Rising Tiger, page 12
Vijay accompanied Harvath to the intricately carved front desk and waited for him while he checked in. Once he had his keycard, they agreed to meet in the lobby in twenty minutes.
Up in his room, Harvath unpacked and was about to text Nicholas a SITREP via the encrypted app they used, when he saw a message waiting from Lawlor.
“What happened?” Harvath asked when the man picked up.
“Nobody knows. It came on suddenly. Nicholas says he thought for a moment that he was having a stroke. But seeing the dogs impacted by it as well, he knew it was some sort of attack.”
“Is he going to be okay?”
“They want to keep him at Walter Reed a little while longer for observation.”
“Do they know what did this to him?”
“The symptoms track with Havana Syndrome.”
Harvath was familiar with it. It was first reported by U.S. and Canadian embassy personnel back in 2016 in Havana, Cuba. Since then, it had happened in multiple other countries around the world, and the targets had broadened to include U.S. intelligence operatives, military members, and their families. “So, we’re treating this as an attack, right?”
“One hundred percent,” said Lawlor. “We just don’t know how it was committed.”
“Did you reach out to Bob McGee?”
McGee was the director of the Central Intelligence Agency and a close ally of the Carlton Group.
“I did. Immediately. They believe it’s a directed-energy weapon of some sort.”
“Who do they think is behind it?” Harvath asked.
“Even though they’ve been chasing this for the last six years, they still don’t know. It could be the Russians. Maybe the Chinese. They’re completely in the dark.”
“Why Nicholas? Why target him?”
“Is that a serious question?” Lawlor replied. “That man has got an enemies list miles and miles long. The real question is who doesn’t want harm to come to him?”
“But this has all the hallmarks of a state-sponsored attack.”
“And Nicholas pissed off a lot of states, including China and Russia,” said Lawlor. “Do I need to remind you that, in addition to the people he has pissed off, intelligence operatives have been targets in the past. Just because we’re not the CIA doesn’t make us any less likely for targeting.”
It was a good point. If they could come after Nicholas, they could come after anyone at the Carlton Group, including family members. This caused him to ask, “What’s Nina’s status?”
“She was away visiting friends when it happened. She’s back now.”
Harvath had a rush of concern. Nina was a straight-up badass. She was quite fond of letting everyone know that she didn’t scare easily and could more than take care of them both. “She’s not staying at the house, is she?” he asked.
“No,” Lawlor replied. “We’ve got her someplace safe. The dogs are with her, too. They’ve already been thoroughly checked over by their vet.”
“And you’ve got a team on her?” Harvath clarified. “Just in case.”
“Yes. On Nicholas, too.”
That made Harvath feel a lot better. “What can I do?”
“Everybody’s in excellent hands. Just focus on your assignment. That’s the most important thing right now.”
“You’ll keep me updated?”
“I will,” said Lawlor.
After giving Gary his SITREP, he took a quick shower and got dressed.
When he arrived back down in the lobby, Vijay was waiting for him. He was holding what looked like a bag from one of the hotel shops.
On closer inspection, Harvath realized it was from Cigar Diwan, the hotel’s private cigar bar.
“For later,” said Vijay, rolling up the bag and sliding it into one of the pockets of his safari jacket. “Ready to go?”
Harvath nodded and they walked outside to where the Jaguar had been parked. He was eager to get started. The sooner he picked up a trail, the sooner he’d be able to hunt down whoever had killed Ritter.
CHAPTER 23
As they drove out of the hotel’s gigantic gate and headed toward Jaipur’s Vaishali Nagar neighborhood, Vijay gave Harvath a rundown on everything he had been able to ascertain about Ritter’s death so far.
“Mr. Ritter called downstairs at five twenty p.m. and asked the concierge to summon a taxi to take him to the Mahatma Gandhi Nagar Park. The taxi driver confirmed to police that he picked up an American matching Mr. Ritter’s description from the hotel and drove him to the park. He dropped him off on the north side. They chatted about nothing in particular during their time together.”
“Okay,” replied Harvath, glancing back at the Fairmont and noting the position of its exterior security cameras. “What about the hotel’s CCTV? Has anyone checked to see if he was being followed?”
“Jaipur is under the jurisdiction of the Rajasthan state police. Because of the nature of the crime and the citizenship of the victim, the case was immediately elevated to a District Special Team, known as a DST. The first thing they did after taking over the crime scene was to deploy investigators to the Fairmont to take statements, make copies of any and all video surveillance footage, and search Mr. Ritter’s room. They found nothing suspicious. No one was following him that they could see.”
“Maybe someone was out on the main road, beyond view of the security cameras.”
Vijay nodded. “Which is precisely what they thought, so they began hunting down whatever imagery was available. They gathered footage from a series of private cameras as well as the city’s traffic cams. From what they were able to stitch together, the taxi was not being followed.”
“What about any cameras between the park where he was dropped off and the restaurant where he had dinner?”
“It’s only about a kilometer and a half between the two, but Ritter took the long way. He either had a lot of time to kill, or he was trying to make sure he didn’t have a tail.”
“Did he?” Harvath asked.
“Based on the footage, no, he did not. There was no tail.”
That left only three possibilities in Harvath’s mind. The first was that someone who wanted to kill him had recognized him on the street. To his knowledge, Ritter didn’t have any enemies to speak of. What’s more, that would have been a hell of a coincidence—and coincidences were not something Harvath believed in.
The second possibility was that it actually was a robbery gone bad. But Harvath had too many doubts at this moment.
The third possibility was that the killer had known where Ritter was going to be. That idea was starting to gain traction in Harvath’s mind. If it turned out to be true, it was going to create a lot of serious, and most definitely deadly, repercussions.
“Do you know with whom he was having dinner?” Harvath asked.
“Witnesses saw him eating with an Indian national, mid-forties, slim build, short hair, anywhere from five foot six to five foot ten, casually dressed. The restaurant didn’t have CCTV and there are no exterior cameras nearby.”
“How was the dinner paid for?”
“Cash.”
“Of course. A credit card would have made it too easy.”
Vijay nodded. “According to the file I was given at the embassy in Delhi, Mr. Ritter is an international business consultant?”
“That’s correct.”
“Hard to believe he came all this way just to see the sights and didn’t try to get a little business done, isn’t it?”
They were getting into dangerous territory. Harvath knew Ritter’s real purpose in Jaipur, but he wasn’t cleared to share it with Vijay.
“The State Department has already spoken with his office back in the U.S. They confirmed that this trip was a long-planned vacation and that he had no meetings set up. Sometimes it’s just nice to get away from work.”
“Fair enough,” Vijay replied. “Maybe his dining companion was an old friend? Or an acquaintance who had said, ‘If you’re ever in Delhi, look me up.’ ”
“Could be. Or for all we know, it was a brand-new person he’d met after having arrived.”
“Someone who may have lured him to the restaurant in order to kill him?”
Harvath knew who Ritter had eaten dinner with. He was an assistant to the foreign secretary in the Ministry of External Affairs—the agency responsible for India’s foreign affairs. If, and it was a big if, he turned out to have been involved with Ritter’s murder, he wasn’t going to be hard to track down.
For the time being, Harvath wanted Vijay focused on the killer and steered him in that direction.
“All options are on the table, but I’d like to focus on the killer. When we find that person, we’re going to get answers to a lot of questions.”
“When we find that person,” Vijay repeated. “There are one-point-four billion people in India. Over four-point-three million of them reside in Jaipur. I admire your confidence. I only wish I shared it. Very few murders like these ever get solved.”
A critical skill for a spy was the ability to develop sources and build networks. It was something Harvath was exceedingly good at. What he had learned over the years was that it wasn’t about gaining their trust—not at the beginning, but rather putting your trust in them.
“There’s something you don’t know about Eli Ritter,” Harvath admitted. “Two things, actually.”
As Vijay brought the Jaguar to a stop at a red light, he looked at his passenger. “Okay,” he replied, cautiously. “I’m listening.”
“He used to work for the State Department. Bureau of Economic and Business Affairs. His job was to level the playing field for American businesses overseas and to encourage foreign investment in the U.S. economy.”
“Sounds like a cover position.”
Harvath smiled. “You’ve been reading too many spy novels.”
“What’s the other thing I don’t know about him?”
“He and I knew each other. We were friends.”
The light turned green and it took a honk from another vehicle to shift Vijay’s attention back to the road. As he accelerated he said, “First, I’m sorry for your loss.”
“Thank you.”
“Second, if there’s anything else you want to tell me, now would be a good time. I can’t help you, not really, if I don’t have a full picture of what’s going on.”
Direct, smart, and to the point. The more time he spent with Vijay, the more he liked him. He took no enjoyment from keeping him in the dark. “You know what I know.”
“Very well,” said Vijay. “I understand. We’ll leave it there for now. In the meantime, my job is to assist you, in any way I can, so what other questions do you have for me?”
“There was a witness to the shooting, correct?”
“Two, actually. A shopkeeper and his wife. I assume you would like to speak with them?”
“Yes,” said Harvath. “I’d also like to see any forensic evidence, as well as Ritter’s body. How soon can we do all of that?”
“We can visit the shopkeeper and his wife tonight. Accessing the morgue and the DST’s evidence room would be easier during business hours, but I can make some calls if you want. Just understand that you’d be pulling people away from their Diwali celebrations. They’ll be more cooperative in the morning.”
“Then that part can wait. Let’s retrace Ritter’s steps, have dinner, and see the shopkeepers.”
“Good plan,” replied Vijay as he pulled up a route on his phone. “I’ve mapped out where all of the security cameras caught Ritter between the park and the restaurant. If at any point you want to stop and get out of the car, just let me know.”
Harvath flashed him a thumbs-up and then reached behind the seat for the CD wallet.
Pulling out Average White Band’s second album, AWB, he held it up so Vijay could see it. “Can I play this without us having another argument?”
The man smiled. “Sure. Go ahead.”
Sliding it into the player, Harvath cued up the band’s breakout hit, “Pick Up the Pieces.”
As the saxophones began to play and Vijay sped up to pass the car in front of him, Harvath could have sworn he heard the man whisper under his breath, “Best R-and-B song ever.”
CHAPTER 24
Retracing Ritter’s path from the park to the restaurant proved uneventful. A couple of times, Harvath had Vijay stop the car so he could check for extra cameras in certain spots that the DST might have missed, but they had been thorough and didn’t seem to have missed any.
Arriving at the Tansukh, Vijay politely declined the table that was offered them and pointed out the one he wanted. It was in the back corner, near an exit, with a view of everything—the exact table Harvath would have picked. The waitress walked the men over, waited until they had sat down, and then handed them each a menu.
Harvath took one look and immediately set his on the table.
“Pictures too confusing?” Vijay joked. “Or is the English too complicated?”
“More like too overwhelming.”
“Like I said, my job is to help out however I can. Do you want me to make some suggestions?”
“Please,” said Harvath.
“Most important question—is there anything you won’t eat?”
Back in Dushanbe, Leahy—who had been to India before—gave Harvath a rundown of things to avoid if he wanted to remain “operational.”
“Nothing raw. No rice.” Rice, Leahy had explained, was notoriously bad for cultivating bacteria. Uncooked fruits or vegetables, which might have been washed in tainted tap water, were also off-limits, as were ice cubes. Bottled water was the only way to hydrate.
“Got it,” Vijay answered. “How are you with spicy foods?”
Harvath smiled. “I grew up less than twenty miles from the Mexican border. I can handle spicy food.”
Vijay cocked a challenging eyebrow at him. “Are you sure?”
“Something tells me we’re going to find out,” said Harvath, cocking one right back.
When the waiter came over, Vijay ordered everything in Hindi. At the very end, he added, in English, “And a large portion of yogurt for my friend. Just in case.”
The ex-cop was trying to mess with his head. Harvath simply smiled in return. Leahy had warned him that some Indian dishes were so far off the Scoville scale that they should come with a skull-and-crossbones warning. Should you suffer the misfortune of stumbling into one of those dishes, the best antidote was yogurt. Harvath didn’t know what Vijay had planned, but it looked like they might be pushing the culinary envelope.
As a rule, Harvath didn’t drink while he was working, but when Vijay asked if he’d like to have a beer with him, he had said yes. A bit of social lubricant could go a long way in cementing a relationship with a source.
“Do you like a good IPA?” the man had asked.
“An India Pale Ale?” Harvath responded. “Sure.”
“Do you know where the name comes from?”
“To be honest, not really. I’m more of a lager guy.”
“It comes from the Brits,” he explained. “They used to have their beer shipped to India from England. That can be a pretty rough voyage, and in the beginning a lot of their beer spoiled. So brewers began experimenting. They made it more alcoholic and increased their use of hops. It resulted in a bitter but more aromatic beer that could safely make the journey. The British soldiers, in particular, loved it.”
With Harvath’s permission, Vijay ordered them each a popular, made-in-India IPA called White Rhino.
When the beers arrived, they said “Cheers,” clinked bottles, and took a drink. Harvath, being a lager guy, was pleasantly surprised by the flavor. It was smooth and not bitter at all. He said a small prayer and crossed his fingers that Vijay would perform as well on the food he had ordered.
The plates came out in waves. Laal Mass, a lamb dish in a tangy red chili sauce. Keema Baati, a deep-fried minced-meat pastry with fresh green chilies and green peas. Jaipuri Chicken, a chicken made with curry, cream, and lots of gravy.
They were all delicious. While the heat varied from dish to dish, there was nothing that Harvath couldn’t handle. He was beginning to think he was going to make it through unscathed, when the waiter appeared with a fourth item.
It was a Bhut Jolokia chutney. When Harvath asked what he was supposed to eat it with and Vijay said, “Some people eat it all by itself, others put a spoonful of it on naan,” he had a feeling this was the “surprise” dish—the one the yogurt had been brought out for.
“Aren’t chutneys raw foods?”
“This one has been very specially prepared. Don’t worry about it.”
“Are you going to have any?”
“After you,” Vijay replied.
That was all Harvath needed to hear. This was the real test. As spicy as everything else had been, he was now certain that this was the main event. Scooping some onto his plate with his spoon, he took a bite.
The first thing he noticed was the itching in his scalp. Then his nose began to run and his eyes water. It was at that moment that his entire mouth felt like someone had filled it with fire.
He tried to quench the burning with a long swig of beer, but it didn’t even put a pinprick in the pain. Ignoring the laughter coming from Vijay, he helped himself to a massive portion of yogurt.
The only thing he had ever eaten that came close was a Red Savina habañero. This pepper blew that one away.
He washed down the yogurt with his bottled water and then grabbed Vijay’s, opened it up, and drank that down, too.
“Do I need to call a doctor?” the man asked.
Harvath shook his head. “No, I’m fine,” he said, his eyes still watering. “In fact, I think I’ll try some more. This time on a piece of naan.”
Vijay reached out his hand and stopped him. “I think it’s better if you stop now. Trust me.”
“If you insist.”
“I very much insist.”
The waiter brought over more bottled water and Harvath downed another one, along with some more yogurt. “What the hell does Bhut Jolokia mean?” he asked, finally beginning to recover.
