khoil fellow.’
‘Well, it’s not time for the exchange yet. Anyone look suspicious?’
‘Not that I can see. Just a lot of very excited cricket fans.’
‘Now that’s suspicious.’
‘You just don’t appreciate the subtleties of the game. Now Kit on the other hand—’
‘Yeah, I had to put up with you both wibbling on about it the entire bloody flight down here. Maybe you should adopt him.’
‘Does that mean I can finally get rid of you? I only have time for one surrogate son.’
Eddie laughed, then took another look round. Still no sign of Nina or Khoil. ‘Keep your eyes open, Dad. Let’s see what happens.’
With great fanfare, the match began. Eddie feigned interest while keeping watch. The first innings ended, marked by music and another butt-shaking dance from the cheerleaders. Second innings, third. Then: ‘Eddie,’ said Mac over the headset. ‘To your left.’