A Covert Affair

by Susan Mann

  He shook his head. “We let both go for now. We don’t want them spotting us after seeing us here. We know where they live. We can track them down later. Plus, we have other things to tend to.”

  Like finding out what’s on that recording, she thought.

  Captain Sanctimonious stood and stalked away.

  “That guy’s a real ray of sunshine,” Quinn said.

  James nodded and let the conversation lull while they waited for the older man to leave. The man checked his phone and, after another minute, pushed back from the table and headed for the exit.

  A few minutes later, James asked, “Are you ready to go?”

  “I am.” She pressed her fingertips to her throat. “Oh, dear. I’ve lost my necklace. I’m certain it was still on when we sat down. I knew I should have had that dodgy clasp repaired.”

  James made a show of peering under the table while Quinn stood and brushed at the front of her clothes as if trying to dislodge it from a fold.

  “I don’t see it,” James said.

  “Maybe it fell on my way to the loo.” She kept her head down as she slowly retraced her steps.

  Several of the diners glanced at her. Finding her search less than compelling, they went back to their food.

  “Here it is,” she said in a relieved voice. She picked up the necklace from under the table. “Now I’m ready to go.”

  * * *

  Quinn sat on the sofa in Ravi’s apartment with a yellow legal pad resting on her lap. Several of its pages were covered with the notes she’d scrawled while Ravi translated the recording of Captain Sanctimonious and friend. It was all so much to take in. She skimmed the pages again to get it straight in her mind.

  “Okay, so according to facial recognition from the agency, the man at the restaurant with Captain Sanctimonious is Gurbachan Singh Gill,” she said, “a big shot in a political organization based here in Amritsar called the Khalsa Federation.”

  “Right,” James said. “And to no one’s surprise, the group’s primary stated goal is the establishment of the sovereign state of Khalistan.”

  Ravi chimed in. “He’s been in the local news lately because he’s running for office.”

  “Which explains why he popped up so quickly when the agency ran facial recognition on him,” James said, nodding.

  “That group has never been linked to any terrorist acts, though,” Ravi said. “It’s always called for Khalistan to be established by working from within the political system.”

  “From what we’re seeing and hearing, it sounds like Mr. Gill and friends are impatient with that philosophy and have decided to work outside the system,” Quinn said. “That’s not surprising considering he was formerly a member of the SGPC but quit because they were too moderate.” She glanced down at her notes. “From Gill and Captain Sanctimonious’s lunch conversation, we now know the Terrible Trio were talking about getting ready to receive some kind of shipment tomorrow night. What do you think it is?”

  “If they’re going full terrorist mode, my guess is arms or explosives,” James said. “Captain Sanctimonious mentioned there were many people ready to use its contents. They must have a pretty wide network ready to go.”

  “If the shipment is weapons, I wonder if Pakistan’s ISI is behind it,” she said. “That’s exactly the kind of thing Deputy Superintendent Dhami said they did. It could absolutely destabilize the area. It wouldn’t surprise me if Pink Shirt Guy is ISI.”

  “That’s a great observation. You might be right,” James said. He sat back and crossed his arms over his chest. “The deeper we go, the more complicated this gets. Now we might have a Pakistani connection. If there is one, that opens up a whole new can of worms the size of boa constrictors.”

  Ravi shook his head. “Yeah, no kidding. And we’re still no closer to finding Ambassador Sharma. I gotta say, with the way Gill kept telling Captain Sanctimonious to be patient, that the operations in the UK and Canada were about to begin and the one already under way in the US was going exactly according to plan, this thing looks to be huge. We’ll have a whole new group of terrorists to deal with.”

  “More kidnappings. More assassinations. More bombings. More senseless deaths.” It made the contents of Quinn’s stomach lurch up her esophagus. She took several sips of water to combat the foul taste that invaded her mouth. “We have to stop them.”

  James held her gaze. In his eyes she saw the confidence and determination that always settled her. “We will.”

  They turned their attention to Ravi when he said, “Captain Sanctimonious never called Gill the Falcon.” His eyes darted back and forth between James to Quinn. “Do you think he is?”

  James spoke first. “Obviously we can’t know for sure until we have some concrete evidence, but based on what we saw today, I’m thinking he might be.”

  Quinn nodded. “I agree, although we can’t rule out the scenario where Gill is a lieutenant here in Punjab and the Falcon is based in the US.” She paused before adding, “Or anywhere in the world.” She tossed the legal pad onto the coffee table and sat forward. Closing her eyes, she rubbed her forehead with her fingertips. “So what do we do now?” she asked before opening them again.

  “First off, we fill Meyers in on Gill and the shipment,” James said. “Quinn, you also need to advise him what Dhami said about the CBI flying the library books to New Delhi.”

  “Right,” she said. “The next step is to try and find out what happened to the books after that. To be honest, I don’t see me getting very far. No one there is ever going to talk to some random American nosing around. Unless I get the name of a specific person I can talk to at the CBI, I think kicking it to the State Department and letting them handle it is the way to go.”

  “Yeah,” Ravi said. “And you’re right about not getting far in New Delhi. It’s a giant bureaucracy. Even if by some miracle you did find someone who knew exactly what happened to those books, they’re not going to tell you.”

  “Crap,” she grumbled. She lowered her head and stared at the floor. Acute disappointment stabbed at her. “I really thought we’d find them.”

  “Hey, don’t.” James scooted closer and slipped his arm around her shoulders. “The library books still might get tracked down. And if it is, it’ll be because of what you uncovered. You, Quinn Ellington, might have hit a roadblock. It just means now you hand off the investigation to people who can hopefully get around that roadblock and keep going.”

  “I know. You’re right. It still sucks.”

  He hugged her to his side. “Yeah, it does. Just don’t give up.”

  “All right, before you two bust out in a rousing chorus of ‘You Raise Me Up,’ we need a plan.”

  “Hey!” Quinn said, her snickers chasing her disappointment away. “That’s an epic song.”

  “It is epic.” Ravi’s smile turned rascally. “And I promise to perform my interpretive dance routine to that epic song for you someday, after we figure out what we do now.”

  “I don’t know about you, Quinn, but the promise of seeing Ravi’s interpretive dance is all the motivation I need.”

  She cocked her head. “Works for me.”

  “Here’s the deal,” Ravi said, turning serious again. “One of our top priorities is intel on Sharma’s location. If Gill is the Falcon, he knows where Sharma’s being held. If he’s not but is high up the food chain like we think he is, he’ll still know.”

  “Are you saying we snatch and interrogate him?” Quinn asked.

  “No,” Ravi answered quickly. “Not yet, anyway. Not when there’s an easier way to get a ton of intel from him without him knowing it.”

  “Sure, monitor his communication: phones, texts, emails, messenger pigeons, semaphore,” Quinn said. “The agency will get on that the minute we tell Meyers about Gill.”

  James spoke up. “It won’t do much good. This bunch is too careful. The agency has been combing through all of that for the guy in the DVDs, Samir Singh, and they haven’t turned up anything.” He
stared hard at Ravi. Quinn practically saw the wheels turning in James’s brain. “You’re saying we should get up close and personal. Plant bugs in his house.”

  “Break in?” Quinn asked.

  Ravi nodded. “Yeah. And while you’re there, load a virus onto his computer so we can hack in and see everything on it. Check around for evidence of where Sharma might be or what they plan to do with the shipment, and what the operations are in the UK and the US. Anything. Everything.”

  “Gill did mention he has some kind of campaign event going on tomorrow night, the same night the shipment moves,” James said.

  “Giving him an alibi?” Quinn asked.

  He shrugged. “Probably.”

  Ravi said, “I’d suggest Quinn and I break into Gill’s house and bug it, but I’m not sure you’d be on board for that, James.”

  Stone-faced, James stared at Ravi like he’d just heard the least funny thing ever.

  Undeterred, Ravi shot Quinn a mischievous smile before continuing. “But since I value my life and would like to retain the ability to someday father children, you and Quinn break into Gill’s house. While you do that, I follow Captain Sanctimonious to the handoff of the shipment. With a tactical backup team called in from somewhere in the region, we take them down. We stop a shipment of some nefarious cargo and catch I Might Be a Pakistani Spy Pink Shirt Guy and Captain Sanctimonious in the act.”

  “Getting the Indian government’s approval for that, of course,” James said.

  “Of course. Nobody wants an international incident. Let the alphabet soup agencies in DC navigate the diplomatic land mines.” Ravi lifted his computer from the coffee table and set it on his lap. “Let’s get Meyers on the line and hash this out with him.”

  Quinn’s gaze fell on the cricket bat in the corner of the room. “What if this nefarious shipment turns out to be nothing more than soccer balls and cricket equipment for a bunch of boys’ and girls’ clubs? It could really hit the fan.”

  “If it does, you’ll always be a librarian and I can go into private security or something. And of course Ravi will be okay,” James said. “He has his interpretive dance career to fall back on.”

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  James and Quinn sat in the Alto a block over from Gurbachan Singh Gill’s two-story villa located in a modern subdivision twenty minutes outside Amritsar. Across the open field between them and the house, James had observed through high-powered night vision binoculars when Gill and his wife left more than an hour before. The wooden gate in the high stucco wall surrounding the property had opened. The driver in the sleek black Mercedes-Benz carrying the Gills had guided the car through the gap and onto the street. Since then, the two operatives had waited as the evening sky turned from twilight to dusk to darkness.

  James kept the binoculars trained on the house as he spoke. “So far I count two wireless security cameras. I’m sure there are more.”

  “What do we do about them?”

  “Wireless cameras means there’s a WiFi signal.” He handed her the binoculars, twisted around, and snagged his laptop from the black canvas backpack sitting on the backseat. He opened it, established a link, and began to type. “We disable the signal, no pesky recordings. With how few houses there are out here, it shouldn’t be too hard to figure out which access point is his.” The glow of the screen bathed James’s face in a soft light. “That was easy. There are two. The one with the strong signal is probably that house right there.” He pointed down the street from where they were parked.

  “Which means the weaker signal is Gill’s.”

  “That’s the assumption.” His fingers flew over the keyboard as he spoke. “The AP has a password, of course. Fortunately we work for an agency that can help us with that.”

  “There’s an app for that?”

  “Pretty much, yeah. I’m running an algorithm that should give us the password in a few minutes.”

  “Five bucks says it’s his birthday.”

  “If it is, that’s just sad.”

  Quinn stared at Gill’s house through the car window. “Does it seem like all this security is overkill? Like he’s protecting something super valuable?”

  “Maybe, although I don’t think having security cameras installed is all that excessive. All these houses out here are huge and probably targets for thieves. If Gill’s place is booby-trapped like the temple at the beginning of Raiders of the Lost Ark, then you might be on to something.”

  “Let’s hope it’s not. I really don’t feel like dodging poisoned darts tonight.”

  “Where’s your sense of adventure?” he teased.

  “Breaking and entering is plenty adventurous for me right now, thank you very much. I’ll save being impaled in the ass by a deadly projectile for another time.” Devil horns practically sprouted from James’s head. “Don’t even start.”

  “Who? Me? All I was going to say was, ‘I bet my projectile—’” His computer beeped, cutting him off. “And the password is . . . a string of numbers that looks suspiciously like a birthday.” He looked at her side-eyed. “Don’t look so smug.”

  “Who? Me?”

  “Yeah, you.” After some more tapping at the keyboard, he said, “WiFi is off, so cameras are off. We don’t want to draw attention, so we’ll go around to the back of the property and climb over the wall. Let’s hope we won’t have to tranq a guard dog.”

  “Fingers crossed.”

  James closed the laptop and set it on the floorboard behind Quinn’s seat. “How are you? Are you ready?”

  “Now that we’re about to break into someone’s house, I’m a little nervous.” Her palms were damp and her heart thumped.

  “Understandable.” He took her hand and didn’t even recoil at how clammy it was. “We’ve got this.”

  Her smile might have been a bit feeble, but she tried.

  His smile in return was confident and relaxed. She hoped someday she’d be as unperturbed about breaking into someone’s house as James was. He leaned across the center console, gave her a kiss, and said, “Gear up. It’s go time.”

  Her entire body was awash with tingles. To combat the gremlins whispering for her to stay in the car, she concentrated on her last-minute preparations. She pulled the black balaclava on over her head and stuffed the tail of her French braid up the back of it. It covered everything but her eyes. Now dressed in black from head to toe, she said, “I feel like a ninja.”

  “A ninja librarian. I like it.”

  “We can be very stealthy.” She unzipped the backpack at her feet, removed a pair of night vision goggles, and strapped them on. The world turned black and green when she powered them up. Finally, she tugged on her black leather gloves and gripped the straps of the backpack. “Ready.”

  James finished adjusting his goggles, reached up, and flicked a switch next to the light in the ceiling of the car. When he opened the door, the interior remained dark. Likewise, Quinn opened her door, climbed out, and closed it with a stealthy thunk. She hunkered down next to the back fender. James duckwalked around the back of the car and joined her.

  They hoisted on their backpacks. “We’ll cross the field and head for the northeast corner. You go first. I’m right behind you,” James said.

  Quinn sucked in a deep breath, gusted it out, and spun out from their hiding place. Hunched, she ran across the road and into the open field. She watched for uneven ground in front of her. Any hazards like rocks or holes could send her sprawling.

  She wasn’t exactly sprinting, but with the exertion, the awkwardness of the goggles, and stress, it felt like perspiration seeped from every pore. And how was it possible that it felt as if no matter how far she ran, she seemed to never get closer to the far edge of the field?

  Her sole comfort as her lungs burned was hearing James’s breath puffing behind her.

  She stumbled when a terrible thought hit her. What if there were snakes? Did they have cobras in Punjab? What if she stepped on a cobra? Her thoughts catapulted forward like she’d pr
essed the red button and her turbos kicked in.

  Even with the cumbersome night vision goggles and backpack weighing her down, she’d never run faster in her life. She finally reached the edge of the field, sprinted across the street in front of Gill’s house, and slammed into the stucco wall. Legs trembling, she leaned against it, pulled the balaclava away from her mouth, and greedily gulped down mouthfuls of air.

  James pulled up next to her. “Are you okay? Halfway across you took off like a bat outta hell.”

  “Snakes,” she said between gasps.

  “You saw one?” His voice cracked like a whip.

  “No.” She sucked in half the oxygen in Punjab through her nose and gusted it out through pursed lips. “I hate snakes. The thought of stepping on a cobra turned me into the Road Runner.”

  He relaxed, but only a little. He was still on high alert as he scanned the area. “Hate snakes. Good to know.” Looking at her again, he asked, “Ready to move?”

  It felt like her muscles had been reduced to jelly, but she was still vertical, so that was a good sign. She pushed herself away from the wall, yanked the balaclava over her mouth, and readjusted her backpack. “Yeah.”

  “I’ll take point.” He crept along the wall toward the back of the property with Quinn on his six.

  At the end of the wall, James stopped and peered around the corner. “Clear.” They turned left and kept moving.

  Halfway along the back wall, James stopped again, shrugged off his backpack, and dropped to his knees. He unzipped the bag and removed a chain ladder. Standing again, he chucked one end of it over the top of the eight-foot wall and slowly retracted it until the hooks latched on. After tugging on the ladder to make sure it was secure, he climbed it, swung over the top of the wall, and disappeared. Quinn heard him land lightly on the other side. There were no blaring sirens, no pack of snarling dogs.

  “You’re good to go,” she heard him say.

  She grabbed a rung, put the toe of her black boot on a lower one, and hoisted herself up. As she moved her way up the ladder, she was glad to be wearing gloves. The rough stucco would have turned her knuckles into raw hamburger.