Qubit, page 34
34
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Chinese Garden, Singapore
Monday, May 14th
5:30 a.m. SGT (Singapore Time)
On the bridge, Katya was too excited to lean over the railing and watch the lake. “I have proof,” she told Haruo, who had assumed his usual posture.
“Proof? Of what?”
“The whole deal. Lock and his friend managed to—”
“His friend?”
“He calls him Kafka. I think I might have mentioned him before. He has a complicated Polish name.”
“He knows about the greenmailing scheme?”
“Yes. No. I don’t—”
“That’s a potential leak.”
“I know. Listen, you told me to work fast. I’m working fast.”
“Fair enough,” conceded Quartan.
“Anyway, they decrypted all these emails that we can tie back to Vipul. I went through them yesterday. It’s all there. The whole scheme. Between Lock’s own statements and these emails, there isn’t a shadow of a doubt that we have the right guy.”
“Why don’t I have these emails?”
“You’ll get them. Along with my analysis. There’s one catch.”
“What?”
Katya watched a flock birds cross low over the lake. “We have to wait a day before we take any action.”
“Why would we do that?”
“Because…well, Lock doesn’t have his daughter back.”
“Katya, we’ve been through this.”
Katya stood up and faced Quartan. “Haruo, he’s given us Vipul on a silver platter. You can go back to Brack or whomever and tell them we’ve got the right guy. The least we can do is give him a day to try and bargain with Vipul to get his daughter back. Especially since we can’t seem to do anything to help him.”
“Katya, suppose Vipul somehow realizes that we’re on to him.”
“And he slips through our fingers.”
“Yes, exactly.”
“Well, if you’re worried about that…”
Haruo turned to face her. “Katya…” he said, reprovingly.
Katya stared out at Jurong Lake. A jogger crossed the bridge behind them, his footfalls sounding heavily on the wooden planks. “What is the readiness of our special ops team?”
“On standby. The diplomats are still dancing. Apparently, no one thought to let the prime minister know what was going on in his own country. But with the emails, we can just go straight to—” Haruo paused, his eyes narrowing. “Wait. Why?”
“Lock is meeting Vipul at Tally Bar. At noon.”
“Seriously?”
“He’s our star witness, Haruo.”
“But we can just bring him in. We can bring them both in. We just need the emails.”
Katya faced Haruo. “One more day. Vipul isn’t going anywhere. Neither is Lock. I’ve got them both on a string. We can wrap this thing up in a bow and maybe get his daughter back safely. Shouldn’t we at least try to do that?”
Haruo frowned. “What if they make a deal?”
“First, Lock isn’t going to make any deal until his daughter is safe. Second, Vipul is the last guy he’s going to make a deal with anyway, not after what’s happened.”
Haruo arched an eyebrow and raised himself up on his elbow. “Don’t be naive, Katya. You should know better. Compared to jail time…a deal with the devil can look pretty good.”
She’d overplayed her hand. “Okay. You’re right. But that doesn’t change the fact that he’s not going to make a deal until he knows his daughter is safe.”
Haruo pursed his lips. “All right. One more day, Katya. But that’s it. Then we bring ’em both in.”
With a deep breath, she said, “Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me yet. We bag these guys and you’re on the fast track. But they slip through our fingers—you’ll never see the inside of Langley again. You sure you want to risk all that? On the off chance that this guy, Cairnes, is going to work a deal to get his daughter back—that doesn’t somehow involve them both leaving the country for one of the thousand different islands in the South China Sea? You’re sure that’s a bet you want to take?”
Katya felt as if she’d swallowed a rock. “Yes, I’m sure.”
Tally Bar, Singapore
Monday, May 14th
Noon SGT (Singapore Time)
Lock walked into the nearly empty bar, momentarily purblind as his eyes adjusted to the lack of sunlight. He could make out the counter to his right and rows of tables to his left. There were several severe-looking men at the bar wearing dark suits, along with an anxious bartender who was explaining to a pair of sunburnt tourists that the bar was closed for a private event.
At a far corner table was a wiry, hunched older man, with a thin mustache, who reminded Lock vaguely of Clark Gable. The man rose and began walking toward Lock, holding a drink casually in one hand. “You must be Mr. Cairnes,” he said pleasantly. “My name is Ong Go. Katya told me you’d be coming.”
“Yes,” agreed Lock, choking slightly.
“Something to drink?” offered Ong Goh.
“Please.”
Ong Goh gave an order to the bartender. Lock thought it sounded vaguely Japanese. He watched the bartender grab a bottle from a row of scotches. One of the men in suits stood up and took a step toward Lock. “I’ve got to search you,” he explained. Lock nodded.
As he was being patted down, his gaze wandered towards the other men at the bar. With a jolt, he recognized Anand, glaring back at him. He could hear Anand’s voice in his head. Why would you take such chances when you know the consequences? Katya had assured him he’d be safe, that Ong Goh and the SPF were there to make sure things didn’t get out of hand. He wondered if perhaps she’d misjudged the situation.
The bartender handed a glass to Ong Goh, who handed it to Lock. “Follow me,” said Ong Goh. Lock followed the old cop up a winding stairwell, placing his free hand on the railing to steady himself.
Ong Goh half-turned as they ascended. “Katya explained my role here, I trust?”
“To make sure I come out of this alive?”
“To make sure everyone comes out of this alive,” corrected Ong Goh. They reached the second floor, which was furnished with another row of tables and, towards the back, booths. A glowing exit sign beckoned at the far end. “It’s just the two of you up here. No one in the bar is armed. I’ve frisked Mr. Rathod and his men. One of my deputies is out back. And I’ll be right downstairs.”
As they approached the last booth, Lock saw that there was someone sitting in it, a slight young man, who looked up expectantly.
“Mr. Rathod, Mr. Cairnes,” noted Ong Goh.
The slight man stood up and offered his hand. “Hello, Mr. Cairnes.”
Lock shook his hand, too surprised by Vipul’s appearance to be self-conscious. This was the man Anand worked for?
“I’ll leave you two to talk,” said Ong Goh, turning back toward the stairs.
“Thank you, Ong Goh,” Vipul called out. He turned his attention to Lock and smiled blandly. “I’m glad we could meet,” he said as they sat down opposite one another.
Lock forced a smile in return and then averted his gaze. This was the man responsible for kidnapping Sophie. It felt more natural to strangle him than to trade smiles. He checked to make sure his hands weren’t actually shaking and then took a quick swig from his glass—it was, in fact, a scotch, and a good one—grateful that Ong Goh had thought to offer it to him.
“The first thing I’d like to get out of the way,” continued Vipul, leaning back a bit in the booth, “is that we’re making arrangements for the return of your daughter. Tonight.”
“Good,” said Lock, taking another sip of his scotch. His entire goal for the meeting had been to try and coax Vipul into returning Sophie to him, which Vipul had conceded before Lock had even said a word. Now what?
“I think you’ll find that your daughter is in good health,” Vipul continued. “That said, I want to apologize, of course. Things should never have come to this, and it’s entirely my fault. I’m eager to correct that mistake.”
Lock nodded. “I just want my daughter back,” he heard himself saying.
“Tonight. I promise you that.”
Lock pressed one of his palms on the table. “So how do we do this?”
Vipul waved his hand dismissively. “Simple. You’ll met her at a private dock I own.”
“How do I know you’re not setting me up?”
Vipul shrugged. “How did you arrange for protection from the SPF?”
Lock blinked slowly.
Vipul shrugged. “If it makes you feel better, bring someone along. Preferably not a cop, though. They’ll feel obligated to roll my guys. Mohit, perhaps.”
Mohit? Lock fought the urge to ask. He had what he’d come for. There was no sense jeopardizing that just because he didn’t understand why.
“Anyway, I’ll send you the address via email.”
Lock nursed his scotch. Vipul took a sip of his own drink, the glass thunking heavily when he set it back on the table. He leaned forward. Lock eyed him warily.
“Mr. Cairnes, the real reason I wanted to speak with you is that…well, I’d like you to become a partner in our little venture.”
Lock had been waiting for the catch. Here it comes, he thought.
Vipul leaned back and laughed. “You’re understandably surprised. You see us as enemies. But we’re natural allies, Mr. Cairnes.”
“Maybe,” allowed Lock, deciding it was best to humor him.
Vipul’s eyes narrowed. “What are you going to do once you have your daughter back?”
“Right now, that’s all I care about.”
“Of course. But then what? You’re a wanted man.”
Lock twirled his glass with his fingertips.
Vipul continued. “They’re going to put you in jail, Mr. Cairnes. For a long, long time.”
Lock’s gaze wandered to the exit sign. He drank the last of his scotch. “I suppose that’s true,” he said, looking back at Vipul.
“By the time you get out, your daughter will be grown. She’ll have married. Have had kids of her own. And you’ll miss that. All of that.”
Lock stared down into his now-empty glass, wishing he could get a refill. “At least she’ll be alive.”
“That’s not good enough, Mr. Cairnes.”
Lock’s eyes flashed.
Vipul held up his hands. “I’m just telling you what you already know. Why did you come to work for me to begin with? Wasn’t it to provide for your daughter?”
Lock’s lip curled in frustration. This wasn’t the conversation he’d been expecting to have.
Vipul leaned forward. “It was my misjudgment that got us here, Mr. Cairnes. Mine. Why should you pay the price for it? Let me make it up to you. I can offer you a future. A future where you can take care of your family. Instead of letting another man do it for you.”
Lock bristled. “You have a funny way of trying to make friends.”
“Friends are honest with each other, Mr. Cairnes.”
“Is that what this is? You being honest with me?”
Vipul’s eyes widened in an expression of innocence. “You tell me. What have I said that isn’t true?”
Lock regrouped. “Listen. Let’s just take this one step at a time. Once I have my daughter back—”
“I understand, Mr. Cairnes. I’m just giving you something to think about.” Vipul seemed to cradle an imaginary gift in his hands, as though offering it to Lock. “I want to cut you in as a partner. Ten percent. No, fifteen percent. Why not? You can live here, in Singapore. We’ll set you up with a new identity so your government can’t find you. Or even if they do, it’ll complicate extradition. And there are a million islands here to disappear on. You can fly your daughter out to see you whenever you’d like—instead of hoping she’ll visit you in a jail cell.”
“I get it. Are we done?”
“There’s one more thing I’d like you to consider.”
Lock stared again into his empty glass. He looked up. “Sure.”
“You think I’m a criminal, don’t you, Mr. Cairnes?”
“What kind of question is that?”
“You probably think of yourself that way, too.” When Lock didn’t say anything, Vipul continued. “Have you ever been to India, Mr. Cairnes?”
Look shook his head.
“The poverty would shock you. I mean, really shock you. When I was younger, we’d sometimes travel with my father.” Vipul smiled wistfully. “You would have liked my father, I think. You sort of remind me of him. Anyway…I remember being at a construction site. I was nine years old, if I recall. Just wandering around, getting into trouble, like young boys do. I saw this abandoned section of sewer pipe, you know, and I thought it might be fun to play inside it.”
“Is this going somewhere?” objected Lock.
Vipul held out his hands. “You see? Just like my father! Please bear with me, Mr. Cairnes.”
Lock frowned, but said nothing.
“So what do you think I found, inside that sewer pipe, Mr. Cairnes?”
“I have no idea.”
“A family. A family of nine. They were living in that sewer pipe.” Vipul shook his head, staring down into his glass. He looked up at Lock. “Can you imagine that, Mr. Cairnes? A family of nine. There was a small brazier in the middle, for cooking. They hung their washing on the outside. And they were naturally bunched together, which, I imagine, kept them warm at night.”
Lock pursed his lips.
“That’s just one story. I could tell you dozens. And there’s nothing exceptional about them, Mr. Cairnes. That’s just…India.”
“India is a poor country. I get—”
Vipul pounded his fist on the table. “But that’s just it! It isn’t a poor country! India should be one of wealthiest nations on earth!”
Lock sat back. Humor him. “I’m just agreeing with you.”
Vipul took a breath. He smiled. “I know. I’m sorry.” He paused, seeming to collect himself. “My point is…we aren’t men who care particularly about money, Mr. Cairnes. We care about what we can do with it. You want to provide for your daughter. And I…I want to help my countrymen.”
“So you’re not a criminal because…what? You feel bad about poverty?”
“No. Because I’m going to do something about it, Mr. Cairnes. I presume you reviewed the updates from our brokers, did you not?”
Lock nodded.
“So you have an idea of how much wealth we’ve reallocated?”
Lock grudgingly admired the way Vipul avoided the word stealing. He shrugged. “Yeah, give or take a hundred billion.”
Vipul laughed. “Have you ever thought about what you can do with that kind of money, Mr. Cairnes? Because I have. I’ve thought about it a lot.”
Lock smiled ruefully. “Well, considering I could never even get you to pay me, no, I can’t say that I’ve thought about it much.”
Vipul frowned. “Touché. We’ll be sure to remedy that, too.” He paused, looking intently at Lock. “I’m afraid I’m still learning how to lead, Mr. Cairnes. A man with your singular talents, your resourcefulness…I should have made you a partner from the start.”
Lock had to repress an absurd urge to reassure Vipul and acknowledge his flattery. Instead, he merely forced another feeble smile.
Vipul didn’t seem to notice. “At any rate, suffice to say, that kind of money can change the world, Mr. Cairnes. It can buy you board seats. It can buy you parliamentary seats. It buys you influence over corporate governance. It buys you influence over policy decisions. I’ve watched India’s ruling elite parcel out her natural resources like so many party favors. When I’m finished, Mr. Cairnes, when we’re finished with this little reallocation scheme of ours, those days will be over. Once and for all.”
“Well, good for you,” said Lock.
Vipul smiled again. He looked down at his glass. “You don’t believe me, I suppose.” He looked up at Lock. “I can’t blame you. If I were you, I wouldn’t believe me, either.” He gathered himself. “Like you said, one step at a time. First, we get you your daughter back.”
“That sounds good.”
Vipul stood up, looking down at Lock. “Thank you for your time, Mr. Cairnes.”
Lock stood up, unsure of what to say. The two men began walking in awkward silence towards the spiral staircase.
“Nice choice of venue, by the way,” offered Vipul.
“Sure.”
“You know,” continued Vipul, as they descended the stairs. “The kind of insider trading we’re doing—it’s done all the time by the elite. We’re merely asking for the—”
A loud bang cleaved the air. Lock recognized the sound instantly—gunfire!—and fell flat against the stairs. He looked through the railing down into the bar, where Anand was grappling with second man, who held a gun in one hand.
The gunman broke free and took aim at the stairwell. Anand leapt forward, knocking him backwards as he fired. Anand and the gunman fell to the floor. Plaster rained from the ceiling. Lock heard a third shot and saw Anand roll onto his back, a red circle blooming like a target on his white dress shirt.
The killer rose to his feet. Ong Goh yelled from the corner for him to drop his weapon. The gunman ignored him, firing again at the staircase. Ong Goh fired at the gunman. Bottles shattered behind the bar. The assassin got off one more round at the staircase before turning and running out of the bar.
Lock turned to find Vipul and saw him at the foot of the stairs, making his way calmly toward Anand, whose body now lay in a creeping pool of blood.
Lock was momentarily fascinated. Vipul had apparently never taken cover.
Katya entered the bar, her eyes scanning the room. Lock caught her eye, smiling weakly. He steadied himself on the railing as he made his way down the stairs. Katya and Ong Goh met him at the bottom, guns still drawn.
