lest the missing researcher have the opportunity to solicit a large monetary offer from one or more of their mutual employer's rapacious competitors.
In addition to the considerable resources the company placed at his disposal, Chal had his own, private network of connections and informers. If such an offer as the company was worried about were
to be floated, Chal was as likely as the vagrant researcher to hear about any legitimate response. This would put him in position to intercept both the errant scientist and the offer. It was likely that those putting forth such an offer would object to the visiting Mr. Schneemann's intrusion. That would present a problem. Chal did not worry about such a possibility. He had handled 'problems' before. Some of them were even still alive.
If the pressures of work, or simply of dealing with Sagramanda, became too much for him, Chal knew where to go to simmer down for a day or two. Kanha National Park was a short charter flight from the city but a world away from the urban chaos of the enormous metropolis. It was where Kipling had found the inspiration for his
He dragged himself back to the moment. The verdant tranquility of Kanha was far away.
As he stepped out of the air-conditioned taxi, the heat and humidity smacked him in the face like the hot towels thrown by the attendant who worked in the hotel sauna. It had always amused him that the posh hotel boasted a sauna, when often it seemed no less hot and humid right outside that establishment's climate-sealed front door. He had less than a block to walk. In that time he encountered perhaps forty people making their home on the older street. A few had raised the crudest of lean-tos of found cardboard and wood against the stone and concrete walls of the permanent buildings. They were well-off compared to the families that were living in the gutter. Hands and voices were raised in his direction as he approached. Both fell quickly when those doing the imploring got a good look at the face of the well-dressed, comparatively light-skinned pedestrian. Poor does not necessarily mean ignorant, much less stupid.
Chal entered the building, cleared security, and took a lift to the twenty-first floor. At the end of the surprisingly clean and neat hallway was a wall and door of transparent polycarbonate. Glowing letters floating about a centimeter in front of the unshatterable material declared that the rooms beyond housed the offices of Purkhasee Financial, Ltd.
He announced himself to the door. Someone within cleared him, a hidden buzzer sounded, and he pushed his way through. Ignoring the receptionist before she could so much as open her mouth, he turned to his left and walked all the way down to the last office. He had been here before.
Mushtaq was waiting for him. A man perhaps too fond of the worldly pleasures that had left him resembling a dissolute Buddha, the advisor was sitting in an elevated pool of warm saltwater, naked except for the briefest of swimsuits. Outside such pools his great weight combined with his weakened heart and circulatory system to place him in grave danger. Floating, he was able to function more or less normally. Both the temperature and saline content of the pool water were rigorously monitored. The view from the pool of the sweltering cityscape outside was impressive.
'Namaste, Chal! How are you? It has been some long time.' Drifting over to the side of the pool, Mushtaq extended a hand from which protruded fingers that resembled the sausages Chal saw in butcher shop windows during his sojourns in Germany. He shook hands firmly with his host. The moist fingers seemed to envelop his own, as if he had dipped his hand into a mass of damp, clinging gelatin.
'The same,' Chal replied noncommittally. He did not especially like Mushtaq, but he respected the man's business acumen. A devote Muslim, his host had one corner of the pool decked out for prayer, complete to a small but priceless antique rug where he could touch his head while inclining toward Mecca. 'How are things in the savings and loan business?'
Mushtaq shrugged. The shrug rippled through his upper body as if his head were a stone that had just been cast into a flesh-colored pool. 'Collections are down. You know how it is. People are happy to take your money but not to give it back. Then there are those who do not understand that I am not charging interest, but merely asking for some expression of gratefulness in return for my assistance.'
Chal helped himself to one of several available chairs, sitting down with his back neither to the wide, sweeping windows nor to the door, but facing a solid wall. 'You don't look like you're suffering.'
Water sloshed out onto the overflow ditch that rimmed the pool as its occupant let loose with a rolling, heaving guffaw. 'I suffer every day, my friend, but since it is my own choice, I can only complain to visitors who are sympathetic enough to lend a kind ear to my miseries. I don't expect that from such as you.'
Chal was not offended by the scarcely veiled affront. He was never offended by the truth. 'I need your help.'
'Of course you do.' Easing over to a platter heaped high with fruits and chocolates, Mushtaq settled on an El Rey mango bar and began peeling off the chilling, enclosing foil. 'Nobody ever comes here just to visit.' A sonorous belch escaped the loan shark's corpulent depths, rumbling up from regions even understanding doctors did not like to visit. 'Someone has not paid a debt? I wouldn't think you'd need my help to deal with that.'
'True enough.' A glint of light beyond the window caught Chal's eye. It was only a reflection of the sun off the antenna on the roof of the building opposite. He relaxed again. 'I'm looking for a man who quit his job without notice. When he left, he took something that was of value to the company he had been working for.'
'Nothing so simple as a box terminal, I will wager.' Chocolate smeared Mushtaq's face like misapplied dark brown lipstick.
'Information. Formulae. You don't need to know more than that.'
'No, I don't.' His host grunted. 'What can I do?'
'Pass the word along your fingers, of which I know you have many more than ten, with many of them in this disreputable curry or the other.' Chal leaned forward in the chair. 'It is highly likely the man will try to sell the information he has stolen to the highest bidder.'
Pausing with chocolate halfway to gaping mouth, Mushtaq looked slightly alarmed. 'This doesn't involve anything lethal, does it? Ever since the Americans dove wholeheartedly into the business of anti-terrorism, I have found it an area of commerce fiscally irresponsible to be involved with.'
'I am told that the stolen information is scientifically explosive, but not inherently so. You can be assured of that. It involves a practical matter the discovery of which the missing researcher was intimately involved with.' He smiled thinly. 'Something to do with vegetables, I believe.'
Mushtaq stared at him, saw his guest was not joking, started to laugh anyway, then thought better of it. Anything serious enough to require the personal attention of Chalcedony Schneemann was no laughing matter.
'You want to find this person before he can hold his private little auction.'
Chal nodded. 'As quickly as possible. My employers are most anxious. You have access to and utilize financial resources that do not operate through recognized banking channels. I know you. If an exceptionally large amount of money is about to change hands under less than suitably regulated circumstances, you will know about it.' Rising from the chair, he removed a small mollysphere from his shirt pocket and placed it on the platter among his host's endless parade of snacks.
'Everything you need to know is there. The usual retainer for your services will be deposited into the appropriate account.' He met the other man's deep-set eyes squarely. 'If information supplied by you leads to the successful recovery of the absent gentleman, I believe even you will be startled by the size of the finder's fee you will receive.'
Sliding over along the edge of the pool, pushing faintly perfumed saltwater out of his way, Mushtaq dried his fingers and picked up the molly. Pinched between fat thumb and forefinger, it gleamed like a silver pearl.
'Vegetables,' he murmured as he stared at it. His gaze nicked sharply back to scan his visitor's face. It was, as usual, impassive. 'I can supply all manner of fruits and vegetables, but I suspect not the kind your employers seek.'
'No,' Chal agreed. 'Apparently only one man can do that, and he doesn't want to be found.'
'He will be.' Carefully setting the mollysphere aside, Mushtaq pushed away from the pool wall and drifted out into the middle of the twenty-first-floor raised pool, his bulbous body an outre silhouette against the floor-to-ceiling window behind him. 'Alive?' he queried.
'Preferably.' Chal prepared to take his leave. 'At least long enough for me to have a chat with him.'
