Namaste (15 page)

“
They
would know. The
client
would know. Not us. They give us figures, and we crunch them. Look, I won’t insult your intelligence. NutriBev I could tell you about. I can show you what goes in and what comes out. A lot of cash sales, like through vending machines, and it’s way, way more than you’d expect in a normal distribution arrangement. If you look in their warehouses, you might find non-matching inventory, and that they seem to be selling more product than they’re producing. I’m not saying they’re doing anything wrong, but you might think they are, and the IRS might agree, but we can only work with what they give us. Even if I showed you that, that’s just one company. If …
if!
… NutriBev is… let’s say ‘affiliated’ with other organizations, we wouldn’t have that at our fingers. There are lawyers. Corporations that hold corporations. It’s impossibly complex.”
 

“Fine.” Amit nodded. “Then show me Alfero’s company.”
 

Bradley hit some keys on his computer, then rotated his number-filled screen to Amit.
 

“What am I looking at?”
 

“Gross profit, Q3, across … ”
 

“Banks.” Amit rotated the monitor back. “Tell me about his banks.”
 

“Jonestown Savings.”
 

Amit thought. He wasn’t much of a city or even a suburban guy, but had seen several Jonestown Savings in town. It wasn’t what he wanted. It wasn’t what he was here to find — what either Alfero or the universe had been trying to whisper during his meditation.
 

“No,” said Amit.
 

“No?”

“What about the larger organization?”
 

“What
about
the larger organization?”
 

Amit lightly laughed at the situation’s simple humor. “If you are simply going to repeat my questions, your poor phone may never survive.”

Bradley looked at the shattered phone. An operator’s canned voice was telling him that the time allotted for him to dial had been exceeded. He rubbed his right hand with his left.
 

“I told you, I can’t tell you about the organization as a whole! Even if they wouldn’t kill me — which they would — I
don’t know
.”

“I think you can search your system for banks. I understand that computers can do amazing things.”
 

The accountant met Amit’s eye, then bit his lower lip. “You’re looking for something specific. If you’ll just tell me, this will be easier.”
 

Follow the money.
 

Follow the virgins.
 

“I need to know if any of the companies Mr. Alfero was working with had accounts in the Virgin Islands.”
 

“Many of our clients have accounts there.”
 

“Then finding out should be simple.”
 

Bradley hit some buttons and clicked around on his computer. It took a few minutes, and Amit used those quiet moments to reflect on the moment’s perfection. Most people found perfection and serenity in natural, ethereal settings: beaches, mountaintops, even quiet fields. A monk, used to days in internal reflection, could find them anywhere. The office, though closed in with its artificial air, was high in the sky, like flying with the birds. There was a small ticking from a clock on Bradley’s desk, and Amit felt the rhythm counterpointing the slower beat of his heart. His body felt good; his lungs felt good; his eyes and head felt clear and vivid. He was an island within the room, within his larger chaotic surroundings. A tiny smile passed his lips.
 

When Bradley was done with the computer, he looked up, saw Amit’s inscrutable smile, then did a slow double-take. He looked as if he might ask what was so funny, then decided not to.
 

“NutriBev doesn’t have an account.”
 

“Who does?”
 

Bradley tapped the keyboard, then licked his lips. He seemed to be weighing a decision.
 

“Look, you have to understand — we just do a job here. We work at computers, getting numbers to work. We file paperwork. We eat at noon.”
 

“Interesting. Perhaps I will consider a job in number pushing if I ever change careers.”
 

“I’m just saying … yes, I suppose we have some clients whose dealings aren’t entirely savory. We hear things. We’re asked to make certain piles of cash make sense. But we don’t ride on yachts or have a backroom filled with poker tables and women for sale. Whatever they do, that’s their business. To us, they’re clients.”
 

“Clients who obtain what they have through theft and murder.”

“Says you.”
 

“And clients for whom you do illegal things, like hiding their money.”
 

“Creative license.”
 

“You are complicit.”
 

“If we have falsified books — which I am not saying we’ve done — it’s not the same as committing crimes.”
 

“I am not a lawyer, so forgive me, but isn’t tax fraud a crime?”

“They’d pay the taxes if that was all there was to it. They hide for reasons of privacy. And that’s what the Virgin Islands accounts understand:
privacy
. They don’t pry into their customers’ businesses. They do their jobs and hold the money, same as we do by shuffling it around.”

“I see,” said Amit, standing. Bradley, though he’d moved into a more righteous position, took a step back. “You are concerned that your clients come to you for help hiding the activities that are their business and
only
their business. I am asking you to betray that privacy. If this is a stand for liberty, in the spirit of America and its freedoms, I can respect that. Unfortunately, your ideals still stand in my way.”

Bradley puffed his chest and said, “You won’t hurt me,” but then rubbed his hand again, because Amit already had.
 

“I understand.”
 

Amit walked around Bradley’s desk, carefully keeping himself between the accountant and the locked office door. Surprisingly, no one had come to bother them. Mary had stopped banging, perhaps sensing the futility.
 

Amit tapped on Bradley’s keyboard for a few moments, watched the numbers change, then shoved the keyboard toward the other man. “Use your machine to search for Telford Hayes crime scene photos. There was press.”
 

Reluctantly, Bradley did. He gasped.
 

Amit touched the screen, pointing to a pool of blood.
 

“That is my footprint. It was quite the error. I had to stop and wipe it off.” He pulled off his shoe and held up his bare feet. On the sole was a deep, dark stain. “For some reason, blood really stains the bottoms of feet. Probably why most people do not walk in it.” He held up his hand. “I have confidence that this will wash off, but it will probably still stain the wrinkles in my knuckles for a few days. Some of it isn’t just blood, you see. How far do you have to push your fingers into a man’s eyes before you hit brain? Or do you hit brain? Do you just tap the backs of his eye sockets?” Amit chuckled. “I am having trouble remembering if skulls have holes or just indentations. Perhaps you could look up some more photos for me. Or remove your glasses.”
 

Bradley’s hand went to his eyes.
 

“I am joking.” Amit laughed. “I can go through your glasses.”

Bradley swallowed. He stumbled backward a few paces, finally collapsing into a chair set against his large window. He looked back up at Amit, almost lost, about to surrender.
 

“What am I supposed to do? If I don’t tell you anything, you’ll kill me. If I
do
,
they’ll
kill me.”
 

“If you tell me but they never find out, you will be fine. You should do that.”
 

“They’ll find out.”
 

“It’s a possibility. But I am already here. If your dangerous employers knew that, they would assume the worst, no matter whether you said anything or not. So, instead of asking whether you should tell me what I want to know, ask yourself how you can conceal my visit. Logically, concealment becomes harder the longer I am here and the more injured you are tomorrow.”
 

The accountant looked down at his own hand — hurt but not visibly marred, save a few cuts on the palm — and weighed his options.

“What about Mary?”
 

“She is a lovely woman.”

“I mean, she obviously knows you were here. Same with anyone else you passed on your way in.”
 

“You should have a discussion with Mary when I am gone. I do not mean to presume to tell you your business, but I hear that money is soothing to fear and worry. No one looked at me when I came in, other than the briefest of glances.” They hadn’t, either. He’d been another workman, heading to somewhere that didn’t matter to them.
 

“Okay.” He nodded. “Dynamex Distribution. They handle worldwide distribution for NutriBev and a few other clients’ organizations that are probably connected in ways I can’t see, but can imagine. I don’t know for sure that Dynamex is the organization you’re looking for, but if I had to guess, I’d say it is. I’ve never worked directly on their files, but I’ve heard them mentioned by others. The sheet I just pulled shows a large percentage of cash sales, and large sums through a subsidiary that, based on other files here, I don’t think is actually doing that much business legitimately.”
 

“And this Dynamex has a bank account in the Virgin Islands?”
 

Bradley nodded. “A big one.”
 

“Thank you.” Amit bowed. “Now. If you could just tell me the bank’s name and where to find it, I will be on my way.”

Bradley did.

Amit left the office.
 

On the way out, through the closed door to the kitchenette, he shouted to Mary that he no longer required anything to drink, but thanked her anyway.

Chapter 16

S
IX
Y
EARS
A
GO

T
HE
KING
cobra was nearly 20 feet long, and by the time Amit was circling behind it, the snake stood at Amala’s full height, hood flared. Amit had never seen one this close. He knew they were large, but seeing one in life sharpened that in a way nothing else could. It was one thing to understand the concept of “large snake,” and another to see it slither in the flesh. It almost looked fake, like a parody, too large and terrifying to be real.

“Amit?” Amala wasn’t moving a muscle, not even her eyes. Her chestnut hair — a trait that seemed to suggest a Caucasian or two in her lineage — caught the sunlight, and a large dark birthmark on her neck stood out like a blood stain, as if already bitten and bleeding. She was 17 and had been with the Sri her entire life. She had the same physical and muscular control that they all had — but as the snake hissed and swayed erect before her, Amala became like the shy girl Amit had first met. She had grown more confident as she’d matured, and could be as deadly as Amit if she were ever let off of her ethically restricted leash. None of that showed now, and Amit couldn’t blame her.
 

It wasn’t easy to sneak up on a snake, even for a monk. He didn’t want to startle it and cause an attack on Amala, nor did Amit wish to get bitten himself. He knew little about snakes (they didn’t usually get them in the monastery — even the smaller ones), and didn’t know if they were spiteful. Did the thing want to attack her because she’d startled it near its nest? Or would it be happy to let her go if she backed away? If he could draw it toward himself, would their positions reverse, with him facing a 6-foot-tall hooded snake and Amala unable to help?
 

The ground beneath him became like a puzzle. He took precise steps, not stepping on so much as a dead leaf. He didn’t want to rustle the grass. He didn’t want the snake to hear his breathing, if the creatures could hear such things. How well could they smell? Could the snake smell him? Amit remembered that they “smelled” with their tongues, but didn’t know if his scent was offensive and had approached downwind to be sure.
 

Once close enough, straddling the snake’s gigantic tail (between its head and nest, Amit realized with a start), he leapt and grabbed it by its huge, broad head. The snake was impossibly strong. It thrashed and buckled as Amala turned to run at his shouted command. At first, it looked as if Amit might lose control, but then he remembered that control could be surrendered, but never lost.

He rolled with the snake, allowing it to win. Behind it, he used its own momentum to slam its slithering body to the ground. Realizing he was actually knocking into the monster’s eggs, Amit whipped one hand to the side, found a rock he’d spotted earlier, and bashed its head to paste. Once finished, he realized that a part of him had been angry at the snake. The rage had retreated before he could fully see it, and Amit wondered if Woo would be proud.