Rising Tiger: A Thriller (39)

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?”