I lay in bed as the rain fell outside. What the hell kind of twisted life was I living? The woman I loved was another man’s mistress. He knew all about us, and he loved me—apparently—like a son all the same. Then there was Bikas, whose intentions toward me, at best, were malevolent. At worst, murderous. Finally, I was still deceiving Sushmita and Willy about my status of snitch, which was going from bad to worse. Birgit had been discovered by Willy. What about Harlan? And Ranjit? I’d met him at ABC Farms a few days earlier. What if I’d been followed? Or maybe Willy had questioned the waitress after I’d told him I’d been there. I wondered if any of us—Birgit, Harlan, Ranjit, or Sushmita—was in danger?

If Willy had figured out I was sleeping with Sushmita, and that Birgit was a cop, why wouldn’t he have known I was in league with her?

It was too much. What business did I have falling in love with an exotic beauty who couldn’t be mine? Wouldn’t be mine.

I decided to leave Poona, forget my pledge to take down Willy Smets, and return home where I was nothing more than a nice boy from a decent family. No espionage, police, or sick love affairs. And if Sushmita were to die? Why was I responsible for the life of a person who refused to love me in one breath, only to tell me she needed me in the next? I had my own sanity and well-being to consider.

I would leave in the morning, then meet one last time with Ranjit and Harlan to let them know Birgit had been exposed. Ranjit, too, I assumed. Then I’d tell Frank Muller that I really was quitting this time. And, as soon as possible, I’d board a 747 for home, just as Eric Nielsen had.

Yet even as I resolved to go, I hoped I’d have the guts to do it. Could I put the love I felt for that girl to one side, despite her pleadings that her life depended on me? Leave her to a man like Willy Smets, who believed Indians were either in your way or people to step on and use for your own comfort?

CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

MONDAY, AUGUST 18, 1975, 8:01 A.M.