by Chris Ryan
Alex looked at the people going in and out of the hospital, visiting friends, bringing people for treatment. It was shocking to see people who were so well dressed after the poverty they had witnessed. It was like a different country.
‘Do you really think they’ve got Bina prisoner here?’ said Amber.
‘Only one way to find out,’ said Alex. ‘We’ve got to get in.’
Amber put her hand on his shoulder to stop him. ‘If we’re not going to be thrown out straight away, we’d better look like we’re respectable.’ She glanced at the knife on Alex’s waistband. Wearing it was as natural to him as wearing a watch was to other people. She knelt on the ground and opened Hex’s rucksack. ‘Put that in here.’
Alex handed the knife over and Amber stowed it in the bag. He still didn’t look quite right. Her fingers closed around something and she pulled it out. ‘Well, well, what have we here?’ She smiled in delight. ‘Hex uses hair gel.’
Alex looked horrified. ‘He doesn’t.’
Amber showed him the jar. ‘Well, it’s his bag and this sure as hell ain’t mine.’
‘The wuss,’ said Alex. ‘Wait till I see him.’ As he turned round Amber stood up and slopped a dollop of gel onto his fringe. ‘Hey—’
She silenced him with a furious look and started working the gel into his hair. ‘The more groomed you look, the richer you look.’
‘I was groomed.’
‘In a Geordie sort of way.’ Amber stroked the gel through his hair and sculpted it into trendy spikes.
Alex pulled a face. ‘It smells like perfume.’
‘Nearly done.’ Amber made one last adjustment and put the gel back in Hex’s rucksack. ‘Ooh, here’s Paulo’s pink shirt—’
‘No!’ barked Alex.
Amber grinned. ‘Only kidding. Ready?’
Alex glared at her. She might as well have tied a bow in his hair. ‘I feel like a girl,’ he said. ‘Come on.’
Trilok moved slowly along the street. He was in another section of the market that was devoted to food. Samosas were tossed in boiling oil next to big shaking cabinets of kulfi, the condensed milk ice cream. Trilok stopped and bought a fresh mango juice. He chatted to the stallholder as he drank it.
Paulo stopped too. Some people went past him and he put his hand out, eyes pleading. They stepped round him as though they were avoiding a lamppost. Nearby was another untouchable, squatting on his haunches by a bin, watching and waiting to see what people threw away.
Trilok was on the move again. He put his hand in his pocket and took out some change. As he passed the bin he picked out something from among the coins and threw it in the bin. Then he went on to a melon stall.
The untouchable sprang up to see what Trilok had dropped into the bin but Paulo moved faster. It had looked like a piece of paper. He had to get it. He plunged his hands in. The stench that rose up was like being punched: the bin was filled with vegetable peelings and fruit skins, fermenting in the oven-like heat of the day. Flies billowed up in an angry, buzzing cloud.
The beggar yammered at Paulo in fury, trying to keep him off his territory. Paulo was tempted to leave him to it; his stomach was heaving. As the untouchable tried to fend him off, their struggles drove the piece of paper deeper into the slimy mess. Paulo glanced at Trilok. The kidney man was standing eating a slice of melon. At least this fight was good cover; everyone had turned away in disgust.
Suddenly a massive, snuffling grey shape loomed up behind Paulo. A wide muzzle dipped into the mess like a spade and pushed it around. A cow had decided it wanted a snack. It twisted its head, trying to reach the bottom of the bin. Its horns knocked Paulo out of the way and sent the untouchable sprawling.
Paulo got up. He had to get that piece of paper before it disappeared even further in the mire of waste. The untouchable assumed a squatting position, looking at the cow but no longer trying to claim his territory. Paulo plunged his arms back in, dodging the cow’s handlebar horns. The animal delved around and shifted its feet. Paulo hopped aside, acutely aware that he was wearing scrappy little sandals. Cows’ hooves were very sharp. They could slice into bare toes like a cleaver.
The cow came up for air and Paulo saw it – a strip of paper with red writing, sticking below the cow’s left eye. He took hold of one of the horns and steered the head towards him, just as he would if he was trying to move one of the beasts on his parents’ ranch.
A man screamed behind him. Paulo thought it was the untouchable. Then he caught a glimpse of a neat jacket with a Nehru collar and the next thing he knew blows were raining down on his shoulders, back, arms and head. His attacker was a dignified-looking man; the weapon an old-fashioned walking stick – which he raised above his head and brought down hard on Paulo’s shoulder. The blow was sharp but feeble, more angry than vicious. As it connected, the crowd shouted and the man hit him again. Paulo realized he was being given a beating – for taking hold of the cow.
He could have fought the man off, but that might have caused a riot. The cow shifted irritably, snuffling like a rooting pig, not used to competition. Paulo pulled his toes out of the way just in time. As it turned its face towards him, he grabbed the piece of paper and peeled it off like a plaster.
The cow shook its head. Its dung-sodden tail lashed Paulo as he got out of its way. He was prepared for the beating to continue but now the cow was being allowed to root around unmolested, the crowd lost interest. Paulo was invisible once again.
He opened his hand and shook the slimy contents to the floor. The piece of paper stuck to his fingers. It looked like a wrapper from some sort of remedy. It wasn’t much, but it might be useful information. He wiped his hand on his loincloth and smuggled the wrapper into his shorts.
Trilok moved on. Paulo let him get ahead a little. The kidney man didn’t walk particularly fast and Paulo’s long legs soon made up the distance. He passed Hex and Li, deep in conversation at a stall selling henna. The stall owner was holding Li’s hand and drawing imaginary designs on it with his finger. Paulo smiled inwardly. If they had to stay there any longer she’d be getting a tattoo.
The hospital admissions secretary shook her head and handed Amber back her phone with the picture of Bina. ‘We don’t have her here.’ She tapped a few keys on her computer and turned the screen round to face them. ‘This is our patient list; you’re welcome to look and see if you recognize her yourself.’
Amber scanned the list. Each entry had a thumbnail photo next to it. ‘You take photos of every patient?’ she said.
‘We make identity cards for every patient, with their height, weight, allergies, age, next of kin. It prevents mistakes. Have a look all you want; the only thing I can’t do is let you see actual medical records, but you should be able to tell whether your friend is here.’
There weren’t many patients of Bina’s age listed. Amber clicked on the photos and enlarged them but none of them were her. She scrolled through some of the others.
Alex pointed to a thumbnail. ‘Open that one,’ he said. Amber clicked on it.
It was the boy he’d just helped, the one sent by the clinic.
That really made him think. He looked at the admissions secretary, expecting to see that she was watching them closely – or calling security. But she wasn’t. Unlike the staff at the clinic, she wasn’t worried in case they found something.
‘I’ve heard you’re the place to come to for kidney transplants,’ said Alex.
‘Yes,’ said the woman. ‘We’ve got one of the best transplant teams.’
Now the crunch question. ‘Do you do transplants from live donors too?’
‘Yes, sometimes,’ said the woman. ‘Sometimes it’s the only way because there’s such a shortage of donors.’
‘So people come here to buy kidneys?’ said Amber.
The woman shook her head vehemently. ‘Certainly not. It’s illegal to sell body parts. The government is trying to stamp it out. Some transplants are from live donors, but they’re from family members or close frie
nds only. We won’t do any operation that hasn’t been approved by a government committee. They check all the paperwork and make sure no money changes hands. The hospitals get surprise visits from inspectors to check the paperwork is correct. That’s why we’re so open with information. Go ahead. Look all you want.’
Amber flicked through a few more files out of politeness but they’d already seen enough. The hospital wasn’t hiding anything. They weren’t going to find Bina here.
20
MEN IN POWER
Once out of the market, Trilok moved with more purpose. Paulo felt exposed away from the crowds, where people were deliberately trying not to look at him. He limped a little, to look unhealthy. The buildings were different: the street was dominated by a five-storey building that had been a mansion in the nineteenth century, but was now a row of shops with offices above. Paulo noticed Trilok moved as though he was tired – he had to stop or he’d catch him up. He squatted down and pulled out the wrapper, looking at it more closely. It was an Ayurvedic remedy: Triphala. Its benefits were listed: ‘For deep cleansing of the colon; laxative and detoxifying. Supports the genito-urinary system.’ That meant kidneys, thought Paulo. Well, if he saw the kinds of things Trilok saw, he’d be careful to keep his kidneys in good shape too.
Trilok walked up the stained concrete steps of an office building and went in. Paulo followed, pushing through the glass doors into a wood-panelled lobby with a desk, like a hotel. There was a shriek from behind the desk and a man stepped out, waving a large book like a telephone directory, his voice high with fury.
Hex and Li had followed Paulo. They saw him being ejected down the stairs. Hex climbed over Paulo without looking at him and went into the building.
The man on reception was just sitting down again, replacing the heavy book carefully on his desk. He was giving instructions to a cleaner in a high, hysterical voice, indicating the floor. Good, thought Hex. That meant he’d be too busy to notice anything else. He slipped past towards the lifts and waited for one to arrive. If he acted as though he had every right to be there, he should be all right.
Beside the lift was a list of organizations in the building, in Hindi and English. Hex speed-read it: there were solicitors, a language school, several software companies – but his eye lingered on the last one on the top floor. The General Medical Ethics Committee. Well, well, well, he thought.
Hex took the lift to the top floor. He stepped out into a dingy corridor, keeping one foot in the lift in case he needed to make a quick getaway. At the end was a set of glass doors and a reception desk. He recognized the large figure silhouetted against the window, talking to a receptionist. A secretary walked past with a stack of files.
Hex thought quickly. Could he follow Trilok in? Not a chance. Everyone was dressed in lightweight suits, office clothes. He was wearing a T-shirt, casual trousers and walking boots. He’d be out on his ear in seconds.
He ducked back into the lift and hit the button for the ground floor. As he sauntered out, he looked intently at his palmtop as though deep in thought after a meeting. Nobody challenged him.
When Hex saw his friends, he wanted to laugh out loud. Li and Paulo were still playing their parts. She was staring at him in horror as though she was a tourist who had just come across this pitiful, revolting creature, and he was squatting on the ground, looking up at her pleadingly with his big brown eyes, his hand outstretched. Hex could smell him from across the street; he was certainly doing a convincing job.
Paulo got up and shuffled away. He had to keep up the pretence in case someone saw them. Now they had a new lead to follow, he had to get out of his costume. He ducked into an alleyway, checked he was alone and stripped down to the T-shirt and shorts under his rags.
When Hex and Li caught up with him, Paulo was rubbing the smears of dirt off his arms, legs and face. The filthy shirt, turban and loincloth were in a heap on the ground.
‘That worked very well,’ said Li. Several paces away from him, the smell hit her. ‘Jeez! Too well.’
Hex got out his palmtop. ‘The General Medical Ethics Committee was in that building. I wonder what goes on in there? And how ethical it really is?’ In the dark alley, the screen of the palmtop reflected blue on his face as he did a search.
Paulo took off the sandals and put them on top of the bundle of rags. ‘Have we got somewhere to put these? We might need them again.’
Li was going to put the rags in a plastic bag but the smell was like a force wall keeping her away. She gave the bag to Paulo. ‘You’ll have to put them away.’ She coughed again. ‘I can’t touch them.’
Paulo stuffed the vile things into the bag. Still holding it, he grabbed Li around the waist and hugged her close, lips puckered. ‘Ah, give us a kiss.’
‘Don’t you—!’ Li squirmed away.
‘Aha,’ interrupted Hex. ‘The General Medical Ethics Committee approves transplants from live donors.’ He swore. ‘What’s the betting he was going to see them about Bina?’
Their RVP was a café on the ground floor of an office building. A ceiling fan worked overtime to cool the small room, while at one end a man stood enveloped in a cloud of steam as he deep-fried pakoras. The five friends ordered ice-cold cans of cola. The steam from the frying made the room like a sauna, but the hiss meant they could talk without fear of being overheard.
Once they’d pooled their information, Alex summed up: ‘What have we found today? She’s not in the safe house at the clinic. She’s probably not in a hospital – they’re so worried about being inspected, the last thing they’d do is keep someone prisoner. But she’s being kept somewhere.’ He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. ‘Where haven’t we looked?’
‘She must be in a medical establishment,’ said Li. ‘A doctor’s surgery or a clinic, because they have to do the tests.’
‘She doesn’t have to be there all the time,’ said Amber. ‘The women in the safe house only spend a couple of hours having tests and the rest of the time they’re waiting. They’re only in the safe house so that when the results come through they’re ready for surgery. She could be kept somewhere else and just brought in for tests as needed.’
‘When does the hospital come into it?’ said Paulo.
‘When she’s had the tests and it’s time for the operation,’ said Alex.
‘And she has to have the paperwork,’ said Amber. ‘They won’t let her through the door without it.’
‘Which is where the Ethics Committee comes in,’ said Hex.
‘Maybe St Francis is just a very scrupulous hospital,’ said Li. ‘Perhaps there are others that aren’t.’
‘After we visited St Francis, Alex and I went to a few others and they’re all just as helpful,’ said Amber. ‘Anyway, we know St Francis did the transplant with that boy Alex met today. He was a live donor who sold his kidney.’
‘So they are crooked,’ said Paulo.
‘No,’ said Amber. ‘They weren’t trying to hide the fact that he’d been there. They must have thought he was legal.’
Li picked up her train of thought. ‘He must have had the paperwork from the Ethics Committee. That means the committee’s crooked.’
Alex was nodding. ‘My dad would say if something comes down to paperwork and government officials, look for your weak link there. There’s always somebody who wants a bit more power, or to make some money. I bet Trilok knows the right people to bribe on that committee so that when he’s set up a transplant it goes ahead without a hitch.’
‘And by then it will be legal,’ said Amber. ‘But where does he hide Bina until all that’s sorted?’
There was a long pause. Everyone racked their brains.
Alex was the first to speak. He ran his fingers through his hair. ‘Come on, guys, think. Trilok must have her. Where is she?’ He realized the others were staring at him. ‘What?’
‘Alex,’ said Paulo, ‘you look as though you have had a fright.’
‘What?’ said Alex again. He remembered the stuff in his
hair and patted his head. ‘Oh God,’ he groaned.
Li put her hand on his head. ‘Stop, stop, stop. You’re making it worse.’ She flattened his hair down, then smelled her fingers. ‘Mmm. Are you using gel?’
Amber smiled; it was an enormous, man-eating grin. ‘It smells like the one you use, Hex.’
Paulo looked at Hex. ‘You use gel?’
‘Big deal,’ said Hex unenthusiastically. ‘It’s only gel. My hair goes really fluffy otherwise.’
‘Well, well,’ said Amber. ‘You live and learn.’
Outside, the rains were starting again. The sky turned dark and they heard a roar like a waterfall. Within moments the street was a river. People walking through it kicked up a wake with every step they took. The street hawker opposite put up an umbrella to protect his golden stack of chapattis, and continued to look at the passers-by in the hope of making a sale.
Alex asked, ‘Where’s Trilok been using his mobile?’
‘The same few places,’ said Hex. ‘The clinic, the committee offices. And Bina can’t be in either of those places.’
‘We seem to be getting nowhere,’ said Li. ‘We’ve just found out where she can’t be.’
‘Well that’s still a result,’ said Hex.
‘But how long have we got?’ said Li.
‘Mootama said the tests were going to take forty-eight hours,’ said Paulo.
Li sighed. ‘So we’ve got until sometime tomorrow before she has the operation.’
‘Right,’ said Alex. ‘There’s nothing else we can do this evening. Let’s find a hostel and get our heads down, then we can be up bright and early tomorrow morning.’
21
MONSOON
The next morning the rains had stopped but the streets were like rivers. Next to the hostel was a canal. Li, who had volunteered to go out early and shop for breakfast, looked from the murky surface of the water to the flooded road and could see no difference – just a low wall to separate the two, like a lane divider in a swimming pool. When Li stepped into the street, the water closed over her boots and came halfway up her shins. The whole city smelled wet, the odours and sounds magnified by the saturated atmosphere. It was a different world.
