Rising Tiger: A Thriller (26)

“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.