The Delhi Deception (32 page)

Harry didn’t introduce himself; he simply handed the document to him. Squinting at it, the guard frowned, and then his attitude changed. “Ah, yes, of course, please follow me, sir. You have someone to help you carry this consignment?” he asked respectfully.

“Yes, I have someone, but it is not very heavy. I should manage fine.”

Removing a large key from among a tagged bunch, the guard unlocked the large steel padlock. He heaved open the heavy steel doors and said, “Please go ahead. You know what you are removing today?”

“Yes, thank you.”

While Gupta returned to his office, Harry removed a small device from his pocket and switched it on, scanning the entrance of the container. He peered at the reading, and satisfied that there was no evidence of a radiation leak, he returned the scanner to his pocket. Using the light from his mobile phone, Harry started looking for the suitcase hidden in the sacks of South African maize meal. Some of the sacks had split open, the flour spilling in a deep pile on the floor of the container. He finally heard the clank of metal after poking several bags of flour. Using his small Swiss army knife, he cut open the sack and found the steel suitcase; it looked like it might contain sensitive camera or video equipment. He lifted it easily—it didn’t weigh more than twenty kilograms— and draped several empty sacks around it. He locked the container and put the suitcase in the jeep, returning the key to Gupta. Thanking him, he handed him a wad of one-hundred-rupee notes.

Harry dialed a number on his mobile phone as he sat in the back of the Jeep. A deep male voice at the other end said, “Tomorrow morning at nine you need to drive toward the east gate of Delhi. You’ll pass a small hotel called Delhi Gate Inn. Your driver must drop you there and leave. Introduce yourself to the receptionist as Dr. Tuglak and wait. A man by the name of Uttam will collect you and bring you to me. You are to hold onto the case, and don’t allow anyone to take it from you. Understood?”

“Yes. Of course,” Harry said, frowning. He wasn’t comfortable with the idea of going without his driver.

The following morning his driver dropped him off at the Delhi Gate Inn. He asked the driver to go home; he’d call him later.

The reception at the Delhi Gate Inn was cramped and smelled of ammonia and old oil. The woman at the desk eyed him with suspicion. Candy wrappings lay scattered among the untidy batches of invoices on the desk. The woman’s dyed-black hair was oily and pulled back into a bun so tightly that her eyes slanted upwards. Harry introduced himself as Dr. Tuglak, and she told him to take a seat on a worn-out red leatherette couch. He kept his hand protectively on the suitcase next to him. The woman gave it a curious look but didn’t offer to store it. She made a phone call and spoke softly into the handset, pausing to study Harry for a few seconds. Nodding, she replaced the handset and smiled at him for the first time with crooked, red, betel-nut-stained teeth.

Five minutes later a well-built young man with short-cropped hair, wearing jeans and a black T-shirt, walked through the door. “Dr. Tuglak?” he asked Harry.

“Yes, and you are?”

Smiling, he said, “You can call me Uttam. Please come with me.”

A yellow panel van was parked at the uneven curb. Uttam opened the doors and helped Harry lift the suitcase inside. The interior was bare, except for one seat. Metal chains, boxes of scrap metal, and rusty nails were piled up on the one side. A middle-aged man wearing a pathani suit and skullcap smiled at Harry and offered him the seat. Harry protested politely, but the man was very insistent, pushing him rudely down onto the seat before squatting on his haunches on the floor of the van.

Uttam reversed carefully into the ongoing traffic but managed to pull away safely.
Thank goodness
, Harry thought, worried about his consignment. The driver turned east toward Ghaziabad. The industrial town in Uttar Pradesh was only twenty kilometers from Delhi. Their progression was slow through the congested morning traffic. They passed several factories manufacturing railway wagons and advanced electronic products for the Indian armed forces.

At a busy intersection the van turned left and headed toward the old part of the city where the populace lived in closely built apartments. Clotheslines strung between the buildings dripped soapy water onto the car’s windshield, drawing a couple of expletives from Uttam. He stopped in front of a wooden door and blew the horn. The door opened immediately. A young man dressed in jeans got in beside him, and they sped off. After a few more twists and turns through the narrow streets, they found themselves on a dirt track, abandoned factories and warehouses along the way.

The van stopped in front of a large metal gate. A chowkidar opened it and waved them through. Uttam parked the van in front of an abandoned warehouse. The terrain outside was uneven and littered with industrial waste. Uttam opened the door for Harry, and he climbed out, carefully passing the suitcase to Uttam, who introduced the newcomer to Harry as Ali. They walked toward a relatively new-looking steel door fitted with a sophisticated combination lock. Uttam punched in a code, and the door opened.

They entered the large space, which was well lit with naked fluorescent bulbs hanging directly from the steel ceiling beams. Large steel tables lined one side of the floor, and on the other side two women wearing hijabs were seated in front of industrial sewing machines. A dummy stood to the side, modeling a vest in coarse handloom cotton. Thin nylon rope held a small throw pillow in place around the waist of the doll.

When they saw Harry, they looked up and stopped sewing. A tall youth got up from behind the table and embraced Uttam and Ali, who turned to Harry and introduced the youth as Dr. Nizaam. “Hi, how’re you doing?” he asked in an American accent.

“You’re American?” Harry asked, surprised.

“No, I’m Palestinian. In a skirmish on the West Bank, Israeli soldiers killed my parents. I was only six years old when I was sent to live with my uncle in Los Angeles. Later I went to UCLA where I qualified as a chemical engineer.”

Harry smiled politely, his eyes scanning the table where Nizaam was working. Some technical drawings and neat packets of wire as well as small boxes resembling detonators filled the table. Nizaam noticed Harry staring and said, “Please, come. I’ll show you what I’m working on.”

Harry walked toward the table, still carrying the suitcase. Nizaam looked at it and said, “Great, you have it. Let me take it from you.” He put in on the table next to his own briefcase and turned his attention back to Harry, pointing out the components of the bomb he was working on. “So, as you can see we are assembling a conventional bomb of shrapnel that can cause the most fatalities. But the added component, which you so kindly procured for us, will make it possible to cause some major psychological damage.” He threw back his head and laughed, his laughter reaching an effeminate pitch.

The events of the past two days had taken their toll on Harry, but he somehow managed to control his feelings of disgust and agitation. He stared without expression at Nizaam as he walked to the suitcase. Nizaam’s excitement was almost tangible in the cool, air-conditioned space.

“Let me,” Harry volunteered when Nizaam tried to open the suitcase. “It has a combination lock,” he explained, while punching in the short code. He lifted the lid, exposing the metal container, which lay cushioned in between gray foam. Red warning signs against nuclear radiation were painted on the metal container.

“What is it?” Nizaam asked, almost breathless.

“Caesium-137. The same radioisotope used by the Chechen rebels in Moscow in the nineties. Of course, it didn’t detonate, but it certainly scared a lot of people,” Harry said.

“How many kilos?” Nizaam asked.

“Seventeen. It should be more than enough for at least five bombs.”

“Good. Well, I’m going to move it into a safe area to work on, and Uttam and Ali will take you to him.” Nizaam closed the suitcase carefully and walked toward the back of the warehouse through a metal door. Uttam took Harry by the elbow and led him in the opposite direction through a wooden door and down a cement staircase.

He knocked on the timber door at the bottom of the stairs and then entered. A towering man dressed in white kurti pajamas sat at a desk staring at the smoke rings he was puffing in the air. He was holding a Cohiba Behike Cuban cigar elegantly in his right hand, while his left hand hovered limp at the wrist over a crystal glass next to a tall bottle of whiskey. He gave Harry an imperious glance and pointed his cigar hand to a chair opposite him. Harry sat down, reluctantly. This was definitely not the man he had expected to meet. Something in Harry’s expression must have betrayed his thoughts, as the man smiled at him, condescendingly.

“A great army general once said, ‘To beat your enemy, know him intimately, copy his ways, live his life, and then strike him when he least expects it,’” he said in a sonorous voice, watching Harry like a striking cobra.

“Yes, I believe that to be true,” Harry said in a guarded tone.

Guffawing, the man stood up and walked around the desk. Putting his cigar in his mouth, he swung his hand back and slapped Harry hard on the back. “I’m Nadir. We’ve spoken on the phone.”

Harry, wincing at the rough welcome, said, “Of course, I recognize your voice.”

Nadir walked back to his cognac-colored leather chair and sat down heavily. Taking a crystal whiskey glass from a tray on his desk, he poured a tot and handed it to Harry.

Shaking his head, Harry said, “No thanks, I don’t drink.”

“Oh, what nonsense. This is a twenty-five-year-old Talisker. Not easy to get hold of in India.” He pushed it closer to Harry and affecting an affable tone, said, “Cheers, and thank you. We are finally ready for the final phase in our operation.” He lifted his glass to his mouth and iterated a hollow “Cheers!”

.

CHAPTER 24

T
he van tilted precariously to the side of the steep mountain pass. The jolting shook Carla out of her drug-induced sleep. She had a splitting headache, and her vision was blurred. As she blinked forcefully and rubbed her head vigorously, her vision cleared marginally. Her hands and feet were tied with nylon rope. She was lying on her side, and her hipbone was hurting as the van lurched and rocked on the narrow road. Through sheer willpower she managed to turn onto her back, and the pain in her hip began to ease gradually. She turned her head and saw that Elouise was also slumped on her side, still unconscious. Staring at Elouise, Carla began to remember, putting together the puzzle pieces bit by bit. A familiar feeling of dread gripped her, her nerves so tightly wound that her breathing was labored.

“Elouise, Elouise, wake up. Can you hear me?” she shouted over the van’s noisy engine. But Elouise didn’t stir. Worried about her, Carla managed to wriggle toward her. She laid her ear against her chest and listened carefully. She couldn’t hear Elouise breathing. As she tried to find a heartbeat, cold sweat poured down Carla’s face.
Maybe Elouise had a reaction to the drug
, she thought in a panic. Tears welled in her eyes as she felt hysteria rise in her. Her breathing became more labored and irregular.

A sudden jolt knocked Elouise’s lolling head sharply against a metal box, and her moan had Carla sighing with relief. It was then that she was able to think more rationally. The engine was deafeningly loud.
That’s why I wasn’t able to hear a heartbeat.
Moving closer to Elouise, she managed to nudge her repeatedly. Moaning again, Elouise opened her eyes only to close them again. Carla was desperate.

“Wake up. You must wake up, Elouise,” she shouted loudly and then, to make sure they were indeed alone in the back of the van, she quickly scanned it. Reassured, she prodded Elouise again on her shoulder.

“My head, it hurts like hell.” Elouise slurred the words, her heavy-lidded eyes squinting in the dim light. There were no windows in the van, but sunlight filtered through some of the cracks and holes in the metal sides and roof. Their watches had been taken, and there was also no sign of their luggage or purses.

“It looks like it’s still daytime. How long do you think we were knocked out?” Carla asked her.

Looking at Carla with annoyance and surprising wit, given that she had just regained consciousness, Elouise said, “I wouldn’t know. This is a first for me.”

Carla managed a nervous giggle. “Of course, but if you had to make a calculated guess?”

Elouise frowned. She didn’t answer Carla. Contorting her body, which caused a lot of groaning, she managed to find a more comfortable position and sat propped up against the side of the van. “Get yourself to that crack and smell the air,” Elouise said, nodding toward the corner of the van where a steady line of light was streaming through.

Carla looked at the gap, frowned, and said, “At the cost of sounding like a dumb blond, what am I supposed to smell?”

“The air, you idiot. Is it morning or late afternoon air? Do you smell other cars or dust or tarmac? These are all clues as to where we are,” Elouise said impatiently.

“OK, I get it.” Having observed Elouise’s heroic effort, Carla pushed herself up against the opposite side of the van. She reached the crack and, looking back at Elouise, said, “I could just try to peer through it, you know.”