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He had no suitcase, no extra clothes nothing but what he wore. With a wallet stuffed full of rupees
from the embassy, he d planned to buy clothes in India. With nothing to declare, he should sail through
customs.
Except for the Penning trap, still in the diplomatic pouch.
What if one political faction didn t know what the other was doing? Would he wind up in some
flea-bitten jail, like that guy inMidnight Express? This army guard gave him the creeps. After growing up
in the Washing-ton, DC, area, he d lived around military people all his life he shouldn t feel threatened.
But Bretti had never tried commercial espionage before, never shot a man, never fled the scene of a
crime.
What would these people do to him? He certainly couldn t count on his own government to help.
 Dr. Bretti? Ambalal folded his hands across the soft-sided briefcase, genuinely upset at Bretti s
reluc-tance to follow.  We must process your paperwork, and I must see to the diplomatic pouch.
Quickly now.
Behind Bretti, the doors to the Concord sealed shut; in front of him spread the long customs line and the
mass of shoving people. He had to trust someone, and he couldn t think straight, thanks to the Grand
Marnier and his panic. Chandrawalia had too much at stake not to ensure his safety. He had to count on
that.
Bretti forced himself to move toward where the guard held the red door open. Inside the claustrophobic
room, two men sat at a long brown table. A large mirror one-way, no doubt took up a good part of
the wall on his left, next to another red door that led to the open ter-minal.
Both men at the table wore open-collar short-sleeved shirts and no-nonsense expressions. One man was
small, old, and bald; the younger man wore a dark beard. The bearded man nodded for Bretti to take a
seat as he spoke in a high, piping voice.  Dr. Bretti, welcome to India. It is a rare occasion that we are
blessed with a distin-guished visiting scientist. And one sponsored by a con-sulate, no less.
 It smister , said Bretti, looking down at his hands.  I m not a Ph.D. yet. Someday soon he d have
that union card so he wouldn t be sniffed at by so-called experts in the scientific fields. He d worked his
butt off for seven years as a grad student, living on slave wages, while Dumenco followed his esoteric
goals and treated him like a barely competent manservant.
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He suspected that sponsoring professors kept people like him sweating out their servitude to boost their
own egos, delaying the awarding of doctorates. Too many people would give anything to get through a
program at Fermilab.
But as much as he wanted that title, Bretti also knew it was meaningless unless it was earned.Truly
earned. He recalled the time he had come home from school in third grade, crying because he had lost a
spelling bee. Trying to comfort him, his mother had cut a ribbon from blue construction paper and pinned
it on him declaring him a winner.
Getting the crap beat out of him the next day in school for bragging about the fake award had brought
the point home too well.
Maybe after all he had done for them, the Indians would take him on. Bretti could help Chandrawalia s
group with their so-called medical applications for the p-bars. After the appalling events of the past
couple of days, he needed a fresh start, a fresh home, and a fresh identity& somewhere far from FBI
investigators and extradition treaties.
The guard took his position by the door, while Ambalal stood like a mother hen at Bretti s side. All the
while the bald man sat observing. No one made any introductions.
The bearded man frowned and put down the papers he had been studying.  Ah,Mister Bretti, then. It is
my understanding you will be conferring with a high-energy research group in Bangalore. This is quite an
honor, es-pecially if you are not a real scientist. He knitted his thick eyebrows together.  Tell me,
please, why our con-sulate would sponsor someone such as yourself to speak with this esteemed
group?
Bretti glanced up sharply.  Wait a minute. I didn t say I wasn t a scientist. I m just not finished with my
degree, and I don t believe in calling myself something I haven t earned. It s not right.
The mustachioed party man spoke up behind him.  Dr. Bretti is here on invitation from the Chicago
con-sulate office. He is a personal guest of Mr. Chandrawalia, the deputy head of mission. This
gentleman is from America s Fermilab and he has valuable skills to assist India s national researchers.
He placed a sinewy brown hand on Bretti s shoulder.  That should be enough for you.
Taking strength from the man s statement, Bretti faced the two men at the table.  That s right. I ve
coauthored numerous publications in highly respected jour-nals check them out yourself if you don t
believe me.
 Your position in science is not in question,Mister Bretti, said the beard,  but rather why such a
distin-guished diplomat as Mr. Chandrawalia would take such a personal interest in your visit. What
precisely do you intend to discuss when you are in Bangalore?
Bretti shifted his weight in the unsteady chair, listen-ing to the faint groan of metal and plastic. The cold
sweat crawled down his back, making his shirt even more clammy.  Why are you interrogating me? I
was invited here, by Chandrawalia at your embassy, just as the gentleman said. Isn t that a good enough
reason?
The quiet bald man finally spoke up in a voice too deep for his small size.  We must be sure that the
pur-pose of your visit is purely scientific and not political. You are not here for political purposes, are
you?
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Bretti sighed, suddenly relieved.  Isthat what this is about? I m not interested in politics, I m a scientist. I
don t give a rat s ass about what your country does, or who influences whom. All I m doing is, uh, giving [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]