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British accent made it abundantly clear which agency.
    â€œAh! Mr. Spillman.” Stepping forward, Ravinder extended his hand. “The minister told us to expect you. How are you?”
    â€œVery well, thank you, sir. It is a pleasure to meet you.” After withdrawing a letter, Chance held it out. “Our director asked me to convey his regards.”
    Ravinder took the letter. “And how is my friend Edward?”
    â€œHe is well, sir.” Chance understood that Ravinder was referring to Sir Edward Kingsley, Director of MI6.
    â€œDid he mention that we had been at college together in London?”
    â€œI don’t believe he did, sir.” Chance smiled—it was an easy, pleasant smile. “Not that I meet him very often.” Another easy grin. “I am still at the lower end of the food chain.”
    Ravinder felt himself warming toward the man. “Right.” Ravinder laughed. Then turning to Mohite, who had a frown plastered on his face. “This is DGP Govind Mohite, my deputy.” The two men shook hands warily. The vibes between them were not good. Hostility emanated from Mohite. Ravinder moved to smooth things out. “When did you get in, Mr. Spillman?”
    â€œJust this morning, sir.” Then he added. “Chance is good enough for me.”
    â€œChance it is.” Ravinder acknowledged. “An unusual name if you don’t mind my saying so.”
    â€œWell, that was my dad for you.” Chance smiled. From the way his eyes flicked away, upward and to the right, Ravinder could tell that his mind had skipped into the past. “He always believed that everything that happened was purely a matter of chance … just that.” Pause. “I like it.”
    â€œThe thought or the name?”
    â€œBoth.” Chance smiled back.
    â€œIt is unique.” Ravinder decided that it was not polite to leave it there and added. “It is very nice too.”
    Chance’s grin broadened.
    A longer pause ensued. Ravinder continued before it became awkward. “I want you to know, Chance, that we really appreciate your government sending you down to help us.”
    Chance picked up the cue and responded. “I would like to assure you that I will do my best to make things work in whichever way you want them to. We understand this is your turf and—”
    â€œI am glad you understand that, Mr. Spillman.” Mohite made no effort to keep his tone polite. “India has been fighting terrorism for over thirty years, and we don’t need anyone to tell us how to do things around here.”
    Ravinder groaned inwardly, but the damage was done.
    Luckily, at that moment there was another knock and Gyan entered. He had an attractive, fair, auburn-haired Caucasian woman in tow, medium height, in her late twenties or early thirties, with curves in all the right places. Like Chance, she too was dressed in a gray business suit. Despite her physical attributes and chiseled facial features, everything about her screamed secret agent; only the earpiece and dark glasses were missing. Her nasal twang defined her nationality.
    â€œI am Special Agent Jennifer Poetzcsh.” She shook hands with the three men, a strong handshake, the kind women adopt when working in a male-dominant field.
    Ravinder noticed the appraising look that she gave Chance. When they shook, her gaze lingered on his wedding finger, noting the absence of a ring. It was obvious she found him attractive. Chance also seemed taken by her. Then she too presented her CIA credentials to Ravinder.
    With pleasantries behind them, Ravinder got busy. “As you both know, we have just starting preparing for this summit, so may I suggest you two spend a couple of days getting a feel for Delhi while we complete the arrangements.”
    â€œVery well, sir.” Chance nodded. “If there is anything we can do in the interim, please call us.”
    â€œBut of course, Chance, thank