Rising Tiger: A Thriller (92)

“They did a hell of a job. What’s this here?” he asked, pointing to a spot across the street from the NGO that had been highlighted.

“That’s where you and I are headed right after breakfast,” she replied. “That’s going to be our surveillance post.”





CHAPTER 59


The surveillance post was an “intimate apparel” shop on the second floor, across the street from the NGO. It was closed while its owner was away visiting family for Diwali. Gupta had been able to quietly arrange for them to use it.

“This doesn’t make you feel uncomfortable, does it?” he asked as they brought their gear in and set it down.

“No,” Asha replied, exaggeratedly stroking a piece of risqué lingerie. “Why should it? Does it make you feel uncomfortable?”

“I’ve got about a half-dozen terrific comebacks about me doing some of my best work in the presence of ladies’ lingerie,” he said. “None of which I’m going to use right now.”

Asha laughed. “You kind of just did.”

Harvath stifled a grin and walked over to the window. “This is the part of the job they never dare mention during recruitment.”

“The long hours of boredom punctuated by random, brief moments of excitement?”

“Precisely.”

“What kind of fool would sign up for that?” she joked. “There’s a reason the intelligence agencies so love the James Bond movies.”

“The ultimate government program: six decades of somebody else doing their work for them.”

They both laughed and began unpacking everything. As Asha set up a tiny wireless camera at the window, Harvath powered up the tablet they would be using to monitor the NGO. Things had come a long way from trying to stay hidden behind venetian blinds while peering through a huge pair of binoculars.

On the table in front of them they laid out all of the pictures of the Universal Relief Initiative’s employees. There were only two, however, whom they were interested in seeing.

Target number one was Basheer Durrani himself. Harvath had already begun running scenarios in his head about how they could apprehend him if he showed up.

Their consolation prize was Amit Paswan. They both felt certain that they could convince him to assist in their cause if need be.

Regardless of which target presented himself, Harvath was determined to spin them into gold and drag his mission across the finish line. He was ready for it to be over, to get out of India, and to return home.

“Contact,” said Asha, recognizing a face down on the street and expanding their image on the tablet.

“Who do we have?” asked Harvath.

She looked at the faces on the pieces of paper on the table and then tapped the corresponding one. “Katrina Kapoor.”

Harvath took out a pen, leaned over, and marked the time of arrival on her profile.

They went back and forth like this eight more times, logging in employees, before Amit Paswan showed up.

Harvath marked down the time of arrival on his profile sheet.

“Now what?” Asha asked.

“We wait and see if Durrani shows up?”

“And if he doesn’t?”

“We do what any good intelligence operative would do. We improvise.”

“In other words, we hope to be lucky rather than good.”

Harvath smiled. “Like James Bond, I plan on being both.”

“Now I’m the one who’s uncomfortable.”



* * *



After another hour, Harvath was giving up hope of seeing Durrani. Perhaps the man was on sick leave, or had taken some vacation time in order to carry out his assignment. Whatever the reason, Harvath didn’t think he was going to show up.

“I’m going to the café down the street for coffee,” he told Asha. “Do you want one?”

“Yes, please. Black.”

“Like your ops,” Harvath replied.

She rolled her eyes. “If you’re waiting for me to make a bad coffee pun in response, you’re going to be standing there all day.”

He smiled. “Call me if anything starts percolating.”

Asha pointed at the door. “Get out of here before I pull my Glock on you again.”

With a laugh, Harvath headed downstairs and over to the café. He was reading the menu, written on a large chalkboard behind the counter, when his phone rang. It was Asha.

“What’s up?” he asked, activating the call.

“Amit just left the building,” she replied.

“Which direction is he headed?”

“Toward you.”

“Okay,” Harvath replied, turning around and looking out the window, trying to catch sight of the man. “How far away is he?”

“About twenty meters.”

“May I help you, sir?” the barista asked, interrupting.

“Yes,” he replied, turning back to the counter. “Two coffees. To go. Both black, please.”

“I think he may be headed to the café,” Asha said on the phone. “What do you want me to do?”

“Nothing. I’ve got this. Just keep your eyes peeled for Durrani.”

“Will do,” she responded. “By the way, he’s almost at the door. Good luck.”