Dead Reckoning

by Ronie Kendig

  “Apna khayal rakhna,” a voice inside shouted, apparently from across a large distance, for someone to “take care.” A man stepped into the night, waved, and carelessly slammed the door behind him. He never looked back.

  Shiloh lunged and caught the handle. Inside, she huddled next to a thrumming refrigerator as she eased the door shut, assessing her situation. To the right, movement. She peeked over the sheen of a steel table. One … no, two men working a machine of some sort. Silence filled the left side of the room. Light from a doorway spilled across the waxed-to-a-slick-shine floors.

  Lowering herself to peer under the steel center island, she spied her escape route—a semi-darkened hall. She kept her eyes on the men as she inched around the island. A cart shielded her from the workers as she calculated the speed and maneuverability she would need to make the hallway without being seen. With a deep breath, she burst across the open area, bringing herself to her full height just as her foot touched light.

  “Oh!” A woman in scrubs gasped when Shiloh surprised her.

  “Mujhey bhookh lagi hai.” Shiloh pressed her hand to her stomach, forcing a hungry look into her face. Would they believe she was visiting someone and looking for a cafeteria?

  The woman considered her for a moment.

  She still hadn’t eaten, so the confirmation of a growling stomach didn’t surprise her.

  The woman's knotted brows eased. “I will show you.” The nurse motioned for her to follow as she pivoted and headed in the opposite direction toward the cafeteria. “Down the hall, then right.”

  “Dhanyavaad.” With a nod and thanks, Shiloh breathed easier with each step that took her away from the woman.

  At the end of the hall she spotted a directory hanging on the wall. According to the map, two flights up there was a station directly above her. She pushed through the door and took the stairs two at a time, reaching the third floor in less than thirty seconds.

  Slowing her breathing, she stepped into the hall and paused to let her eyes adjust. Squeaky shoes approached from the left.

  “Kya mein aapki madad kar sakti?” The nurse in blue scrubs stopped, her expectant expression echoing her offer of help.

  “I know it's late,” Shiloh whispered, hoping her Marathi didn’t sound too distinct. “I’m looking for a patient. He had surgery. He's my … mera dost.”

  The woman raised her eyebrows at the endearment, then smiled. “Come, we’ll look.” The nurse walked to the desk and plopped into a chair. “What is his name?”

  Shiloh glanced around the area, hoping she hadn’t drawn attention. “Khalid Khan.”

  When the nurse started shuffling papers, Shiloh's fingers itched to prance over the computer keyboard. Why didn’t she just look it up on the desktop?

  Finally, the nurse typed Khalid's name. “Ah, here we are. He's”—she traced a finger over the screen—“second floor, room twenty-five.”

  “Dhanyavaad.” Spinning on the balls of her feet, Shiloh stifled her glee. If she found his name in the registry, that meant he was here. Alive!

  Isn’t that what Brutus had said? She shrugged.

  Jogging down five steps, then around the landing, then down five more, Shiloh hoped Khalid would be alert. What if he was in a coma? The thought stalled her heart. She’d have to leave him and find a way to the American embassy on the western coastline.

  Through the darkened hall and around a corner, Shiloh found the room. She slipped in, straining against the low-wattage lamp near the bed that threw light across Khalid's face. His chest lay bare, a wide bandage around his abdomen. The stark white medical tape contrasted sharply with his olive skin.

  Feeling as if the world had just righted itself, Shiloh dropped her pack at the foot of the bed and heaved a sigh. “Oh, Khalid,” she whispered as she moved to his side.

  For a moment she let her eyes track over his body. An IV taped to his hand pumped vital fluid and medicine into him. His hair drooped into his eyes. Without thinking, she swept the silky black strands from his face. When she withdrew her hand, she stilled. Dark eyes held hers.

  “Hello,” she said, emotion thickening her words.

  “You’re late.” His voice sounded dry, tired.

  A smile stole into her face. “I’m always late, remember?” Why did she suddenly want to cry?

  The left side of his mouth tugged upward, and his eyes slowly closed. Had he fallen asleep?

  “Khalid?”

  His hand moved toward her and grasped hers tightly.

  She wanted to tell him everything. How the two men had tracked her all over the city. Then Brutus. Dr. Kuntz. Instead, she stood there, staring at his handsome face, disbelieving the last twenty-four hours. Maybe they’d been a dream. Here with Khalid, holding his hand—when had they ever done that?— everything seemed okay, right.

  “How are you feeling?”

  “Weak.” His head lobbed toward her, eyes slowly drifting open. “Mikhail?” When she averted her gaze, he asked, “The professor?”

  Refusing to move or reveal more through her traitorous expressions, Shiloh stood rigid.

  The foggy haze clinging to his face cleared. His brows knitted against sparkling eyes. “Are you safe?”

  She squeezed his hand. “I’ll be fine.”

  “Hey,” he said, his voice growing hoarse. “Miss America, you’re not invincible.”

  “No, but I’m smart.”

  “That's why I love you.”

  Lips parting to speak, Shiloh shook her head instead. She noticed a cup of ice on the stand next to his bed and lifted it. “Here, your throat sounds sore.” Plucking out a piece, she worked to steady her nerves.

  Khalid opened his mouth, but she could feel his eyes boring through her as she set a chunk in his mouth. “Shiloh …” he mumbled around the obstruction.

  “Khalid, please don’t.” The words tumbled out so fast, she nearly tripped over them. She sighed and once again pushed a smile onto her face. “Just rest.” Running her fingers through his hair, she pretended not to notice the hurt reflected in his soulful expression. “You need to gather your strength.”

  Silence devoured the moment. Shiloh shifted on her feet and propped herself on the edge of his bed.

  “I can’t pretend anymore, Shiloh.”

  “About what?” But she already knew. Only, she didn’t want to know. Again she glanced down, watching as he rubbed his thumb over the top of her hand.

  He strained to sit up.

  She nudged him back. “Stop being a hero.”

  His grip tightened, and he tugged her closer. His IV-trapped hand swept her jaw. “I’m in love with you. A brush with death gave me a new perspective. You’re afraid of love, but Shiloh, you don’t have to be afraid with me. I know you say you hate God, but that's the anger over your dad. We’ll work through it. You’ll—”

  “Khalid.” She shoved to her feet. “I just need you to get well.”

  “You don’t need anything. You’re always telling me that.”

  “They—” She bit her lip.

  “Who's ‘they’?”

  “Never mind. I … it's nothing.”

  His dark, deep eyes narrowed. “What's happened? What are you hiding?”

  “Nothing.” Nearly choking on the lie, she scrambled to correct it. But there was too much to explain. “I just … we need—”

  Voices in the hall interrupted her. Hide. The bathroom. Backpack in hand, she darted to safety just as the door opened.

  “Shiloh, wait. What—”

  “Mr. Khan, you’re awake at this hour?” a sing-song voice said. “I’ll increase your drip so you can get some rest. You have lost a lot of blood.”

  “No, please. I’m … fine.”

  Shiloh peeked between the jamb and the door. By the time the nurse released his flow of meds, checked his vitals and left, Khalid had slipped into la-la land.

  Sneaking back into the room, Shiloh returned to his side. Even though peace enveloped him, it struck her that he always looked that wa
y. Awake. Asleep. It made no difference. Maybe that's what she liked about him—his quiet strength. Something she didn’t have. He’d always made her feel like the Queen of Sheba.

  “I’m sorry, Khalid. I don’t deserve you, my Arabian Prince.” The nickname she’d given him forced a deep ache into her soul. “Get well, mera dost.” She bent and pressed a kiss to his cheek. “I’ll be back.” With one last glance, she slipped out of his room.

  I know you’re afraid of love. How could he say something so cruel? Anger wrapped a tight coil around her chest. Why couldn’t he just leave things be? They were friends. Good friends. But, no, he had to ruin things.

  Outside the hospital, her façade evaporated. Knees weak, she stumbled toward the retaining wall and leaned against it. Why did it hurt so much to hear Khalid say those words? What was the fire that burned in her chest?

  If anyone knew how to truly love, it was Khalid. And he knew her backward and forward, didn’t he? How could he love her?

  Could she love him back? No, she wouldn’t. Love hurt— always.

  “Oh, no. Not you.”

  Arms splayed to each side, Reece stepped into the office. “What?”

  Toby Roberts, Consular Section Chief, tossed a file toward the young woman standing between him and Reece. “Get those copied and back to me asap.” He turned his attention to Reece and groaned. “Every time you show up, there's trouble. I don’t need trouble. Got it?”

  Chuckling, Reece clicked the door shut after the admin made her escape. “Such a welcome greeting, Chief Roberts.”

  With a huff , Toby stomped around the desk and shuffled through a pile of papers on a conference table. “You’re more pain than you’re worth.” He snatched a manila folder and shoved it at him. “That's everything we have.”

  File in hand, Reece lowered himself into a thickly padded chair and crossed an ankle over his knee. He thumbed through the pages. “Uh …” Flipping the folder over to ensure he hadn’t dropped anything—like half the file—he nailed the man in the rumpled white button-down shirt with a glare. “You’re kidding, right?”

  “No, I’m not.” Toby ruffled his hair and stomped back to his seat. “I have no idea what's going on down there. We’re not getting answers, and we’re not getting cooperation.”

  “There's no U.S. investigative report on the shooting. Is your team still writing it?”

  “No.”

  Reece fanned the pages. “Then where is it?”

  “There isn’t one. No report. No team.”

  Reece sat forward. “Come again?”

  “Deputy Minister Abdul won’t let our people on-site. He's given us the complete runaround, claiming there is a dispute about where it happened, and that it didn’t involve Americans. He even tried to say it happened in international waters or something.”

  “Bull.”

  “I’ve sent two teams to the beach, and they’ve been turned away flat.” Toby wiped a hand over his sweaty lip. “They won’t even let us set up guard around the survivors at the hospital. No weapons or display of force. Of course, it's a bit of a mess with the burglary at the Mumbai Mansion and a missing girl.”

  “Burglary.” Tension knots pulled tight in Reece's shoulders. He’d been there. Heard the rapid fire of AK-47s. Saw the swarm of nationals.

  “Yeah, I’m not buying it, either. Unfortunately, Abdul is placing the blame for the murders on—”

  “Shiloh Blake.”

  “Exactly.”

  Thumping the folder against his shoe, Reece chewed the facts. A shooting on open water. Several dead in the bay. More killed in a massacre at the hotel. India not letting the U.S. investigate. “They’re stalling.”

  Toby looked at him from the corner of his eye. “What was your first clue?”

  “Your foul mood.”

  “Just full of charm, aren’t you?” Toby stormed to the door and barked for iced tea for them both. “If I didn’t like your sister so much, I would never have agreed to work with you.”

  “How's that going?”

  “I haven’t seen her in three months.”

  “Smart girl.” Reece wouldn’t tell his embassy friend that Julia had gone to South Africa on a mission trip for the summer. Let the guy sweat it out; he’d appreciate Julia's return all the more. Despite their differences, he knew Toby Roberts was a good man.

  At his desk, Toby dropped into the chair and buried his face in his hands. Finally, he sat back. “I hate to say it, but you were right about this dead drop.”

  Chuckling, Reece flicked the file onto the table behind him. “Boy, bet that hurt.”

  “You have no idea.” Toby eased against his chair as the admin hurried in with two tall glasses of iced tea. “Irene, hold my calls unless it's the ambassador.”

  “Of course, sir.”

  They sipped quietly for a few minutes. Reece savored both the silence and the refreshing, albeit too-sweet, drink. He’d probably have a sugar buzz by the time he left the temporary consular offices.

  Something didn’t fit. What was India hiding? Were they behind the dead drop? He’d heard and seen them protect their own, and what country liked having another country investigating a crime within their borders? It was all about control. Still, it didn’t make sense for Abdul to stall, not like this. In order to snap the neck of the dragon ready to breathe nuclear fire all over this globe, Reece had to pull these threads together fast.

  He glanced at his watch. 8:59 a.m. His thoughts bounced to Shiloh. Would she call? Keeping her under his thumb meant she stayed alive, and through that, he might unearth more information.

  “Maybe you should chat with Perry again,” Toby said.

  Perry Titus. Reece didn’t need to tell Toby that's where he was headed after this meeting. The fewer people who knew what he was up to, the less chance of having his cover blown or ending up dead. All the same, it wouldn’t hurt to have a second brain to work through this mission. Besides, it always amazed him to hear the knowledge Perry had that most government aides and lackeys didn’t.

  Reece set his glass on the tray. “Set up a meeting with Abdul for me under the name of Simon James.”

  “Abdul? You’re joshing.” Toby scooped several spoonfuls of sugar into his glass and stirred.

  “I never joke. I especially never josh.” Reece slapped Toby's shoulder. “Get it set up. We’ve got to get in there and find out what they don’t want us to know. And Toby?”

  “Yeah?” He was on his feet now.

  “I hope you have a lot more than three pages next time.” Reece let the seriousness in his tone carry the weight. “Someone's killing innocents to cover up a really bad gig. I’m ready to stop it. I can’t do that if your people aren’t on their toes.”

  “We’re doing everything we can.”

  “Do more.”

  On the other side of Mumbai, Reece strode up the dusty path to the three-story, white plaster structure—one of three buildings on the campus. He shoved aside his irritation over the morning's events. Too much had been revealed, and yet, too little. He strode down the hall and knocked on the door.

  “Varu ,” a voice intoned from within.

  Nudging the door open, Reece relaxed at the sound of his old friend's voice. “Hello, Perry.”

  The greying man looked up from a table where he sat with two Indian students. Surprise pinched his eyes. “Simon.” He patted the backs of the two men and bade them good-bye. “What brings you here, mera dost?” The American-born man had spent most of his life in India, and it suited him perfectly.

  Reece waited for the room to clear and then shut the door. He allowed Perry to hug him, and even laughed. “I suppose it has been too long.”

  “Far too long.” Perry started toward the far corner, where a small desk sat piled with books, bags, and papers. “Come, I’ll get my wallet and we’ll go have something to eat.”

  “Are you sure I’m not interrupting?”

  “No, no, it's good.” Perry hustled toward him, tucking his wallet into a fold of hi
s long tunic. “And friends never interrupt.” He patted Reece's shoulder. “Tandoori chicken, right?” He’d never forgotten Reece's favorite.

  “If we can find something this early,” Reece said. He glanced at his watch. Only one hour left before he’d have to transfer ownership of his Ducati to a beautiful young woman.

  “Always in Mumbai there is somewhere to eat.”

  They weren’t more than a dozen paces from the college building, when Perry's grip tightened. “You’ve come not a moment too soon. Things are beyond imagination.”

  7

  SHE NOT HERE.”

  Shiloh blinked, staring at the short Hindu man before her. Grey heavily streaked the hair at his temples and peppered the rest. “When will she return?” She had to get her bracelet. Khalid couldn’t know she’d bartered the precious piece yesterday.

  “She not come back.”

  Her heart raced. “What do you mean?” When she leaned in, the sari slid down her upper arm. She tossed it over her shoulder. “I need her.”

  “She quit. Go back to Pradesh.”

  “Pra—no! She had my bracelet.” Oh, please. Shiloh stepped closer, gripping the edge of the table. “Did she leave a bracelet here? A twined one with shells? It's very important to me. I told her I would come back with money.” She flashed the rupees under his nose.

  “No.” He waved his hands in a criss-cross pattern. “No, she not leave anything.” He shook his head. “Glad she gone. Lazy woman.”

  Swallowing hard, Shiloh glanced around, as if she could find the missing piece. “You’re sure? Is it under—”

  “No bracelet.” He raised his chin and stomped away.

  Heartsick, she shuffled out of the shop into the chaos of traffic and shoppers and headed toward Noor Hospital. Khalid would notice the missing bracelet. Notice and never understand. No, that wasn’t true. He would understand— and that was part of the problem. Because then she’d have to explain what happened—about the men, the professor, and Edie. There still had been no word from her vivacious diving partner. Shiloh didn’t want to add to Khalid's stress or create health risks for him. The whole thing seemed like a surreal nightmare.