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.When they finally left—over-tipping by the look on the waiters’ faces—she gave him a kiss on the cheek and headed to the bank of elevators while he had logged onto the Internet.The man was thinner than his photographs, but they had been taken on his first day in India, before the unfamiliar food and the predictable illness.And his clothes looked different, the color and shape beat out of them by a few Indian hand-washings.Yet despite the changes, there was no mistaking that this was Jason Talley, and the man wondered again why no one else had found him first.The picture had been posted for over a week now and the reward for information was up to seven hundred US—more than a hotel maid would earn in a year.But hotel maids weren’t logging on to that chat room, and the money might not have been enough to attract attention among the high-paid computer engineers and software designers who were the site’s regulars.Whatever.It didn’t make a difference now anyway.It would be easy to follow him up to his room.He could knock on the door, smile up at the peephole, no doubt get invited right in.And he could end it there, everything cleaned up, that bastard Sriram paid back in full, these two atoning for their friend’s sins.But that would be messy.And loud.Too many people had seen him in the hotel, too many people who would have no trouble identifying him to the police.No.There were easier ways.And now that he knew where Jason Talley was, the man thought as he slid his foot back and let the door ease shut, he could take his time and do it right.Chapter Twenty-threeJason stared past his reflection in the plate glass window of the second story Pizza Corner restaurant and watched the one-way traffic as it flowed down the slight slope of Brigade Road.On the sidewalks, people moved in every direction, darting across the street when they spotted a break in the traffic, while deliverymen, boxes piled four-high on their heads, worked their way through the crowds.He could see a few gray-haired women in color-muted saris and a handful of grandfather types in white shirts and ties, but overall the street was filled with fast-walking twenty-somethings and hyperactive teens, everyone on a cell phone or plugged into an iPod, free hands swinging plastic shopping bags or holding frosty frozen cappuccinos.The Pizza Corner was as shiny and clean as any turn-key franchise in the States, the girl behind the counter displaying a mix of phony cheerleader enthusiasm and robotic efficiency that reminded him of home, the pepperoni pizza and Pepsi identical to countless Corning lunches.An hour ahead of the lunchtime crowd, he nibbled at the slice, not wanting to finish too quickly, unsure if his first contact in Bangalore would show.He was awake before sunrise, taking his pile of emails down to the hotel’s all-night café, letting Rachel get back the hours of sleep she had lost proving she could be just as passionate without making a sound.On the back of a paper placemat he had jotted down the email addresses and phone numbers of the strangers who had volunteered to help.He had started by writing the phone number from the web page Narvin had shown him back in Mumbai, the pre-paid mobile of his stalker, but halfway through he crossed it out.The number, and what it meant, was burned into his memory.The offers of help from people outside of Bangalore he had written at the bottom of the sheet.Some were responding to the original email he had sent out from his cubicle back in Corning, the email that Ravi had told him he should have never sent.Some of the emails were responding to updates sent by Attar Singh, the information on Jason’s travels hacked from India Rail and bus company computers, sent to everyone Attar knew.By things written in a few of these notes, Jason realized that news of Sriram’s and Vidya’s deaths had not reached everyone in their circle, news that they wouldn’t be learning from him.At the top of the page Jason had written the contact information for the three people in Bangalore.Manoj “call me Manny” Plakal said that he was thrilled and delighted to meet any of Sriram’s American friends and that he would be thrilled and delighted to help Jason out in any way, insisting that Jason call as soon as he arrived in Bangalore, promising that he would have a thrilling and delightful time in the Garden City.“I made the mistake of associating with Sriram Sundaram once before,” the “reply all” email from Mr.Piyush Ojha began.“Live or dead, I have no desire whatsoever to renew that association.Please do not contact me again.” Whether by habit or a preset computer command, the address of a Bangalore bank appeared under his typed name, along with his office and mobile phone number.Despite the man’s directions, Jason wrote down the information.The email from Ketan Jani started like most of the others.“You did not respond to my first email but my offer to help you in Bangalore remains.Please call me upon your arrival.” The note went on to list phone and fax numbers and possible places they could meet.It was the final line that prompted Jason to move Ketan to the top of the list.“I have spoken to a few others and I must warn you that there are a couple people you would be wise to avoid while here in India.To this point I suggest you stop sending out emails announcing your location as this may prove dangerous.”Ketan did not sound surprised when Jason called his office at eight a.m., suggesting that they meet at eleven at the Pizza Corner.“It is a good place to meet, but for your own safety,” he had said, slowing his words as he spoke, “don’t let them put hot peppers on your slice.”Jason had the plastic top off his empty cup, crunching a mouthful of ice when Ketan Jani arrived.“You are a brave man, Jason Talley,” Ketan said as he pulled out a chair and sat down.“Most tourists avoid the ice in India.”“I like living on the edge,” Jason said, extending his arm across the table to shake the man’s hand.Ketan was tall and lean, his pointed chin capped with a close-cropped goatee.There was a natural curl to his hair that he had gelled into submission, his kohl-black eyes intense even when he smiled, an expression that didn’t seem to match the rest of his face.“I suppose I should start with some pleasantries.The how-do-you-like-India sort of thing,” Ketan said, waving a uniformed counter girl over to the table.Jason listened as he ordered his lunch in English, his voice reminding Jason of Sriram, Attar, and every other Indian male he had met.“I have to admit,” Jason said after the girl skipped back to the counter, “I didn’t expect India to be so modern.I mean, just look down this street.” He turned sideways, his hand sweeping to take in the second-story view of European boutique stores, glass and neon computer shops, and western restaurant chains.“It’s better than anything in my hometown.And everyplace is hooked up to the Internet—even my auto-rickshaw driver had a cell phone.”Ketan shook his head and smiled his happy, demonic smile [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]