The Ultimate Secret by David Thomas Moore Page A

Kim?”
    “Well...” Kim hesitated again. She wasn’t sure what would be politic, but had the feeling that Smith wanted her to be honest, no matter what. “The sign on the door says ‘imports and exports.’”
    “That’s right.” Smith nodded once, but continued to hold her in his gaze.
    “If I had to guess–”
    “I do not want you to guess, Kim,” said Smith. “You may observe and reason; from what I can tell, it is something at which you will excel.”
    “Yes, Mr Smith. In that case... I’d say you were a spy. Or a criminal.”
    “Indeed?” Smith smiled and leaned back in his seat again. “And how do you feel about being in here with a spy, or criminal?”
    Kim thought for a moment, looking at the walls. A cluster of framed certificates hung on the wall behind Smith, with a different name on each one. Kapur, Patel, Siriwardana. “Well... I’d say if you were that worried about people knowing what you do, you’d be a little more careful about how you presented yourself. I’d say you do business based on people realising you’re a spy or a criminal, but not saying anything about it. Like a polite lie. Because sometimes people need to work with a spy or a criminal, but have to be able to deny that they knew it.”
    Smith chuckled. “You’re a bright girl, Kim.” He looked down at the resume again for a moment, then said, “I am a little of both. And yes, I do have work, and I often take on people of your heritage. You belong to two worlds, Kim; you’re uniquely suited to certain lines of work. Like crime, for instance. Or espionage.”
    He fell silent again, and Kim wasn’t sure if an answer was required. “Mr Smith?” she ventured.
    “Hm? Most people just call me Smith, Kim.” He smiled.
    “Smith, then. How did you know my mother?”
    “Oh,” he said, looking distant for a moment. “I didn’t, really. I knew your father. We took a history class together in university. I met your mother through him, but I wouldn’t say I ever really knew her. She didn’t really approve of me.”
    “Why not?” Kim found herself moving towards the faded leather chair near her, stopped herself from sitting.
    “We had... dangerous ideas, I suppose. We used to talk of a free India. Our history professor – Dr Ghandi, he was called; Mohandas Ghandi – spoke of a peaceful uprising. He’d been involved in the disturbances back in the ’forties, seen what happens when we try to fight the East India Company and their automaton sepoys. Your father had disagreed, thought the Indian people could be strong, united. I could never decide, argued with both men.
    “Your mother thought it was all rot, and dangerous talk to boot. The Company has people everywhere, looking out for sedition, listening to every conversation.”
    “So what happened?”
    He shrugged. “We stopped. Graduated, went our separate ways. I haven’t spoken to your mother since around the time you were born.”
    “But what–”
    Smith held up his hand. “And we have gone on in this vein for too long, and my time is valuable. You came to me for work, and work I have.”
    “Yes, Smith.” Kim straightened, her head spinning. Her mother rarely spoke of her father, and when she did it was only to speak of how handsome he was, how devoted a husband and father he’d been. Her grandfather, Manvir, could only tell stories of his childhood, in the little village inland where he grew up.
    Smith reached for a manila folder on his desk, handed it to her. “Simple enough job. Collect two men from the docks, take them to an address. They have a job to do there. Then you’ll collect a package from the address and bring it back here. Be careful; you’ll very likely be followed. You must lose anyone following you and return.”
    Kim flipped through the file. Two pictures of Englishmen; engineers of some sort. A time, a ship name. An address, some basic instructions. She looked up, met his gaze. “And–”
    “You’ll be paid a thousand rupees for