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did. I made the deal with the Bedouin. Then I told him to sell a
fake carpet to your guys. It was easy.
 So it s real, he said, the words full of wonder and amazement.
 It is.
 What do you intend to do with it?
 I ve already taken the gems out of it, I said, using a defen-
sive tone.  So you can forget about those. I found them, they re
mine. But I need your help with the map to get the rest of the jew-
els. I can t figure it out. You were after the Zinko too, so I m guess-
ing you ve already thought about how to decipher it.
 You removed the jewels from the rug? he asked, his voice
harsh. I could sense his hackles rising.
 Yes.
 You idiot! he exploded. The guy really had anger manage-
ment problems.  It s the placement of the gems in the carpet that
create the map! Without them it s just an old rug!
 So we put them back. No big deal.
 You know exactly where each jewel goes?
I hesitated for effect.  Well, not exactly.
Mr GQ hit his regal forehead with the palm of his right hand.
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 You dunce! You ve destroyed one of the greatest creations of the
ancient world! Do you have any understanding of the cultural
and historical significance, not only of the Zinko itself, but of the
cache of gems it would have led us to? Researchers, gemologists,
carpet professionals the world over, they all would have been
queuing up for decades, wanting to study them. And now,
because of your petty personal greed, your unheard of, immeas-
urable stupidity, all of it is likely lost to us forever!
Just as I d thought: Colin wasn t the mastermind behind all of
this after all. He wasn t the puppeteer behind Stretch and Squat.
He wasn t responsible for the deaths of Neil and Hema. He actu-
ally cared about the Zinko for its historical significance, not its
monetary value.
What had first begun to irk me was the black petals, meant to
warn off Neil and then me. The myth might be that black petals
represented a blessing or a curse, but, in this case, there was no
way I believed they were ever meant as anything but a scare tactic.
I could believe that Colin might have arranged for goons to deliv-
er the petals to Neil, as intimidation, and then me to frighten me
off. But what bothered me were the black petals Pranav Gupta told
me he received the day of Neil s funeral. Why would Colin do
that? Besides, the petals were a curse in a culture far removed from
that of Colin Cardinale. For the same reason that Colin likely had-
n t originally known about the Zinko, there was no rational reason
for him to know about black petals. He was a man of the modern,
Western world, and therein lay his expertise. Not in the myths and
folklore, curses and blights, of a foreign culture.
So who would have sent Pranav the petals? Especially on the
day of his son s funeral? They were meant to send a message, and
not a very nice one. Who was in the best position to know about
the petals, about the Zinko, about Neil s whereabouts, about what
he was doing while he was in Arabia, about his death and funer-
al, and about the surprise party where he met his killers?
Unnati Gupta stepped out of the shadows and stood next to
Cardinale.
It wasn t a  C on Hema s bloody palm. It was a  U.
 You see, Colin said to the woman whose eyes were blazing
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A n t h o n y B i d u l k a
into me.  He has the real Zinko. And he s desecrated it, Unnati.
He s ruined it!
 So I hear, she said, her voice hard and clear.
 Where is it? Give it to us, Colin ordered.
I opened up my hands in front of me, palms up, showing they
were empty.  Sorry.
Colin shot a distressed look at Unnati.  I thought he d bring it
with him. We must call the police. I know you didn t want to, but
there s nothing left for us to do. We must force him to hand over
the carpet before he destroys it any further.
Poor Colin. Still thinking he was in control. Still thinking he
knew what was going on. Still thinking Unnati was friend rather
than foe.
Unnati Gupta continued to stare at me, looking disconcerting-
ly radiant in the multicoloured sari she d worn for the opening
night celebration of the symposium. Her makeup was exquisite,
making her eyes pop out like beacons. Her hair was pulled back
and shiny with fragrant oils. Her mouth was painted deep red, a
hard crimson line across a face that read treachery. And hatred.
She hated Colin for being so stupid. She hated me for stand-
ing in her way. She hated Hema for failing to turn up with the
goods, hated her enough to have her killed when she failed to
share in her aunt s perfidy. She hated Neil for refusing to be part
of her get-rich-quick scheme when they thought he d found the
elusive, mythical Zinko. And she hated her doting husband,
Pranav. And so she sent him black petals on the day of his son s
death. To tell him he was cursed. By her. It was a message she did
not expect him to understand until she was long gone with her
millions, hiding on some tropical island, laughing at him and the
world she had left behind. But she was wrong about that. He had
received the message loud and clear this evening.
When I asked Pranav how he knew about the surprise party
where Neil was murdered, he told me that Neil himself had told
him about it. Who told Neil? Unnati.
Unnati had set up the whole thing. Neil had refused to be part
of her plot to keep the Zinko for themselves. So, once he revealed
its whereabouts, he needed to be disposed of before she went after
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D a t e w i t h a S h e e s h a
it herself. She first told Neil she had arranged a meeting with a
special rug vendor. But he had other plans that evening, and did
not want to spend it working, so he declined. To convince him,
Unnati pretended to  spill the beans, saying the meeting was
actually a surprise farewell party in his honour thrown by his col-
leagues. She told him he must attend or they d be insulted. He
was not to say anything to anyone and to act surprised when he
arrived. In this way, she d guaranteed her victim would show up
just where and when she wanted him to, delivered into the hands
of his murderers. Although Neil was already suspicious of his
stepmother, and because of that had left Aashiq the message to
call his father if things went awry, he was not suspicious about the
party. It seemed exactly the type of thing his workmates might do.
Only the killer, or the person who hired the killers, could have
known about the surprise party that wasn t really a surprise party.
Pranav was inconsolable as the truth of what happened to his son
at the hands of his wife became obvious. He knew she had origi-
nally lied about not knowing about the Zinko, hoping to throw
everyone off the scent of what she was really doing. Her dream of
great riches at the expense of his son was abhorrent to him.
But now her dream was threatened. The real Zinko had
emerged after all. The only thing that stood in the way of her
bright future was me. And Colin. She d already killed twice to
make her bankroll. What was two more? To her, it likely wouldn t
seem a lot, not for a future of unbridled wealth and happiness.
I suddenly felt an ominous presence behind me. And then the
dangerous end of a gun butting up against my back. Even
through my heavy winter coat, a bullet would have no problem
finding its mark.
 What s going on? Colin asked, his voice taking on a not very
manly squeak.  Unnati, be careful! That man has a gun!
Unnati smiled. What was it going to take to make this silly
man understand?
 You will tell us where the Zinko is, she said in steely tones.
 That man, Colin croaked, pointing at the guy behind me.
 He was at the dinner. He s one of our delegates. Sir, what are you
doing here? he demanded to know of the fellow with the
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