Borrowed Time by Alistair MacLean

Author:Alistair MacLean [MacLean, Alistair]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: C429, Extratorrents, Kat
ISBN: 9780007349050
Publisher: HarperCollins Publishers
Published: 1996-01-23T13:00:00+00:00

14

‘If you don’t mind, Mr Graham, I’d like to get on with it,’ Amrit Datta said. ‘More rehearsal won’t do anything but make me less believable.’

‘It’s your call,’ Mike said. ‘But remember, you’ll be on your own. You’ll have to be good, there’s nobody to save you if you’re not.’

They were in the Drugwatch International office at Srinagar, a couple of shabby rooms fronting as a motorcycle courier agency; when prospective customers called, which they rarely did, there were never any couriers available. Mike stood by the window, looking out at the smoky traffic churning dust into the air. Amrit Datta sat on the edge of the plywood desk with his arms folded.

‘I know you’re concerned I’m rushing things,’ he said, ‘but I don’t think I am. In all the time I’ve been with this outfit, I’ve never once behaved like myself on the street. It’s always an act, I’m permanently behind a fake identity and a counter-feit personality. This is nothing new.’

‘The penalties in the mule racket are higher, that’s the difference,’ Mike said. ‘And there are precious few escape routes if things go wrong.’

‘I won’t forget that.’

Mike opened the package he had brought. ‘You’re on secondment to UNACO, so you get UNACO issue.’ He took a gun from the big brown envelope and handed it to Amrit, together with a box of ammunition. ‘SIG Sauer P230, your dearest pal if you get into a corner. Trust it more than the silly little Stenda you carry around.’

He pulled a greasy, worn brown leather wallet from the envelope and opened it flat on the table.

‘This is your history. They will look at it, whether you know it or not. And if your act’s a good one, this will corroborate it. The whole thing was put together by people who specialize in manufacturing identities.’

Inside the wallet was a picture of Amrit taken two days ago. Now it looked as if it had been behind the glassine window for a year at least. He was shown as part of a smiling group — a wife and three children, none of whom he had ever met. In a pocket of the wallet was a crumpled birth certificate identifying the owner as Opu Hikmet. Other documents — letters, a folded picture postcard, more snapshots — bulged the sides of the wallet, which had been sprayed with the authentic odour of artisan sweat.

‘Now this,’ Mike said, taking a chunky amulet from the bag, ‘is a very important piece of gear.’ He handed it to Amrit. ‘What do you make of it?’

Amrit hefted it, turned it over in his hands, shook it and finally took it to the window to examine it in full light.

‘It’s an oval disc, wooden, about four centimetres by two-point-five centimetres at its widest point, and maybe fifteen millimetres thick. It has a metal loop at one end with a thin leather cord through it, which I suppose is for hanging the disc around the neck. The disc is smooth on one

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