Читать книгу Fatal Flaw - Sandy Curtis - Страница 7

As he hurried through the narrow Calcutta lane, Yuusuf Haasan felt nerves twitch in his lean belly. The smell of straw and earth and clay mingled with sweat and urine and faeces was not the reason, but rather the fear that someone might realise the bag he carried held more money than the population of this squalid tenement could make in a lifetime. People and animals spilled out from the disparate buildings, chatting, laughing, yelling, a cacophony of sound that never seemed to cease as they toiled at creating the festival figures they would need to sell to assure their place in one of the small rooms here.

Only a small portion of the lane remained clear of workers. Yuusuf side-stepped a stand of statues, their garish red and gold costuming offset by black wavy hair and blue faces and arms. He looked again. Multiple arms. He shook his head, unable to comprehend a religion that needed to believe in not only multiple deities, but in a god that was so malformed.

Winter had not ceased, but the humidity had begun. His eyebrows, grey and bushy, diverted the sweat that beaded on his forehead.

Further on, two men worked on covering straw figures with earthen mix. For a moment Yuusuf stopped, his gaze caught by the fullness of the female statues' breasts, then he quickened his pace. Finally he found, among the jumble of shop signs and collapsing awnings, the shop he was looking for. He stepped inside.

No window alleviated the dimness, and it took some seconds for his eyes to adjust enough to discern statue-laden shelves, rolled up bedding, a kerosene stove and cooking equipment. Curry and oil smells permeated the room, as though the walls had absorbed them for so long they now could hold no more.

Yuusuf's stomach rumbled, in hunger or revulsion he wasn't sure, and he clutched his bag closer. A tall, wiry youth slipped in beside him. In the peculiar chanting cadence of street-sellers, the lad extolled his product's qualities, then asked how many Yuusuf wished to purchase.

Yuusuf waited until the flow of words ceased, then uttered one word. The animation left the youth's dark face and he scurried through an inner door. A moment later, an older version of the youth appeared through the same door.

'You have the money?'

Yuusuf almost allowed himself the relief of a smile. The deal had been a precarious one, arranged through an associate, and he hadn't been sure that it would actually go through. He nodded. The man looked at the bag Yuusuf carried, but Yuusuf shook his head. 'The merchandise first.'

The youth reappeared, clutching a rectangular box about thirty centimetres long. The man took it from him, then spat rapid instructions. The youth moved into the outer doorway and stayed there, a barrier to any intrusion. Or escape. With obvious reluctance, the man held the box out to Yuusuf.

Apprehension, mingled with a wild excitement, trembled Yuusuf's outstretched hand. The metal box was heavier than its size indicated, but he knew this should be so. The catch was difficult to undo and he hesitated a second before raising the lid a little. His breath drew in sharply. He closed the lid with a snap and held out the bag he'd tucked under his arm.

The man took out the wads of money, did a rough count, and hid it inside his voluminous clothing. Careful not to snag the catch on the side of the bag, Yuusuf lowered the box into it. He dipped his head in silent conclusion, and walked to the doorway. The youth moved aside, and Yuusuf walked out into heat and smells and bodies and noise with mounting exhilaration. He looked back only once as he hurried away. The youth was standing near the doorway, watching him, and Yuusuf wondered if he had touched the contents of the box. If he had, he would soon need more help than his many-armed statues could bring him.

Hours later Yuusuf drove slowly through dark streets to a dilapidated wharf. Old timber buildings huddled together like scared children, and a solitary streetlight cast dim yellow patches between their shadows. Vessels, large and small, but uniform in their decrepitude, crowded the wooden pylons topped by ancient timber.

Yuusuf stopped the car at the beginning of the wharf, turned off the lights, and waited. An hour later he was still waiting. But waiting had long been part of his life and his patience was strong enough to curb the excitement that swirled in his gut.

A few minutes later a tap on the car roof jerked his head around. The barrel of a gun pressed against the window. Yuusuf slowly wound down the glass.

He muttered the same word that had secured him the box now taped securely and wrapped in the bag. The man holding the gun lowered it slightly and Yuusuf handed him the bag. 'The transfer is arranged,' Yuusuf said. 'Half the money will be in your account tonight. The rest will follow when your mission is accomplished. Your contact in Australia will give you all the information you will need to carry out the plan. But he is not to find out …' a half-smile parted Yuusuf's furrowed lips as he nodded towards the bag, 'about our little extra surprise.'

Teeth flashed white in the darkness, and the man melted back into the shadows.

Yuusuf waited a few minutes, then drove away.