Borrowed Time Page 18

  ‘Coming here was something of a snap decision for me,’ Philpott said. He explained that his original intention had been to investigate the black market in charity aid. ‘Then I found myself sidetracked. I had planned to talk it over with Mike, Sabrina and Lenny.’

  When they talked on the telephone earlier, Ram had explained that the ambush had failed and that Mike, Lenny and Sabrina had stayed behind after the team of police marksmen had left.

  ‘I have to bring you up to date,’ Ram said now. ‘I spoke on the phone to Mike less than an hour ago. He and Sabrina are making their way back in a truck they took from a gang of rural bandits …’

  ‘Life’s an endless adventure for those two.’

  ‘The sad bit is, Lenny Trent’s dead.’

  ‘Oh, God …’

  ‘He was shot. I don’t know any more than that.’

  Philpott shook his head. ‘That’s terrible. Terrible. He was such a fine, lively chap …’ He drummed his fingers absently for a moment. ‘What about his remains? Surely we need to make arrangements?’

  ‘Mike told me the body’s at the railway station in Jerrida,’ Ram said. ‘I’ve already made arrangements through UN Information and Services. They’ll contact Drugwatch International and the body should be flown back to the States within twenty-four hours.’

  ‘Well.’ Philpott sat back and clasped his hands in his lap. ‘That’s taken the shine off the day.’

  ‘The whole thing was a fiasco,’ Ram said. ‘The ambush failed, then Mike and Sabrina were taken prisoner by the very bandits they were hoping to ambush, and to top it all, it turns out the American bandit leader isn’t what Mike thought he was.’

  ‘Even so, Mike had good reason for following the lead,’ Philpott said. ‘I’ve no doubt about that. An agent can’t pass up a possibility just because there’s a chance of it leading nowhere.’

  ‘That’s like something Lenny Trent said, the night before they left. In his business, he said, failure is part of the motif of success.’

  ‘Wise words,’ Philpott said. ‘Take a close look at our successes, especially our big ones, and you’ll see they’re bedded in flops and wrong turnings.’

  ‘So.’ Ram, anxious to lift the gloom, made himself sound brighter. ‘Do you want to talk about your unexpected sidetracking?’

  ‘Indeed I do.’

  Philpott told Ram about the smallholding and how he had gone there looking for signs of black market trading; instead, he appeared to have uncovered part of a drug-trafficking organization.

  ‘It has to be worth following up,’ he said. ‘It could be a factor in the trade Mike and Sabrina are trying to uncover.’

  Ram cleared his throat delicately. ‘We know about the farm, Mr Philpott.’

  ‘What — the drug-trafficking side of it?’

  ‘That’s the only part we do know about. If there’s a black market link, we don’t have any intelligence so far to back that up.’

  ‘So what goes on at the farm?’

  ‘It’s a place where mules are kitted out and sent on their way. We’ve already sent an agent through there. What he gathers in the way of intelligence could form the basis of a case against the traffickers. It might even help us find out where the trade originates. The problem with the farm is, if we show a heavy-handed interest in that quarter, they’ll simply move the operation somewhere else.’

  Philpott was staring at his plate. ‘Well don’t I feel the idiot. I really thought I’d stumbled on to something nobody knew about.’

  ‘I know a little bit about the black market trade in these parts,’ Ram said. ‘They move their centres of operation whether they’re being investigated or not. They are a different animal. Nothing gets established with them, they don’t believe in laying down patterns.’

  ‘So if there was a black market operation at the farm a month ago —’

  ‘It’s highly likely it’s moved on. Black marketeers rent places on very short leases, Mr Philpott.’

  ‘Please don’t tell me any more,’ Philpott said. ‘If you do, I’m likely to get too depressed to finish my lunch.’

  Later that afternoon Philpott called C.W. Whitlock in New York. Whitlock already knew about Lenny Trent and confirmed that the body was being returned to the United States. Philpott told him about the misunderstanding over the farm.

  ‘I have a feeling the whole black market trade over here needs a thorough, detailed analysis before any offensive is even considered.’

  ‘Don’t let it get you down,’ Whitlock said. ‘It wasn’t your only reason for going out there anyway, was it?’

  ‘I suppose not. But I’ve been thinking, I could come back now and defend myself at that damned hearing.’

  ‘No, don’t do that.’ Whitlock spoke a little too quickly. ‘I’d rather do the defending.’

  ‘But surely, if I’m there in person —’

  ‘Take my word for it, sir, it would be better if you stay right where you are. The presentation of our case calls for a dispassionate approach …’

  ‘And you don’t think I have that?’

  ‘I just think you should leave it to me.’

  23

  Eighty kilometres south of Srinagar the Ford began to cough. Mike gunned the engine, hoping to clear an obstruction in the fuel line, but that made the plugs misfire and finally the engine stopped.

  ‘Terrific.’

  He got out, opened the bonnet and stared. Sabrina came round beside him. ‘What do you think?’

  ‘I think I don’t know a thing about these engines.’

  He slammed down the bonnet.

  ‘It sounded to me like it was dying,’ Sabrina said.

  ‘You’re really into hi-tech talk, aren’t you?’

  ‘Seriously, I mean. I was in a cab in Beirut once when it made that noise. The driver couldn’t revive it. The engine had been repaired and patched so many times, it was some kind of miracle of spare-part surgery. But that was the end of the line, there was no saving it. And it sounded just like our engine did a couple of minutes ago.’

  Mike tried to start it again, but now the starter motor wouldn’t turn over.

  ‘So we walk,’ he said.

  Where the truck stalled the road had begun to rise. As they walked they found it rose in a gentle gradient for another five kilometres.

  ‘It’s levelling out,’ Sabrina panted, trudging behind Mike, taking advantage of his shadow.

  ‘I don’t feel any difference.’

  ‘I do.’ Sabrina stopped and wiped the dust from her lips. ‘And hey, look at that.’

  She pointed down to their right. Since they had begun walking there had been only trees and bushes on the lower ground. Now they were looking at a road. Fifty metres ahead it veered away to the right.

  ‘There’s a signpost where it turns.’ Mike shielded his eyes and narrowed them. ‘I think it says Srinagar.’

  They scrambled down the slope and on to the road. Sabrina took a closer look at the sign.

  ‘Ten kilometres. We’re nearly there.’

  ‘If the truck hadn’t broken down,’ Mike said, ‘we’d have missed this road completely.’

  ‘That’s the way to talk. Keep making us look lucky.’

  Mike made to grab Sabrina. She skipped ahead of him and ran along the road. He ran after her, then they both stopped as a station wagon came round a corner sixty metres ahead and roared towards them.

  Mike and Sabrina went to the side of the road. They could see the driver was an Indian, big and broad. Behind him sat an Indian woman, her lower face obscured by a veil. She was surrounded by piles of cardboard boxes.

  ‘That guy doesn’t look pleased to see us,’ Mike said.

  The driver was glaring at them, his mouth moving. He braked the car and it slid to a crunching stop in a cloud of dust. He got out, still looking angry, muttering to himself.

  ‘Hi there,’ Mike said, then jerked back as the driver pulled a gun.

  ‘Down!’ Sabrina yelled. Mike was flat on the ground
already. She landed beside him as the man fired twice, hitting the road inches in front of them.

  ‘What the hell’s wrong with you?’ Mike shouted. ‘Put away the gun, you idiot!’

  The man fired again. Mike pulled the Webley .38 from his belt, aiming the gun as it moved. He fired two shots. The first bullet entered the man’s head, the second penetrated his chest. He spluttered and coughed, clutching his chest as blood streamed into his eyes. He dropped to his knees, then fell over on his back.

  As Mike and Sabrina stood up, the woman in the back of the car dived into the driver’s seat. She put the big wagon into a screeching turn and roared off.

  Mike looked down at the dead man. ‘Why do you suppose he fired at us?’

  ‘Maybe he didn’t want us to see him and live to talk about it.’

  Mike went on staring. ‘I’ve seen him before,’ he said.

  ‘Where?’

  ‘No idea.’ Mike stooped and felt in the man’s pockets. They were empty. He stood up again. ‘I’ve seen the woman before, too.’

  ‘You could only see her eyes.’

  ‘Sure. But they’re unforgettable eyes.’ Mike shrugged. ‘It’ll come to me.’

  ‘If this works,’ Philpott said to Ram Jarwal, ‘I’ll feel measurably redeemed.’

  They sat in Ram’s jeep, watching the little cottage at the centre of the farm. They had been there fifteen minutes and there had been no sign of activity. They were sure someone was inside, because they had been careful to arrive before dusk, and when it began to turn dark, lights went on in the cottage.

  Ram looked at his watch. ‘Shall we do it now?’

  ‘I’m ready if you are.’

  They got out of the vehicle and walked to the gate. There was a bell-push suspended at the end of a heavy electric cable. Ram jabbed it three times.

  ‘Was that imperious enough?’ he said.

  ‘Perfect.’

  The cottage door opened and an old man came out. Philpott recognized the stoop and the jerky movements; it was the man he had seen the night before, talking to the younger man at the table. The man came to the gate, moving carefully, shining a torch ahead of him. At the gate he stopped and shone the torch first on Philpott, then on Ram. He said something in Kashmiri, then in Urdu.

  ‘Do you speak English?’ Ram said.

  ‘Well of course.’ The linguistic switch from East to West also produced a lightening of the voice. The old man sounded like a different person. ‘What can I do for you, please?’

  ‘We are from the Central Government office in Jammu,’ Ram said, keeping his voice smooth, with a firm authoritarian edge. ‘May we come inside?’

  The man appeared to consider it. ‘Very well.’

  He unpadlocked a smaller gate within one of the main gates and they stepped through.

  ‘I am Dr Vyas, by the way.’

  Ram looked quickly at Philpott. The last thing they had expected was a doctor, even a fake one.

  ‘I am Annat Dishu,’ Ram said, his delivery calm and plausible, ‘and this is Mr Pilkington of our Bombay liaison office.’

  When they were inside, Ram declined a chair and so did Philpott.

  ‘You will excuse me if I sit,’ Vyas said. ‘My legs are no longer what they were.’ He eased himself down into an old armchair, dabbing at one eye which seemed to be permanently watering. ‘Now, gentlemen, how can I help you?’

  ‘Perhaps you would care to tell us about yourself first,’ Ram said. His manner was more aggressive now. ‘I would advise you to leave out nothing that you consider to be important.’

  ‘My name as I told you is Vyas, Jabar Vyas. I hold a PhD degree from the University of New Delhi. My speciality is botany.’

  ‘And this is your farm?’

  ‘Yes, although I do not really farm in the accepted sense. What I produce here — eggs, milk, a few vegetables — is solely for my own use. I am self-sufficient. The farm and its flora are my recreation, do you understand? Botany is my life. This is not a profitable venture, if that is what you thought. I don’t believe there is any profit to be made from this land.’

  ‘That is an interesting story,’ Ram said, unsmiling, his voice a shade harder still. ‘It is well told and indeed almost convincing.’

  The old man frowned. ‘I beg your pardon?’

  ‘Is it not true, Dr Vyas — if that is your name — that this farm, these very premises, are used for the briefing of drug couriers before they set out to make their deliveries?’

  ‘I don’t understand …’

  ‘I said it plainly enough, didn’t I?’

  ‘Please,’ the old man said, ‘there is no need to raise your voice, I am happy to co-operate with you, but your accusations are so wild, so fantastic —’

  ‘Don’t play the innocent with me!’

  Now the old man looked frightened. Philpott came forward, slipping into his role. He muttered something to Ram, who instantly looked huffy and stepped aside.

  ‘I apologize for my colleague’s manner,’ Philpott said, laying a hand gently on the old man’s shoulder, ‘and for his crass misapprehension. We will go now without troubling you further, and we will make our report strictly on the basis of what you have told us.’

  They hurried outside and across to the gate. Philpott paused, watching for a sign of movement in the cottage.

  ‘Back to the wagon fast,’ he said. ‘I don’t fancy we’ll have to wait long.’

  In the jeep Ram switched on the VHF scanner mounted in the radio slot. He began slowly turning the sensor knob from side to side. After a minute the speaker clicked and there was the sound of pulsed dialling. Ram pressed the LOCK button.

  ‘He’s using a mobile, and it’s calling another mobile.’

  ‘How far away?’

  ‘No way of telling. We can only hope it’s not in another country.’

  The old man’s voice came on. He sounded squeaky and agitated. An answering voice kept cutting in, making the old man’s voice go higher each time until he was practically screaming into the phone.

  ‘What are they saying?’

  ‘He said that two government snoopers have been to see him, and they’re on to the operation. The other one is telling him all the time to stay calm, it will be fixed, but he says he’s scared and if the government men come back and do a search the whole deal will be in the fire.’

  Ram listened again. ‘They’re telling the old man he should have shot us. He says he didn’t get a chance.’

  The squabbling continued, then the sound suddenly cut off.

  ‘The destination phone hung up,’ Ram said. ‘The old man kept saying he didn’t want to be questioned again, they had to get him out, he was scared he would say the wrong thing. The other man said he would fix it, then he cut off communication. ’

  ‘I thought the old boy was rather convincing,’ Philpott said. ‘Apart from the telltale eye.’

  ‘The running one?’

  ‘No, its neighbour. If they’d both been watering he would have been entirely convincing, I think, but the good eye kept jerking to the corner of the shelf behind you.’

  ‘What was on it?’

  ‘A pistol. Looked like an old Walther P38 from where I was standing.’

  ‘So what do we do now?’ Ram said. ‘Wait?’

  ‘Oh yes. This is drug business, remember. Every aspect, every feature of the drug trade is amplified to many times beyond the normal. These men have a problem, and they will fix it, and they will do their fixing with ridiculous-seeming haste and, no doubt, the most extreme means.’

  They waited eight minutes before anything happened. Then a heavy black van came pounding along the road and drove straight through the farm gates, sending them flying and uprooting a row of fence posts.

  ‘Enter the extreme means,’ Philpott said.

  The van stopped in front of the cottage and two men in dark suits got out and went inside. Almost at once they came out again, carrying what looked like file boxes, and put them in the back of the van. Th
ey went inside again. When they came out next time they each carried a full sack in one hand and one gigantic sack between them. These were loaded into the van, then one of the men got into the driving seat.

  ‘They don’t waste any time,’ Philpott said.

  ‘That other one’s taking out a gun.’

  They watched the second man march into the cottage. A moment later a shot rang out. The man left the cottage and jumped into the van. It drove off in the direction it had come.

  Ram and Philpott waited three minutes, then ran back to the cottage. Inside, the old man lay on the floor. He was dead. He had been shot between the eyes with a dumdum shell; part of his brain was smeared across the wall.

  ‘I suppose I better call the police,’ Ram said.

  ‘No, hang on.’ Philpott produced his own mobile and tapped in a number. He waited. ‘Is that Andrew Hamilton?’ He listened and smiled. ‘Yes, right first time, it’s Philpott. Long time no see. Look, it’s all a bit of a rush, but can I ask a favour?’

  Philpott gave the man on the other end the farm’s map references, and asked if the full team could drop in and do a comprehensive sweep. Ram stood by, mystified.

  When the call was over Philpott put the phone back in his pocket.

  ‘Commander Andrew Hamilton,’ he said. ‘Ex-Yard, now a senior Interpol forensic chap. Now and then, so long as we don’t abuse things, we can call on him and ask to use one of his local teams. They do a lovely job, and so quickly.’

  ‘Where are they based?’

  ‘New Delhi’s the nearest, at present.’ Philpott winked. ‘Don’t fret, they’ll be here before the deceased starts to ripen.’

  The helicopter landed one hour and twenty minutes later. A seven-man, white-suited forensic team moved through the little house from one end to the other. They covered every inch, sifting, taking photographs and collecting samples of hair, fibre, dust and debris. Before they were finished, interim search results were being computed on an analytical bench inside the helicopter. The forensic officer in charge updated Philpott on what they had found, and Philpott passed it along to Ram Jarwal.