'Well then,' his host muttered, 'to business, and the need for this unseemly urgency.' He brightened. 'And then, more tea.'
Sanjay took a deep breath and began. 'Recently, I am most sorry to have to say, my client was trailed and nearly killed by a professional tracker most probably working for his former employer. Only today, I myself was followed by three people.' When Pandit looked startled the shopkeeper hastened to add, 'There is no reason for concern. I was able to lose them long before I arrived at the market.'
His host nodded slowly. 'It is good that you understand the need to take proper precautions. We are dealing here with sums more common to exchanges among governments than between individuals and private concerns.' He gestured amiably. 'Of course, anyone who attempted to break into my place of business would immediately be electrocuted, incinerated, intercepted, or shot.'
'I had assumed as much.' Sanjay swallowed hard and tried not to look uneasy.
It was possible that he succeeded. Or perhaps old Pandit was too preoccupied, or too polite, to take notice. 'Imminent death has a way of wonderfully focusing the mind. I understand now your client's need for speed. I have engaged with a number of different potential customers. There are one or two who I believe to be on the brink of coming to terms.' Suddenly clapping a hand to each knee, he broke out in a wide grin that emphasized the gaps in his teeth.
'We will do this thing! I myself will do this thing. I will see it done as you ask. Not because I am a considerate person. Not because I am concerned for the safety of your client-or for yours, for that matter. I will do it because I would be loath to lose this commission!' Breaking out into gales of laughter, more witchlike than hearty, he managed to choke out a command to his semiautonomous apsara. Emerging from her niche, she resumed dancing, this time choosing to essay a complex bharat natyam from Tamil Nadu: less sensuous than the odissi but more involved. The serving of tea, as yet, did not come into play. Doubtless that required another verbal command from her proud owner.
'Within twenty-four hours I pledge that I will get back to you with a concrete offer that you can convey to your client,' Pandit promised. 'To ensure the speediest possible acceptance, he may have to come down somewhat on his asking price.' Aged but wiry shoulders shrugged. 'That is a decision for him to make. Me, I would be more than content with a tenth of what he is asking. But as a merchant your self, you understand the need to begin bargaining with the most out rageous asking price.'
Sanjay felt himself nodding absently by way of reply. His attention was focused on the silver dancer. Grinning like the wizened monkey-god Hanuman, whom he somewhat resembled, Pandit reached out to put a hand on his guest's knee. That finally drew the shopkeeper's concentration back to his host.
'Twenty-four hours. Chhote Pandit's word is his bond. Then it will all be up to your client.'
Their business concluded, Sanjay had the delicious pleasure of being uniquely served one more time by the extraordinary automaton. Tea was sipped, dancing observed, music listened to. Ten minutes later Pandit rose, a signal that the meeting was at an end.
'Be careful, my friend.' He wagged a warning finger at the departing Sanjay, who was not surprised to find two very large gentlemen of serious mien awaiting his exit. 'Try not to get yourself killed; at least not until tomorrow evening after we have concluded this matter.'
'Do not worry,' Sanjay told him. 'I am most assuredly not going back to my shop. I am not even going home, in case that is being watched. I will spend the night in a truck driver's hostel. Trackers would have to be very clever indeed to find me there, and braver still to try kidnapping someone from such a rough place. Tonight I will contact my client. Tomorrow, you and I will speak via secure communicator.' He hesitated. 'I will tell you one thing, sir, and then I ask that you tell me a thing.'
Pandit nodded sharply, once. 'Tell and ask, then.'
'I believe that my client will accept any reasonable offer you can secure.' There was no harm in saying this, Sanjay knew, because as agents for the sale both his commission and that of Pandit would rise or fall according to the final offer. 'That is what I have to tell you. As to the asking…' He hesitated for a moment, not wishing to appear any more ignorant than he doubtless already had.
'I know the sum that is being stipulated. It seems impossible to me, the kind of figure that is met only in dreams, or in the stories of Mughals and maharajahs, sultans and nizams. Yet my client has not wavered in his asking price, and in the course of our previous meeting neither did you. What I want to ask is this, and you of course do not have to answer if you feel it is not in your interests.' With the air of a man laboring under a cloud of disbelief, he took a step back into the lightly scented chamber.
'Is what my client has to sell
It was silent in the little room for a moment, a state of affairs not entirely due to its sound-muting capabilities. Then Chhote Pandit looked over at the shopkeeper and replied easily, without a hint of a smile.
'Cheap at the price.'
*13*
Despite his assurances it took longer than Pandit had promised to settle on a price, obtain an agreement, and lock down the relevant terms. About five hours longer. He conveyed the details to Sanjay Ghosh via the roundabout encrypted means the grand old merchant and modest younger merchant had previously agreed upon. Sanjay, in turn, communicated them to Taneer Buthlahee, whose relief as he readily agreed was palpable even over secured communications.
Best of all, the buyer shared Taneer's desire to conclude the business as rapidly as possible. Tomorrow at the soonest, since the banking establishments in both India and Europe whose services would be required were already closed and the necessary instruments and transfers could not be put through until they reopened.
Though he would continue to work through the shopkeeper, Taneer insisted on making the final arrangements and conveying their details to the buyer himself, in real time. That meant either engaging in a simultaneous three-way communicator exchange-much more difficult to keep private-or being with Sanjay while the two of them utilized the facilities of a single open line to talk to the purchaser. The latter arrangement had the additional advantage of allowing them to communicate privately by signs or in writing or even just via eye con tact while still remaining in constant contact with the buyer.
But where to conduct such business, and on such short notice, this very night? Via communicator, Sanjay suggested that they meet at the trucker's hostel where he was staying. The idea did not appeal to Taneer. Too much potential for secondary violence, too many possible eavesdropping ears. It had to be a more public place, with as many wit nesses as possible in the event something went wrong. Preferably somewhere with a significant police presence. Both men racked their brains for a suitable venue.
In the end, it was Depahli who came up with the solution.
Ramapark was one of the most recent, and successful, additions to the city's sometimes bewildering abundance of entertainment venues. While the well-to-do could afford to have elaborate personal entertainment systems installed in their homes, thus saving them the trouble and danger of mingling with their millions of less fortunate fellow cit izens, such expensive luxuries were not available to the vast majority of Sagramanda's inhabitants. Hence the creation of frequently small and simple, but occasionally vast and elaborate, carnivals of culture and pleasure. Ten-year-old Ramapark fell into the latter category, and had proved stimulating enough to intrigue even the wealthy into going slumming in search of its delights.
Based on the great epic of the Ramayana, a tale set three thousand years in the past had been adapted and updated for contemporary enjoyment. Located on the western side of the Hooghly, the thousands of lights that illuminated the park after dark drew packed crowds on weekends and was reasonably busy on weekdays, not least because most of its rides and attractions were air-conditioned. In the same way, movie houses during the mid- twentieth century had often filled their seats with people less interested in what was being shown on ancient screens than they were in escaping the summer heat.
Surrounded by an artificial moat that made use of Hooghly water, entrance to the park from the parking lot and public transport station was over a wide causeway built to resemble the stone bridge Hanuman had raised from south India to Ceylon so Rama could invade that country to recover his kidnapped wife, Sita. As he joined the throng of happy families and couples in moving toward the great arched, illuminated entrance, Sanjay vowed to one
