The Goddess Legacy (16 page)

“A professor? That’s got to be connected to our item.”

“I figured the same. It’s too coincidental that they would appear, looking for Singh, and then speak with the professor.” Helms gave the man the professor’s name to research.

“But there’s no sign of it? Or of this Carson’s colleague?”

“No,” Helms said. “It’s too large to fit in her purse. But they’re not going anywhere. What is the priority?”

“The same. Retrieve it. Let nothing stand in your way.”

“And the Americans? The professor?”

“Do what you feel you must. But get it back at all costs.”

“Should I just concentrate on the professor?”

The line hissed with static as an uncomfortable silence stretched. “No. Your instincts are probably right. We know that Singh was planning to sell it to Carson. This pair was probably working with him. That’s the assumption.”

“I got the woman’s phone number. Can you have it tracked?”

“Give it to me and I’ll see what I can do. But I thought you had them in sight?”

“I do. I can’t see inside the shop, but they’re in there. Still, it would be nice in case they split up.”

“I’ll make some calls.”

Helms gave him the number and then started the engine. “I have to go – they’re on the move. With a tall local,” he said, fooled by Spencer’s black hair and darkened complexion.

“Very well. I’ll get back to you on this professor and the phone.”

Two hours of talking to lowlifes in the tourist section of New Delhi later, it had become obvious that nobody wanted to sell an illegal weapon to foreigners. Most clearly suspected some sort of trap and simply walked away when asked. A few intimated that they knew a guy who knew a guy, but after a few dead ends and attempts by several dealers to get an advance in order to secure a gun, after which they’d no doubt vanish, the Americans were empty-handed.

“That went well,” Spencer said as they made their way to a line of taxis.

“If it had been L.A., we’d have had one in minutes,” Drake said.

“Apparently they’re a little harder to come by here,” Allie said, checking her watch. She looked at Spencer. “You want me to carry that for a while?” she asked, eyeing her bag.

“Nah, I’m fine. It’s a good workout.”

Drake sniffed at his shirt. “We should find someplace to spend the night. I’d pay just about anything for a shower.”

“And a change of clothes,” Spencer said, glancing at a curio shop. “Let’s pick up a couple of shirts for the road.”

They entered the shop and overpaid for two long-sleeved T-shirts, one black for Spencer with a depiction of the Taj Mahal on the back, the other dark gray with Delhi screaming from it in yellow below a rendering of a smiling sun beaming down on a silhouette of the city.

“Too bad they don’t sell underwear and socks, too,” Drake said.

“We can deal with that later. There are enough clothes stores around,” Spencer said. “For now, let’s hit the fort. I want to scope it out in advance.”

They piled into a taxi and crossed the city. The driver dropped them off near the Delhi Gate, where crowds of tourists swarmed in the fading light, dusk bruising the sky with hues of purple and pink. Hundreds of vendors milled around the area, along with a few police, who eyed the crowd with the flat stares of the terminally bored.

Spencer surveyed the throng as Allie and Drake stood by, and after a few minutes he spoke quietly to Allie. “I’m going walkabout. You won’t see me anymore. Move over to the police checkpoint at the gate in about half an hour. I’ll call you if I smell a rat. If all is clear, you won’t hear from me. Just call when you want me to do the transfer, and remember to use the safeword.”

“Right. ‘Relic.’ Piece of cake,” she said.

“I don’t hear ‘relic,’ game over. I’ll follow you at a reasonable distance in case I need to come running.”

“Whatever you do, don’t get spotted, Spencer,” Allie warned.

“For the tenth time, I won’t. Now let me go to work.”

Spencer melted into the crowd, leaving Drake and Allie surrounded by urchins. Allie passed out coins, which had the effect of tossing bread crumbs to pigeons, and Drake had to help her fight her way past the children, her hand clutching her purse. “Bad idea, huh?” she said.

“You have a good heart.”

“It’s just endless, though. You could never make a dent.”

“You can’t fix everything, Allie. Let’s stay focused.” Drake checked the time. They still had forty-five minutes until Singh would call.

Allie eyed a large family, the women in colorful saris, the men laughing as they played tag with their delighted offspring, peals of glee rising into the salmon sky. The fort’s magnificent red façade glowed like an ember in the gloaming, and tourists took photographs with the edifice in the background, the landmark as singular as any in India. Allie took Drake’s hand, and they strolled like lovers with no destination in mind.

They ambled past a group of musicians packing up their instruments as the sun set, and watched a magician make objects appear and disappear to delighted applause. When he was finished with his act, they made their way toward the gate, where a group of uniformed police were chatting, two of them directing new arrivals through a primitive airport scanner.

The minutes ticked by, and at precisely seven thirty Allie’s phone rang. When she answered, Indiana Singh sounded like he was standing beside her.

“That’s your boyfriend in the gray shirt?” he asked.

“Correct.”

“Did you get the money?”

“Yes. It’s in my bitcoin account.”

“Wallet. Your bitcoin wallet,” Singh corrected.

“Whatever. You have the dagger?”

“Of course. Now listen closely. Walk to the road, and make a left. At the corner of the Nishad Raj Marg, you’ll see a motorcycle rickshaw with a red and orange top. Get in. Don’t wait or delay. I’m watching every move you make.”

“Is this spy stuff really necessary?” Allie asked.

“I need to ensure you aren’t being followed. It’s for your protection, too.”

“From what?”

“Move. Now.” Singh disconnected.

“Let’s go,” Allie said, and they walked quickly away from the police barrier toward the main boulevard. Three minutes later they were nearing the rickshaw, the driver a bearded Sikh with a blue turban. They got in and the man twisted the throttle, pulled away with a jerk, and accelerated into traffic, missing a lorry by inches.

“Yikes,” Allie said, gripping Drake’s arm as the little cart raced forward unsteadily, the driver apparently having difficulty with the clutch and shifter.

They reached an intersection and the driver made an illegal U-turn across a speeding lane of traffic, and then they were in the flow, retracing their route back along the fort’s wall. At the big thoroughfare the driver made a left, and two minutes later they were in a commercial district, neon lights over storefronts announcing the best prices and freshest everything.

“Wonder where he’s taking us?” Drake said, and as if the driver heard him, he swerved into an alley and goosed the gas, picking up speed in the narrow passage until they were moving dangerously fast.

“Jesus. Slow down,” Drake yelled, but the driver maintained the breakneck speed, his eyes alternating between his side mirror and the road. At the street on the opposite side of the block, he made a left and raced two more blocks before easing to the curb and pointing to a jewelry store. Allie leaned forward with some rupees, but the Sikh shook his head and looked away.

“I guess we’re supposed to meet him in there,” Allie said.

“This is crazy. And weird as hell,” Drake said, unsettled by the roller-coaster ride.

“Singh’s totally paranoid,” she agreed as they climbed from the rickshaw and approached the store’s front door.

Drake tried pushing it open, but it was locked. He looked to his side and spied a buzzer below an intercom grill. He depressed it and waited. An elderly man poked his head over a counter and looked at them, and then the door issued a scream like a fire alarm and clicked open.

Inside, the jeweler stared at them impassively. Allie took several uncertain steps, gazing around the empty shop, which featured countless gold necklaces, bangles, and bracelets in glittering glass display cases, and regarded the man.

“We’re here to meet Indiana Singh,” she said.

Her phone warbled and she answered it. “I’ll be right there,” Singh said, and hung up before she could respond.

She stared at the phone with a puzzled frown and then slid it back into her pocket. Drake inched nearer, and she tried speaking to the jeweler again. “Indiana Singh. Where is he?” she asked, and was surprised when the man pointed over their shoulders at the front door.

The Sikh entered and removed his turban, and then pulled at his beard until it came off, leaving glistening remnants of adhesive. “I think someone was tailing you, but I lost them.”

“They were?” Drake said, surprised. “Who?”

“There are powerful forces at play here you obviously don’t understand. But it’s not my problem, nor my role to explain things. You ready to do this?”

“You have the dagger?” Allie asked.

“It’s actually a miniature sword, and yes, I do.”

“Let’s see it,” Allie said.

“First things first. Both of you, put your hands on the counter so my friend here can frisk you.”

“You really need to work on your customer service,” Drake said, turning to one of the cases and obliging. Allie followed suit and the jeweler patted them down and then quickly looked through her purse before stepping away and nodding once.

“Okay. We’re good.” Singh addressed the jeweler. “Would you do the honors?”

The man disappeared into the rear of the shop, and Singh waited with them, obviously nervous. Allie looked up when the man returned with a wrapped bundle the size of a collapsible umbrella. He handed it to Singh, who placed it on the display case and unfurled the cloth.

The weapon was thirteen inches long, the gold with a deep orange tint, the Sanskrit script engraved in the soft metal. It was obviously old, and the handle was marred, as though it had been filed with a rough surface.

“Satisfied?” Singh asked.

Allie nodded.

“Now transfer the bitcoin, and we’re done,” he instructed.

“I need to call my accountant and have him do it.”

“No tricks. Just the minimum number of words. Anything more and the deal’s off,” Singh warned.

“It’s just a call,” Allie said, and pressed redial. Spencer’s phone rang, and he answered on the first ring.

“Are you okay?”

“Yes. We have the relic. Make the transfer.”

“Someone was tailing you.”

“I know. Transfer it now.”

“Hang up,” Singh said, and she did.

“He’s doing it. Give him a minute.”

Singh turned back to the door and looked through the glass, as though he expected to be attacked at any moment. Allie and Drake remained rooted in place, watching him with unsettled expressions. The jeweler eyed the dagger with a professional gaze, and then Singh’s phone pinged once. He glanced at the display. “Pleasure doing business with you,” he said, and pulled his turban back on. “Watch yourselves. That thing is cursed. I should have known better than to handle it. Now it’s your problem.”

“What do you mean, cursed?” Drake asked.

“You’ll find out if you’re not careful. I wouldn’t go flashing it around. Keep it hidden, and tell no one you have it…and you may live.”

“Is that why your shop’s closed?” Allie asked.

“Consider this my retirement transaction. I’m leaving town, and if you know what’s good for you, you will too. Immediately.”

“Why?”

“Because–” he paused “–the curse is very real.”

With that, Singh opened the door and disappeared into the night. Drake and Allie exchanged a glance and then Allie rewrapped the dagger and picked the bundle up. It was heavy, considering how thin the blade was, perhaps five or six pounds, and she slid as much of its length as would fit in her small purse before turning back to Drake.

He took a step toward the jeweler. “Is there a back exit?”

The man stared at him with the blank look of a dead carp. Allie fished several hundred-dollar bills from her pocket. “A back door. Do you have one?”

The jeweler nodded wordlessly and retreated into the back of the shop. They followed, and he unlocked a heavy steel door. Inky darkness awaited them beyond a barred metal barrier from a narrow alley. The jeweler pulled a leather lanyard from beneath his shirt, unlocked two heavy steel padlocks, and pushed the grid open.

Drake and Allie stepped out into the alley, and their vision blurred as their eyes adjusted to the gloom. The jeweler slammed the barrier closed and snapped the locks in place, leaving them standing alone in the dark alley with a priceless relic, and more questions than answers.

Spencer was waiting for Drake and Allie on Chandni Chowk Road, near the Red Fort’s Lahori Gate, at a curry restaurant that featured loud music and bustling sari-clad waitresses. They’d called him once they’d made their way out of the alley, and he’d told them that he’d followed the suspicious character who had been shadowing them as far as the parking lot at the Lahori Gate, and then the man had vanished into the crowd. Spencer had crossed the wide road to the Jain temple and continued along Chandni Chowk until he’d found the out-of-the-way dining spot and settled in to wait for them.

“What did he look like?” Drake asked.

“A guy in a dark shirt and a baseball hat. He stuck out because he took off immediately after you and was still wearing sunglasses even though it was dark.” Spencer appeared thoughtful. “The rickshaw was a good idea. He obviously wasn’t prepared for that. My guess is by the time he got a car, you were gone.”

“But that raises the question of who it was,” Drake said. “And how they found us.”

“It wouldn’t have been the cops. That’s not how they seem to roll around here. They’re more the ‘kick down the door and start shooting’ type,” Spencer observed.

“Singh said the relic is cursed,” Allie said, patting her purse, one end of the dagger bundle protruding from the top.