It’s not long before she slows down, making a turn into a smaller street. I settle the bike behind two gaunt cows being walked along the side of the road. Ahead of me, Riya pulls into a tired-looking car rental office bearing the proud signage “Kwality Kars.” Amber would break out in hives at that spelling. The establishment has only five cars, all of them generic white Toyotas, parked out back. I watch from my vantage point down the street as Riya chats with the young guy at the desk. Within a couple of minutes she is outside, pulling the cap down over her eyes and having a glance around before slipping into one of the rentals.
I feel my pulse quicken. At the same time, a bitter wave of disappointment rises up inside me. She must be up to something if she doesn’t want her own car seen wherever she is heading. I snap some photos of Riya getting into her fresh vehicle and then I’m off again, behind her. This time, the ride takes only seven minutes and I’m more than a little stunned by where we’ve ended up.
Riya stops on a main street outside a row of dilapidated shops, and then walks down a few blocks toward a single, detached building. She looks around her as she reaches the place, like she’s worried to be seen. There are no signs on the building, but on my GPS street map, that block is identified as “India Laboratory.” Exactly the address that Amber gave me to investigate.
18
I FEEL LIKE I’VE BEEN punched in the stomach. What is Riya up to? Has she been lying to me all this time? Watching from a safe distance, I track her as she paces around the side of the building to a heavy metal door with a keypad on it. She pushes at the door, but it’s clearly locked. The whole place is quiet. No sign of anyone coming in or out, no sign of activity through the windows. Right at the back is a weed-infested patch of tarmac that could probably act as a parking lot. But although it’s a working day, there are not even any cars parked on it, like you might expect from a place full of lab technicians or researchers. Only a single white van sits there, alone, unattended. On it is the logo of a cleaning company.
I move the motorbike, trying to protect it from the scorching sun by parking under a tree that cascades feathery green fronds into the road. Then I pull off my helmet. Riya has disappeared around the back of the building now, and I hurry to follow her. She’s checking out the white van, trying to open the rear doors, and not having much luck. All of this reassures me somewhat, dampening down my suspicion of her. It’s not like she has a key to the place, or knows the way in. I decide to accost Riya directly and get to the bottom of things. When I stride boldly around the corner, into the parking area, she stares at me.
“What are you doing here?” she asks.
“You gave me the hard drive. The info on it led me here,” I say, just a little indignant. “What are you doing here?”
“Same,” she says briefly.
“Really?” I ask, wanting to believe her. “I figured the police would take longer to work it out.”
“They would,” she says dryly. “Which is why I stayed up last night and figured it out myself. Is that why you were calling me earlier?” she continues. “To give me this address?”
I wasn’t going to share it with her, but there’s no point in antagonizing her, so I nod. “Among other things. Don’t you have a warrant to get inside?” I ask.
She looks at me a long moment, her eyes tired. “I didn’t ask for one. I took the drive illegally. Normally, I’d trust Sunil with what I did, but since he sent me to talk to Jingo, I’m just unsure whether to go to him with every lead. I covered my tracks coming here too.”
I can understand her hesitation.
“So, what’s our plan?” I ask, scanning the building. It’s only two stories high, made out of concrete blocks, with small windows set into the gray walls at regular intervals. Bland, utilitarian. Not one of the windows is open, and all of them are barred.
“Our plan?” Riya asks with a quick smile. “That’s presumptuous.”
“Let’s be honest—you’re going to need all the help you can get from someone with brilliant skills.”
“I guess until she shows up, I’ll make do with you,” Riya returns.
“You’re very funny,” I tell her.
“And you’re very arrogant,” she replies. “What about the roof? I see a chimney or something up there.”
“Looks more like the top of a furnace, or incinerator, maybe for medical waste. . . . Let’s look for the back entrance. There must be a place where they take in supplies or whatever.”
We both walk around to the other side of the building. Sure enough, there is a garage-sized door. But it has no visible handles or locks, only another keypad by the side of it. It doesn’t respond to my attempt to slide it up either. Great. I look up at the walls, trying to figure out where the power supply to this door is. There’s a
