by Susan Mann
“He was what you could call a Sikh fundamentalist. In the late 1970s, he was an itinerant preacher. He traveled from village to village in Punjab, exhorting Sikhs to turn away from alcohol, drugs, and tobacco and return to the path of pure Sikhism. He was a charismatic firebrand, and what he preached resonated with a lot of young, disaffected Sikhs. He had a substantial following.”
“Preaching clean living doesn’t seem so bad,” Quinn said.
“His preaching wasn’t the problem. The problem was he was a radical who didn’t play nice with others. He and his posse murdered his political and religious enemies. He had a literal hit list.”
“That’s not good at all,” James said softly.
“In the early 1980s, Bhindranwale and his men were implicated in several of these assassinations. They eventually holed up in the Golden Temple complex to avoid arrest. During this time, the unrest in Punjab continued. Eventually, Prime Minister Indira Gandhi imposed President’s Rule and sent in paramilitary police to roust out men all over Punjab sympathetic to Bhindranwale. Bhindranwale responded by directing his accomplices there to target Hindus, who he said were the Sikhs’ oppressors. For example, there was an incident where a bus was hijacked. The Hindus were separated out from the Sikhs and shot.”
The acid in Quinn’s stomach churned. “Why didn’t someone inside the Golden Temple arrest Bhindranwale?” she asked. “I can’t believe all Sikhs approved of what he was doing.”
“You’re right. They didn’t. But he was popular with a lot of people, and for a while, no one had the political will to do it. And Mrs. Gandhi didn’t want to invade a holy religious shrine. Even so, he turned the complex into a fortress.”
Sadie brought up a picture of a brilliantly white five-story building topped with a golden dome. Each level was fronted with arched terraces. It was stately and impressive.
“This is the Akal Takht, the second most sacred building within the complex. Just as the Harmandir Sahib is the seat of spiritual authority for the Khalsa, the Akal Takht is the seat of temporal authority. Bhindranwale and company took refuge inside the Akal Takht, fortifying it with machine guns and semiautomatic rifles.”
“He was hunkered down and ready for a fight,” James said.
“He was. And he got it.” Sadie’s lips pressed in a thin line. “With the lawlessness ravaging the entire region, Mrs. Gandhi had no choice but to finally act. That action was Operation Blue Star. Starting June first, 1984, there were skirmishes in and around the complex. June fifth, the final battle was waged between the Indian Army and Bhindranwale and his men. Eventually, tanks rolled in and bombarded the Akal Takht.” Sadie pressed the remote again. “It was heavily damaged.”
“Wow,” Quinn said quietly as she gazed at the photo that took the place of the previous one. It was also of the Akal Takht, but it was nothing like the gleaming white building pictured before. A huge, gaping hole had been blown in the upper story just below the dome. Black scorch marks scarred the façade above a number of windows, evidence the inside of the building had been on fire. Rubble was piled in heaps at the foot of the building. If not for its architecture, it could have been mistaken for one of the thousands of bombed-out buildings in Europe at the end of World War II.
“If Bhindranwale was inside that building, I have a hard time believing he survived,” Quinn said.
“He didn’t,” Sadie answered.
Quinn sat up straighter. “What about the Sikh Reference Library the man on the video mentioned? You haven’t said anything about that.”
Sadie nodded as she looked down at her notes. “The brunt of the offensive was over by the afternoon of the sixth, and Operation Blue Star was wrapped up by the tenth. The position of the Indian government is the Sikh Reference Library located within the Golden Temple compound burned during the army’s initial offensive.” A picture of a row of burnt bookcases, their shelves warped and buckled, filled the screen.
“Did it catch on fire because a shell hit it or something?” Quinn asked.
“The Indian government white paper on Operation Blue Star states extremists inside the library building were lighting homemade grenades with matchsticks. Conclusions can be drawn from that statement.”
“That sounds pretty straightforward,” James said.
“It is, except a senior officer present at the time said snipers shot at a general and his men from inside the library building on June sixth, when it had already supposedly burned. He said the resulting firefight ignited the library.”
“Two contradictory stories of how and when the fire started,” Quinn said.
“Yes. To add more mystery, a Sikh official said he saw the library intact on June seventh. Now Sikhs allege the army removed all the books, including rare Sikh manuscripts, from the library before it burned.”
“Do they have any evidence of that?” Quinn asked.
“Take a close look at this photo,” Sadie said, pointing to the blackened bookcases.
Goose bumps rose on Quinn’s skin when she figured it out. “There’s nothing on the shelves. No ash, no burned book spines or covers. There should be some kind of residue left over if books burned.”
“Precisely. Statements from a couple of government officials also support this allegation. A number of years ago, one said a handful of library office files were given back, this after everything purportedly burned. And a different official later said the army no longer had any of the materials that had been taken.”
“And despite these contradictory statements from its own members, the government maintains the library burned?” Quinn’s grandfather asked.
Sadie nodded. “The position is those officials misspoke.”
“It’s all starting to make sense,” James said. “The guy in the video and the Falcon, whoever that is, believe the army lied about the library burning and instead took the books away. They think the government is still lying, actually has the books, and so kidnapped the ambassador to force it to give them back.”
“That’s a dangerous plan since it’s unclear exactly what happened to the library,” Quinn said. “They obviously take the disposition of the books very personally.”
“It’s a serious grievance for the Sikhs,” Sadie replied. “It’s perceived as the central government continuing to disrespect them. In their minds, as long as the books are held back, it proves they don’t care about the Sikhs.”
“And that bitterness propels them to fight for self-rule,” James said.
Quinn looked at James and nodded. Turning to Sadie, she said, “Do you think it will work? Will the government give the books back? Maybe as a show of good faith, it could help get Ambassador Sharma released. It might be all the guy in the video and the Falcon get. I can’t believe the central government would ever give in on Khalistan.”
“No, they won’t. But that’s never stopped some Sikhs from trying. As for the books, the Indian government maintains they have nothing to return,” Sadie said.
James rubbed his hand across his cheek in thought. “This has been very interesting, but I’m not sure what this has to do with us. Not just Quinn and me, but the agency. The FBI will take point in tracking down the ambassador and the stolen manuscripts. And Homeland will be keeping an eye on airports and borders in case they try to smuggle Sharma out of the country.”
Sadie sat down when Deputy Director Marchelli spoke again. “You are correct. DHS is focusing on the Canadian border since there is a significant population of Sikhs there. They’re also in the process of running facial recognition to determine the identity of the man in the video. And the Bureau is already analyzing it for clues as to where it was recorded, and examining the evidence from the Jefferson Building.”
“Can they trace back to the computer that sent the video?” Quinn asked.
Marchelli shook her head. “It was burned onto a DVD and left on a counter in a men’s room inside the embassy. They’re checking embassy security footage, but it’s been understandably chaotic due to the ambassador’s kidna
pping. It will be difficult, if not impossible, to nail down who left it there and when. And yes, the State Department is also involved, working with the embassy here and the Indian government in New Delhi.”
“Looks like all the bases are covered,” James said.
“Not quite,” Marchelli said. “There’s one more thing.”
Chapter Ten
“Mrs. Sharma and her daughter have been apprised of Ambassador Sharma’s abduction and have viewed the recording of demands,” Deputy Director Marchelli said. “I was told the moment the video finished, both immediately asked specifically for your help, Quinn.”
Quinn’s head snapped up. “Me?”
The deputy director’s lips pulled up in a small smile. “I believe their exact request to the Bureau was for ‘Quinn and James, the gun-wielding librarian and her heavily armed escort.’”
Kavita must have noticed when James slipped his Glock in Quinn’s purse, Quinn surmised. “I only told them I was a librarian. They can’t possibly know who I work for. I never even said I worked for the government, let alone the agency.”
“Don’t worry,” the deputy director said. “They don’t know you work for us. Miss Sharma mentioned James had said he was a ‘government wonk.’ She also noticed how you both immediately became involved in the on-site investigation. I think that led her to conclude you are more than a librarian.” She looked at James. “And a wonk. The Bureau contacted various agencies to track you two down. The request found its way to us.”
“How exactly are we to assist them, ma’am?” James asked.
“You can well imagine their utmost concern is to secure the release of the ambassador. As we’ve already discussed, various agencies are already diligently working to find his location, free him, and apprehend his kidnappers. While that’s in the works, the Sharmas have requested that Quinn, working under the assumption the library’s books were indeed taken and not burned, try and track them down. As was mentioned earlier, they hope if they are returned as an act of good faith, they can negotiate the ambassador’s release.”
Quinn cocked her head. “I’m not sure how any research I do will turn up anything more than what’s already known.”
“If you remained here in the States, yes,” the deputy director said. “You and James are going to India.”
Quinn’s jaw dropped.
Deputy Director Marchelli signaled to Kevin and Sadie. They began gathering their things while she closed her folder. “Supervising Officer Meyers will brief you on the details of your assignment.”
“Um, ma’am? As I’m sure you’re aware, I haven’t been trained at the Farm yet. I’ve only done language acquisition, weapons, surveillance. Things like that.” Quinn glanced at Meyers and back to the deputy director. “If you need a librarian, why not send Ben Hadley? I understand Mrs. Sharma and Kavita asked for James and me, but Ben’s a better fit. He’s a librarian and a fully trained operative. I don’t even have my clearance yet.”
“Oh, yes. That reminds me.” She reached into her jacket pocket, pulled out an ID badge, and tossed it across the table. It slid to a stop in front of Quinn. “You have a briefing with security in an hour.”
Quinn looked at the badge. A red strip replaced the blue one that had previously declared her pariah status. Cages must have been rattled.
“And while yes, you’re correct that Ben Hadley has the appropriate training and experience to handle this assignment,” the deputy director continued, “had we thought he was a better fit, he would be here regardless of the request from the Sharmas. Let’s just say you are much less likely to engender distrust from anyone you’ll interact with.”
In other words, no one would suspect a young, female librarian poking around and asking questions was doing so under the auspices of the US government. Apparently, the agency believed that couldn’t be said of Ben. “Yes, ma’am,” Quinn said.
“Finally, as for your unfinished training, we believe the Fitzhugh op has provided you with more than adequate experience to draw upon. You and James made an excellent team. We’re confident you will again.”
“Thank you, Deputy Director. I’m sure we will,” James said and rubbed the back of his neck with a hand. “One thing. I’m scheduled to leave for Moscow next week.”
“Moscow has to wait. The current situation takes top priority.” The deputy director’s eyes shifted back and forth between Quinn and James. “Any further questions?”
Quinn stared at her, stunned and overwhelmed. She wanted to ask how she was supposed to find an entire library that had been missing, presumed burned, for over thirty years. And even if the books did still exist, they could be anywhere on the entire subcontinent of India. Or the world, for that matter. Despite her seemingly impossible task, she gritted her teeth and reeled in her misgivings. She would answer the call. The ambassador’s life hung in the balance, and it was her duty to do whatever she could to help save him. She shook her head and said, “No, ma’am.”
“Excellent.” Deputy Director Marchelli picked up her folder, turned on a heel, and strode out the door. Kevin and Sadie followed in her wake.
Quinn turned her attention to Meyers. “The Riordans are going to India,” he said, referring to the cover name of the married couple Quinn and James had used in London the previous December. Meyers pushed two passports across the table.
Quinn picked up the one in front of her and flipped through the pages. The UK stamp told her it was the same passport. The identical stamp on James’s would only add to the authenticity of their cover. Not that anyone had questioned them as a couple, especially given their current relationship status. What surprised her was the visa with “Republic of India” emblazoned across the top already attached to one of the pages. Talk about expedited.
“You two leave this evening for New Delhi. From there, you’ll fly to Amritsar and meet up with Ravi Bhatia, our operative in Punjab. He works for a solar energy company as an engineer while watching for any Pakistani influences attempting to destabilize the area.”
“Is that a possibility in this?” James asked. “That the Pakistanis are involved somehow?”
“At this point, we’re not ruling anything out. Your primary task, James, is to ascertain if there is a Punjabi connection to the Falcon, whoever he is, and what happened last night. You’ll work with Ravi on that. You work for an American investment company looking to expand into India. You’ve looked up your college friend, Ravi, and are investigating potential investment in the company he works for.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Quinn, you’re once again a UCLA research librarian. You jumped at the chance to accompany James to Amritsar to see the Golden Temple. The Sikh Reference Library inside the complex has been rebuilt, so you’ll start your investigation there.”
“You don’t want me starting in New Delhi, since the Sikhs believe the central government still has the library books?”
“No. You’d drown in a sea of red tape. Start in Amritsar where it all began, and follow the trail from there.”
“Yes, sir.” One thing immediately jumped out at her as a potential problem. “I’m afraid my high school Spanish won’t be much help in India.”
“Many people speak English. If there are any issues, Ravi speaks both Punjabi and Hindi.” Meyers waited a beat before asking, “Any other questions?”
“What do I tell Linda Sullivan?” Quinn asked. She swallowed a groan when she remembered she still had to research nightclubs in Istanbul for Cooper Santos.
“She’ll be informed that you’ve been temporarily reassigned,” Meyers said.
Quinn knew Linda wouldn’t ask any further questions, which was a refreshing change from her former boss, Virginia Harris, library director. When Quinn had returned to the library from her impromptu mission with James to London, Virginia had given her the third degree every day for two weeks. Given the chance, the woman would have tied Quinn to the rack and gleefully cranked it to eleven to get Quinn to spill. Thankfully, uncomfortable desk chair
s were the only torture devices housed inside the Westside Library. Virginia finally gave up when it became clear that Quinn’s response was ever only going to be “I’m sorry, Virginia. Client confidentiality.” Quinn and Nicole had enjoyed watching the steam billow from Virginia’s ears every time Quinn uttered the phrase. It had been glorious.
The thought of Nicole made her stomach drop. Between Cooper Santos throwing her for a loop, being knocked senseless by a flash bang, and running through tunnels under the streets of Washington, she hadn’t responded to Nicole’s wedding cake question. She had to answer before she left for India.
Meyers glanced at his watch, stood, and shot Quinn’s grandfather an inquiring look. When he rested his elbows on the armrests of his chair and steepled his fingers, Meyers took the hint. “If you have any other questions, let me know.”
Meyers left. Quinn, James, and her grandfather were now alone. Quinn turned to him and said, “Grandpa, you were awfully quiet during the meeting. Are you okay?”
“Yes, angel, I’m fine.” After a beat, he said in a subdued tone, “Operation Blue Star was a most tragic event.”
“Were you involved at all? Or Darvesh Singh? I assume he’s an old spy friend of yours.”
He smiled. “You’re always so perceptive. Yes, we’ve worked together on and off for years. But no, neither of us were involved with what happened in Punjab.” His smile faded. “Despite Darvesh’s public condemnation of last night’s events and his many years of loyal service to the Indian government, he’s under suspicion. Both the Indian and US governments think he may be a part of the conspiracy.”
“I can’t believe it,” Quinn said. She turned and looked at James. “I didn’t notice him acting suspicious or anything. Did you?”
“No.” James shrugged. “But if he’s been an operative his entire life, he’s a pro at subterfuge.”