The Goddess Legacy (13 page)

But now, finally, the time was at hand.

New Delhi, India

The taxi let Drake, Allie, and Spencer off in a crowded downtown area packed with electronics shops and Internet cafés. They’d asked the driver where they could find the best deals on phones and computers, and the man had been unhesitating in his recommendation. Now, on a sidewalk teeming with humanity, the street clogged with rickshaws and bicycles, their near escape from the police seemed worlds away.

“That looks promising,” Allie said, pointing at a sign advertising “Finest Splendid Internet Coffee.”

“I hope they use purified water, or we’re going to be in trouble,” Spencer said.

“We’ve been okay so far,” Allie pointed out.

“You’ve been here, what, a dozen hours?”

“Have I mentioned I bore easily? Where’s this treasure I keep hearing about?” Allie fired back.

“Probably not a terrible spot to use as home base for a few hours,” Drake said, inspecting the interior of the café through the picture window. “I mean, it could be worse.”

“Nobody’s milking cobras or anything, you mean?” Spencer asked.

“I was more thinking that the equipment looks pretty new. Come on. Let’s get something to drink.”

They entered the shop, which consisted of a half dozen small circular metal tables in front and a rear area boasting a dozen computer stations, and took a seat. The air conditioning was thankfully set at arctic, and the cold air washed over them as they looked around the place. A young waitress dressed head to toe in black, her hair dyed blue, came up with laminated menus and tossed them on the table. “How’s it going?” she asked in perfect American English.

“Fine, I guess,” Drake said, obviously surprised.

“What’s your pleasure?” she asked, raising an eyebrow and staring holes through Spencer with a smirk.

“You have coffee?” he asked.

“We have anything you want,” she said, cocking a hip, her skinny jeans clinging to her like a second skin.

Allie cut in. “Do you use purified water?”

“Of course, although all the hot drinks are boiled, as well,” she said, still addressing Spencer.

“Well, then…three cups of coffee,” Spencer said.

“Do you like them dark or light?” she asked.

Spencer looked her up and down. “Depends. Can you bring some cream or milk on the side?”

“For you? Whatever you want,” she said, and sashayed away. Spencer’s eyes followed her across the room.

“Seems like you have a fan,” Allie said.

“Must be the makeup. Some girls like that kind of thing,” Drake said.

“Maybe she’s just flirty and bored,” Spencer said. “Not a lot to do all day, I’ll bet.”

“You going to help the poor thing out with that?” Allie asked innocently.

“We’re sort of busy trying to stay alive. Think I’ll focus on that.”

“Might make it all the sweeter – the danger element,” Allie mused.

Drake held his tongue.

“Why don’t we take another look at your images instead of discussing my romantic possibilities?” Spencer said with a smile. “Specifically, the dagger.”

Allie slid her phone from her pocket, selected the image of the blade, and zoomed in on the characters. “Looks like Sanskrit,” she said.

“Can you plug it into an online translation engine?” Drake asked.

“Should be able to. The problem is finding an input mechanism.” She offered a small pout. “I didn’t get the Sanskrit option on my gear.”

“I can’t take you people anywhere,” Spencer grumbled.

“Maybe one of the computers?” Drake suggested.

“We can ask Spencer’s new paramour when she gets done spitting in my cup,” Allie said.

“Only spitting?” Spencer asked, earning Allie’s glower for his trouble.

The waitress returned and placed their coffees on the table, leaning closer to Spencer than necessary, and Allie winked at him.

“Do any of the computers have Sanskrit keyboards?” Drake asked.

The girl looked at him like he was crazy. “No, but you can go to websites where you can select characters and string them together.”

“Oh. Of course,” he said. “Do you know any?”

“Try Googling it,” she replied, and departed with a swing of her hips.

“An Indian Miss Congeniality, your little blossom is, my friend,” Drake said to Spencer.

“I don’t know. She’s got a certain something. She could probably make me miserable for a few months as well as anyone.”

“Gotta have a dream,” Allie said, sipping her coffee after inspecting the cup. “No flies in it, at least.”

Allie connected to the web from her tablet and found a site where she could enter a Sanskrit phrase. She duplicated the characters on the blade and then cut and pasted it into a translation engine.

“Here goes nothing,” she said, and clicked on the translate button.

Two seconds went by, and then an unintelligible string of gibberish appeared. Drake sat back with a scowl. “So much for that.”

Allie switched to another site and got the same result. She continued working at it as Spencer and Drake conversed in hushed tones, and then she looked up at them, her expression clouded. “Here’s a site that substitutes one character in Sanskrit for another. Apparently that was a common practice and was a skill that the
Kama Sutra
recommended learning: the art of secret writing. Want to bet this is encrypted?”

Spencer nodded. “Makes sense. Which means we’re screwed if we don’t know the key or have nothing but time to try every possible variation of character substitution. Like I said before on the other character string – substitution ciphers have been around forever.”

“Can I check my email while we’re preparing to slit our wrists?” Drake asked.

Allie tilted her head at the computers. “Might as well rent some time. Nothing’s going to happen fast, and there’s no point slowing things down by only using my tablet.”

Drake spoke with the waitress and she directed him to one of the systems. He pulled up a chair and tapped in some commands, and then studied his emails, reading quickly. When he was done, he stood and rushed back to where Spencer and Allie were sitting. Allie looked up at him.

“What is it?”

“Betty. She figured out what that string I sent her is.”

“Really? That was fast.”

“Yeah. She’s working pretty late. Anyway, it’s a bitcoin key – a public key.”

“A…what?” Spencer asked.

“Have you been living in a cave?” Drake said.

“Worse. Laguna Beach. I’ve heard of bitcoin, but I don’t know how it works.”

“There’s a wallet with a private key. To do transactions, you generate a public key – that’s what you use to send and receive money.” Drake hesitated. “I mean bitcoins. Same difference.”

“How did she know that was what it was?” Allie asked.

“She’s a big fan. A lot of people think it’s going to replace our monetary system eventually and do away with the need for banks for transactions.”

“So where does that leave us?”

“She sent me a site where you can see the transactions that were done for a public key. It’s all transparent.”

“Really?” Spencer asked.

“Yup. She ran that one, and there were only two transactions. One receiving bitcoins, probably where Carson made a buy of them in dollars, and the other sending the same amount to another public key.”

“That’s awesome! Then all we need to do is contact the owner of the public key, and we’ve found the dagger,” Allie said.

Drake shook his head. “Afraid not. There’s no way to know who owns it – it’s anonymous. There’s no registry we can access. That’s part of the appeal of crypto-currencies: they’re largely anonymous for users who want to keep it that way.”

“Then how does that help us?” Spencer asked, frustrated.

“We can run the other address and see what transactions it’s done. We might be able to pick up a thread we can follow.” Drake sighed. “Worth a try, right?”

He returned to the computer and went to work as Allie continued researching Sanskrit. When he next appeared by her side, his expression was excited. “The other address looks like almost all the recent transactions are with one key. Sending money. And that one’s not anonymous.”

“Who is it?” Spencer asked.

“An online magazine. Here, in New Delhi. Specializes in advertisements – kind of like a high-end paid Craigslist.”

“That would make sense,” Spencer said. “Carson mentioned he found the relic from a dealer.”

“Sounds like we need to pay a visit to the magazine. They might have the seller’s contact information,” Allie said. “And while we’re at it, we can stop by the university.”

“University?” Drake asked. “Why?”

“I ran a search for that Dr. Rakesh Sharma. There’s only one that comes up – a linguistics professor at the University of Delhi.”

Drake nodded. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

Allie smiled. “Not a lot of reasons Carson would have had the name of a guy who could help him with Sanskrit, are there?”

Allie and Drake neared the building that housed the magazine, a three-story structure painted Day-Glo orange, the bottom floor retail shops, with offices above. They’d agreed to split up, leaving Spencer to research the satellite imagery and mosaic at the café after buying a cheap cell phone next door. The owner of the shop had activated the device without seeing any identification, handing it to Allie after she promised to return with her passport later.

After another harrowing rickshaw ride across town to a seedy neighborhood on the east side of New Delhi, they found themselves in a crowded street, a small river of muddy fluid coursing down the center. The pedestrians moved slowly due to the heat, colorful umbrellas bobbing above heads to provide the slim relief of portable shade.

“What do you think?” Drake asked as they eyed the building.

“I’ll go in and you wait out here.”

“Why don’t we do this together?”

“A lone woman will be far less threatening than a couple.”

“It’s not like we’re going to rob the place.”

“Just let me do this my way.”

Drake parked himself in a shop across the street as Allie made her way to the building entry. An ancient doorman seated on a barstool just outside waved her through without question. Allie glanced around once inside and spotted a directory to her right, with the magazine offices identified as being on the third floor.

She mounted the stairs, the air stifling in the enclosed area, and exhaled in relief when she reached the third landing. The magazine had the entire level, and Allie paused at the door, the publication’s stenciled name partially peeled off, the paint in desperate need of repair.

Allie approached a heavyset woman seated behind a reception desk that, like the offices, had seen better days. After a brief discussion, the woman called the assistant managing director. Allie took a seat on a stained sofa and surveyed the large room, counting seven workers, all female, typing away furiously on computers, half of them wearing telephone headsets.

Ten minutes later a short man with all of ten strands of hair combed over a shining pate emerged from an office at the rear of the area and walked to the reception desk with the air of a man at home in his fiefdom. Allie stood, and his eyes roved over her before gracing her with a lupine grin. He offered his hand and she shook it, ignoring how his fingers lingered uncomfortably long on hers.

“Vikram Pradhan, at your service,” he announced. “Come back to my office. May I offer you a refreshment?” he said, his voice a musical purr.

“No, thank you,” Allie said as she followed him to his door.

“Well, then, how may I help you, Miss…?” he asked as she stepped inside the office. “Please,” he said, indicating one of two chairs in front of his desk, which was stacked high with folders. A standing fan blew a stream of warm air from the open window, and Allie sat in the closest while Pradhan rounded his desk and took a seat.

“Allie,” she said, smiling shyly at him. “I have a bitcoin address of someone I desperately need to contact. He’s sent a number of payments to your magazine. I’m hoping you have his contact information.”

The Indian’s expression hardened, any trace of friendliness gone. “I’m afraid that our advertiser information is most strictly confidential. I’m sorry I can’t help you.”

Allie opened her purse and removed a tissue, pausing long enough for Pradhan to get a good look at the wad of hundred-dollar bills in it. Just in case he’d missed the point, she set the bag, open, on his desk, and sat forward. “I would be extremely grateful if you could make an exception,” she said, sliding a piece of paper across the desk to him, the public key written across it.

Pradhan’s eyes darted to the side, and then he gave her a sad smile. “I’m really very sorry, young lady, but our rules are our rules. I’m afraid there’s nothing I can do for you. I’d suggest you look elsewhere. I’m in a bit of a rush to finish up my errands before I have lunch at the restaurant across the street. I hate to be late. Every day, same time.” He eyed his watch. “Oh, in twenty minutes.”

“Ah, I see. Well, it’s a shame you can’t bend the rules.”

“I would lose my job. I hope you understand – I am not of sufficient means to risk that.”

“Of course. Well, thank you for your time,” Allie said, rising.

Pradhan palmed the note and stood. “I trust you can find your own way out.”

“Yes. Enjoy your lunch,” she said, holding his stare.

“Oh, I most sincerely hope I do.”

Allie retraced her steps downstairs and reported on her meeting to Drake. They agreed that he would continue loitering nearby, and she crossed the street and entered the restaurant. The hostess seated her near the rear, at her request, and she busied herself on her phone while she waited.

Pradhan appeared right on time and slid into the booth across from her. “This is most unusual,” he began, and then seemed to run out of steam.

“Yes, but these are strange times. As I said, I’d be extremely grateful for any help you can offer.”

“How would that gratitude express itself?”

“I’d think five hundred dollars would be a reasonable token of my appreciation.”