Алистер Маклин - Borrowed Time

‘What’s the latest?’

‘He was married.’

‘After he came to the United States?’

‘Six years after.’

‘How did you pick that up?’

‘When I fed his social security number through Public Records it came up blank. No marriage, no criminal record, no unpaid taxes. So then I fed his immigration number through the same channels. Still no criminal record, no civil misdemeanours. But the marriage showed up. It turns out the people who registered the wedding were so keen to get Skuttnik’s immigration status right, they completely forgot the social security notation.’

‘So now you’re following up on the marriage?’

‘I’ve got tracers going right now.’

‘I don’t want this turning into a saga, C.W. Especially if it isn’t going to produce anything we can use as a defence.’

‘Or as a counter-attack,’ Whitlock said.

Philpott looked at him. ‘Do you know something you’re not telling?’

‘When I know everything, I’ll give it to you whole, sir.’

‘So you still feel this is worth pursuing?’

‘More so than ever.’

Philpott tasted his coffee. He pointed to a typewritten document on the desk in front of him. ‘While you’re here, I’d like your opinion on something. This is a summary of investigations into the widespread theft of charity aid around the world. It was supplied by my old friend Harry Lewis at the World Health Organization.’

Philpott opened the document to the third page. He held it up for Whitlock to see. A short paragraph had been circled in red and alongside was written, ‘What a coincidence.’

‘The paragraph covers a piece of intelligence supplied over a year ago, but so far uncorroborated,’ Philpott said. ‘It’s about an alleged black market operation centred on a farm eighty kilometres east of Srinagar.’

‘Maybe a coincidence, but it’s hardly a surprise. The hill bandits have transportation and supply sewn up. Farms make perfect way-stations.’

‘I was thinking of looking into this one myself.’

Whitlock saw that Philpott was waiting for his reaction. ‘Why?’

‘Because some all-round balance-correction in that area of the world wouldn’t go amiss, and this particular piece of suspected villainy suits my sneaky style.’

‘Softly, softly.’

‘If you want to call it that. Anything I might do would be an adjunct to the work the others are engaged upon, I suppose. But the overall effect would be a comprehensive defusing of villainy in the region, wouldn’t you say?’

Whitlock smiled. ‘Do you want me to say I think it’s a good idea for you to go to Kashmir?’

‘Only if you mean it.’

‘Well…’ Whitlock scratched the tip of his nose. ‘While you’re not here, the people at Policy Control can’t pull any fast ones, like getting a review date called before I’ve built a case.’

‘I hadn’t thought of that.’

‘Are you kidding me, sir?’

‘Well…’ Philpott shrugged. ‘It crossed my mind.’

‘All things considered,’ Whitlock said, ‘I guess it’d be a really good thing if you high-tailed it to Kashmir, fast as you can.’

‘Thanks, C.W.’ Philpott smiled. ‘I always value your judgement in these matters.’

‘I have not seen you here before,’ the fat man said. He peered at Amrit Datta’s face as he spoke, ready to catch a lie before it could take off. ‘You are not from this area, are you?’

‘For two years I have worked in there.’ Amrit pointed to a warehouse behind the market where he was sweeping up. ‘Two years of moving sacks and boxes, emptying drums, filling bottles. For two years I didn’t see daylight except in the morning when I came to work.’

‘And why did you leave the warehouse?’

‘Why are you asking me these things?’

The man frowned. ‘Don’t you want to do yourself some good?’

‘Of course.’

‘Then answer me, and something good may come of it.’

Amrit wiped his forehead with the back of his hand. It was hot and he was sweating freely. He wore a drab grey T-shirt and cheap baggy cotton trousers. His feet were bare and he had dark lines of carefully-applied dirt under his fingernails.

‘I kept asking the foreman to let me work in the open, or at least do work that brought me outside for a little time each day. Eventually he paid attention to what I asked. He told me that if I wanted to spend my days out in the open air, I was now free to do that.’

‘He sacked you?’

‘Yes, he did. And when I begged him to let me have my job back, he told me I should have considered just how valuable the job was before I threw it away so carelessly.’

‘So now you sweep up in the market.’

‘It is hard work and it pays less than one-third of the wage I made in the warehouse.’

The fat man patted his belly thoughtfully. ‘I like to help people like yourself whenever I can,’ he said.

‘I would be grateful for any work,’ Amrit said. ‘Real work,’ he added, ‘not anything like this.’

‘What family do you have?’

‘A wife and three children. The children are still small.’

‘So you must provide for them, too.’ The fat man sighed, as if he was full of sympathy. ‘What would you say to a little job, nothing too difficult, which would earn you enough money to take it easy for a while, or to travel south where the work is more plentiful and the wages are higher?’

Amrit looked suspicious. ‘What kind of work would that be?’

‘Courier work. Delivery work. You would deliver one consignment of merchandise, and for that one delivery you would be paid in advance–’

‘In advance?’ Amrit looked astonished. ‘You are saying you would give me my wages before I even did the job?’

‘That is correct.’

Amrit scowled suddenly. ‘It is a joke, isn’t it? You are having fun with me.’

‘It is no joke, uh, what is your name?’

‘I am called Opu Hikmet.’

‘Well, it’s the truth I tell you, Opu. I offer you the work because you look like a strong and decent young man who deserves a helping hand at this stage in his life.’

‘What do I have to do?’

‘Simply tell me you accept my offer.’

‘Oh I do, I do.’

‘Then I will come and see you in a few days’ time.’

‘I will be here, sir.’

The fat man walked away and was soon lost in the crowd. Amrit patted the amulet hanging on his chest. He had taken three shots. He hoped at least one of them would come out.

Ram Jarwal was alone in the cabin. Mike Graham and Lenny Trent were at police HQ in Srinagar, going through mug shots to try to identify the dead bandit from the drug convoy.

Ram enjoyed having his solitude back, however briefly. Mike and Lenny were excellent company, they were diverting and their professionalism was endlessly fascinating; but they had filled the cabin with human sounds and movement, they had upset the gentle daily routines of a man who led a distinctly quiet life.

Tonight was a bonus. Ram sat back with a beer and his feet up on the couch, watching CNN News with the sound barely audible. As he watched he thought he heard the sound of an engine outside, then he decided it was the stereo output from the TV misleading him.

A banging on the door made him jump so hard he spilled his beer. He leapt to his feet, wiping himself. The door was hammered again before he got it open.

‘Thank God you’re here!’ It was Dr Arberry. Ram had never seen him so dishevelled or so upset. ‘I was going to call the police, but my lines have been cut – then I remembered your guests …’

‘What is it? What’s wrong?’

‘Mr Graham and Mr Trent, are they here?’

‘I’m afraid not. They have business in Srinagar.’