The assistant wordlessly followed him, closing the door with a sympathetic nod.
* * *
The bag contained various items that they both recognized instantly as the shocking findings they had spent the previous night discussing. It was black comedy to Neal that the bag seemed so innocuous to the uneducated eye. The fact that they had been handed this by a government official without hesitation might have been funny to them both … on any other day.
Amongst the CD case, file folders, and rolled sheaf of printed photographs he found an envelope. On its outside, Neal read:
‘To the reader of this message, I ask that you please place the contents of this bag in the hands of Madeline Cavanagh. She will be staying in the Ately Guest House in Kodikkarai. If you are not with the Indian Coast Guard, then I have no doubt Madeline will reward you well for the return of this bag’s contents, which, though materially worthless, will be of great value to her.
Your servant,
-James Hawkson, aboard
King’s Transom
at sea.’
Neal read the handwriting he had seen on so many notes back at the Institute. His heart sank for Madeline as he handed her the sealed envelope, knowing that its contents were, no doubt, meant for her.
She took it, looking back at him after reading its cover.
“Do you want me to leave you alone?” he asked.
“Don’t you dare.” she snapped, instantly regretting her tone. But he nodded understandingly and she duly ripped open the envelope. Inside was a note, and sure enough it began:
‘Dear Madeline,
I hope I am the fool you have always thought I am. I hope you are reading this while I laugh in embarrassment next to you. No doubt Neal will give me a mountain of crap for being so paranoid. I really hope I am that much of a fool.
If I am paranoid then the proverbial alarm bells that have been screaming in my head since we saw what was lying down there will be just the result of spending too much time with lunatic scientists like you and Neal.
But deep down I fear they aren’t baseless. If you are reading this without me it means that I have not made it home, and then I will not have put these files in this bag for no reason. If we have not made it home there is a chance, I suppose, that the boat sank for some innocent reason, but if you believe for one moment that this crew can’t get this ship into port from here then you are a bigger fool than I.
I worked just as hard as you on that probe, and I know what its results mean. We have found something beyond important, and the pattern of where it and its friends landed is very, very worrying. I believe we have found something very dangerous. Something not-from-here has gone to great lengths to hide their arrival. They clearly possess a level of technology we don’t if they can get here from wherever they are from, and I have to imagine they won’t like us finding evidence that they have come.
We must tread very carefully with this information. If something has stopped me and Laurie from getting back to you then you must assume that that same something will be watching both of you too.
Tell no one, show no one, be careful. Hand all this to Admiral Hamilton directly and then go away and enjoy your life. Don’t get involved.
Of course, I may be a fool. I hope I am a fool. But if I am not, if the worst has happened, don’t be a fool as well.
I love you.
Yours forever,
-James’
Madeline handed Neal the letter, hung her head, and wept.
Colonel Patel had been kind enough to leave Madeline to grieve, but had eventually had to pull Neal aside so that he could ask the many questions he was required to ask.
Neal’s answers had been circumspect, but not unreasonably so. He was not a sailor, and had said this ignorance was the very reason he and Madeline had stayed ashore. It was several hours later that his assistant informed the colonel that a representative of the American embassy was calling from New Delhi, asking to speak to Neal.
When Neal was handed the phone he was surprised to hear a familiar voice.
“Neal, this is Tim Hamilton, at the embassy,” Neal took a moment to recognize the name without its usual prefix, “no doubt this conversation is being overheard so I’ll keep this brief. Firstly, are all of you all right?”
The voice of the senior admiral who had overseen the project, disguised as it was as being from a member of the American Embassy in India, had thrown Neal off for a moment. Then the admiral’s suggestion of brevity sent a chill through Neal, reminding him of James’ warning note. In thinking that they might be being eavesdropped on, the admiral may be righter than he knew.
He replied carefully, “Err … Tim, how are you? I didn’t expect to hear your voice. Umm, we have had some sad news here, it looks like the boat James Hawkson and Laurie West were on has gone down, there do not appear to be any survivors.” He paused a moment, the admiral silent at this confirmation of what had previously just been a rumor.
Neal, still fearful of the potential that someone other than the Indian government was also listening in, continued, “As of right now there doesn’t seem to be any evidence of how or why this might have happened.”
The admiral had hoped for some kind of explanation, but his training made him err on the side of action in the face of ambiguity, so he moved on. Sounding concerned but firm, he said, “Neal, we’re going to overlook for a moment that you and Madeline were out there with them in the first place, and just be thankful that you didn’t somehow make it onto the boat as well.”
Neal sighed, almost relieved at the familiar stern tone of the admiral.
The officer continued, “I think it best that you and Madeline come home immediately. Take the next bus or plane back to New Delhi and I’ll have one of the embassy staff meet you at the airport with your tickets home. Clear?”
“Absolutely, Tim, we’ll see you in … Delhi,” said Neal, and, hearing the line go dead, handed the headset back to Colonel Patel who replaced it in its cradle so they could return to the final questions the Indian officer had for his copious forms.
He did not discuss his imminent departure with the colonel, and it would not be till sometime later that the colonel would receive a call telling him to close the case and release the two Americans, appropriate pressure having been applied by appropriate people during appropriate meetings and phone calls. For the admiral was not idle after ending his call with Neal. After thanking the embassy in New Delhi for patching him through to the coast guard, he had woken up certain people within the Pentagon, initiating predefined protocols for extracting citizens from a friendly nation when they might hold pertinent or classified information.
The admiral had also placed a call to his longtime peer, colleague, and all round rival, General Pickler, to discuss this new turn of events, and his level of discomfort with them.
The extraction process, once started, took on a life of its own, long practiced procedures setting off a domino effect within the halls of power in Washington and beyond. While a representative of the secretary of state was calling his counterpart in Delhi, a government travel agency was locating the fastest possible route from Kodikkarai to Washington, DC. At the same time, the CIA was activating an asset on the ground in Delhi, dispatching him to the airport to meet the two citizens off the local commuter flight from Kodikkarai, ensuring they got to their flight home, and minimizing their contact with Indian officials, or anyone else, along the way.
And so Colonel Patel had been as surprised as Neal when a senior official had called him sometime later, ordering him to end his interview with the Americans and escort them back to their guesthouse.
“I am to help you collect your belongings,” the colonel had said, somewhat bewildered, but nonetheless quick to comply, “then we are to drive you to the airport where a plane is, apparently, even now waiting for you.”
Wow, thought Neal, the Pentagon doesn’t fuck around. He had thanked the colonel, and then helped to escort the still distraught Madeline out of the coast guard building.
Arriving in Delhi hours later, they were accosted by a loud, middle-aged American tourist in a Hawaiian shirt and shorts. As they tried to politely get away from him, he leant in and shook Neal’s hand, saying blithely that he was a friend of Tim Hamilton’s. The shoe dropped, and Neal, squeezing Madeline’s arm, said they should go and grab a drink with the man and talk about the States.
She was not far behind him, sensing his change of mood, and the tourist, who introduced himself as Bob, led them to a corner of one of the many airport bars.
They never discussed business, never mentioned anything about what had happened, Bob’s stares telling them to keep the conversation simple.
As soon as Bob had seen the two getting off the plane in New Delhi, he had spotted the attractive Indian woman watching them. Sure enough, she had followed them into the bar and taken a seat at another table across the room. The fact that she did not have a bag with her had alerted Bob’s instincts, but he was even more unsettled by her unnaturally black eyes. Whenever he glanced over they were on Neal and Madeline.
Bob assumed she was with the Indian government. He did not mention it to his wards, no need to worry them, but nor did he want them to start talking shop with a set of ears near them.
If a certain six-year-old girl in Kodikkarai had seen the woman, she would have told anyone that would listen that she was the woman who had swum ashore from Sri Lanka. But the six-year-old in question had still barely been allowed to leave her room since she had ruined her birthday sari.
* * *
Neal and Madeline were now five hours into their long flight home. Their VIP status and newfound friend Bob had gotten them into business class on the Air India flight to JFK, and they now sat in their large leather seats at 33,000 feet, semi-sober, the last few days seeming like an out-of-body experience.
They had scrupulously avoided discussing the incident since leaving Kodikkarai, their conversation coming in fits and starts as they tried to ignore the proverbial four-hundred-pound gorilla in the room.
Finishing his third Bloody Mary, Neal finally broke the silence, leaning close as he said quietly, “What are we going to do?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean … what are we going to do with the pictures, the probe’s findings? What are we going to do with what we know?”
Madeline in turn polished the last gulps of her own bloody mary, and said, staring into her empty glass, “I am going to do nothing, just like James said. I’m going to hand it over to people more powerful and more knowledgeable than me, and I’m going home.”
Neal paused, he did not want to push her, but this would not wait for another time, “Madeline, I don’t think it is going to be that easy.”
She looked at him.
“We’re involved, like it or not. This is … well … no longer something we can walk away from.”
“Why not?” she said, pressing her call button to order another drink.
Neal looked at her. He was about to speak again when the flight attendant arrived. She had been very friendly since they had come on board, and had kept the alcohol flowing. Years of dealing with every imaginable walk of life had told the seasoned stewardess that the two of them were returning from something bad, and she had instinctively given them a little bit more space and a readier supply of beverages than their fellow business class passengers.
“What can I get for you?” she said with a warm smile.
“Another bloody, please, Shirley.” said Madeline. Shirley glanced questioningly at Neal, and he smiled, raising two fingers in a peace sign to let Shirley know to make it two. Shirley nodded understandingly and headed off in the direction of the galley.
“Madeline,” continued Neal as she departed, “whatever happened to James and Laurie out there, we have to assume that it happened because of what they found. We have to assume that either they were being watched or their communications were being monitored.”
She grimaced at his words, and looked at him, asking with her eyes whether they had to talk about this.
“I’m sorry, Madeline, but please, hear me out. If you think I am off base I will never mention any of this again, I promise.”
She thought a moment, then nodded dejectedly, reaching up like a child for her medicine as Shirley returned with their fresh bloodies.
Drink in hand, Madeline gulped at the cold drink a little too enthusiastically, and then cringed as the vodka and spice hit her.
Neal waited a moment, then went on, hesitantly, “Here is what I have been thinking: it seems obvious that something found out what James and Laurie were up to and reacted in a way that James was clearly fearing it would. Now, I’ve been thinking about how they could have found out, and it can only be either by watching them, from a satellite, or by eavesdropping on their communications.”
A question leapt into Madeline’s mind, and she asked, “Then why didn’t whatever happened to them, happen to us too?” she asked.
“I was thinking about that as well, and I have to conclude that the SFR’s encoding saved our particular conversation from being listened in on. After all, it uses two randomly assigned deteriorating algorithms for the encryption, each handset can only talk to its counterpart. It is supposed to be unhackable … by anyone.”
She seemed semi-placated by that explanation, nodding, albeit unenthusiastically.
He plodded on, “That theory is supported by the fact that we were able to talk for so long last night without … interference. So given that I can’t see how even the most detailed visual surveillance would have allowed them to see what was going on inside the boat’s cabins, and they apparently couldn’t hear our conversation, someone on board must have sent some kind of message about the ship’s findings, and that triggered a … response.”
They both cringed, but Neal went on, “An update to Washington, maybe, maybe even sent by James himself, though I doubt he would have been so foolish.” Instantly, he wished he hadn’t used the word ‘fool’ for its unfortunate reference to James’ letter.