The Goddess Legacy

Chapter 54

Mehta sat across from three men, all dressed in simple clothing, their heads covered with kufiyas, their beards full and lustrous. Suri stood at the door, watching the proceedings. A suitcase full of euro notes rested on the table in front of the men. Mehta nodded in approval at his bookkeeper, who had spent most of the day painstakingly counting the money and verifying that it was legitimate — Pakistan, from whence the men hailed, was known for counterfeiting, and the euro was a popular target, as was the dollar.

“All is as it should be,” Mehta declared with a wide smile. “You have had an opportunity to inspect the material?”

The oldest of the three visitors nodded. “It is satisfactory.”

“Excellent. Then we have only to seal the casing for you. I trust you will require an escort to the nearest town?”

“We had hoped to leave before dark, but that proved impossible,” the visitor said.

“Yes, well, we were unable to secure automated counters in time. I apologize for the inconvenience. It was unavoidable. If you like, I would encourage you to stay the night and set off tomorrow at first light. If you aren’t comfortable traveling the mountains after dark, I completely understand. You will be as safe here as you would in your own beds, I assure you.”

The men exchanged glances, and Mehta anticipated their objection. “Don’t worry. I have separate quarters for myself and my guests. You might have seen the buildings up top. They are comfortable, if small.” Mehta understood that the men wouldn’t be enthusiastic about the prospect of spending the night underground, in the stinking slave camp, and he’d already made arrangements to have the mobile buildings prepared for them. “And if you require, I can arrange for pleasant company to divert you while you are our honored guests.”

The visitor shook his head. “That will not be necessary. But your offer of sleeping quarters is generous. We would like to take you up on that.”

“Very well. We will also have dinner together, then. My private chef travels with me. Let me know what you would like and I will have him prepare it for you. Anything at all — he’s an expert in all types of cuisine. Gifted.”

The men seemed startled at the idea of a private chef cooking for them, and had a hushed discussion before requesting a simple meal of traditional Pakistani fare. Mehta nodded as though they’d made a wise choice, secretly contemptuous of the men — here they were given the opportunity to have anything they could imagine, and the best they could manage was food fit for a goatherd.

“Suri, will you convey our guests’ wishes?” Mehta said.

“Of course, sir.”

Suri left the chamber and Mehta closed the suitcase and hefted it. “It has been a pleasure doing business with you. I’m hopeful that if you have any further requirements, you’ll come to me first,” he said, eyeing the men.

“Likewise. You are in an enviable position and have earned our trust. We will do more transactions, no question.”

Mehta snapped his fingers and his bookkeeper stepped forward. “Take this to the usual spot, and stay with it. Guard it with your life.”

“As always,” the bookkeeper said. “It shall never leave my sight.”

One of the three men leaned forward, his hands folded on the table in front of him. “We heard gunfire earlier.”

“It was nothing. Every so often the men go out for target practice.” Mehta paused. “It is useful to remind the workers that the weapons are loaded and that the guards are ready to use them.”

Everyone smiled at that. They were accustomed to the rule of the iron fist, where justice was dispensed at the barrel of a gun, and the visitors respected those willing to use their authority decisively. Schooled in a philosophy that was as strict as it was oppressive, violence was often the punishment for even the slightest infraction, and death never far from the path trodden by the devout. The men didn’t question the presence of a slave camp, nor the existence of the unfortunates whose lot in life was to dig radioactive material from the earth until they died early from related diseases. They lived in a world where such things were commonplace, and the strong ruled over the weak without mercy. It wasn’t their affair, and if the Indian operated a concentration camp, it was his business.

They only were interested in one thing, and he’d provided it: over a hundred kilograms of enriched uranium, suitable for use in a dirty bomb, which nobody else on the planet was willing to sell to them. Whether he was a despot or an angel was no matter — that he had access to the material and could process the ore into yellowcake deep in the belly of the mountain, and then arrange for further refinement outside of official channels — that was the only thing they cared about.

The visitors stood and offered Mehta a small bow of gratitude. “We will go to the surface now and call our mullah. He will be anxious for a report.”

“Certainly. But for your own peace of mind, wait for Suri to return, and he will guide you. In the meantime, I will have my men bring the material to your sleeping quarters so you’ll have it nearby at all times.”

The leader smiled. “You have a Geiger counter we can use to verify there is no leakage from the container?”

“Absolutely,” Mehta assured them. “That will be our first project before we dine.”