Rising Tiger: A Thriller (98)

Khan had been suspicious of Asha from the jump. She wasn’t like any investigator he had ever met. The stunt she had pulled in relation to helping the Siddiquis was outrageous.

When he couldn’t find enough about her in the DSC database, he had suggested to Durrani that he use his contacts inside the Indian government to figure out who she was and what she was up to. That search had led to hiring Sayed and his men to go after her. The Kamal Khan story, however, didn’t end there.

The Chinese had sent over a specialist to teach Khan how to use their secret directed-energy weapon. He was smart and had proven an adept student.

In two days’ time, Khan was set to bring down another aircraft. This one was much bigger and even more dramatic.

With national elections looming, India’s biggest politicians had been crisscrossing the country. There had been a pause for Diwali, but campaigns were about to ramp back up.

When they did, the party of India’s hottest political star was expected to launch into overdrive. Rishi Puri was rich, handsome, and referred to in the media as the future of Indian democracy. They called him the “Rising Tiger” of Indian politics. He intended to smash corruption, shake everything up, and lead India to prominence. He also was a fan of India deepening its military ties with the United States, Japan, and Australia.

In other words, the idea of an Asian version of NATO could not have hoped to have had a more sympathetic Indian prime minister than Rishi Puri. For that, Beijing wanted him out of the picture, permanently.

Durrani went on to explain that Khan had already traveled to Delhi, had the Chinese weapon with him, and was staying in a safe house that Durrani had arranged for him.

Durrani was willing to give him up, not only in a bid to secure his own freedom, but because he was angry with him.

Hoping to spark religious violence, it was Khan who had leaked the chief flight mechanic’s personal information and had incited the mob to attack the Siddiquis in their home.

Even though Raj couldn’t see Gupta through the one-way glass, he had stared right at him and Gupta had received the message. Picking up his phone, he summoned the Special Group’s commander. They were about to launch an incredibly important mission and needed to begin preparations immediately.

Harvath hung around and listened as Raj kept trying to get Durrani to provide the name and related information about his Chinese contact. No matter how many ways he asked the question, no matter how many angles of attack he employed, Durrani wouldn’t give it up. It was his ace in the hole. Until he was confident that the terms of his deal with the Indians would be honored, he wasn’t giving that information up.

As he sat in the observation room, Harvath traded a few texts back and forth with Vijay and even had a nice exchange with Asha. She had thanked him for getting her to the hospital and even had the nerve to joke about how tightly he had affixed the tourniquet. “Like all Americans,” she typed, “you overdo things.”

He had responded right back. “I learned from the best. Like Raj always says, whatever you do, don’t underdo it.”

That had prompted a string of laughing emojis and a few more pleasantries.

As Raj continued the interrogation, he moved Durrani into the realm of current Indian politicians and civil servants who may or may not be serving the interests of Beijing.

The moment that line of questioning began, Gupta pulled the pipe from his mouth, turned to Harvath, and said, “I think we should call it a day. Can I arrange a ride for you back to your hotel?”

Two Special Group soldiers drove Harvath back to the Oberoi in one of their brand-new, blacked-out Bharat Forge/Paramount Group armored vehicles.

The looks on the doormen’s faces when he climbed out told Harvath that not a lot of guests had been dropped off in such a dramatic fashion.

When he got up to his room, he texted with Vijay. It was the last night of Diwali and he had accepted an invitation to celebrate with the ex-cop and his family.

They set a time to meet and Harvath asked if the man could fulfill a small request for him.

Vijay agreed and ninety minutes later pulled up under the hotel’s portico, where Harvath was waiting.

It was a gorgeous evening. The storms from the night before had moved through, bringing cooler, dryer air. The sky was clear and beginning to fill with fireworks. Vijay had the top down. “Boogie Nights” by Heatwave was playing.

As Harvath slid into the passenger seat, the ex-cop handed him a small gift. “Happy Diwali.”

“Thank you,” Harvath replied, handing him the piece of paper Gupta had given him. “Here’s where we need to make a quick stop.”

Vijay memorized the address and handed it back. “It’ll take us about twenty minutes to get there.”

“Perfect,” said Harvath.

As the ex-cop eased the Jaguar away from the Oberoi, Harvath pulled out the empty magazines for the pistol and began reloading them with the box of rounds Vijay had given him as a gift.

They didn’t talk much on the drive. They enjoyed the music while Harvath took in the sights and sounds of Delhi.

Because Diwali was such a family-oriented celebration, he had been concerned that the man he was going to pay a visit to would either not be home, or would be home but surrounded by family. Gupta had assured him that it wouldn’t be a problem.

The man was a contract killer without close, personal relationships or affiliations of any kind.