Rising Tiger, page 8
Via the sat phone aboard the Carlton Group jet, Nicholas had said that Leahy would explain why Harvath was staying behind while everyone else was taking off and headed back to D.C. All the young CIA operative had told him was that Harvath was needed for a secure videoconference, after which Leahy would be transporting him from the embassy to Dushanbe International. It wasn’t much of an explanation of anything.
A few minutes before the appointed time, Leahy entered the SCIF and fired up the encrypted videoconferencing system. Harvath had assumed he’d be interacting with his office, but when he saw a screen saver on the other side indicating that the call was going to be with the White House, he quickly retrieved a travel blazer from his bag and put it on. Whatever this was about, it was happening at the very top.
He took a couple of bites of food, chugged some water, and, grabbing a pad and pen, made sure he was one hundred percent ready for the meeting. When the clock hit the top of the hour, the video went live.
Harvath instantly recognized the interior of the White House Situation Room. It was a ten-hour time difference between Dushanbe and D.C. He guessed most of the people gathered around the long, polished table had probably already called home to let their families know that they were going to be missing dinner. And judging by who was assembled, he knew that whatever they wanted to talk about was extremely serious.
President Paul Porter, a Montana native who resembled a modernized version of the Marlboro Man, got straight to business. “You did a hell of a job in Kabul. Well done.”
“Thank you, sir,” Harvath replied.
“I have a packed schedule tonight, so I’m going to make my part of this short. First, I want to extend my condolences. I know you had occasionally worked with a State Department employee named Eli Ritter and that the two of you were friends. His death comes as a shock to us all and we are sorry for your loss.”
Harvath was stunned. He and Ritter had indeed worked a handful of assignments together and had developed a friendship. But Ritter had gone into the private sector. Why was he on the president’s radar? “What happened?”
“He was murdered. Yesterday, in Jaipur.”
“Do we know who killed him?”
“Not yet. The Indian Police are leaning toward it being a robbery gone bad. We’re not so sure. So, that’s what we want you to find out,” said Porter. “The team here will fill you in. I just want to express how serious Mr. Ritter’s work was and how important it is that you get to the bottom of what happened.”
“I understand, Mr. President,” Harvath replied, even though he had very little to go on. “You can count on me.”
“Good. I believe you already know our new chairman of the Joint Chiefs.”
“I do, sir. The admiral and I go back many years.”
“Then I’ll leave you to it.”
The other participants stood as the president left the room. Once they were settled back in their seats, Admiral David Proctor took over the meeting.
The man had worn many hats in his long and storied career. Until his most recent promotion, he had been NATO’s SACEUR, or Supreme Allied Commander Europe. Harvath had worked with him both in his NATO capacity as well as back when he headed up the United States Special Operations Command.
But most important was when Harvath had been taken prisoner in Russia. It was Proctor who had sent in the planes that had saved his life and had gotten his whole team out. He would be forever in his debt.
As this was an official meeting and there were multiple other people in the room, they kept their interaction professional.
Proctor began by echoing what the president had said about Ritter. When he segued into his briefing and saw Harvath pick up his pen, he stated, “No notes. Nothing on your end can be written down.”
Harvath set down the pen and leaned forward, all ears.
The admiral began with an ominous question. “What do you know about the Chinese military strategy referred to as the String of Pearls?”
CHAPTER 15
Harvath was familiar with the String of Pearls strategy. It was the maritime extension of Beijing’s Belt and Road Initiative, but much more dangerous.
With the Belt and Road Initiative, China was investing in infrastructure projects from East Asia to Europe—ports, roads, bridges, highway, and rail networks—in order to purchase influence and create dependence across sixty countries. It was in the process of spending north of twenty trillion dollars and would end up reaching nearly sixty percent of the world’s population.
Once a country took China’s money, it was like being on the hook to a particularly nasty loan shark. At that point, Beijing had its nose inside your tent and could begin to push for what it wanted to have happen in your country’s affairs—both domestic and international.
In addition, Beijing was always on the hunt for territorial toeholds. That was what made the String of Pearls so unsettling.
The “string” was a route that wound from mainland China, through the Indian Ocean, around the Horn of Africa. The “pearls” were stops along the way where the Chinese had invested heavily in “port projects” and, in return, had been granted docking and staging rights.
Under the guise of commercial shipping, China had been building up these ports so that they could accommodate Chinese warships. And as China had just leapt ahead of America in the size of its navy, anything that helped the Chinese repair, refuel, or resupply its battle force vessels was of added strategic concern to the United States.
In short, as the Belt and Road Initiative had taken off, so had China’s navy—both through modernization and the construction of new ships. Among all their other global superpower ambitions, they were hell-bent on maritime domination. The United States was right to be concerned.
Harvath shared with Proctor what he knew.
“We’re not the only ones worried about the String of Pearls,” the admiral replied. “New Delhi is, too. The Indian Ocean has always been within their sphere of influence. The Chinese, however, have muscled in and are boxing them out of relationships with regional partners. But that’s not the worst of it.
“We also have reports that China has been angling to base combat task force units at each of the pearls, as well as to construct high-end surveillance outposts. Essentially, they are working with amazing speed to solidify control of the Indian Ocean and upend the balance of power. China’s goal is quite clear—to encircle India in order to choke it off.”
Proctor put up a map of the region and highlighted each area as he continued speaking: “India shares a massive border to its north with China, which is rife with territorial disputes and increasing Chinese hostilities.
“The String of Pearls, as we’ve discussed, surrounds India to the south. To the west is India’s long-standing enemy, Pakistan. Here, China has cemented a strategic alliance by investing over sixty-two billion dollars in projects referred to as the China-Pakistan Economic Corridor.
“Finally, there is Bhutan to the east, where China has been slicing off land from a strategic plateau where India, China, and Bhutan meet. It overlooks a thin strip of Indian territory known as the ‘Chicken’s Neck,’ which functions as a corridor connecting India to states in its northeast.
“Even though the terrain is extremely rugged and virtually inhospitable, China has been constructing buildings there, ostensibly to house military units that will be able to cut off access to this vital Indian corridor. Once that’s done, the noose will be complete and China can choke India to death. All it has to do is squeeze.”
“And, as India is a nuclear power with more than a million troops,” Harvath stated, “that’s not going to end well. But what does this have to do with the United States and what Ritter was doing in Jaipur?”
“He has been covertly negotiating an Asian version of NATO. The plan is to bring the United States, Japan, Australia, and India together to counter the growing threat from China.”
It was an ambitious plan and made sense on multiple levels. Harvath could understand why it was being discussed.
He could also understand why the Chinese would hate it and want to put a stop to it at all costs.
“So, my job is to figure out what happened to Ritter. And then what?”
Admiral Proctor looked at the other people around the table and then back at Harvath. “Your official tasking will come from your organization. My job was solely to present the briefing.”
“Understood. Is there anything else I need to know?”
“You’ve tangled with the Chinese more than once,” said the chairman of the Joint Chiefs. “You know how dangerous they are. And while I shouldn’t have to warn you, I’m going to say it anyway—watch your back. I’m serious.”
“I know you are. And I will. Thank you.”
The men said their good-byes, the feed went dark, and a moment later there was a knock at the door of the SCIF.
Sticking his head in, Leahy said, “Everything go okay?”
“I thought the ads along the bottom encouraging me to sign up for premium encrypted video via White House TV+ were a bit much,” replied Harvath, “but other than that, it was fine.”
The young CIA operative smiled. “Your office is up next. They asked to be notified once the call was complete. If you want to stretch your legs or grab another coffee, I can put them off for a few minutes.”
Harvath had almost a full mug. Holding it up, he thanked Leahy and said, “I’m good. Let’s go ahead and put them through.”
“Roger that,” Leahy responded, closing the SCIF door.
It took less than a minute for the screen to come alive again. This time he could see the faces of Nicholas and his “boss,” Gary Lawlor.
He used the term boss lightly when it came to Gary. Before his death, Reed Carlton had made it clear that he wanted Harvath running the organization, but Harvath hadn’t been interested. He had no intention of giving up fieldwork. As such, someone needed to run day-to-day operations and Lawlor had been offered, and had accepted, the position.
He was ex-FBI and had helmed the first completely black program Harvath had worked in after leaving his stint as a Secret Service agent at the White House. But they had known each other much longer than that. Though in a different branch of service, Lawlor had saved Harvath’s father in Vietnam. The men had remained friends and Gary had become like a second father to Scot.
He had also been one hell of a covert operative with Army Intelligence during the Cold War. The joke around the Carlton Group was that Lawlor was the only person with hands calloused enough to handle someone as “rough” as Harvath.
“U.S. Embassy Tajikistan,” the older man said with a smirk when the video feed went live. “I hope we’ll be able to pry you away.”
“If you can’t immediately arrange for transportation, I’ll be fine. I have it on good authority that the fishing here is exceptional.”
“That person probably also wants to sell you a bridge and some oceanfront property.”
“I don’t know,” Harvath replied. “He seems okay to me.”
“Well, tell him to mail the proposal to your Gettysburg address. It’s time to move.”
“Where to?”
“Jaipur,” said Lawlor.
“I figured as much. What’s my assignment?”
“To find out who killed Ritter.”
“And then?”
“The powers-that-be want a Rembrandt.”
Harvath was familiar with the term. It meant a very public, very eye-catching execution.
“But,” Lawlor added, “your brushes don’t touch the paint until you’ve figured out who sent the killer.”
“So, we’re going to work our way up the ladder?”
“All the way to the top. This is priority one. You get whatever you need. And you do whatever needs to be done. Are we clear?”
“Crystal,” said Harvath.
It was now Nicholas’s turn to speak. “As Dushanbe to Jaipur is a bit too far to travel via motorbike, even with a full tank of gas, I’ve found you a flight.”
Harvath smiled.
“That said,” Nicholas continued, “I have good news and I have bad news. Which do you want first?”
He hated any question that started this way. “Give me the bad news.”
“The only commercial flight available takes fourteen hours, it has only one seat left—in economy class, and you have to change planes in Delhi.”
“What’s the good news?”
“The Indian Air Force is moving a transport plane this morning from Farkhor Air Base to Jaipur. It’ll save you several hours.”
“Great. What about getting to Farkhor? It’s about one hundred and thirty klicks from here.”
“In that respect, you’re in luck. When Afghanistan fell, half of its helicopter pilots fled to Tajikistan and brought their aircraft with them. The U.S. has been paying to keep their skills sharp. You get to choose your means of transit to Farkhor. Either a Russian Mi-25 or a UH-60 Black Hawk.”
“No contest,” Harvath said with a laugh. “The last Russian helicopter I flew in turned into a submarine. It’s going to be made in the U.S.A. for me. I opt for the Black Hawk.”
“Good choice,” Lawlor replied, taking back control of the conversation. “Leahy is going to provide you with a new phone, diplomatic passport, ID, and some walking-around money. As far as the government of India is concerned, you’re a State Department specialist sent to look into what happened, and to arrange repatriation of Ritter’s body.”
“Where am I staying?”
“Jaipur is booked solid for Diwali, but we managed to get you into the Fairmont. That’s where Ritter had been.”
“Any support on the ground?”
“In a normal situation,” said Lawlor, “the CIA station in Delhi would be reaching out to their contacts in the Indian Intelligence Bureau, trying to back-channel whatever information they could get. You’d also have the FBI legal attaché in Delhi involved, as well as the regional security officer from DSS. Basically, all the heavy hitters at the embassy.”
“But this isn’t a ‘normal’ situation.”
“No, it’s not. The White House wants this kept as quiet as possible. They’re willing, however, to get the FSN/I involved.”
FSN/I was U.S. government–speak for Foreign Service National (FSN) Investigator. At most embassies, it was a retired, local law enforcement officer who had held a senior rank, had good connections, and was able to navigate the old-boy network.
In the case of the U.S. Embassy in New Delhi, the position would likely be occupied by a former member of the Indian Police Service—and he, or she, would have been thoroughly vetted by the CIA to make sure everything was aboveboard and that they weren’t compromised by a hostile foreign government such as the Russians or the Chinese.
Their job was to help untangle or navigate in-country law enforcement issues where American citizens or American interests were at stake. This could be done by the FSN/I traveling to a location in person, making calls from the embassy, or linking up American personnel in that jurisdiction, such as consular staff, with a trusted local source.
But when the case in question involved a dead American citizen, everyone at the embassy would expect the FSN/I to be on-site and to personally oversee every facet of the investigation. And it wasn’t just the powers-that-be at the embassy who would expect it; so would the entirety of the Jaipur police force. Appointing anyone else in the FSN/I’s stead would have been highly suspicious. What’s more, as far as Harvath was concerned, it also could have been dangerous.
No matter how trusted the FSN/I was, the minute he handed the case off to a colleague in Jaipur, Harvath would be dealing with an unknown entity. It didn’t matter if it was the FSN/I’s uncle, cousin, brother, sister, son, or daughter; that person was someone who had not been fully vetted by the CIA. Add in the high levels of police corruption in India, and the risks only grew.
In a perfect world, Harvath would have had his own trusted source in Jaipur—someone he knew, who was well connected and plugged into everything.
But this wasn’t a perfect world. Jaipur was completely uncharted territory for him and was going to be extremely difficult to navigate. Anything that might give him the edge was worth grabbing ahold of.
“I’ll take the FSN/I,” he said.
“Roger that,” Lawlor replied. “I’ll contact the embassy in Delhi and get everything in motion. By the time the helo arrives to take you to Farkhor, you’ll have, at the very least, a bio and a photo. In the meantime, based on the information we have, Nicholas is going to brief you on Ritter’s movements in Jaipur.”
* * *
As always, Lawlor was a man of his word. Ten minutes before the Black Hawk touched down on the embassy’s soccer field, Harvath not only had his new cell phone, passport, documents, and cash from Leahy, but he also had a full dossier on the FSN/I who would be picking him up in Jaipur. And from the looks of it, Vijay Chabra was exactly the person Harvath needed.
CHAPTER 16
NORTHERN VIRGINIA
Nicholas had pulled an all-nighter getting ready for the Kabul op. When it was over and Harvath had been briefed on his next mission, he collected his gear, gave his two enormous, white Caucasian Ovcharkas the command to walk with him, and headed for the Carlton Group’s private elevator that delivered him to the underground parking level.
Similar to a Tesla, his highly customized black Mercedes Sprinter van was covered with sensors and tiny cameras. If anyone had come near it, that person would have been recorded and an alert would have been sent to his phone.
Even though he hadn’t received such an alert, he still gave Argos the command to sniff the van for explosives. One could never be too careful. Nicholas had made a lot of enemies over his lifetime.
When the dog was done, he rejoined his master, as well as Draco, who had never left the little man’s side.
