“Where? Why?”
“He said now. At Bandra Terminus.”
“The railway station?” I ask.
“Yes.”
“Riya, I’m trailing him right now. He just had a meeting with Jingo Jain, at his home.”
Riya lets out an audible breath that sounds like despair. “So he is mixed up in this?” she asks.
“It looks that way. I’m sorry,” I tell her. “Did he say why he wants to meet?”
“No, he was very short on the phone. He did say one more thing, though,” she says. “He asked for you to come too.”
Bandra Terminus is a large train station, all columns and arches topped with a sloping tiled roof and a small watchtower on the top. Outside, lines of black and yellow rickshaws and taxis pull in and out from the curb, fighting their way through layers of vehicles that are three deep from the sidewalk.
At the fast-food restaurant across the street from the station, the smell of grease and oil feels like it’s soaked into the walls. I check that my comms unit is working, deep in my ear, and that my team can pick up sound from me and my surroundings too.
“All good here for me and Li,” Amber says.
“Same here for us,” says Peggy.
“Check,” says Caitlin, and Hala gives a quick confirmation as well.
Within minutes, Riya walks into the restaurant, looking for me just as we have planned. I wave from the stool where I’ve been perched and we both hurry straight out, dodging the passing cars and bikes on the road, heading over to the station.
“It’s a good thing you’re here, Jessie; you can stop me from killing Sunil,” she says by way of greeting. “If he thinks he’s going to threaten us off the case, he has another thing coming.”
“Take a breath,” I tell her.
“I can’t take a breath,” she says, turning to me. When our eyes meet, it’s like the fierce anger drops away suddenly, replaced by disappointment. “I’m still in shock. It’s not who he is.”
Clearly, she’s struggling with believing the worst about her mentor. There’s no reason to add my two cents and make her feel worse.
“How are you feeling?” I ask, indicating her torso.
“On the upside? Every time I think about the brain toxin I’m carrying around in my bloodstream, I forget the pain of the bruises.”
She tries a brief smile but neither of us finds her attempted humor amusing. But it makes me stop walking. Something in what she just said, about carrying around the virus, freaks me out. I grab hold of her arm, holding her back before she can head into the station.
“What is it?” she asks.
I pull her along with me, away from the terminus, ducking into a small street off to the side.
“Jessie, what are you doing?”
“Just come with me,” I reply. My heart is beating a million miles a minute. “What if Sunil has the trigger that sets off the virus?” I ask. “Those men from India Lab died on his watch yesterday . . .”
“But he wasn’t there.”
“So he says. But do we know that for sure?”
I watch her turn it over in her mind. “I suppose it’s possible. He might have wanted them dead before they could spill too much information,” she muses. “Information that might implicate him . . .”
We walk down the side road, which is crammed with shops catering to the train passengers, and I install Riya in a cramped store selling women’s clothes. She hangs around pretending to be interested in the rolls of fabric piled up right in the back. The front of the place is busy and lively, with plenty of women choosing cloth, unwinding long, colorful saris, and generally hanging around chatting. Sunil would never find her there. I promise to keep in touch and turn away to head into the station alone.
The thunderous clatter of an arriving train forms a wall of noise. Scores of people wash in and out onto the platform below us, like waves onto a beach. I locate the steps that lead down to where Sunil has asked us to meet. This platform is off to the side and feels unused and empty. On the tracks, an old engine squats, listing tiredly to one side. As I descend, Sunil steps out to beckon to me, then quickly disappears back into the shadows behind the stairs.
“Where’s Riya?” he says as I reach him. “We don’t have much time.”
“She doesn’t want to see you. She’s feeling . . . betrayed,” I say.
Poor Sunil looks hurt. “Betrayed?” he repeats, shocked. “By me?”
I shrug, because I could care less about his feelings. I’m alert, wary—scanning Sunil’s hands, his pockets, his face for a sign of malicious intent. But he seems tired and dispirited, not to mention awkward and nervous.
“You’ll report back to her at least?” he asks, talking quickly.
I nod.
“First off, tell her she’s back on duty, with immediate effect.”
Is he serious? The gall of this guy. Riya’s not around to listen to threats so now he’s trying to buy her allegiance? I’m getting steamed but I try to keep my mouth shut. Ripping into Sunil might give me a moment’s satisfaction but it’s not likely to help our case. Still, the detective’s next words take me by surprise.
“There’s a cover-up going on,” Sunil says firmly. “Within the police.”
While that’s hardly news at this point, I wasn’t expecting him to spill his guts about it, especially to me.
“No kidding,” I say. “Care to elaborate?”
“I told you last night that the police commissioner had me deal with those bodies to avoid a panic. Well, it’s the kind of thing that happens, but now I don’t believe that is the real reason he wanted them gone.”
“What is the reason?”
“I just found out. From Jingo Jain. He’s a politician. . . .”
“I know who he is. You went to see him?” I ask. Like I have no idea.
“Just now. I went for one purpose,” Sunil says urgently. “To bug his landline. I’ve tapped his cell for the past two months and—nothing. But something is building here. The lab you found with Riya contained a toxin.”
“What toxin?” I ask. It’s
