Chase Baker and the God Boy: (A Chase Baker Thriller Series Book No. 3) by Vincent Zandri

in love, but
because we’ve reached a crossroads. Elizabeth, the archeologist obsessed with uncovering
the Golden Kali Statue, and I, the sandhog wanting her to forget about the
impossibility of ever finding it. Wanting her to come with me to New Delhi, and
from there, back to the US to be married, start a family of our own.
    We are surrounded by people. So
many people it’s as if there’s not enough oxygen to go around. Hordes of Indian
travelers dressed in colorful tunics. Some men proudly sport the turban of the
Sheik. Others wear nothing on their heads. Women with long, black hair veiling
their faces, a perfect circle tattooed in the center of their forehead. Exotic
and alluring.
    The trains come and go at the
busy station, the smell of locomotive exhaust tainting the air, carriages
covered with the men and women who either can’t afford to ride inside or just
can’t find the room. Old men peddle hot peanuts while small, impossibly thin,
young boys jump down onto the tracks as soon as the trains pull out. Their sole
objective is to collect the used clear plastic water bottles which they will
then fill with common tap water, passing the cholera-tainted poison off to
unsuspecting tourists as fresh spring water.
    I turn to Elizabeth, kiss her on
the cheek, squeeze her hand. She looks up at me, brushes back her hair, allows
it to rest on her white T-shirted shoulder.
    “Do you love me?”
    “You know how much I do,” she
says. “If anything should happen to me, just remember how much I will always
love you.”
    “What on God’s earth can happen
to you, honey?”
    “Just promise me you won’t
forget.”
    Then, something happens that
breaks my heart. A single tear drops from her eye.
    The train arrives in a loud
cacophony of metal wheels against rails, high-pitched whistles, and a
thunderous locomotive engine. When it comes to a stop, the air brakes hiss and
spit smoke.
    Grabbing my heavy pack off the
concrete platform, I throw it over my shoulder.
    “This is it!” Heading for the
train as the doors open and the arriving Indians pour out of the first class
cars. “Our new life begins now.”
    Without thinking, I enter the
car while checking our tickets for our berth number. In India, if you don’t
grab your space immediately, someone else will snatch it up and it will be hell
trying to dislodge them from it. Opening the door, I toss my bag onto the first
class full-length seat that will also serve as a bed when nightfall comes.
About-facing, I go to grab hold of Elizabeth’s pack. But she’s not standing
there.
    Leaning my head out the door
into the narrow corridor, I search for her. She is nowhere to be found. There
are only the Indian people filing into the car with all the steady intensity of
the sand that pours into an hour glass. The atmosphere is at once chaotic but somehow
organized. The first whistle, indicating that the train is about to pull out,
echoes through the train station.
    “Elizabeth! Elizabeth!”
    Another whistle. The trains here
don’t wait for anyone. Too many people to transport. Not enough rail cars to
accommodate them all. Not enough time.
    Too…many…people…
    I turn, go to the window.
    There’s a wave of people still
struggling to board the train. I’m looking for Elizabeth, trying to pick her
out of the crowd. I look for her khaki cargo pants, hiking boots, T-shirt, her hair
held in place by a red bandana, the bronze and diamond-studded Kali key strung
around her neck by the thick leather strap—she should be easily visible. But there
are simply too many people.
    Taking a step back, I open the
door once more, push myself out into the corridor. But it’s an impossible dream
with the many men, women, and children trying to get through with their bags
and luggage. The train begins to move. I feel the initial bucking, followed by
the forward motion.
    I go back to the berth, back to
the window. As the crowd disperses, I