“Then what?” Durell asked. He was standing next to a burgundy Toyota Land Cruiser. It has seen some miles and had its share of dents, but the wear and tear only seemed to give it character.

Cal put his right hand lightly on the vehicle’s metallic surface and walked a complete circuit around it, letting his fingers trail along. He then opened the driver’s-side door and glanced inside. The interior was equally worn.

“I like it,” Cal said. “How does it run?”

“Just fine. It’s been a workhorse for an architectural firm.”

“Perfect,” Cal said. He shut the door firmly, and there was a reassuring click.

“So what will you do with Hernandez after you learn what you want her to tell us?”

“Nothing. I’d just pay Sachin to have her disappear. I don’t really want to know where, but my guess is that she’d end up somewhere at the bottom of the landfill.”

Durell nodded. He wondered how many people had already disappeared there. It was so convenient.

“Hey, man! I love the car,” Cal said, his spirits rising. He gave one of the front tires a kick. “If we need it, it will be perfect. Good job.”

“Thanks.”

Chapter 29

Chapter 29

OCTOBER 18, 2007
THURSDAY, 10:32 P.M.
NEW DELHI, INDIA

Juggling all her injection paraphernalia, Laurie made her way to one of the plane’s lavatories. After locking the door, she spread out her gonadotropin pharmacopeia on the tiny shelf. She deftly filled the syringe with the prescribed amount of follicular-stimulating hormone and then equally deftly gave herself the subcutaneous injection on the anterior aspect of her thigh. Ten-thirty p.m. Indian time was only an hour later than noon in New York City, which was when she gave herself her shot each and every day. At that moment they were flying over northwestern India, soon to begin their approach into New Delhi.

Finishing with the injection, Laurie regarded herself in the mirror. She looked terrible. Her hair was an absolute mess, and the dark circles beneath her eyes were drooping down in the direction of the corners of her mouth. Worst of all, she felt just generally dirty. But no wonder. First there’d been the overnight flight to Paris, during which she’d managed to sleep only a couple of hours. Then there’d been the three-hour layover, which was mostly needed to get to the next departure gate. And then there had been this current eight-hour marathon. What had her irritated was Jack, who had no trouble sleeping. It just didn’t seem fair.