Qubit, page 23
One of the men left, followed by another, and then a third. The fourth returned to the easy chair. Sophie set the cot down and stared at the empty glass on the table. She looked at the man in the easy chair.
“Water,” she croaked. The man grabbed his crotch and cursed at her.
Sophie began licking the water off her arms. She looked at the puddles on the floor around her, then leaned down to the floor and began gingerly lapping the water off. When she had moistened her mouth and could swallow again, she sat up. She looked up at the window, which had been boarded up. She got up, righted the cot, and sat on it to get out of the water. Her mouth was already dry again. She lay down on her side, rolling over to face the wall, wondering how long it took to die of thirst. She thought she remembered hearing—maybe it had been on the Discovery Channel?—that it took a mere three days.
US Consulate, Kolkota
Tuesday, May 8th
1:00 p.m. IST (India Standard Time)
“Your name?” asked the woman behind the desk. Her graying hair was tied back in an untidy bun, her face long and expressionless. She wore a sleeveless blue dress with a floral print.
“Arbind Thakur,” said Arbind. He sat in a small chair in front of the desk in a small office that also seemed to double as file storage. There was an American flag wedged behind the woman and the wall. He shifted uncomfortably in the wooden chair. He’d driven for hours to get to Kolkota. And then there had been the wait to see someone at the consulate. And he was nervous that it would turn out that he was in the wrong place or had remembered the name wrong, in spite of having repeated it hundreds of times. The last thing he’d wanted to do was sit down again.
“You are a US citizen?”
“Yes.”
“Passport, please.”
Arbind handed her his passport. The woman looked it over disapprovingly and handed it back. Arbind looked at it himself, as though he wasn’t quite sure if he’d handed her the right thing.
“How can I help you, Mr. Thakur?”
“I would like to report the kidnapping of a young woman, an American citizen, I believe. Her name is Sophie Cavelle-Cairnes.”
“Did you say a kidnapping?” asked the woman, looking at Arbind for the first time.
“Yes.”
She turned and bent down behind the desk for a moment. Arbind heard a drawer open and close and the woman reappeared with a form. She picked up a pen and moistened the tip with her tongue, then began writing. “What was the name again?”
“Sophie Cavelle-Cairnes.”
Orchard Road, Singapore • Starbucks
Tuesday, May 8th
7:00 p.m. SGT (Singapore Time)
Lock made his way past a trio of high school students as he entered the Starbucks. He saw Katya sitting demurely at the same table they’d used the night before. She didn’t seem to be watching him, and he wondered if she could really tell if he’d been followed, or if she’d just made that up to impress him. As Lock approached the table, she caught his eye and smiled. He looked over at a barista taking the order of an elderly woman with a pink flower pinned in her hair.
“I have good news,” said Katya as Lock sat down.
“Yeah?” he prompted, looking out the window at the spinning reflectors on the wheels of a passing bicycle.
“We got a report. Actually just a few hours ago. From the US consulate in Kolkota. We believe Sophie is in Bihar just south of a little town called Patna.”
Lock looked up and met Katya’s eyes, a jolt of awareness running up his spine. “India?”
“Yes.” Katya put up a finger. “And this makes sense. The Rathod family has deep ties back to Bihar. That’s where they started out. That’s where they get their muscle.”
Lock leaned back in his chair and stared at the table. Bihar, India. Even though he’d known that it was possible that Kirin—or Vipul—had taken her far from home, hearing it stated as a fact caused the air to leave his lungs all at once. The tree of possible actions and outcomes reshaped themselves in front of him, some branches blossoming, others shrinking away to nothing. The natural reaction to Sophie’s being taken was to go to her, to take her back, but he hadn’t known where to find her. Now, suddenly, he did. Lock looked up. Katya seemed to be studying him closely.
“So…what happens now?” he asked.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, are you guys going in to get her? Can I go? Or…I mean, how does this work?”
Katya shook her head. “I can’t make any guarantees about getting her out.”
“I know that, I just want to know how it works. Will the—” he leaned forward and lowered his voice, “—government, the CIA, whoever, go in to get her?” Or do I need to hire Ray to do it?
“Lock, we just got this intel today. I don’t know what the plan is.”
“Wh—I—but it’s an emergency, right? I mean, she’s…am I just supposed to wait?”
“I think, for now, yes.”
“Why? We know where she is. She’s an American citizen, right? Don’t I pay taxes for this? Isn’t that what pays your salary? What are we waiting for?”
“Take it easy, Lock. For one thing, we don’t know exactly where she is. Patna is a full-sized city. For another, even if we did know, you can’t just conjure up special ops for an extraction like this overnight. And that’s assuming we’ll even get it approved.”
Lock’s voice broke as he rose in his chair. “Get it approved?”
Katya held up her hands. “I’m not saying it won’t get approved. And I’ll do all I can to make sure it does get approved.” She lowered her hands as Lock settled back into his seat. Katya looked around, her eyes sweeping the store behind Lock, then focusing back on him. “I’m just saying that you should take it one step at a time.”
“Every second we sit here and talk about it—”
“Lock, we don’t even know where she is. We could fly out there right now—”
“Exactly! We could. Isn’t that the first step?”
“I understand what your saying, Lock. I do. But let the professionals do their job. Let them pin down her location. Let them come up with an extraction plan.” She reached out and grabbed Lock’s hand. Her hand felt warm. He noticed her nails were trimmed short and precisely and had a coat of clear polish on them. “And, with any luck, they’ll go over there and get your daughter back.”
Lock sighed. He pulled his hands back and folded them together in front of his face. “I can’t wait,” he said simply. Wasn’t that obvious?
Katya sat back and folded her arms. “Okay, so suppose you somehow fly over there right now. Do you think you can find her before someone here notices that you’re gone? And then what?”
Lock stared at her for a moment and then broke off and gazed out the window. A young couple passed by, holding hands and laughing. He considered simply telling her about Ray, but thought better of it. He’d talk to Ray first and understand his options. In the meantime, it couldn’t hurt to keep pushing Katya to get the CIA to do something.
He turned back to face her. “So I just wait and hope you can get me more information about her exact location?”
“Yes. That’s the best course of action. For now. I know it’s hard to be patient. I can’t really imagine how hard this is…”
Lock pursed his lips and let his eyes wander again.
“Now, I’ve given you something, Lock. What can you give me?”
Lock snapped his back and glared at Katya. “What?”
“That’s how this works, Lock. I can’t go to bat for you if I can’t show that you’re cooperating.” She stared back.
“Unbelievable,” he sputtered, finding it difficult to speak. How could he explain why helping Sophie had nothing to do with whether he cooperated or not? He felt like he was trying to explain to a child why it was good to share with other children. It was such a self-evident proposition that he was wholly unprepared to articulate its merits. Was Katya just bluffing? Surely, the US government would help rescue Sophie regardless of what he did?
Katya began trying to explain. “From the point of view of the US government, Lock, you’re the criminal. You’re the bad guy. You’re the one who got involved with these characters to begin with. You’re the one who got your daughter kidnapped. And you’re the one who just caused billions of dollars of damage on Wall Street. Now…I want to help you get Sophia back. And, honestly, I’ll do that regardless of what you do or don’t tell me. I will. Because none of this is her fault. And she’s in real trouble, Lock, believe me. These people don’t play. But you can make it easier for me to help her. Or you can do what you’re doing, what you’ve been doing, and make the wrong decision.”
Lock felt his insides freezing up. He sat up. He’d had enough. It was time to go talk to Ray. “What kind of person barters for a child’s life?” he snapped. He could see her blink away the rebuke. She had to be bluffing. Lock decided to employ a bluff of his own. “Billions of dollars in damages? Isn’t that what you said? That’s the tip of the iceberg, Miss Spy Lady. So go back to your people and tell them that if they want this shit to stop, get my daughter—” Lock leaned forward to within inches of Katya’s face, lowering his voice to a hoarse whisper, “—the fuck out of that place.” He pushed his chair back noisily, stood up, and walked out.
He heard Katya call out, “You know where to find me.”
The humid night air seemed to instantly coat him in a thin film of moisture. He realized he was trembling slightly. He needed to calm his nerves. Another scotch at the bar would do the trick. He wondered what they’d do when they saw his room tab. Of course, given that he was actively negotiating with the CIA, that was the least of his sins.
Shangri-La Hotel, Singapore
Tuesday, May 8th
8:15 p.m. SGT (Singapore Time)
Drink in hand, Lock stood at a row of pay phones near the lobby. “Hey, Kafka. Good to hear your voice,” he said weakly.
“Sure. You too. What’s happening? Where’d you go?”
“Never mind that right now. Listen. I know where Sophie is.”
“Awesome! Where?”
“She’s in some place called Bihar. In fucking India.”
“Woah.”
“Yeah. I was thinking it was time to talk to your friend Ray again.”
“Right. Okay. You want his number?”
“I don’t have any way to call him. Except collect, like I did you. And I can’t use my room phone because they’ll see that I was making calls. Plus, I think the room is bugged.”
“Oh.” There was a pause. “What about one of those calling cards?”
“I don’t have one.”
“No, I mean, I could get you one. You just need the number, right?”
“I guess.”
“Call me back in an hour. I’m going to get you a calling card.”
“There’s something else.”
“Sure, man.”
“Do you have any cash?”
“Like…on me?”
“No. In the bank.”
Kafka paused. “I think I have like fifteen hundred bucks in my checking account.”
“Can you wire, say, a grand into my account?”
“Sure.”
“I’ll pay you back.”
“It’s no problem, Lock. I’ll get the calling card, transfer the money, and call you back.”
Lock shifted his focus to making the market. After setting up the backdoor, he’d spent the afternoon researching the best way to use his control of the market into ready cash. The best strategy appeared to be options trading. Even a thousand dollars, under the right circumstances, could be turned into tens of thousands within a day or two. Those returns, invested again, could be turned into millions. He used his room card to get into the hotel’s business center and sat down at one of the computers.
The markets had been open for two hours and Lock was on his fourth scotch by the time Kafka called back on the pay phone with the numbers for his calling card and Ray’s cell phone. He dialed Ray’s number but got a terse voice mail greeting and hung up the phone. He was on his fifth scotch when he decided the markets were too volatile to reliably make the market. The bottom had dropped out during the first half of the day’s trading, but was storming back as the second half began. He’d have to start tomorrow. Lock called Ray again as he started on his sixth scotch, but to no avail. He ordered one more “for the road,” as he told the bartender, and staggered up to his room.
“Hold on, Sophie,” he slurred as his head hit the pillow.
Tally Bar, Singapore
Tuesday, May 8th
9:00 p.m. SGT (Singapore Time)
Katya watched as Ong Goh dismissed the three well-dressed people with whom he’d been enjoying dessert. “Katya, what an unexpected pleasure,” he purred as she approached his table. “The blackberry tarts are delicious here,” he observed, taking a final bite of what Katya presumed had once been a blackberry tart. “Shall I order you one? And some brandy?”
“No, thank you.” She sat down primly. “I won’t keep you from your friends long.”
“Them?” Ong Goh waved a manicured hand. “Tedious bureaucrats. I much prefer your company.”
Katya smiled, thinking of Lock. What kind of person barters for a child’s life? The same kind of person who arranges for a man’s death, apparently. “Suppose you wanted to get rid of Vipul Rathod,” Katya began. “How would you go about it?”
Ong Goh chuckled, wiping his mouth with a white cloth napkin. “So soon? You only just met.”
“Hypothetically,” emphasized Katya. “Of course.”
“Of course. We are just dreamers, you and I.”
She arched an eyebrow.
“Well, let’s see,” mused Ong Goh, looking off into the distance. “How was his brother killed?”
“Li Mun,” answered Katya, admiring how quickly Ong Goh’s mind worked.
“For a price, I’m sure he’d complete the set.”
“Yes,” confirmed Katya thoughtfully. “How would you approach Li Mun?”
“Ask our minister of trade.”
Katya laughed in spite of herself.
“You’d need an introduction. We have a couple of contacts.”
“And they can broker a meeting?”
“Possibly. Or…they can pass along an offer.”
“For something like this…”
“It would need to be face to face?”
“Don’t you think? The fewer people involved…”
Ong Goh nodded and took a sip of brandy. “Right.” He lifted his glass. “You sure you don’t want a glass? It’s exquisite.”
Katya shook her head. “So?”
“Why don’t I introduce you to Zhong Xin?”
“I’d love to meet him,” encouraged Katya, finding herself slipping back into Ong Goh’s easy style of banter.
“He’s right over there,” observed Ong Goh with a quick feint of his eyes toward the bar.
Katya was startled. “Here? Now?”
“Why, yes. He’s a regular here.”
Katya looked over at the bar. It wasn’t difficult to guess who Zhong Xin was. There were several tourists and an elegantly dressed older couple. And then two men huddled together at the far end of the bar, one a lanky figure with a crooked nose who wore his hair samurai-style, the other a fat bald man with a bulge in his jacket. Katya knew the former as a bookie who went by the name Tay. Which meant Zhong Xin was the latter.
“Please excuse me,” said Ong Goh, rising from his side of the booth. “I’ll bring him by. I need to talk to him about subtlety anyway.”
Katya guessed that Ong Goh was referring to the poorly concealed firearm. Carrying was strictly forbidden in Singapore, the penalties harsh. Even if Ong Goh wasn’t going to arrest him, there was only so much he could overlook, and only so much he could do if another member of the SPF happened to notice.
Katya glance sideways and saw Ong Goh leaning over the bar, speaking into Zhong Xin’s ear. Zhong Xin sat up and seemed to become very self-conscious. He got up and left the room as Ong Goh made his way back over to their booth. A jazz band had assembled on the stage, producing little bursts of saxophone and guitar as they went through their sound check.
“He’ll be right over,” Ong Goh informed her as he slid into his booth.
By the time Zhong Xin joined them, so had three fresh brandies, and the band was into the second stanza of Smoke Gets In Your Eyes.
“Katya wants to meet with your boss,” Ong Goh began, speaking loudly over the music.
Zhong Xin nodded. Katya felt like his nature was too gentle to have made it as a gangster. He looked like an overgrown child.
“I have a business proposition I think he’ll be interested in,” Katya elaborated.
Zhong Xin leaned forward, cupping a hand over one ear. Katya repeated herself, a bit more loudly. Zhong Xin nodded and leaned back. He looked at Ong Goh, who also nodded. He seem to think for a moment and said something to Ong Goh, but she couldn’t make it out. Then he got up and went back to the bar. Katya noticed the bulge in his jacket was gone.
Ong Goh leaned forward. “Go to the bunker tomorrow at 2 p.m.”
It was Katya’s turn to nod. The bunker was something of a mystery to her. It appeared from the outside to be a warehouse on the fringe of one of the wharfs. However, Ong Goh had it on good authority that it was merely the entrance to an underground—or, really, undersea—bunker built into the wharf itself, from which Li Mun ran his day-to-day operations. She’d had it under surveillance for years but had never been inside.
“Be careful, Katya,” Ong Goh yelled over the music.
Katya nodded again. She leaned over table. “I should let you get back to your guests.”
“Nonsense,” objected Ong Goh, waving his hand. “They’ve left anyway.”
Katya looked around the bar.
“Stay awhile,” coaxed Ong Goh. “Enjoy some good music and some brandy.”
Katya studied the glass of brandy she hadn’t asked for. She shrugged and took a sip, feeling its warmth spreading through her throat and chest. She closed her eyes, listening to the music.
