Page 20 of Into the Gray Zone

Chapter13

Sitting with Jennifer at the outside patio restaurant, I was glad for having worn a rain jacket. Not for any rain, but because the temperature had turned cool enough to want it once the sun had gone down. The restaurant was apparently oblivious to the cooling weather, the overhead pavilion roof having multiple ceiling fans still spinning as if it was the heat of the day.

Jennifer zipped her jacket up higher and said, “How long are we going to wait until we run the test?”

I looked at my watch and said, “Knuckles is checking the southeastern camera now, the one at the road. Brett’s hitting the northern garden entrance in thirty minutes. We’ll go thirty after that, at nine.”

We had our infrared cameras set up around the perimeter, but we needed to test them in actual conditions—in this case during darkness—so I’d split the team into a time schedule, with Veep up in the TOC monitoring the cameras as we went by them, letting us know if we needed to make any modifications to the field of view or infrared beam.

Jennifer and I were going to check out the three on the beach—one at each end of the property, and the third at the drainage cut—by taking a nighttime stroll along the shore.

Jennifer pointed at a sign and said, “We’re going to have to leave here before then.”

I turned and saw the same little tripod I’d seen last night, “Patio Reserved for Private Party at 8:30 P.M.” I said, “Again? That guy takes over the breakfast room each morning, and now he’s cramping my style out here next to the pool?”

Jennifer smiled and said, “I guess when you’re as rich as he is, you can get away with it.”

I heard my earpiece crackle, then Knuckles came on, saying, “How’d that look?”

Veep came back: “Good. Really good. No issues.”

We each had our operational comms on, both to conduct the tests but also to conduct a communications check. Bostwick wasn’t arriving until tomorrow, and the meeting with RAW and the billionaire wasn’t until the following day, but I wanted to ensure everything was working with enough time to fix any problems.

Knuckles said, “Great, so I’m good on this end?”

Veep said, “Yep. You’re off the clock.”

He said, “Just what I wanted to hear. Headed to the pool for a beer.”

At that, I clicked in, saying, “You’d better be quick about it. Thakkar has taken the outdoor bar for himself again.”

Cryptically, he said, “I’ve got an in. I’m good.”

I looked at Jennifer, but she just raised her eyebrows. Two minutes later, he came sauntering in with Nadia by his side, her wearing the same outdoor clothes she had on when we saw her earlier at the church in Old Goa.

I said, “Should have known.”

They walked over to us, and I said, “We meet again. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were following us.”

She laughed and said, “You just happened to go to the same place I wanted to on my day off. I’d never seen the ruins before.”

We’d woken up this morning and made our trek to the UNESCO heritage site that was providing our cover, the Saint Augustine church ruins in the town of Old Goa.

Once the heart of the Portuguese empire, it was built on a swamp and had been abandoned, not because of an invading force but from rampant disease among the population. Cholera and dysentery had taken enough of a toll that, eventually, smarter heads had prevailed and moved to higher ground, but not before several magnificent Catholic churches and convents had been built.

The village itself was what you’d see from an American town midway through the last century, when the interstate was built and passed them by—full of original buildings the locals were proud of, but mainly just living in stasis as if the future hadn’t taken a detour around them. In an effort to stop the passage of time, they’d actually entombed one of the bishops in a church on the main square, and tourists were now allowed to come on by and see the body, like it was a mummified American Indian on Route 66, designed solely to get people off the very freeway that had left them behind.

It was still the heart of Catholicism within India, with its last splash on the world stage being when Pope John PaulII visited in 1986—something that was heralded in every building within the town nearly forty years later. The area even still had a connection to Portugal, so much so that if one could prove one’s lineage, one was permitted to apply for Portuguese citizenship and a passport.

After setting up our bona fides in the town, we’d traveled to the church ruins, ostensibly to check out road conditions and access routes, but I’ll be damned if it wasn’t pretty cool.

Because India hadn’t done a whole lot of conservation, it looked like something out of an Indiana Jones movie, and Jennifer loved it. We traipsed around the site, with her checking out every little corner, and then we’d bumped into Nadia, all by herself.

Which was strange.

She’d expressed surprise to see us, and was friendly enough, but I thought it had been something else. Nobody from this area would come visit the ruins of a church they’d supposedly grown up next to on their day off from work.

Knuckles had struck up a conversation, and I’d let him, because Nadia could still be a useful conduit of information, and they’d gone traipsing about the ruins on their own.

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