Rising Tiger: A Thriller (49)

“What’s the plan?” he asked.

Vijay removed a printout from his breast pocket and handed it to him. “This is who we’re looking for. His name is Pinaki Ali. He was the owner of the motorcycle used by Ritter’s killer.”

Harvath studied the driver’s license photo and related information, then checked his watch. “Where do you expect we’ll find him right now?”

“He’s probably at work. The problem is, the Kumars have multiple warehouses and we don’t know which one he’s at. It would be better if we spoke with him outside his place of employment.”

“So, the plan is to sit on his house? Wait for him to come home?”

“We’re going to poke around a little bit,” said Vijay. “See what we can learn in advance.”

When they arrived at Pinaki Ali’s building, Vijay didn’t bother with a drive-by or a slow roll around the block. He pulled the Jaguar right up in front and parked.

“You want me to come in, or stay in the car?” asked Harvath.

The ex-cop looked at him. “Why would I want you to stay in the car?”

Harvath drew a pretend circle around his face with his index finger.

“Oh, no, my friend,” Vijay replied. “I want them to see a white devil. This is serious business. I guarantee you that there hasn’t been a white person in this part of town for years. Maybe even since the British pulled out. Your presence is going to send a big, shocking message. That’s what I want.”

“Well, you’ve got it.”

“I also want some American currency. You have some on you, yes?”

Harvath pulled the wad of cash from his pocket. “How much do you need?”

“A one-hundred-dollar bill if you have one.”

He peeled one off and handed it to him.

“Thank you,” said Vijay, opening his door. “I left something for you under your seat. It’s clean. Hopefully, you won’t need it, but just in case you do.”

Harvath reached around under the seat until his hand found the weapon.

“I assume they taught you how to shoot in the Navy?” the man asked.

“Most of the time we just worked on tying knots,” Harvath replied with a smile. “But I managed to fire a gun once or twice.”

Vijay smiled and got out of the car. “As long as you don’t shoot me, we’ll be fine.”

Affixing the holster inside his waistband, Harvath stepped out of the car and joined him.

The ex-cop approached a couple of young kids kicking a weather-beaten, scuffed-up soccer ball outside the building. “No school today?” he asked.

“No, boss,” one of them replied, lying.

“Nice car,” said the other.

“It belongs to my friend,” he said, pointing at Harvath. “He is a very important man. A big boss. He’s also generous.”

Vijay removed the hundred-dollar bill, showed it to the boys, and then tore it in half.

Handing half to the nearest boy, he said, “If you look out for the big boss’s car, you get the other half when we come back.”

Both boys stood up straighter and saluted. Vijay nodded for Harvath to follow him inside.

It was a rectangular, four-story building, covered in cracked, faded plaster, surrounding an interior courtyard.

Entering on the ground floor, Vijay scanned the mailboxes until he found Ali’s.

“Which floor?” Harvath asked.

“Guess,” the man replied.

“Top floor.”

“Maybe you wouldn’t make such a bad police officer after all.”

Harvath smiled at him. “I don’t think so. I’m not smart enough.”

Vijay shook his head and moved toward the stairwell. Harvath watched as he paused, took a deep breath, and then began climbing. He was a retired cop with a cushy job at the U.S. Embassy, not some gym rat. They were in no hurry and Harvath didn’t crowd him.

Electrical conduit, painted dark gray, ran exposed along the walls. Pungent cooking odors mixed with the scent of poorly functioning toilets. A cacophony of sound came from overly loud TVs and radios tuned to competing stations. Laundry hung to dry anyplace a line could be hung or a wire hanger placed.

At the fourth floor, as he had on each subsequent floor, Vijay paused to catch his breath. He looked at Harvath. “You’re not a smoker, are you?”

“Nope.”

“Me neither. Not anymore. If I were, we never would have made it up here so fast.”

No matter what, the man maintained his cop sense of humor. Harvath appreciated that about him. Life really wasn’t worth living if you couldn’t laugh at and make fun of yourself.

“Have you had enough time to catch your breath?” Vijay asked once he had caught his.

“Sorry to slow you down,” Harvath chuckled. “Thanks for indulging me.”

“Let’s just not make it a habit,” the man responded. “Follow me. This way.”

Harvath did as he was told.

All of the apartments’ front doors and living room windows faced out onto a walkway with an iron railing that overlooked the courtyard below. No matter where you stood, you could see all of the other units.

Arriving at Pinaki Ali’s apartment, Vijay removed the leather case containing whatever credentials it was that he carried, and delivered a solid, law enforcement pounding to the man’s front door.