Authors: Rafael
The Huntsman (22 page)
Flashing police lights illuminated one of Chandrapur’s seedier
blocks. Curious onlookers hung from windows, rooftops, lampposts, surprised the
officers had taken more than their customary casual attitude toward the lower
caste. The city’s homicide division had left their vehicles strewn along the
street.
Daaruk
Kapur pulled up in his own version of that universally recognized cop
conveyance—the unmarked car.
In
its unknowable brilliance, headquarters had assigned him a rookie they had
probably kept tethered to a desk since coming through the academy. Daaruk
almost laughed when the neophyte donned aviator glasses. He rolled his eyes,
unbuckled, and exited.
A
uniformed constable manning the entry point to the six-story residential looked
hard at Daaruk’s ID before deciding he needed a higher authority. He signaled
the Senior Constable who walked over with palpable disdain. He too stared hard
at the badge.
“If
I’m not mistaken, Officer Kapur, we’re within India’s national boundaries.
Aren’t you out of your jurisdiction?”
“The
two bodies inside may be part of an investigation I’m conducting.”
“How
do you know there are bodies inside?” Daaruk smiled.
“Come
now, Constable. I do work for Intelligence.”
“Well,
Mr. Kapur, this is a police matter, not Intelligence. Good day to you.”
To
Daaruk’s annoyance, his partner made to speak. He extended an arm, pressed back
across the young agent’s chest, and rolled his eyes.
“Constable,
may I have a word with you please?” The policeman shrugged and stepped off to
the side. “I have no desire to embarrass you in front of your men. All I’m
asking is a small inter-agency favor. Don’t force me to make a phone call. If I
do I assure you, Senior Constable, you’ll receive a call within ten minutes
ordering your complete and unreserved cooperation.”
Hard experience had the policeman searching Daaruk’s face for any
sign of bluff. He found none. “Cooperation is a two-way street, Officer Kapur.
I have two bodies on the third floor. Who are they?”
“We received a request from the CIA for assistance locating
a science team
who had fled to India in possession of a stolen American project.”
“What
kind of project?”
“Unclear.
I’m pretty sure not even the CIA knows. But three of their agents died trying
to find out. In the course of our investigation we learned a Singapore
industrialist, one Nicholas Koh, is also pursuing this project. Our colleagues
in Mumbai received a flash alert that two individuals on our watch list had
flown in from Australia. Eyebrows rose when we connected the two to the same
industrialist. We put a tail on them that they evaded. As you know,
eyewitnesses placed the two in the rented apartment where Mr. Ekani Jayaraman
emerged shot. I’d like to confirm the men upstairs are the ones who flew into
Mumbai.” Daaruk paused. “This information is classified, Constable. I’ve just
entrusted my career to you.”
“Follow
me, Officer Kapur.” Daaruk did, confident he had developed another well-placed
contact within the police department.
They
climbed the stairs while uniforms knocked on doors, asking what anyone had seen
or heard. The kind of unglamorous grunt work all successful police investigations
need. On every floor wide-eyed children stared in awe and wonder. From
somewhere the smell of fresh-made chaat dough drifted. The Senior Constable
turned right on the third-floor landing and headed for the open doorway at
hall’s end. Inside a Head Constable Detective and a forensic specialist moved
about. On a couch facing the entrance two Asian men sat, legs and arms
sprawled, each with a clean, circular hole centering their foreheads. The Head
Constable snapped off gloves and approached the Senior Constable.
“What
do you have, Head Constable?” He made to speak but hesitated, glancing at the
two strangers. The Senior offered no introduction. “These are friends of mine.”
“We’re
in the process of tracking down the lease holder but neighbors say these two
appeared about three weeks ago. They left early in the morning and returned
late at night. The car they used is parked outside. We should find out any
minute who rented it.
There
is no sign of forced entrance, no sign of a struggle. The only prints belong to
the victims. The apartment is neat, orderly, no indication anything is missing
except for their passports and ID’s. A good delay tactic by the killer.
Building witnesses report an Indian woman wearing a sari entered about four
hours ago and left fifteen minutes later. Two photographed her.”
“What
caused them to take pictures?” the Senior Constable asked.
His
subordinate extended a mobile device. It displayed a woman emerging from the
building’s entrance, her head turned slightly to the side. Daaruk leaned in.
“She’s quite the looker.” Both Constables nodded. The detective continued.
“Pending
the coroner’s report, I’ve seen enough of them to be confident those bullet
holes are from a .22 caliber, a classic assassin’s weapon and one a female can
handle with no problem. This woman is no one to underestimate. She not only
caught two professionals by surprise, she has to be a dead shot. Hitting one
center forehead is hard enough. Only lightning reflexes account for the other.”
“Motive?”
“I’m
thinking our friends here were not supposed to shoot the other victim, Ekani
Jayaraman. His apartment has clear evidence of having been rummaged through.
They wanted information. Killing these two not only leaves a cold trail but
sends a message about failure.”
“Who
discovered the bodies?”
“Children
playing soccer in the hallway. One banged against the unlocked door and fell
in.”
“Good
work, Constable. My compliments.” He turned toward the two R&AW agents.
“Any questions?” Daaruk shook his head.
“I
add my compliments to the Head Constable’s thoroughness, a good reflection of
your leadership. If you would indulge me, I’d like to take a closer look at our
two friends here.”
“Be
my guest.”
The
agents stepped toward the first corpse, the thin emaciated one. On his
communicator, Daaruk brought up a passport photo scanned at the Mumbai arrival
gate. He held it alongside the dead man’s face. “What do you think, young man?”
“Sir,
I believe there is sufficient similarity to warrant positive identification.”
Daaruk rolled his eyes. He straightened and compared another photo to the next
one without asking for confirmation.
“Take
my number, Constable, and I’ll transmit these photos to you. They’ll hasten
your investigation. I suspect the passports are stolen or forged but they are
solid leads.” With a nod from his superior, the Head Constable in turn
transferred the woman’s photo to Daaruk. “Good luck, Senior Constable, you’ve
been a tremendous help. We’ll be on our way.” Hand outstretched, the policeman
smiled.
“Now
both our heads are on the chopping block.”
“If
you have any problems, contact me at the agency. I’ll be happy to clear you.”
They
made their way back down, his aviator-shaded partner drawing most of the stares
from children and adults. Outside he pitched the keys to the novice who made a
deft catch. Daaruk buckled in and leaned back, tried to clear his thoughts.
“What’s our next move, young man?”
“Sir,
I recommend we return immediately to the office and file our reports.”
Daaruk
rolled his eyes.
The
elevator doors whooshed open as hushed as the soundproofed interior. A female
electronic tone softly chimed, “Director of Central Intelligence.” No one
raised their voice above a low murmur on the DCI’s floor. Two armed guards gave
him a curt nod. Even the Deputy Director could not be on the elevator without
having passed through two security checkpoints and then only with the
Director’s prior clearance. He fumed on his way down the carpeted hall enclosed
by rich mahogany walls. Along the corridor, the DCI’s framed predecessors
looked on with glee as another condemned man walked the last mile. Having
sought and failed to prevent this exact moment, he paused at the door. Damn Navy,
he thought.
Pacific
Command had desk-assigned the submarine skipper who broke security and surfaced
to assist the penetration team trapped on the Maldivian island. In advance of
court martial proceedings they had submitted an official background inquiry
request through channels. Though proceeding by the book, Navy brass clearly
wanted to give the boat commander’s defense every opportunity to provide
mitigating circumstances since the Captain’s actions had saved the lives of
four commandos plus Tilka Lon’s. In covering for their own, Pentagon Admirals
had thrown him overboard. He inhaled, knocked, and pushed the door open.
The
DCI, phone to his ear, pointed to the chair before the oversized desk. His
expression and tone did not bode well. “Well, Senator, let me see if I have
this straight. You’re pleading to keep a regional office open in your home
state while at the same time voting to impose budget cuts on my agency. Oh, and
at your press conference after the vote, you stated, hold on let me get this
quote right.” He opened a desk drawer and smoothly withdrew a memo. ‘It’s about
time this out-of-control agency had its ears pulled back a bit.’”
The
DCI examined his manicure while muffled shouts spilled out the earpiece. “I
understand your comments were for public consumption. Unfortunately for you,
I’m a member of the public. No, Senator. The only thing out of control is the
hypocrisy you and your colleagues wallow in. If you want our office to remain
open, pay for it. And a kinder tone, for public consumption of course, would
also be helpful. Now if you don’t mind, Senator, my ears are feeling a bit
pinched. Have a good day.”
His
arm formed a slow arc to the phone’s cradle while the Director of Central
Intelligence fixed him with a barracuda stare. A long minute echoed the
silence. “What the hell is going on in your department, John?”
“Did
you read my report, sir?” The silence deepened at having answered a question
with a question. Another drawer opened and the DCI dropped a manila folder on
the otherwise pristine desktop. “Maybe it was my Texas accent. Let me phrase it
differently. What the hell is going on in your department?”
Fifteen
minutes later the barracuda stare continued. “And this Janesh McKenzie. Where
is he now?”
“Unknown
at the moment, sir. We have not yet fully debriefed our agent-on-site, Tilka
Lon. He’s still hospitalized but stated McKenzie disappeared into the jungle
when the fire fight started.”
“What
about these xenoform reports? How much credibility do you give them?”
“I
didn’t know what to make of them, sir. You know how unreliable eyewitness
statements are. It’s why I didn’t brief you. Tilka Lon’s specific assignment
was to get me harder facts.”
“Who
is Nicholas Koh?”
“We
identified his organization through a chartered freighter, the ChangLi41. It
was aboard this ship where we lost our third agent, Ben Wolford. Although he’s
at the head of an international conglomerate, Singapore police say he has roots
in the Asian underworld and his hands are still in it elbow-deep.”
“And then there’s this Miranda Logan. How the hell did two people
with no security clearances get so enmeshed with one of our operations?”
“I remind you, sir. This case began as a low-level investigation
into possible misappropriation of funds on a research project we sponsored.”
“Into quantum encryption?” the DCI interrupted.
“That’s right, sir. As a matter of routine we often subcontract
civilian expertise. No one had any reason to believe it would balloon into
this.”
“What did he do with the missing funds?”
“We’re not sure, sir.” The DCI glowered.
“Um-hmm, let’s see.” The DCI opened the folder and flipped a few
pages. His lips moved in silence. “So far while my Intelligence Division is
running around with no idea what’s going on, we have 20 civilians dead, 8
police officers, 8 soldiers, 3 agents, plus two unsecured subcontractors no one
can find. And in a ridiculous example of pouring when it rains, the US Navy has
dropped this fiasco on my lap. Oh, and did I forget to mention there might be a
little, green Martian running around?”
“It’s a bird, sir.”
“What?”
“It’s a bird, sir. Reports say it’s huge, feathered, and can fly.”
The DCI’s scowl blazed. Palpable anger reddened his ears.
“Is there anything else I should know about, John? Are pigs about
to fly out my butt?”
He rose to open the drapes behind him. Jacket open, arms akimbo,
he stared through the one-way, bulletproof glass. “I rose through the ranks of
this organization. Thirty-three years all told. I thought I had seen and heard
it all.” His head did a slow nod. “Until today.” He exhaled a deep breath.
Goddamn it, he wondered. What the hell am I supposed to do with
this? The situation had great potential to make laughing stocks of many people
and hang the rest off hooks. He didn’t care so much for himself but for the
President who had shown great faith in him. At the time, and until today, he remained
certain his nomination had been for appearances only. Handicappers had given
his chances as a politically unconnected career bureaucrat short shrift. But
during the interview the President had seen something in this indecorous,
impertinent black man. “I want you to be my Intelligence Director, Bert. It’s
the one position where I must know the truth and you won’t have any problem
giving it to me.”
Like himself, he felt certain the President hadn’t imagined
anything like this. Should he tell the Commander-in-Chief a national security
emergency might loom? Announce Earth might have an extraterrestrial wreaking
havoc across the planet? That both might be linked to a science project no one
knew anything about? What the hell could it be? He felt himself sucked into the
same thought process his deputy had fallen into. In order to tell the truth, he
needed more facts.
He looked up at the clouds drifting by
—indifferent,
uncaring. They formed a boundary beyond which Earth-evolved life could not
exist. Indeed, most of the universe would kill humans—instantly. And now
perhaps the cosmos no longer respected the boundary. If he needed hard facts to
tell the truth, thirty-nine bodies told a harsh one.
He
returned to his desk. Another long breath escaped as every one of his
fifty-eight years dropped into the seat. He appeared a man reconciled to
whatever fate had in store for him. “As of this moment, your sole priority is
to find the science project. This case began because of it. Finding it is key.
I will activate Unit Four. When you find it I will release them. That’s all for
now, John.” He watched the door close behind his deputy then reached for the
phone to call the White House.
