Foreign Body (33 page)

Neil's face brightened. "She was just here at the concierge desk a few minutes ago?"

"Yes. She asked for some recommendations for sightseeing. We sent her to Old Delhi's Red Fort, the Jama Masjid mosque, and the Delhi bazaar, with lunch possibly at a restaurant called Karim's."

"In that order."

"Yes, so I believe you could catch her at the Red Fort if you hurry."

Neil started for the hotel exit when the second concierge called out, "She's using a hotel car. A black Mercedes. Ask the transportation manager its tag number. It might be useful."

Neil nodded and waved that he'd heard, then headed to the transportation desk, got the vehicle tag number and the mobile number of the driver, and then rushed out to snare a taxi.

Jennifer Was instantly grateful she'd allowed the concierge to talk her into hiring a hotel car for her outing. Once she was nestled within the muffled air-conditioned comfort of the Mercedes, it was like being on a different planet, compared with either the auto rickshaw or the regular taxi. For the first fifteen minutes she enjoyed gazing out at the spectacle of the Indian streets with their fantastic collection of conveyances, crush of people, and admixture of animals, from restive monkeys to bored cows. She even saw her first Indian elephant.

The driver, Ranjeet, was dressed in a fitted, carefully pressed dark blue uniform.

Although he spoke English, his accent was so strong Jennifer found it hard to understand him. She tried to make an effort as he pointed out various landmarks, but she eventually gave up and resorted to merely nodding her head and saying things like "Very interesting" or "That's wonderful." Eventually, she opened her guidebook and turned to the section dealing with the Red Fort. After a few minutes the driver noticed her concentration on the book and fell silent.

For almost a half-hour she read about the architecture and some of the fort's history to the point of being unaware of the traffic or their route. Nor was she aware of two cars that were following hers: one a white Ambassador, and the other a black Mercedes. At times these trailing cars were very close, especially when they all stopped for a red light or backed-up traffic. At other times they were quite far away but never out of sight.

"We'll soon be seeing the Red Fort on the right," Ranjeet said, "just beyond this traffic light."

Jennifer looked up from her reading, which had switched from the Red Fort to the Jama Masjid. What she immediately noticed was that Old Delhi was significantly more crowded than New Delhi, with both people and conveyances, especially more cycle rickshaws and animal-drawn carts. There was also more trash and debris of all sorts.

Plus, there was also more activity, such as people getting shaves or haircuts, medical treatment, fast food, massages, their ears cleaned, clothes cleaned, shoes repaired, and teeth filled-all in the open, with very little equipment. All the barber had was a chair, a tiny cracked mirror, a few implements, a bucket of water, and a large rag.

Jennifer was mesmerized. Everything about living life that was secreted away behind closed doors in the West was being done out in the open. For Jennifer, it was visual overload. Every time she glimpsed an activity and wanted to question her driver what people were doing or why they were doing it in the open, she saw something else more surprising.

"There's the Red Fort," Ranjeet said proudly.

Jennifer looked out the windshield at a monstrous crenellated structure of red sandstone, far larger than she'd imagined. "It's huge," she managed. Her mouth was agape. As they drove along the western wall, it seemed to go on forever.

"The entrance is up here on the right," Ranjeet said, pointing ahead. "It's called the Lahore Gate. It's where the prime minister addresses the Independence Day rally."

Jennifer wasn't listening. The Red Fort was overwhelming. When she'd read about it, she'd envisioned something about the size of the New York Public Library, but it was vastly larger and constructed with marvelously exotic architecture. To explore it adequately would take a day, not the hour or so she'd intended.

Ranjeet turned into the parking area in front of the Lahore Gate. A number of huge tour buses were parked along one side. Ranjeet motored by them and stopped near a group of souvenir shops.

"I will wait just over there," he said, pointing to a few highly stressed trees providing a bit of shade. "If you don't see me the moment you come out, call me and I will come directly back here."

Jennifer took the business card the driver extended toward her, but didn't answer. She was gazing at the immensity of the fort and recognizing the futility of trying to see a famous edifice the size of the Red Fort in an hour. It certainly would not do it justice.

Adding to that negative feeling was the general exhaustion she felt with her jet lag, the lulling sensation the car had provided, and her admission she was not much of a sightseer of old buildings. Jennifer was a people person. If she was to make an effort, she'd prefer to see people than crumbling architecture any day of the week. She was far more interested in the spectacle of Indian street life, a portion of which she'd just witnessed from the car.

"Is there something wrong, Miss Hernandez?" Ranjeet asked. After handing her his card he'd continued looking at Jennifer. She'd made no effort to move.

"No," Jennifer said. "I've just changed my mind. I assume we're close to the bazaar area?"

"Oh, yes," Ranjeet said. He pointed across the road running the length of the Red Fort.

"The whole area south of Chandni Chowk, that main street leading away from the Red Fort, is the bazaar area."

"Is there somewhere convenient for you to park so I can wander in the bazaar?"

"There is. There is parking at the Jama Masjid mosque, which is at the southern end of the bazaar."

"Let's go there," Jennifer said.

Ranjeet made a rapid three-point turn and accelerated back the way they'd come, raising a cloud of yellowish dust. He also hit his horn as they bore down on a man dressed in black and carrying a jacket over his arm. What Ranjeet didn't see was a short man standing at a refreshment stand toss away a canned soda and sprint for his car.

"Is Chandni Chowk both a street and a district?" Jennifer asked. She had gone back to reading her guidebook. "It's a little confusing."

"It is both," Ranjeet said. Although stopped at the traffic light, he hit his horn again as a taxi turned into the parking area for the Lahore Gate more rapidly than appropriate, came within inches, and sped past. Ranjeet shook his fist and shouted some words in Hindi that Jennifer assumed were not used at "high tea."

"Sorry," Ranjeet said.

"That's quite alright," Jennifer said. The taxi had alarmed her as well.

The light changed and Ranjeet accelerated out into the broad multilaned Netaji Subhash Marg that fronted the Red Fort, turning south. "Have you been on a cycle rickshaw, Miss Hernandez?"

"No, I haven't," Jennifer admitted. "I've been on an auto rickshaw, though."

"I recommend you try a cycle rickshaw, and specially one here at the Chandni Chowk. I can arrange for one at the Jama Masjid, and he can take you around the bazaar. The lanes are called galis and are crowded and narrow and the katras are even more narrow. You need a cycle rickshaw; otherwise, you'll get lost. He will be able to bring you back when you wish."

"I suppose I should try one," Jennifer said, without a lot of enthusiasm. She told herself she should be more adventuresome.

Ranjeet turned right off the wide boulevard and was promptly engulfed in the stop-and-go traffic on a narrow street. This was not the bazaar per se, but it was lined by modest-sized shops selling a wide variety of merchandise, from stainless-steel kitchen utensils to bus tours in Rajasthan. As the car slowly moved along, Jennifer was able to gaze at the myriad faces of the local population reflecting the dizzying variety of ethnic groups and cultures that have miraculously become glued together over the millennia to form current-day India.

The narrow street butted into the exotic-appearing Jama Masjid mosque, where Ranjeet turned left into a crowded parking lot. He jumped out and told Jennifer to wait for a moment.

While Jennifer waited, she took note of something about the Indian temperament.

Although Ranjeet had left the car in the middle of the busy parking area, none of the parking attendants seemed to care. It was like she and the car were invisible despite blocking the way. She couldn't imagine what a firestorm it would have caused to do something similar in New York.

Ranjeet returned with a cycle rickshaw in tow. Jennifer was horrified. The cyclist was pencil-thin with protein-starved, sunken cheeks. He didn't appear capable of walking very far, much less pumping hard enough to move a three-wheeled bicycle supporting Jennifer's hundred and fourteen pounds.

"This is Ajay," Ranjeet said. "He'll take you around the bazaar, wherever you might like to go. I suggested the Dariba Kalan with its gold and silver ornaments. There's also some temples you might like to see. When you want to come back to the car, just tell him."

Jennifer climbed out of the car and then with some reluctance up into the hard seat of the cycle rickshaw. She noticed there was little to hold on to, making her feel vulnerable.

Ajay bowed and then started pedaling without saying a word. To her surprise, he was able to propel the cycle with apparent ease by standing up and pedaling. They rode along the front side of the Jama Masjid until they were soon engulfed by the extensive bazaar.

By the time Dhaval Narang got back to his car at the Lahore Gate at the Red Fort, Ranjeet had already gotten a green light and had accelerated southward to join the traffic coming from Chandni Chowk Boulevard. Hurrying, Dhaval was able to get to the light before it turned red. Accelerating as well, he rushed after the hotel's car, trying desperately to keep it in sight. Since the traffic was heavy, it was not easy, even though he was driving very aggressively in an attempt to catch up. He was doing well until a bus pulled away from the curb in front of him and blocked even his view.

Forcing himself to take even more of a chance, Dhaval pressed down on the gas pedal, cut in front of a truck, and managed to get around the overly crowded bus.

Unfortunately, by the time he could again see ahead Ranjeet had disappeared. Slowing to a degree, Dhaval began looking down the side streets that headed west as he passed them. A moment later he had to stop at a traffic light, allowing crowds of people to surge forth to cross Netaji Subhash Marg.

Dhaval was disgruntled, impatiently tapping the steering wheel while waiting for the light to change. Originally, he'd been happy about the Red Fort, as it was big and packed with tourists, making it easy to do a hit and melt into the crowd without fear of being caught. But then Ranjeet had suddenly driven away, giving Dhaval no idea where he was going or why.

When the traffic light turned to green, Dhaval had to wait impatiently while the vehicles in front of him slowly accelerated forward. At the corner, he glanced down toward the Jama Masjid mosque and made a rapid decision. Halfway down toward the mosque and mired in traffic was what looked like the Amal Palace's Mercedes.

Suddenly throwing the steering wheel to the right, Dhaval recklessly turned into the oncoming traffic, forcing several vehicles to jam on their brakes. Gritting his teeth, Dhaval half expected to hear the crunch of a collision, but luckily it was only screeching tires, horns, and angry shouts. Whether the car ahead was the hotel's or not, he'd decided to check the mosque. If Jennifer Hernandez wasn't there, then he'd head back to the hotel.

Moving slowly in the stop-and-go side-street traffic, it took some time to get to the front of the mosque, where Dhaval turned left into a parking area. As soon as he did so he recognized the hotel car as it was being parked. Quickly glancing over his shoulder in the opposite direction, he was rewarded with catching sight of Jennifer on a cycle rickshaw just before she disappeared into one of the crowded galis.

Having been told the order in which Jennifer was planning on touring Old Delhi, Inspector Naresh Prasad merely assumed she'd changed her mind about the Red Fort and was moving on to the Jama Masjid. Although still hurrying to a degree, he felt there wasn't the need to put himself in jeopardy. At the same time, he didn't want to lose her, even though he was progressively questioning the need to follow her while she was acting like a tourist. He would have much preferred to see whom she'd had breakfast with that morning than follow her on a sightseeing junket.

As he pulled into the parking lot and parked, he noticed a man in black climbing from his Mercedes. He was the same man Naresh had seen only a few minutes earlier rushing for his car as Jennifer Hernandez was driving out from the Red Fort's parking area.

Curious, Naresh rapidly got out himself.

Neil had to Smile at himself as he ran along the face of the Jama Masjid mosque. He was certainly having a devil of a time surprising Jennifer, and wondered what had happened at the Red Fort. When he had visited India five months ago, the Red Fort had been one of his favorite tourist sites, but apparently Jennifer had felt otherwise.

A minute earlier, by sheer luck, Neil had just caught sight of Jennifer, poised on a cycle rickshaw and about to be swallowed up by the labyrinthine Delhi. Yelling to the driver to stop, Neil had tossed the fare into the taxi's front seat, and had leaped from the vehicle, only to be bogged down by the milling crowds massed at the mosque's entrance. When he'd finally broken free, Jennifer had disappeared.

When Neil entered the bazaar, he had to slow to a jog. At first he wasn't sure which way she'd gone, but a minute or so of further jogging brought her back into sight. At that moment she was about fifty feet ahead of him.

Jennifer was not enjoying herself. The cycle rickshaw seat was hard and the alleyway bumpy. Several times she was concerned she might fall as the cycle's tires fell into potholes. The alleyways, narrow lanes, and even narrower katras were horribly crowded, noisy, frenetic, vibrant, and chaotic all at the same time. Myriad electrical wires, like spider webs, hung above, as did water pipes. There was a symphony of smells both delightful and sickening, involving, among other things, spices and urine, animal feces and jasmine.