Saturday, August 20, 2016

The Assassin in India (5) - Stop, Drop and Roll

(Start with Part One)

He got up and grabbed them and I nodded, taking another puff or two. Time passed.

"So what's all this on about? My mate didn't say much, we almost left our gear, but like I said, you know? We were in the region once, didn't go so well. Who's trying to drop us?" We'd backed the war in Afghanistan, almost a decade ago now. His face lost all expression, but I'd chatted up civvies before. He thought he had the drop on me, that was a good thing.

"IAF," He said. The look on his face told me he thought he was really smart for pulling that out. I got out a map and studied it. The base was pretty far away, I double checked the central government region.

"Yeah, I got that from the choppers. I mean who would make the call around Sadar?" I asked, referring to the area of the city where all the government buildings were.

"Maybe Vinay Chandra? We don't like Hindis around here either." The look on his face was ugly. He was starting to think about blowing me in. That was bad, but at least I wouldn't have to make change tonight. I'd heard that Vinay was one of about five people who could be involved in this when we got briefed. This barmy bloke knew somebody.

Religious tensions had passed fuck all and headed straight to piss off when psychics got labeled as prophets, India was getting hit harder than most. A lot of Buddhists didn't care, but the Abrahamic religions were losing their minds over the announcement from the Middle East and anytime someone popped up who got labeled a psychic in another religion they went down, hard.

Neha had gotten snatched within days- she had a reputation. Unfortunately her family also had some connections with the East India Trading Company. England decided to get involved. I thought they were idiots, but I thought that all government officials and most officers were idiots. I had an ex. Well, two. An Ex and an ex.

He stood up and started walking towards the back of the house and his hand strayed towards his pocket, where the outline of a cellphone stood out pretty clearly through the twill of his loose pants. He was dead before he hit the ground.

I loaded my backpack up and grabbed Ricky's, swearing about his mouth the whole time. It wasn't light. The loose bills he'd pocketed went into my moneybelt, along with the kid's cell phones, and their mom's. They didn't have a landline and I was about to risk my ass by texting and walking.

I slid my cell into my running strap and connected it to his with a usb cord. I scrolled through his texts, which were mostly in Devengari or Modhi. I focused on the Modhi, they would be the Muslim supporters. I couldn't read either worth a damn, but the translation program on my cell was working overtime so I got the gist. Within a minute I'd dismissed most of his contacts. Two of them were political. I shot out a fast message.

"Got a guy, says he's Hindi. Foreigner. Call our group leader and take him to the meeting spot?"

(Continue to Part 6)

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