The Delhi Deception (39 page)

Carla looked up and saw Kamal with a tall Afghan walk into the room. The Afghan bent over and held his hand out to her. She looked at his face at first in bewilderment, and then her heart skipped a beat as she recognized the brown eyes.

“George?”

Smiling mischievously, he said, “At your service, ma’am.”

She smiled, resisting the urge to fling herself into his arms. “You have no idea how glad I am to see you.”

He helped her up, and they walked out onto the factory floor. George’s team was all over the place, inspecting and taking photographs. George and Carla got into the jeep. He made a phone call, asking for backup transport. Talking on his radio, he addressed Kamal: “Stay with the team. Hafiz is on his way to get you guys. Send Singh and his wife out, and stay vigilant.”

Harry and Elouise hurried out and got into the back of the jeep. Elouise was still in a state of shock, shivering despite the heat. Harry tried to hold her hand, but she pulled it free.

“I’m taking you guys back to your bungalow,” George told them. “We can pass by your friend who has your kids and pick them up on the way.”

Elouise started saying something, but George cut her short. “Harry, I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to come into the embassy for questioning.”

“Am I under arrest?’ Harry asked.

“For now, in custody.”

“George,” Carla said in an urgent tone, “I don’t think there’s much time. According to Harry the terrorists are going to explode a dirty bomb in Delhi.”

George’s eyes hardened as he studied Harry. “Do you know where? When?”

Until now Harry had preoccupied himself with their immediate danger. He had for a number of hours forgotten about the terrorist plot. “I know they are targeting someone important. They never disclosed whom. I got an idea it’s a head of state or a minister.”

“Oh my God!” Elouise shouted. “It’s the American First Lady. She’s visiting India on a humanitarian mission. In fact, she will be joining Sonja Gandhi at our Fundraiser for CARE India.”

“When, Elouise?”

“What’s today?”

“It’s Friday.”

Elouise blanched. Drawing in her breath sharply, she said, “It’s today at four p.m.”

George looked at his watch and said, “It’s three twenty. Where are they holding this event?”

“At the American Embassy School.” Elouise started crying again.

George radioed Kamal and told them to head to the American School in Chanakyapuri. “When you get there, call me right away.” Then George dialed a number on his satellite phone. He was driving very fast, weaving in and out of the heavy traffic. “Richard, it’s George. We have a situation.”

Anu pushed a ringlet of her unruly sable hair behind her ear. She walked from behind stage at the AES Theatre to check on the girls for the third time. Her two daughters were the same age as their American friends, Chanda and Zara. She hadn’t wanted to bring the girls to the fashion show, but they had begged her, and with Elouise missing she thought it would be a good distraction.

Security was tight, but relatively discreet. Secret Service men dressed in dark suits had inspected the auditorium for hours. The school’s own security manned the entrance and did body searches. There were two lines, one for men and the other for women. After walking through the metal detector and handing in purses, wallets, and belts for scanning, there were additional body searches for some. Women were searched discreetly behind the fabric screen.

“Are you still OK?” Anu asked the four girls as they sat chatting excitedly. They nodded sweetly, saying that they’d be as good as gold. Smiling, she walked to the entrance to ask when Mrs. Gandhi was expected.

A sweet, round-faced, heavily pregnant woman dressed in a pale blue salwar kameez objected to going through the metal detector, arguing that it wasn’t safe for the baby. The official called the supervisor, who told her she could avoid it, but she would have to undergo a thorough body search. She smiled broadly and said that was not a problem, thanking him politely. She waddled to the screen, and Anu smiled, touching her flat stomach, which wouldn’t remain that way for much longer. She hadn’t told her girls yet that she, too, was expecting a little brother or sister for them.

Hearing the sirens of a dozen police cars, she watched as India’s political First Family arrived. Italian-born Sonja Gandhi, accompanied by her handsome son, Rahul, entered the auditorium surrounded by guards. Her mother-in-law, Indira, as well as her husband, Rajiv Gandhi, both had been assassinated during their terms of office as prime minister of India. A little shudder ran down Anu’s spine, and she hurried forward to greet her. The headmaster beat her to it and insisted on showing Mrs. Gandhi to her seat in the front row.

The theme for the show was “A Green India,” with the designers decorating the stage and ramp with hundreds of different shades of green silk, draped and entwined with meters of roped marigolds, tube roses, and jasmine. The effect was magnificent, and the exquisite fragrance of the flowers filled the auditorium. It was almost full, as the excited expats and well-to-do Indians took their seats. A flamboyantly dressed designer called Anu and asked her to find the sound engineer, who wasn’t at his post. She hurried outside and saw him standing with the security men, smoking a beedi. Annoyed, she beckoned him. He quickly dropped the handmade cigarette and rushed to her. Anu, along with the security men and their supervisors, didn’t notice the female security officer, having just examined a heavily pregnant women, disappear into the crowd.

The tall, bearded man rewound the tape for the third time. An image of himself staring benignly at the camera made him smile. A Kalashnikov rifle was slung across his shoulder as he talked into the camera, and a sandcolored sailcloth was strung behind him, giving the impression he was being filmed in a desert tent.

A young woman wearing a long robe and hijab walked in with a glass of sweet, milky tea and gave it to him. He nodded to his third wife, and she sat next to him on the wooden double bed and watched the video with sleepy eyes. Noticing her expression, he said in Arabic, “This is boring you?” Immediately on guard, she apologized profusely, sliding onto the floor and kissing his hands passionately. His eyes were now hooded and cold, no longer full of benevolence as projected on video. “Get out,” he rasped as he pushed her away from him. Cowering, she backed away and ran down the three flights of stairs and out into the courtyard, protected by a five-meter wall.

The man stood up and stretched: four years he’d been living in this compound. He didn’t get to go out, but everything they needed was right there. Why was his wife so disinterested, so weary of this life, so lacking in vision? She was, after all, the wife of the great caliphate, the man who would go down in history as the one who had defeated the corrupt and evil West.

He heard his adult son call him from downstairs. Walking slowly and massaging his arched back, he met his son on the landing. Handing him a manila envelope, his son said, “The courier is waiting for your response and tape. The operation should be over within the next hour.”

Smiling broadly, the man patted his son on the back and said, “Tell the women to bring refreshments for our guest, and meet me upstairs in my bedroom. Switch the satellite channel to CNN; I’m awaiting their breaking news.” At last, another lesson for America. It had been difficult, so many traitors of Islam cooperating with those pigs. He spat against the wall. It was his son who had given him the idea to use Nadir Khan, the notorious gangster and crime lord in India. He had no decent Islamic hair on his body, but no matter. As long as the rogue was paid handsomely, he was prepared to do whatever it took to get the job done. It was so easy: for all his notoriety, the CIA had no interest in the rat—he was India’s problem.

His toes curling with pleasure, the man turned and walked back into the room.

George slowed down when he spotted the black Toyota Fortuner in the oncoming traffic. He stopped on the side of the road and watched the Toyota make a U-turn, stopping behind them. Two US Military policemen walked to the jeep and opened the back door.

“Dr. Singh, would you mind stepping out of the vehicle, please?” the burly soldier said politely. Harry’s eyes looked at George appealingly, but George’s face was rigid, like stone. Harry kissed Elouise on her cheek and climbed out slowly.

“What will happen to him?” Elouise asked tearfully.

“He’ll be interrogated, and as long as he cooperates he won’t get hurt. I’m afraid that the final outcome will depend largely on whether that bomb is detonated or not.” George’s face was grim.

Harry looked back over his shoulder at Elouise, mouthing the words, “I’m so sorry.” Then he climbed into the back seat, his face contorted with grief.

Elouise smiled feebly at Carla and clutched her hand tightly. Within ten minutes they reached the house, which was very close to the American Embassy School. Carla wanted to stay with her friend, but George insisted that she should accompany him, as she was the only one who would now be able to recognize the terrorists. As he reversed out of the driveway, Elouise ran out of the house, screaming for them to stop.

“She took my girls to the school.” Elouise wrenched at the door and got back into the jeep. George was reluctant to take her along. But, looking at his watch, he realized that there wasn’t any time for delay, and they raced to the school.

Staring out of the window of the speeding Toyota, Harry’s mind was in turmoil. His stomach heaved with every sudden turn or stop in the congested afternoon traffic. Fear gripped him like an icy hand squeezing his heart ruthlessly. He had trouble breathing and tried to rub his chest clumsily with his chin, his arms useless to him, cuffed behind his back.

How could he have been so stupid? Surely he should have realized that he was being duped. He was an educated man. As he sighed with despair, his mind was calculating the ratio of radioactivity in the auditorium. Anu’s residence was fairly close to the school; hopefully Elouise would reach their bungalow in time. They should be safe there.

He looked up at the high walls and security of the American compound and felt a stabbing cramp in his gut.

I
have to get out of here; I must know if Elouise and my daughters are safe
. But in his heart he knew he had very little chance of seeing his family ever again. He’d never meet his biological mother and Elouise would hate him forever.