Sushmita was hidden from his view by the newspaper in front of her face. But I could see her. She shook her head slowly, her eyes fixed on mine. She was telling me not to do it.

Again, trying to mimic her poker face, I made sure my expression betrayed no reaction. Not to her or to Willy, who might well have been watching me.

I took a seat at the table and asked if there was a newspaper for me to read, seeing as they each had one. Willy chuckled, folded his copy, and apologized for his rudeness. Sushmita, on the other hand, tossed hers onto the table, more or less in my direction, and left the room.

“Did I say something wrong?” I asked Willy. “I was only joking.”

“I’d like you to make a little trip for me,” said Willy once we’d finished breakfast and taken ourselves off to his study. “To Nepal to deliver a package.”

“Of course,” I said, eyeing a stack of five or six ledgers of different colors on his desk. I wished I could get a peek inside, but urged myself to concentrate on my mission. “I’d be happy to help.”

“Just some samples for a potential client, but it’s rather urgent. A small valise. I’ll arrange the plane ticket. Would tomorrow be convenient?”

SATURDAY, AUGUST 9, 1975, 11:01 P.M.

Willy waved goodbye as I climbed into the car. Sushmita watched, leaning against the doorjamb. Shankar shifted into gear and pulled through the gate, where the sleepy guard saluted. When Willy had asked if “tomorrow” would be convenient, he was referring to the flight from Bombay to Delhi to Kathmandu. What he’d neglected to mention was that the flight took off at 5:30 a.m. In order to catch it, I’d need to be on the Konark Express train at 11:45 p.m. That meant I had no time to visit the Blue Diamond Hotel to inform Ranjit of my mission. It crossed my mind that Willy might have wanted it that way, but I dismissed the suspicion just as quickly. He couldn’t have known.

Shankar dropped me and my cargo—a mysterious valise filled with samples—at Poona Junction around 11:30. The train was on time, and I arrived at Dadar Station in central Bombay at 3:35.

SUNDAY, AUGUST 10, 1975, 3:46 A.M.

The rain was pouring down hard. I roused a taxi driver sleeping in his car outside the station, and asked him to take me to the airport. Normally on hot nights, the drivers slept on the hoods of their cabs, but the rain had forced him inside. That meant the taxi smelled quite ripe when I took my seat. I couldn’t really blame the poor guy. He worked around the clock, and it was always hot and muggy in Bombay. Unreasonable to expect him not to sweat.