“Then I’ll tell you where you are going. You’re coming back with me and staying in my room until we figure it out. Do we have a deal?”
“We have a deal,” Veena said.
It took a while to catch a taxi, but they finally got a driver en route into town to start his day. When they got to the Amal Palace Hotel, Jennifer asked him if he could wait while she got some cash, but Veena paid.
As they walked in, Sumit, the head concierge, caught sight of her and was beside himself. He called out to her with great eagerness: “Welcome, Miss Hernandez! Your friends just came in.” He rushed out from behind his desk and with tails flapping ran down to the elevators. A moment later he reappeared with a triumphant look on his face and with Laurie and Jack in tow. He’d nabbed them before they’d managed to catch an elevator.
When Laurie caught sight of Jennifer, she broke into a run. Her smile was from ear to ear. “Jennifer, my goodness!” she shouted, giving Jennifer a sustained hug. Jack did the same.
Jennifer introduced Veena as her savior. “We’re going to have showers and then come down for a big breakfast,” she added. “You guys want to join us?”
“We’d love to,” Laurie said, still shocked but utterly pleased at Jennifer’s unexpected arrival. “I’m sure Neil would like to as well.”
The foursome proceeded on to the elevators.
“I have a feeling you have quite a story to tell,” Laurie said.
“Thanks to Veena, I do,” Jennifer said.
They boarded, and the operator pressed seven for Jack and Laurie and nine for Jennifer. He had an impressive memory.
“I learned a new Indian legal term this morning on the way here in the taxi,” Jennifer said. “To turn approver.”
“That sounds curious,” Laurie said. “What does it mean?”
“It means to turn state’s evidence, and Veena is going to do just that.”
Epilogue
OCTOBER 20, 2007
SATURDAY, 11:30 P.M.
RAXAUL, INDIA
The atmosphere inside the Toyota Land Cruiser had varied throughout the duration of the drive. When they’d first started out early that morning in New Delhi, there’d been near panic to get under way. Santana in particular had been remarkably agitated, exhorting in a tense voice for the others to hurry. Her big concern was not to wake any of the nurses other than Samira who’d been sleeping with Durell.
After they’d been in the car for three hours, everyone had significantly mellowed, including Santana. Cal even began to question if they had overreacted, saying there was no way Veena would implicate herself.
“I’d rather be sitting in Kathmandu and be told we overreacted than be sitting in New Delhi and learn we underreacted,” Petra had said.
They had had lunch in Lucknow and had tried to hear if there had been any news involving Nurses International that morning. But there had been nothing: no news whatsoever, stimulating a discussion of where Veena had gone, and whether she had gone with the Hernandez woman after freeing her or by herself. There was even talk about what the Hernandez woman knew to tell the authorities. She certainly had limited knowledge of where she’d been held, having escaped in the dead of night, unless Veena specifically told her. Samira doubted she would have, emphasizing that Veena was a team player.
Ultimately, they all had agreed they’d made the best decision to get out of town and out of India until the dust settled, and until they could rationally evaluate the damage they could expect from Veena’s flight and Hernandez’s escape.
“I’d always had a nagging concern about her,” Cal admitted from the third-row seat. “I suppose in retrospect we should have dropped her when we found out about her history. Man, living like that for sixteen years has to knock a few marbles loose.”
“If Nurses International is out of business, what do you think SuperiorCare Hospital Corporation and CEO Raymond Housman are going to say?” Petra called from the driver’s seat.
“I think they are going to be very disappointed,” Cal said. “The program has had a terrific impact on medical tourism this week. It’s going to be a tragedy of sorts for them not to get more bang for their buck. Unfortunately, we’ve burned through a fair amount of cash to get where we are right now.”
“It’s a good thing you arranged for this contingency plan, Durell,” Santana said. “Otherwise, we’d still be in New Delhi.”
“It was Cal’s idea,” Durell said.
“But you did the work,” Cal said.
“We’re coming up on Raxaul,” Santana said.
Durell cupped his hands around his face and pressed them against the window. “Certainly is flat and tropical, and the opposite of what I had assumed when I started looking into it as the place for us to cross the border.”
“What do you think the chances of us having trouble here are?” Petra asked. It was the question they had all avoided asking themselves or the group, but now that they were bearing down on the town, it was becoming progressively more difficult to ignore.
“Minuscule,” Cal said finally. “This is such a backwater, people don’t even need visas to move in and out of the country. Isn’t that what you said, Durell?”
“It’s a border crossing, mostly for trucks,” Durell said.
“How long do you think we’ll have to stay in Kathmandu?” Petra asked.
“Let’s see how we feel,” Cal said.
“We’re now officially in Raxaul,” Santana called out. She pointed to a city sign that whipped past.
Silence settled over the hulking SUV. Petra gradually slowed the vehicle. Signs were plentiful. Trucks were parked everywhere. The town itself appeared run-down and dirty. The only people walking the dark streets appeared to be prostitutes.
“Beautiful place,” Durell commented, to break the silence.
“We’re approaching the customs building,” Santana said. Ahead, built in the center of the road, was a nondescript building with areas for vehicles to pull up on either side. A few uniformed border officials sat on empty boxes beneath a bare overhead bulb. A single policeman sat by himself off to one side. He wasn’t even holding his rifle. It was leaning against the building. A hundred yards beyond the customs house was a large arched structure spanning the road and defining the border. A half-dozen people were walking unimpeded in each direction.
As the Land Cruiser approached, one of the uniformed agents stood up and held up his hand for Petra to stop. Petra lowered her window.
“Car documents,” the agent said in a bored voice, “and passports.”
They all handed their passports up to Petra. Santana got the car documents from the glove compartment. Petra handed everything out the window.
Without a word, the agent disappeared inside the building. A minute went by, then two. At five minutes Santana spoke up. “Do you think everything is okay?”
No one spoke. Everyone was becoming more and more tense with every passing minute. Their initial optimism of an easy border crossing was rapidly eroding.
Petra was the first to see the police Jeeps in the rearview mirror. There were four of them, and they came rapidly. In the blink of an eye, they boxed in the Toyota. Out of each jumped four policemen. All except two had their pistols drawn. The last two had assault rifles.
“Out of the vehicle!” the obvious commander barked. His left breast was covered with ribbons. “Hands
