Of course they wouldn’t return after the failed attempt on my life. They might have been able to weather the scrutiny, had Chhotu and Bikas done the job right and disposed of my body permanently. But with the attention, Willy would surely have to lie low until the situation became clearer. I wondered if he’d been contacted by Chhotu, who’d escaped the police in Poona, even without Willy’s Mercedes. And what were they planning now? They might head to Nepal, Holland, or Belgium. Maybe Nasik or Srinagar. Or anywhere in between.

FRIDAY, AUGUST 22, 1975, 9:07 P.M.

I was avoiding both Frank Muller and Russ Harlan. One didn’t know I was back in Bombay, while the other, of course, did. I’d sworn Janice to secrecy. But Harlan knew. And he wasted little time before darkening my door.

“Glad to see you’re still with us,” he said. “You did well. How’s the arm?”

“It’s fine.”

“Invite me in for a drink?”

I let the door fall open, and he entered.

“Take your shoes off, please,” I said.

He removed his heavy cordovan wingtips and stood there in his black socks, looking uncomfortable.

I poured two glasses of the Dewar’s he’d sent to me via Ranjit, and added a couple of ice cubes.

“You’ve got to get out of this place,” said Harlan. “I’ll move you to the hotel. They could come after you again at any time.”

“I’m not going to the President,” I said.

“That’s unwise, Dan. I urge you to reconsider. If you’re going to continue on this project, you’ll need more security.”

I frowned and tapped my cast on the arm of the chair. “That’s just it, Russ. I’m not going to continue. I’m done.”

“You can’t quit now.”

“Look, Willy already knows I betrayed him. He knows I slept with his girl. And he knows Birgit is a cop. He’s tried to kill me. Twice. He was going to bury me in the woods in Kharadi—the place I’d heard as ‘karate’—or dump me in the Mula Mutha River. What am I going to accomplish now? I can’t exactly propose my services to him. I’m going home.”

He swallowed a mouthful of whisky, rose, and refilled his glass. He asked if I wanted another. I shook my head.

“One to whet your appetite and one to rinse down dessert.”

He smiled, before turning serious again.

“You know what your problem is, Dan?” he asked, retaking his seat. “You’ve had some bad luck in love and you’re feeling low. That’s okay. Happens to everyone at one time or another. But you have to decide if your failed love is a sad moment you’ll get over or if it will obsess you and cripple you for the rest of your life.”

“Easy for you to say. You have Barb.”